zar

a year ago.

It’s the last year of high school, on a relatively normal walk back home. The same cracked sidewalks, the same autumn breeze, the same shy boy matching his steps beside you like he always did. Just like any other day. 

Until he decided to ruin it.

“Do you wanna… like, date?” Jake asked suddenly, hands shoved deep into his uniform pants pockets, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. “You know… put a label on us. Or whatever.”

You remember almost running away out of pure instinct, soul escaping your body. But instead, you laughed. Because what the fuck was he on about?

You? Jake? Date?

The two of you were barely even supposed to be friends. He's a straight-A student teachers constantly compared you to, with those thick-rimmed black glasses glued to his face and unkempt bowl of hair. A striker on the football team who watched matches from the sidelines just as much as you did… and you weren't on the team.

And on the other hand, there’s you. Not-so-pleasant you. Considered a troublemaker because you always showed up late to class, talked back to ill-meaning adults, and picked fights with boys who catcalled too much. A rumor spread through school that your dad was a terrifying loan shark with gang ties. He’s a banker.

Assigned classroom cleaning duties was what brought you two together in the first place. It wasn’t fate. Nothing notable. You more or less picked him up on your shoulder and claimed him as a personal assistant. Someone who would fetch you water when you’re thirsty or give you answers to math problems when you were too lazy to solve them yourself. 

So why in the world did he think you two should date?

“Who put you up to this?” you wheezed between bursts of cackling. “I’m gonna beat their ass.”

Jake scratched the back of his head, clearly not amused.

“I mean… You and me?” you continued, tears of laughter blurred your vision. “We would make the worst couple ever—”

“I don’t think so.”

You froze mid-step. Jake had slowed his strides down a long time ago, but now he was completely still. You turned to find him a few steps behind, face flushed and hands by his sides. 

He’s holding something. A small, turquoise box. One that looked suspiciously like…

You felt like throwing up.

“I-I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he stammered. “What it’d be like if I were your boyfriend. If we… went on dates and stuff.”

Oh, hell no.

It’s like an immediate sense of panic overcame your body. And before your brain could process a single rational thought, you broke out into a sprint. Running down the street like a maniac. In hindsight, you probably should’ve known that you couldn’t outrun an athlete. But you weren’t really thinking, period. 

You feel a tug on your waist. Jake had already caught up to you. He spun you around, like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms, and pulled you into him. His face was close. Too close. His glasses slipped halfway down his nose, and a bead of sweat clung to his temple. And it wasn’t from running.

It was from you.

He looked nervous. Ridiculously nervous.

The ring box pressed into your back, and you put your palms sternly against his chest, trying to create some distance between you two. It wasn’t helping.

“Jake,” you warned. “Let go of me or I scream.”

He shook his head, his arms only wrapped tighter around you. “Only if you promise you won’t run,” he replied, a sort of desperation laced in his voice. “And that you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

You bit your bottom lip, suddenly too aware of his intense gaze and how they searched yours through those big, fat lenses. You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice to come out right. The moment his grip loosened, you broke your agreement almost immediately. Your feet moved on their own, like fight-or-flight, as you tried to rush out of his arms. But he was one step ahead of you, grabbing your wrist to bring you back right where you were.

“Really?” he asked, exhausted. “That’s not gonna work a second time.”

You glared, but your eyes betrayed you. They slid down to the turquoise ring box, still in his hand. Jake's eyes flickered in the same direction, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“I can put it away if it’s freaking you out,” he muttered, slipping it back into his pocket. You almost let out a sigh of relief, but not when his large hand was still wrapped around your wrist.

“...Thank you,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground. “Now make it quick.”

Jake's heart constricted. ‘The worst thing she could say is no!’ the internet had told him. This was a lot worse, actually!

“[Y/N],” he started sharply, and the sound of your name on his lips sent shivers down your spine. He released you, only to set both his hands on your shoulders, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“I… I think—” He stopped, inhaling a deep breath. “No. I know. I… really… really… l-like you.”

His voice was as shaky as his hands, and for a brief second, almost every part of you wanted to knock him out with your backpack because your heart was beating too loud in your chest. It pissed you off. But you held back and just… stared.

Jake, ever the hopeless romantic, had fallen for you the moment you asked him to clean the entire classroom alone while you skipped duties to hang out with your friends. He said yes, only because he has a hard time saying no, especially to someone he found so pretty. But then you laughed and told him you were joking. Told him not to bend over backwards just to please other people. Spent time with him that day when usually, others paid him no attention.

He was enamored ever since. 

But the silence between you two was suffocating, heavy enough to stall his breathing. Jake’s palms were growing damp against the fabric of your uniform blazer, and his heart felt like it was ready to fall to the floor. Maybe this was a bad time to do it. Or maybe the ring really freaked you out. Was it too big a gesture? The WikiHow tutorial he consulted had told him to bring a gift, after all. 

“Hello?” Jake’s voice cut through your thoughts. He gave your shoulders a tiny shake, trying to pull you out of your entranced state.

“Hm? Sorry… say that again? I don’t think I heard you…”

Jake’s expression fell as he dropped his hands back to his sides in defeat.

“Okay,” he muttered, voice small. It wasn’t worth it. Everything went off script anyway. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

He brushed past you, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in his pockets again. He was fidgeting with the ring box, wishing he could throw it into the nearest bushes. God, he felt dumb. So fucking dumb.

Of course you’d say no! He was nobody. Just Jake. Just some guy you latched onto at the start of high school so you could poke fun at him for the next few years and make him pay for your boba addiction. And you, with your cool-ass friends with eyebrow slits and really underground music tastes. You’re way out of his league—

“Jake,” you called out, surprised at how loud your voice could get if you were desperate. 

He turned around immediately, wearing such a pronounced pout even from a few meters away. Somehow, seeing his face again made your throat close up. He liked you. He really liked you.

“Say it again,” you demanded, arms crossed with doubt written all over your features. “I need to hear you say it one more time.”

You walked toward him until you stood close enough to see the nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Was this it? Would you actually give him a chance? Jake pressed his lips together and inhaled a deep breath to calm himself. 

“I like you,” he said as softly as a whisper. “Would you… Be my girlfriend?”

You looked at the ground, feigning a calmness when your mind was racing with thoughts too insane to vocalize. When you finally looked up again, your heart betrayed you. It skipped a beat at the way his gaze fell on yours, wide and hopeful. It almost hurt. He was too bright, too cute.

(Okay, so what if you liked him back. He didn’t have to know that.)

“Sure,” you said, forcing your voice to sound casual. Jake froze.

Then his entire face lit up. Suddenly, he was grinning from ear to ear, jumping in place like a dog begging for a treat. “Really? Like really? You’ll go out with me?!”

He took your hands in his, tenderly. Like he wasn't entirely sure the moment was real. You felt the dampness of his palms first, then the tug of his fingers intertwining with yours, like he had already rehearsed this part of his confession a thousand times in his head. Your cheeks warmed.

‘What a weirdo,’ you thought to yourself. It’s not like he’d just won the lottery. What was he so happy about?

“Just don’t make it weird,” you grumbled. “Keep it on the down low.”

Jake’s smile faltered, brows knitting together so tightly you were sure it’d leave a wrinkle on his cute face.

“Like… you don’t want people to know?” he asked, voice quieter now. You nodded, confused by his confusion. 

“Why would anyone need to know?” you asked genuinely. He frowned, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand, silently asking you to reconsider.

“Not even Sunghoon or Jay?”

You scoffed. “Especially Sunghoon and Jay.”

“Why not?” he groaned. You just shrugged.

“I don’t want our dynamic to change just ‘cause we’re dating,” you reassured him, letting go of his hands to ruffle his hair. Like you always do when you tease him. Like that would make it all better. “And all that coupley PDA stuff draws too much attention anyway.”

You’d spent years cultivating your intimidating persona, and in your mind, it was simple. No one else needed to know that you were vulnerable to something as cringe-inducing as dating. The other students would only use it against you. For what? Who knows.

But you could just imagine the teasing glances and whispers in the hallways. If Jake were really serious about dating you, surely he’d be understanding of your aversion towards embarrassment. Right?

He didn't seem entirely convinced. At all. “So… what would be the difference then? Between us now and before?” 

You sighed and stepped past him.

“It's what we'd do in private, you know?” you muttered over your shoulder. “Kissing and all that…”

You didn’t see it, how Jake’s ears completely reddened or how his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was already imagining what it’d be like to hold you properly. To touch you. To kiss you. Like real couples do.

“D-do you want to see the ring I got you?” he blurted out, catching up to you. “I swear it’s lowkey. It has a ‘J’ engraved inside the band. I got a matching one with your initial, too! No one would even notice if you wore it—”

And you feel your heart thunder in your chest, scaring you into another sudden sprint. “Get the hell away from me, weirdo!” 

Your joined laughter echoed down the street as he chased after you. And even though he could catch up to you, he let you have your fun, staying just a little out of his reach.

–

Jake is very good at obeying orders, always has been. Especially after the first few times you glared at him for accidentally reaching for your hand in the cafeteria. He learned fast.

He tried his best not to show affection publicly, no matter how badly he wanted to wrap his blazer around your shivering frame when you would nap during class. He forced himself not to linger near you when you were loitering with your fellow delinquents by the school staircase, laughing at a joke he didn’t quite understand. He suppressed the urge to defend you from teachers who reprimanded you out in the hallways. Tried not to look behind at you for too long during football games he never played in anyway.

Once, someone asked him about his love life, and he instantly turned into a blushing, mumbling mess. And they laughed it off. It was Jake. No one thought twice. He was always like this. Awkward. Flustered.

The parasites he calls friends, Jay and Sunghoon, would probably go into cardiac arrest if they ever found out how he doted on you in private. How soft he was. How gentle.

You pretended not to notice. But ever the observer, Jake sees how your defenses weaken, ever so slightly, each day.

You let him put his arm around you in dark movie theaters instead of yanking it away. Let him stay for dinner with your parents when he comes over to help you study (because lord knows you need it). You stopped flinching when he called you ‘babe’ in private, sometimes responding without even questioning who he was speaking to. It was baby steps, but to Jake, it was everything.

Was it awkward? Yes. The way his glasses got in the way when he finally kissed you for the first time. Your noses bumped together. Too much tongue involved. It was a mess. Still life-changing, nevertheless. 

He replays the memory often. The two of you on your bed, him holding your plushie hostage, you trying to rip it out of his arms. The way you fell on top of him with your lips accidentally crashing on his. He pretended like the make-out session that occurred immediately after didn't absolutely ruin him.

Jake edged past the warmer parts of you when no one was around to bear witness. And you both were so good at keeping secrets. No one would have believed it anyway. You’d made sure of that.

–

“You two are very strange,” Jay commented, maybe a couple of months into your secret relationship. Every senior was gearing up for graduation, choosing which universities to attend or which path to take in life.

And of course, Jay and Sunghoon found out that Jake and you would both be attending the same university. Not just any school. A top one. Yonsei. 

Jake had earned a full-ride scholarship after finally getting off the damn bench and scoring four goals in a single match against the best high school team in the nation. Jake could've gone abroad to an Ivy League, but he chose not to. Because at Yonsei he could visit family more often, save a lot of money, and… well, keep you close, most of all.

And by the will of a higher being (Jake’s relentless tutoring), you somehow made it in as well.

“I thought you said you wanted to go straight into the workforce,” Jay questioned you. “Now you’re telling me you somehow, in some way, got into the same school as Jake? This fucking nerd?”

Sunghoon chimed in with a smile he always wore before teasing you. “I didn’t even think you could get into college, honestly.”

You wanted to hit him so bad, but you stopped yourself. Your resolution for the new school year was to turn over a new leaf. And that comes with not hitting annoying boys over the head with your fist. You could get arrested for that from now on... So instead, you used your words.

“You’re mad I got in, and you didn’t,” you snorted, sticking out your tongue as Jake snickered beside you. You sat close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder, but far enough apart to keep Jay and Sunghoon from noticing.

“You guys have no faith in her,” Jake sighed earnestly. “She’s really smart when she applies herself. She just needed a push, that's all.”

You glared at him, not sure if his comment was entirely a compliment. Yes, he played a role in your achievements. No, he could not credit himself for the hard work you put in to get that high-ass score on the college entrance exam. Even your teachers apologized for doubting you.

“Should’ve put those hours of tutoring her into me instead,” Jay groaned. “Now you’re gonna be all alone with no friends.”

Jake’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? S-she’s my friend.”

He stumbled over the words, clearly thrown off by the ominous comment. You watched him, amused. God, he was so obvious.

Sunghoon just looked between you two, doubt etched all over his face. “Barely,” he scoffed. “Trust me, bro, you are getting left behind as soon as she finds another victim willing to pay for all her food.”

You can start your resolution next week. This time, you really smacked him, sharp on his bicep. Sunghoon yelped.

“Why are you always so aggressive?” he whined, rubbing the sore spot with his arm. You raised your hand threateningly again, but you stopped yourself short. 

At the corner of your eye was Jake’s soured expression, a flash of worry obviously overcoming him. But you couldn’t comfort him. Not now. You wouldn’t hear the end of it from these two.

“You never know,” Jay chirped, faking thoughtfulness with a hand on his chin. “Jake might be too cool for us once school starts.”

Jay and Sunghoon exchanged a look and then burst into laughter.

“Ain’t gonna happen!” Sunghoon cackled, putting his whole gut into it. You joined in hesitantly, though your eyes kept drifting to your sullen boyfriend. And he wasn’t amused. Not at all.

Because he never found it funny, the idea of you leaving him behind.

–

“Do you think I’m weird?” Jake asked one evening, with you curled up beside him on your bed. Your knee draped over his stomach, his glasses pushed up just enough to rest comfortably against your pillow. On his late-night visits, your parents would come in to check if you two were truly studying as you claimed. After Jake gained their trust, they learned to leave the two of you alone (when they probably shouldn’t have).

Your eyes were shut tight to prepare yourself for an oncoming nap.

“Yes,” you said quickly, not even giving him time to process the response.

“Like… bad weird?” he asked after a second. He’d been thinking lately, after the conversation with his friends, how different the two of you really were.

How easy it was for you to stand up for yourself. Go against the grain. How you don’t automatically default to nods as he does or lose your train of thought mid-conversation. How you hated being touched by most people but would smack someone’s shoulder when you genuinely found something funny. 

He wanted that, wanted to see the world the way you saw it. To move around without hesitation. Even when people called you a troublemaker. Even when teachers scolded you for wearing your uniform skirt shorter than the dress code. How was confidence so natural for you?

“Bad weird,” you teased, eyes still closed. “But it’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”

A small ache tugged at his heart. “You still like me though, right?”

You laughed. Jake loved to do this sometimes. Bait for reassurance. But you’re not that kind of fish.

“Who said I ever did?”

You said it jokingly, but a silence followed. You don’t quite catch it as you drift to sleep, the way Jake’s eyes dimmed.

“Oh,” he said disappointingly, staring at the ceiling.

Sometimes, he wondered if the reason you wanted your relationship to be private in the first place was because of him. If his inability to relate to your friends with secret tattoos and chains on their jeans made you embarrassed to be his girlfriend. 

Because you got along well with his friends just fine, could tease Jay and Sunghoon like you’d known them your whole life. But it was so hard for him to do the same with yours. To look natural when he joined that one karaoke hangout, where they looked at him expectantly because you had bragged that he could sing well.

You said it so proudly too, and he wanted to prove himself to them. That he was worthy to be in their presence. And then his voice had to crack.

“Should we get your friend some water?” someone joked, and the whole group laughed. With his cheeks red with embarrassment, Jake sat back down next to you, silent for the rest of the night. It was lame of him. Even he knew that. 

But even as he watched you defend him with all your heart, he couldn’t find himself to cheer up. Because in your world, he had always felt out of place. 

–

And so Jake did what he’s known to do best. Research.

He avoided WikiHow tutorials on how to ask out a girl and headed straight to the most honest part of the internet: Reddit.

‘makeover tips for guys’

‘how to gain more confidence’

‘how to be attractive enough that your girlfriend isn’t ashamed of you (serious responses only pls)’

He frequented the self-help section of the school library, took notes on everything from fashion advice to fixing his posture. He practiced eye contact with himself through the mirror until they watered, joined Sunghoon in the gym, and copied his weirdly intense routine.

Jake kept this process all to himself, much like your relationship. He learned to be good at that. Keeping secrets.

He would reinvent himself for university. Become someone you’d be proud to show off because he didn’t want to feel like this anymore. Like he would fall behind. And knowing you… he wasn’t sure if you’d bother to look back and see if your loyal puppy was still there trailing behind you. 

–

present. 

So that’s how your relationship’s been going so far. While Jake was on this great journey to undergo metamorphosis, there were no real complaints on your side.

So why was it like this now? 

Waiting for your very late boyfriend, who was making you miss the first minutes of the university’s freshman orientation ceremony. You almost text him a paragraph about how, usually, you're the unpunctual one in the relationship, but a stranger approaches you.

“BOO!” 

You almost let out a scream when you notice who it is. Or who you think it is. Is it who you think it is?

Because instead of wild, unruly hair hiding his eyebrows and big black frames resting on his nose bridge, your boyfriend looked like someone else entirely. His hair was styled in a middle part, framing his handsome features perfectly. Instead of his usual oversized hoodie with holes on the sleeves masking his athletic body, he’s wearing a varsity jacket and a simple white shirt that clung way too well to his muscular frame. You could even see the faint outline of contact lenses in the whites of his eyes.

Your eyelashes flutter in confusion. You literally just saw him yesterday. When did he find the time to get a haircut and invest in a new closet?

Jake steps forward with a small, hopeful smile and holds out a box of egg tarts. Did it add to his already late ETA? Yes, but he always thinks about you and what you'd like to eat. Could you blame him for getting you a sweet treat?

But that wasn’t the part you were really focused on.

“Who are you and what did you do to Jake?” you ask, fists raised like a boxer. He chuckles nervously, bringing the pastry box back to his side.

“Do I look weird?” he asks quietly, shifting his feet. The vulnerability in his voice made you lower your hands instantly.

“So…” you start, eyes looking him up and down. “This is on purpose? Like, Sunghoon didn’t put you up to this? Or Jay?”

He pouts. His mom practically screamed, “So handsome!” when he showed her his new look over video call. So, why was your reaction like this? 

“I just thought… new school year, new me! No?” he says, puffing up with pride.

You shake your head, moving your hand on instinct to ruffle his freshly styled hair. But he catches your wrist before you can touch him. You pull away, heart squeezing a bit, knowing that he dodged one of your rare bouts of affection. Or whatever you call it.

“It took me forever to get my hair to look like this,” he mutters, looking away. “Don’t want my hard work to go to waste.”

You click your tongue, trudging past him. Since when did he care about what his hair looked like? This was the same guy who showed up to graduation with a T-shirt and sneakers and got confused when the teachers asked him to go back home and change.

“Whatever,” you sigh. “No more standing around. We have to go—”

“Still not wearing the ring?” he asks, catching up to you. He noticed it earlier when he caught your arm. 

When Jake gave it to you just a year before, he set no expectation for you to wear it. He really hadn’t… But it has been a year. Wasn’t it about time? He wears his everyday…

You suck in your teeth and glare at him. “Why would I?” 

He flinches. And you start to feel guilt bubbling in your chest as his steps start slowing next to you.

“It’s just…” he mumbles. “It’s not like we’re in high school anymore. No one’s even gonna notice. And no one’s gonna care if we’re dating.”

You roll your eyes. You care. You still had a reputation to uphold. Maybe not as a troublemaker anymore. But still. Something about wearing your boyfriend’s ring for everyone to see and question seemed like your own personal hell. Who would want to be the center of attention as a university freshman?

“It’s the principle,” you say, not really knowing what you mean by it either. Because you are wearing it. Just not on your finger. It hangs around your neck, hidden underneath your blouse. But Jake didn’t have to know that.

You would rather die than give anyone the satisfaction of knowing you were smitten with this man. Soft, but only for him. Your biggest weakness.

“So are we always just gonna be a secret?” he sighs. You turn to face him, but you keep it pushing. It’s too much to explain right now. Or ever.

“Come on,” you insist. “We need to get to the orientation.”

–

Indeed, it wasn’t high school anymore. Because everywhere you turn, Jake’s name is being brought up.

“The hot guy on the football team—”

“He set the curve on the first exam and proved Professor Kim wrong on the board—”

“I saw him help a grandma cross the street. Soooo dreamy—”

It was enough to almost make you pull your hair out of your head. This was Jake they were talking about! The guy who was too shy to ask for no pickles in his damn burgers, who used to let Sunghoon copy off his homework and then rewrote his own just to make sure the teachers wouldn’t catch on. This was your Jake.

You take a moment to breathe.

You sound crazy. Deranged, even. It shouldn’t even matter. Jake was always good-looking! People just never noticed or took the time to appreciate him outside of his ability to decode the most difficult of physics equations.

“A couple of guys from the team think I’d look good with a sweatband,” he says, showing you a photo during a late-night walk. He’s shoving his phone screen to your face, and you pout at the sight. His hair pushed back, forehead glistening. A perfect view of his beautiful, dark eyes. 

“Nah,” you say dismissively, trying to push down the fluttering in your heart. He tilts his head, staring at the photo once more.

“Really?” he mutters. “I thought it looked pretty good.”

“Do you really wanna look like Jay in junior year? He’s gonna tell you that you copied him.”

He gives a small sound of acknowledgement. You could tell he’s taking your comment seriously, like you said something truly eye-opening.

“You’re right,” he nods. “Then, how do you feel about a lip piercing?”

Your brows furrow at the thought of metal against his pouty lips. The way his teeth would tug on it. The effect he would have on all of his newfound admirers…

“Absolutely not!” 

Yeah, you were losing it.

–

No, really, you might actually be going insane.

It was hard enough for you to create genuine friendships at Yonsei, full of stuck-up rich kids who only managed to get in through elite cram schools and expensive tutors. But after a few polite conversations, their masks fell to show their true intentions. You know now that you are being used as a shortcut to get on Jake’s radar. 

Because why do people you’ve never met before suddenly feel comfortable enough to ask you to introduce them to him? Why do they request to follow you on Instagram only so they can find his account more easily? And what pisses you off most—the question they always ask, without fail: “Is he single?”

And you know there's a quick answer you can give. A very simple solution to your eye-twitching problem. Because every time someone high-fives him in the corridors or bats their eyelashes flirtatiously in his direction, you have the overwhelming urge to just pounce on him. To wrap your arms around his middle and never let him leave your sight. 

But you can’t. Your pride is too big, your ego too fragile to admit that someone actually managed to slip past the cold exteriors of your heart. So instead, you're waiting impatiently for him to reply to your text.

He's not at practice. He's supposed to be on his way. So where the hell was he?

jake: sorry! study group went for a lil bit longer than I thought. everyone kept asking me for help haha. omw!

And then he sends a photo. It's a group selfie, with him in the middle. Three girls on his right and another two on his left, surrounding him like a piece of meat.

you: dont bother coming. im sick.

With envy, maybe. But you're perfectly healthy.

jake: im sorry babe :( you feeling okay? want me to get you anything from the store?

you: Nah.

You almost scream. There's so much you want to say and admit, but your fingers won’t type any of it. You really don't deserve him. He's so nice, and you're so… Fuck.

Why is it so hard to admit to your own boyfriend that you miss him?!

jake: ok :( I love you!

Your stomach flips.

Haha… You needed professional help. Really.

–

Jake was better at football than the bench in high school ever suggested. Senior hierarchy was everything at Yonsei. A starter as a freshman was practically unheard of before Jake. How he managed to level up from being a designated benchwarmer to being on the field at all times felt like whiplash.

Did he just have this in him this whole time?

I mean, you guess he looked kind of cool out there, all sweaty and serious-looking. Shouting call-outs to his team mid-game. Your legs squirm at the sight. He really needs to put on his damn glasses. (Though knowing you, that might only make things worse.)

You sit there, wearing the university colors of white and blue, holding onto a sign that says “Go Team!”

You would have made something with his name on it, but the thought alone sends shivers down your spine. You could not bear to give the stupid boys beside you the ammo of watching you scream Jake’s name and go crazy over his goals. So instead, you silently watch and admire as he steals the ball yet again.

Jay and Sunghoon, decked out in the rival school’s signature red for no reason whatsoever (they don’t even attend that university either), stood on either side of you with a level of passion you’ve never seen from them before.

“GET HIS ASS!” Jay screams. “Play the mental game! When Player 15 cries, he calls his mom first—”

Player 15 would happen to be Jake.

“The guy with ‘Sim’ in the back of his jersey loves to sing Celine Dion in the shower—”

You groan as heads turn, not enjoying the various glares and snide remarks from your surrounding schoolmates. You still haven't made any substantial friends yet at university. Being associated with these bozos would only make it that much harder. This would be the last time you sneak them into the student section. 

“Can you two please sit down?” you mutter. “We’re ahead by like four goals. Psychological warfare is not enough for Jake to lose.”

Sunghoon drops back into his seat with a huff, cracking his neck.

“This won’t do,” he mutters. “Jake’s gonna surpass me in Instagram followers if he wins this.”

Jay chuckles on your left side, still standing and selfishly blocking the view of everyone behind him. “If he wins, you think he’ll invite us to their celebration party after?”

Your brows furrow. “What party?”

Jay finally sits down when the opposing team calls a time-out, one eyebrow raised at your confused expression. “Isn’t that like a thing every school does? First big game of the year, there’s bound to be something.”

Sunghoon nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s like common knowledge.”

You almost pout before catching yourself. Jake never mentioned anything about a party. 

So when the game ended and, of course, Yonsei won, the two boys could not help but ask. 

“So there’s a party, right?”

“And you’re taking us?”

Jake looks between the two of them, forehead glistening and hair damp with sweat.

“What party?” he asks, and you smile gingerly. That’s right! You weren’t crazy. He would’ve told you if there was—

“You have to go to the party, Jakey!” a voice chirps from behind you.

You recognize her. The team manager of the football team. Short hair and a cute button nose. Very pretty. Your eyes cut between Jake and her. Wait.

Jakey? Who the hell calls him that?

Jay and Sunghoon give each other some shifty glances and step aside, letting the girl join the conversation. You feel this weird inclination to move closer to Jake, but you suppress the urge. 

“Hm?” Jake finally replies, confused more than ever. “No one told me about a party.”

The girl giggles. What even was her name?

“Oh, Jakey! Since you’re a freshman, I’ll give you the rundown.” 

She scooches in between you two, pushing you slightly to the side. The boys don’t seem to notice, and you have half your sense not to shove the girl right back.

“Whenever we win,” she starts, “the whole school goes to En Bar nearby and takes it over! Free drinks and everything. You’re our star player, so you definitely can’t miss it. Your friends are invited too, of course.”

She looks between Jay and Sunghoon, not even sparing you a glance.

Jake scratches the nape of his neck. “Sorry, I’m actually feeling pretty tired—” 

“We’ll be there!” Jay and Sunghoon say instantly. You raise your eyebrow at them, and the two brush it off.

“We’ll make sure he comes,” Jay laughs, slapping Jake hard on the shoulder. Having gotten hit by the ball in that exact spot just an hour before, he winces.

“I’m not really—”

“Great!” the girl smiles, clapping her hands together. “I’ll see you all there then?” 

Of course, her back is fully turned towards you. Dumb and dumber nod in unison, and as the girl walks off, they push at each other excitedly.

“First college party,” they cry out in joy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You two are pathetic.”

Jake nods slowly in agreement. “Well… you guys have fun. I think I’m just gonna head back to my dorm and shower…”

“And get ready, right?” Sunghoon says dangerously, wagging a finger at him. “Because you are coming, right?”

Jake shivers under his friends’ threatening glares. But what really scares him is when his eyes find yours. You look pissed. Fuck. What did he do this time?

“I mean… I guess I could pop in…” Jake says reluctantly. He sneaks in another glance in your direction and sees that your frown grows even deeper. Was that the wrong thing to say?

“Babe?” Jake calls after you as you stride across campus, shivering in your t-shirt and mini skirt. “Why are you walking so fast?”

It’s dark now, save for the dim street lamps. You stop abruptly, and he almost bumps into you. When you turn, your jaw is already clenched.

“Am I crazy, or did that girl just completely ignore me?” you ask genuinely, voice at the seams of losing composure. Because what the fuck was her problem?

Jake laughs nervously. “Choa? I thought she seemed pretty friendly?”

Your expression sours. “Yeah, maybe a little too friendly,” you say under your breath. Jake catches it.

“Wait,” he says with a shit-eating grin, leaning in. “Babe… are you jealous? Hm?”

Your cheeks heat up, arms crossing like a toddler. “Fuck off.”

He laughs now, twisting you around and guiding you forward with an arm around your shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, babeeee…”

He notices how you don’t pull away from his touch, when normally you would hiss something like, “people are watching,” or something like that. Jake bites back an even bigger smile. You just let him hold you.

The walk to his dorm was peachy for him, save for the fact that his sweaty arm stank up your shirt.

You! Jealous. This has to be a dream. When you reach his room, shared with a sophomore named Heeseung who never seems to be around, you sit on Jake’s bed, still reeling from the earlier interaction.

“Am I overreacting?” you ask him, not at all bothered that he was taking his jersey off. You’re well past the stage of pretending his bare torso flusters you. “Like… did it not seem like she wanted you?”

Jake laughs, wiping his underarms with a nearby towel. “Me? Babe, no. That’s out of the question. She's like four years older than us—”

You roll your eyes. “So where the fuck did ‘Jakey’ come from?”

He shrugs, catching his reflection in the wall mirror hanging on his door. His muscles flex in a way that makes your eyes travel down his well-toned back…

You snap your gaze back to the wall. No. Focus. You’re supposed to be mad.

“New year, new nickname?” he offers, teasingly.

You throw a pillow at his head. Like the athlete he is, Jake dodges it. He turns to you, laughing, amused by how sulky and adorable you look on his bed. Brows furrowed in contemplation, tugging your legs close to your chest. Your plush thighs in your pretty little skirt that would have gotten you dress-coded back in high school with your knee-high socks and…

Fuck. 

“It’s not like I care,” you mumble, unconvincingly. 

Jake huffs out something that sounds like a chuckle, but his thoughts are elsewhere. His mind (and eyes) are on the edge of your skirt. He places a hand on your thigh and rubs it softly. To you, it felt like reassurance, and it was. But he was also incredibly horny.

“Babe,” his words drawl. “Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his for a split second before he plants a wet kiss on your cheek. “Hey—”

He chuckles as he plants another on your nose. Then your chin. And then your other cheek. And now you’re trying to push him away, but he holds your wrists to prevent you from stopping his incessant attacks. 

“Jake—You stink—Freak!” You try to say as his lips find yours, while he’s giggling up a storm. So cute. You're so fucking cute. 

His next kiss is deep, drawing out your breath sharply. Your back is on the bed now with Jake on top, his hands still wrapped around your wrists.

Jake’s lips move against yours, your eyes fluttering shut. His tongue prods and pushes in, his taste so sweet and heavy as you breathe in his weirdly intoxicating scent. Like fresh laundry doused in the salt of his sweat. You clench his biceps as he comes up from the kiss to catch some air.

He looks at you, face flushed and mouth parted. 

“I’m hard,” he blurts out, and you smack him on his naked chest.

“What do you want me to do about that?” you mutter as you start to feel him press against your stomach. “Don’t you have a party to go to?”

He shakes his head, burying his face in your hair. He lets out a groan, grinding onto you just to feel any part of you against his football shorts. You let out a squeak, clenching at his toned muscles harder.

“You’re not coming with?” he asks, and you can hear the shakiness in his breath. You smirk, wrapping your legs around him and shifting up so that his tent could meet your core. Jake fit between you so snugly.

His head lifts to meet yours, pupils already so dilated.

“Why would I?” you say through hooded eyes, and you could visibly see him gulp. It almost makes you laugh. But instead, you tease him, moving your hips up to graze his bulge. 

“I have time,” he groans quickly. “For this. Or whatever you want to do. Like I’m really down for any—”

You roll your eyes, gripping the back of his head to smash him back down to your lips. Your movements are messy, tongues clashing at a feverish pace. He’s still sore from earlier, but like hell he would let this opportunity go. Not when you looked this fucking good. And angry too. (For him, these things aren’t mutually exclusive...)

With trembling fingers, he lifts your shirt and almost moans at the sight of your bare skin. While he wants to thank you for saving him the trouble of not fiddling with a bra clasp, you pat yourself on the back for leaving your necklace at home.

Knowing how frisky Jake gets after the adrenaline of a good win runs through him, it was the right call. You don’t think you could handle Jake seeing you so jealous while having his ring resting on your chest. Yeah, you’d probably die right in front of him.

His hands grab your tits softly, massaging them between his fingers. Jake dips down, swallowing a nipple in his mouth as he watches you sigh out in pleasure.

He’s confident in one thing when it comes to you, and it was this right here. He could make your tough exterior melt just as long as you were under him. Or over him. He has no preference.

His tongue circles your bud, tugging with his teeth lightly. 

“Jake—” When he hears you squeak, his dick twitches with anticipation. So pliant now. What happened to that dominance earlier? He’d like to see it come back…

He moves on to the other breast, licking and massaging so it doesn't feel too neglected. Jake loves your tits, could be buried between them for the rest of his life if you let him. But now isn't the time! He has a very mean and very jealous, but also very hot, girlfriend to please. And maybe some party to make it to, who knows.

Jake pulls his shorts down roughly, just enough so that he can take his dick out. Already so big, the bulbous tip weeps with desire for you. He’s palming himself, relishing in how your eyes shut tight, lips parted open as his wet, pink muscle traces circles over your sensitive skin.

He’s nipping the top of your breasts now, careful not to leave marks in visible areas. Jake knows how you get about that sort of thing. 

His fingers drag your white, damp panties off your legs, but keeps your skirt on. And the knee-high socks for good measure. His hand meets your core, pushing down on your clit with a heavy pressure he knows you like.

You gasp, covering your eyes with your forearm. You’re so embarrassed. The noises you're making are unbecoming of you. All he does is laugh. Still so sensitive during sex after a whole year of dating. And he’s supposed to be the shy one.

His fingers drag slowly on your folds as he spreads your juices all over his digits. Jake might just cum in his pants with how soft your tits feel as he nestles his head in between them. 

He pushes two fingers in right away, and you draw out a sharp breath. You almost hit him on the shoulder. He has no idea how big his hands are. How sometimes you would eye them whenever he helps you with homework. Veiny, like his cock.

He’s moving his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, wet squelches echoing through the room. 

“Ngh—Mmm—” you groan, arching your back to meet his movements. Impatient. You’re always so impatient.

“JAKE!” you cry out, when he rubs over a certain spot.

He looks up at you from his comfortable position between the valley of your chest, and with a teasing glint in his eyes, he says, “You mean Jakey?”

And it’s not an exaggeration in the least to say that you start seeing red. You grab his wrist, the pads of your fingers digging into his flesh. He stops his movements, looking at you with those puppy-dog eyes like he did something wrong. And he did. Something very. Very. Wrong.

“Sorry, I just wanted to tease—”

You pull his fingers out of you. With one swift movement, you grab him by his shoulders and push him down onto the bed. You’re hovering over him now, eyes dark.

Jake swallows nervously. Why’d you have to look so hot when provoked?

“Did I ruin the vibe or…”

“Shut up,” you growl, crashing your lips onto his. He tries to hold your waist to offer support, but you hold his wrists down onto the sheets. He could probably push you off very easily. But he doesn’t. Because he loves seeing you like this. Loves the urgency in your touch.

You want him! And you’re showing it! His heart is practically doing backflips in his chest.

Your tongue explores the inside of Jake’s mouth, licking the roof of it in a way that has him seeing stars. You’re so rough with it. Sucking on his, biting his lip, moving so desperately against him.

“Babe—” he tries to say in between your assaults on his mouth. But it comes out in a breathless whisper when he feels you grinding your slick pussy against him.

“I said,” you say through gritted teeth. “Shut. Up.”

He almost moans when his leaking tip hits your clit. Just the contact alone has the back of his head hitting the pillow roughly. But he forces himself to watch as you move against him as he offers no assistance. Your grip on his wrists moves to the sheets as you focus on grinding against his dick. Swiveling yourself on him back and forth. Rubbing and rubbing. But it’s not enough. He needs to be inside. Needs to feel you right now.

Your breath is on his neck now, riling yourself up at his stunt. Jakey? What grown woman calls someone that? Choa and her nice ass bob... Fuck her!

“Ngh—” he lets out as you suction an erogenous zone on his neck, sucking and biting him like a vampire. Your tongue lapping at his skin to soothe him from the brutal assaults of your teeth. You close your eyes to relish in his taste. So salty from sweat, but still so sweet. But you’re distracted now as Jake breaks free from your hold. He grips your ass with one hand, the other guiding his pulsing member to your slippery entrance.

“Wha—” 

He’s looking at you with pleading eyes. “Can I, baby?” Jake begs, cheeks tinged pink. “Please?”

You bite back a smile. What a fucking loser.

You push down on him, just slightly, just enough for his bulbous tip to slip inside. His grip on your ass is now slack. He doesn't even want to fight back, really.

“Fuck—” Jake’s mouth parts open, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes when you come back up. No longer inside you, he groans.

“Whyyy,” he whines. “I said I’m sorry—”

He inhales a sharp breath when you engulf his tip again, tightening around him just a little harder. 

“Do you like being called Jakey?” you question darkly. “Like it when other girls feel up on you?”

He shakes his head desperately. “No—Only you—” he says through pained groans.

And then you lift again, laughing at his pathetic form. “I don’t believe you.”

He’s practically writhing underneath you now, his mushroom tip pulsing against your folds. Your skirt hides it all from view, and he just wishes he could rip it off you. Give you a new one, much, much shorter, so he can see everything better. 

But only if you let him.

“You’re literally torturing me,” he whimpers, hips jutting up messily. He keeps missing your entrance, the one he desperately needs to be buried in. “Need to feel you right now—”

“What’s it to me?” you ask meanly, your thumb prodding at his bottom lip. His tongue comes out to lick at the pad of your thumb, sucking it ever-so-slightly. You enjoy this view. Him underneath you. Pleading. Whining. Like he's starving. 

“I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” Jake offers through the haziness of his lust. Not entirely conscious of how desperate he sounds. “You can use me however you want. I’ll literally do anything. Just please—”

And then you sink, so slowly that his eyes roll to the back of his head. The devil. His girlfriend is the devil.

“Babe—” You shut him up with another open-mouthed kiss. Messy, just how he likes it.

He grips his hands into yours as you suckle his tongue, intertwining your fingers together. You try not to wince as you sheath him fully, realizing now that you were overconfident in taking control before he could properly prep you.

Usually, sex was an hours-long ordeal with Jake. He likes to finger you, then eat you out, then repeat, until he can slip into your slick warmth with little issue. Sex is the only time you don’t deny him the pleasure of seeing you flustered over him. Over what he could do for you. What he could provide you if you let him tell everyone in the world that he’s yours. 

Regardless, Jake will always be long and thick, and he still stretches you out so deliciously. Your mouths clash against each other, swallowing back both of your moans as saliva pools at the sides of his bruised lips.

Depraved. That’s all you could think of when Jake bottoms out inside you. He’s so sweaty now, the scent so musky that it drives you insane. Do other girls smell these pheromones when he’s around? Or is this just you and your hypersensitivity to everything that involves him?

You’re moving up and down now, with shallow thrusts that do little to satiate the flame in your stomach. You don’t do this enough—take control enough. Your knees are already weak, wobbling, as you grind down on him.

But you push through it as you continue to impale yourself on his cock, gummy walls clenching him tightly with each thrust. You want to get him off like this, even if your whole body is trembling above him. 

And it’s not like Jake doesn’t notice. But like the little shit he is, he doesn’t feel like helping. Because he enjoys the feeling too much, of your breasts bouncing filthily against his chest. When you lift yourself from his lips so that you can focus on riding him, he finds it so endearing. How you put your hands on his abdomen to steady yourself, how you fuck yourself on his length. How much you struggle to take all of him in. Not sure what to do with yourself.

‘My poor baby,’ Jake thinks, chuckling at how tight your eyes shut just to feel him better. 

“Need help?” he hums, his hand drawing circles on your hip. You shake your head, teeth gritted.

“N-no,” you try to muster out, but it’s unconvincing. Your movements are stuttering, moans slipping out of your mouth too easily. He smirks. His little pillow princess. 

Jake, with his grip on your hips, pulls you down onto his cock. Hard. You gasp as his hips snap up with it.

“Ah—” you cry out, your nails now digging into his shoulder blades. He pounds into a spot that had you almost come undone at that very moment. How did he get so good at this?

Jake lifts you, all the way until his pink tip is the only thing in your wet pussy. Then, as harshly as he could, he pushes you down on him, his thickness grazing at your deepest parts. And he does this again and again until you collapse onto his chest from the roughness of his thrusts.

“I’m gonna—Ngh—Fuck—You—” you try to say through your moans, try to sound angry. But you love it. Love how tight he grabs your bum. Love the slight stretch of pain as he stuffs you full of him. Love that trickle of spit that falls out of his mouth as his back lifts off the bed to feel you better. Ugh, you hate him.

“JAKE—”

“Shhh, baby, ” he whispers, forcing your face into the crook of his neck. “Just take it.”

Jake plunges up into you, propelling your hips down with his harsh grip. He lifts a heavy hand, smacking your ass from behind as you try to match his timing. You scream. He does it again, massaging the tender spot. The pain mixes with the pleasure, as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You feel your climax building now as your lips find his neck again, sucking and biting. Marking him. Let everyone know that he’s yours. That you own him.

“Babe…” he whines, too lost in the suctioning of your tightness to really care. Because he’s close too. So fucking close. 

Jake’s arms move up to your back, caging you into a bear-like embrace. His feet plant themselves on the bed, as his dick shoves into you with newfound energy. He’s going so fast, you could practically hear the speed. Feel it too. The wet squelches of his balls slapping against your ass. You move with him, trying to sync your rhythm to his.

“Mmm—Ahh—” your moans jumble into each other. Your legs are trembling, even more than they were before. A searing feeling within you continues to build and build. A single, full thrust from him has you biting into his neck brutally, stifling your moans as your orgasm crashes through you in waves. 

“Shit—” he cries out, from both the pain of your teeth and the pleasure of your cunt's constricting grip. You grind down on him, whimpering into his skin, back arched to ease yourself through the sensitivity.

Jake’s dick twitches in you once, then twice. He pushes you off of him and onto the bed, harsher than he intended. But he doesn’t have a condom on, and... he likes the way you look in white.

He hovers over you now, his painfully hard length in his hand. He’s stroking himself with urgency, fist wrapped around himself with a panicked grip. He’s watching you intently as you splay out underneath him. So fucking pretty for him. Lips bruised and bitten so sensually. Legs opened with your juices glistening on the inside of your thighs. Maybe he should stuff his cock into your—

“Fuck—” he groans, mouth parting at the sight of his thick ropes of cum spurting out of him, coating your stomach and tits. He strokes slowly, pumping all that he’s worth onto your body. You welcome it, eyes drinking in his flushed demeanor.

“I love you,” Jake mutters as he comes down from his high. And you don’t say anything back, distracted as your fingers coat themselves on the sticky fluids on your skin. Such a mess, both of you.

You hear it then. Intense vibrations on his nightstand. Jake’s phone, very much neglected, is blowing up with texts and calls. Was it going off like that the whole time? Then his eyes go wide like saucers.

“Shit! The party—” 

Your eyes narrow. Before he can pick it up, you grab the nape of his neck to pull him down into another sloppy kiss. Your legs wrap around Jake once more, smirking as you feel him melt into you with little resistance.

“What party?”

morning after.

“You’re a bitchhhh,” Sunghoon cries out, over a FaceTime call that Jake was forced to pick up at nine in the morning. You were already gone by then, running late to your morning lecture. 

Heeseung, thankfully, still hadn’t returned to the dorm. Or else you wouldn’t have been able to stay over and let Jake devour you a few more times, but that’s besides the point. He starts humming happily to himself with the memories of last night still fresh in his mind.

“They wouldn’t even let me into the bar because I was wearing the wrong colors,” his friend continues to complain.

“I get it, I get it,” Jake replies, only half-listening. He’s fixing his outfit in the mirror, admiring how well a polo shirt fits him. It’s weird. He’s getting used to not looking like a dweeb all the time, just a few weeks into his big transformation, even with his glasses on right now.

“Yo, do you think these pants look better with a belt or nah?” he asks, not really sparing Sunghoon a glance. He adjusts his shirt’s collar slightly until—

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

Jake jumps, phone nearly dropping from the desk he sat it on.

“WHAT IS THAT?!”

“What? What?!” Jake snaps his head to look behind himself, like Sunghoon might have seen a ghost.

“Did you get eaten by a fucking lion?!” Sunghoon gawks. Jake’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red.

Damn, he forgot.

“W-what are you talking about?” he mutters unconvincingly, slowly coming out of frame. He strips the polo off in a panic, digging through his closet until he finds a turtleneck. It’s autumn anyway. This is fine, right?

“Our friendship is done,” Sunghoon deadpans at the camera. “You got fucking laid and didn’t tell me?! I mean, I understand Jay, he’d make it weird. BUT NOT EVEN ME?!”

Jake shakes his head, tugging the turtleneck on. He tries to roll up his sleeves to look more casual, but now he looks like Steve Jobs. Shit. He should put his contacts on.

“So who is it?!” Sunghoon presses. “Who’s the unlucky girl?” 

 When Jake doesn’t reply, Sunghoon gasps.

“Unlucky guy?!”

“Man, shut up!” Jake cries, snatching his phone off the desk and coming back into frame. “Please don’t tell Jay.”

–

“Okay, so he told Jay,” he blurts, shielding himself with his arm like you’re about to hit him. “Please don’t get mad at me.”

You almost asked why he was wearing a turtleneck in relatively warm weather when he tugged the collar down to show his neck. Absolutely purple and bruised. And yes. Maybe a dark, suppressed part of you jumped with glee. But the more rational part started cursing yourself out.

“I can’t believe you’d video call him the morning after,” you groan, massaging your temple with your fingers. “Ugh, I’m so stupid. What was I even thinking?!”

Jake gives you a sly smile. “I mean, I’m not complaining—”

You shoot him another icy stare, and he stops. 

“W-well, it’s not like they know that it’s you! They probably think it’s someone else…”

You inhale a sharp breath at the thought. Was he gonna tell them the hickeys on his neck were from someone else? Who? Choa?

“Whatever,” you mutter, whipping around as your bag purposely smacked his bicep. You walk off, fists clenched, ignoring Jake’s calls out to you. 

Fucking Choa.

–

A full week has passed since the disaster that was Sunghoon seeing Jake’s bruised neck. Your boyfriend only felt safe enough to see the two idiots once the marks faded, and even then, he was a little disappointed to wake up and see them all gone. 

“So run it through with me again,” Jay requests, leaning over the boiling hot pot broth. The boys sit in a dimly lit restaurant with a stage in the back. 

“Like, you were just walking back to your dorm and boom—you found a rando to hook up with out of nowhere?!” Jay questions, dropping tofu into the soup so aggressively that it splashes Jake’s wrist.

“Why are you making up fantasies in your head about my sex life?” Jake mutters, pushing his glasses up his face. He was too lazy to put his contacts on just to hang out with these two. “I plead the fifth.”

“Bro, I thought you were a virgin this whole time!” Sunghoon adds unhelpfully. “Excuse us for trying to be supportive.”

Jake rolls his eyes, struggling to grab an udon noodle with his chopsticks.

“Wait,” Jay says through the hot pot steam. “Weren’t you walking with [Y/N] that night?”

Jake gulps, throat bobbing as he fiddles with the noodle more to avoid suspicion.

“Right!” Sunghoon snaps his fingers, and for a second, Jake’s life flashes before his eyes. They know. They have to! Fuck, you’re gonna be so mad at him—

“Why don’t we just ask her who it was?”

Jake stares at them and breaks out into a nervous laugh. Never in his life was he happier to have a more idiotic set of childhood friends.

“Please do,” Jake smiles, wondering how you would weasel out of that conversation with them. “She knows her very well…”

A piercing sound of microphone feedback ricochets through the restaurant. The three cover their ears as everyone’s attention turns to the neglected stage.

“Who wants to sing?! It's open mic night!” the restaurant owner booms. When a deafening silence fills the air, Jay lifts Jake’s hand straight into the air without hesitation.

“This guy loves Celine Dion!” he cries out as Jake tries to yank his arm back down. He curses at his friend, but to no avail.

“Okay!” the owner shouts excitedly. “Come on right up, sir!” 

Jay and Sunghoon practically drag Jake up the stage, laughing themselves all the way back to their seats in the far back of the restaurant. Jake stands frozen as dozens of strangers stare at him, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He takes off his glasses, shoving them in his pocket, and brushes his hair back. He couldn't bear to look at all these blank faces staring at him. Confidence. This is all about confidence.

When ‘My Heart Will Go On' starts echoing through the restaurant walls, Jake’s face flushes all the way red. This is exposure therapy; he tries to cope with himself. If he could do this, he could probably build up the courage to ask you about going public. So that his friends stop thinking he’s a loser. Maybe for you to stop thinking it, too.

He sucks in a deep breath. What’s the difference between this and a showerhead? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!

“Every night in my dreams, I see youuuu… I feel youuu…” he starts slowly, welcomed with a soft gasp from an audience member. Jay and Sunghoon’s laughter dies as Jake sings. Shit. He was actually doing it. And he sounded good, too. Like an angel. Was Jay crying?

Jake loses himself in the slow melody of the song, singing his heart out as he does in every postgame shower. ‘This one’s for you, babe,’ he thinks. Wherever you are… 

When the song ends and Jake’s eyes open, he’s met with a standing ovation. At a damn hot pot restaurant. Jay and Sunghoon are cheering the loudest, holding their hearts like their once-nerdy best friend was their child at a talent show. The owner comes up to the stage, sniffling.

“Give it up for this random kid!”

As Jake makes his way back to the table, he holds his head up high. He couldn’t have imagined doing this a year before, let alone ordering food at a kiosk without stuttering. It’s like taking off his glasses gave him super powers.

“Excuse me—” Jake turns around. A girl with long flowing hair stops him. 

“Are you Jake Sim? The freshman on the football team?” she asks, eyes bright. He nods. Does he know her?

“I’m Suji from the Dance department.” She bows slightly. “Your performance was incredible, by the way!” 

He nods, giving a small “thanks,” before he turns back around.

“Actually!” She calls after him. He stops again. “I just wanted to ask if you were interested in auditioning to be the male lead of our upcoming musical! It’s about a football player who finds passion in singing and dancing. I just thought it would fit you so well!”

Jake turns back to face the stranger. He ponders deeply. A musical? Him? He’d never thought about it before, but what the hell! He guesses he’s the type to try new things now. The power of a good haircut, maybe.

“I’ll think about it,” he says with a polite smile. 

Suji grins back. “Auditions start tomorrow. We’d love to have you.”

By the time Jake finds his way back to his seat, his friends are already geeking.

“You pulled another?!” Jay cries in anguish, biting his fist. “I should have gone up there. That should have been me! Damn it!”

“It’s not fair,” Sunghoon wails, leaning his head dramatically against the wall. “You had no play in high school. Like absolutely zero bitches—”

Jake snorts, scrounging for his glasses once more to slip them back on. “She was just asking me to audition for some musical.”

“I’m sure she was,” Jay says with a smirk. “I’m sure she’s staring straight at your back right now because she wants you in that musical soooo bad.”

Jake shifts in his chair uncomfortably, and sure enough, Suji is watching him. She shoots up her arm to wave. He looks back at his friends with a confused glance.

“Maybe they’re desperate?”

Sunghoon groans. “I’m gonna call [Y/N]. Let’s get her expertise on this.”

“Don’t!” Jake lunges, trying to grab Sunghoon’s phone as he takes it out of his pocket. But then flashes from last night start playing in his head. You above him. Riding him. Gripping his shoulders. Your lips on his neck, marking him until he whined and begged. All at the mere mention of Choa’s weird pet name for him. Jake clears his throat and sits back, not even trying to hide the shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“...Yeah,” he says more casually. “Ask her.”

–

ma baby: Come over. Now.

Jake receives your text after Sunghoon’s impromptu call, bringing his hands together in a prayer position to the sky. Thank you to whatever higher being was watching over him.

When he reaches your residence hall, you’re waiting outside your door in pajamas, foot tapping impatiently against the carpet. You start glaring at his silhouette even before he comes into view. 

“So,” you start slowly, “you just let anyone talk to you these days?”

Jake’s already giddy. Yes… Be angry with him… Let him in your dorm room and reprimand him, while you’re at it…

“Babeeee,” he teases, his arms already reaching for yours. You dodge him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you reply flatly. “I’m just wondering when you started serenading restaurants and accepting invitations from random girls?”

“Just thought I could finally get some appreciation for my many talents,” he says teasingly, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you saying I don’t appreciate you?” you ask, not at all amused by his playful gaze. “I tell you all the time that you’re smart!”

He chuckles. “Everyone and your mom knows that by now, babe.”

You narrow your eyes. ‘He’s learning how to fight back,’ you think sourly. 

“So you enjoyed that girl's appreciation, then?” you counter, knowing that you were riling yourself up by asking such a loaded question. Jake bites his lip to stifle a smile. There it is. 

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, pushing his glasses up. “I think I might actually consider auditioning!”

And this part is genuine. He’s always enjoyed singing. It could be a cool new experience, especially since he shied away from doing theater back in high school. Maybe now was his moment to shine... But when he notices how your expression darkens, he’s suddenly excited to audition for the musical for a whole different reason.

You look around the hallway, checking to see if anyone's coming by. Then you pull him by the collar and into your dorm room. The door shuts behind you two as you push him to sit on the bed. Jake looks up, eyes bright with pure anticipation as you climb onto his lap.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks, feigning ignorance. And you fall for it. Because your cute, nerdy boyfriend couldn’t possibly have ulterior motives… Right?

“You have class tomorrow?” you ask as you adjust yourself on him, legs encasing both sides of his thighs. His hands find your hips, pulling you closer.

“It depends,” he says, knowing full well he has an 8 a.m. physics lab. “Is your roommate coming back anytime soon?”

Oh yeah. Her. 

“Not tonight,” you mutter, already peppering his neck with small kisses. “She’s visiting her parents.”

Jake smirks, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as the wheels are already turning in his head. He fakes a cough.

“You know… I think the musical is actually a romantic comedy.”

You’re on your knees, carpet harshly grazing your skin. 

“Fuck,” Jake groans, head thrown back as his hand clutches your hair. He’s pushing you down onto his cock, relishing in the way your cheeks hollow around him. How you take his whole length into your mouth without your usual snappy commentary. Look at you. Underneath him. So eager to please, but so in need of control. He bites his bottom lip at the view. It's addictive.

“Just like that,” Jake encourages, stroking your cheek so lovingly. Your tongue licks the underside of his thickness, careful not to have your teeth graze his sensitive skin. He’s so flushed above you, a darkness blooming in your heart. The sight of his glasses pushed so low on his nose bridge. So focused, so desperate for release.

‘My Jake,’ you think to yourself. ‘All mine.’

You bob your head up and down, your mouth plunging down to the base of his member with the help of his tight grasp on your hair.

“Y-yes,” he sighs, his hips coming up to meet your lips. Jake’s gaze never leaves yours, unable to tear his eyes from the tears forming in your eyes from just how much he fills you up. You always had something to say. Always rolling your eyes at him. Now, your eyes were rolling back for a different reason.

His mouth falls open. “F-fuck—” 

You smirk as his hips start to lose rhythm. You remember the first time you gave him head. Just like this, knees on the floor of his room back home, with his parents watching TV downstairs. Glasses perched and foggy. He came within seconds. You were proud, just a little, that he was able to last this long now.

“B-babe?” he tries to cry out. “I’m close—”

You pull away from him with a pop of your lips, teasing the slit of his tip with the flat of your tongue. He groans in frustration, but his hands don’t push you down to take him in again.

“Already?” you say, eyes batting up at him. “Why should I give you the satisfaction?” 

He whines, his grip on your hair tightening just a little. 

“Please?” he asks, not really sure what you want from him. It’s not like he asked you to just fuck him with your mouth! That was all your doing. Okay, yes, maybe he did provoke you. But did that mean he didn’t deserve to orgasm?!

You’re pumping him slowly with your right hand, gripping tightly and stroking enough so that he’s still edging close to his climax. But not close enough to actually reach it.

“I thought I was supposed to be showing you appreciation,” you say pointedly. “Take my time with you and all that.”

He shakes his head ferociously, his hips snapping up into your fist. 

“Babe—Please—I’m so—” he groans when he feels you slow your pace again. 

“So what?” you ask, feigning naivety. You really are the devil.

He shakes his head. He can’t speak. Can’t even think. Just frustrated with how your lips aren’t wrapped around his fucking dick anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’ll do anything, baby. Please—Just stop teasing—Please—”

His sobs are music to your ears. Your wrist’s pace on him quickens, as your mouth engulfs his swollen tip. Your tongue circles the head, pumping him up and down with all your strength and might. Jake’s hands are clutching the sheets, hips pistoning up into your sticky fingers. He feels his load threatening to spill over. 

“Fuck—Yes, baby—There—” He pulls your head back, hand encasing yours, pumping ferociously with you. Your mouth is wide open, tongue sticking out, eyes looking directly up at his. An invitation.

Spurts of his hot, white release coat your pink tongue. He unloads everything within him all over your features. Your cheeks. Your chin. Your cute ass nose. All covered in his milky cum. His mouth parts at the sight. So pretty. His girlfriend is so fucking pretty.

“I love you,” he whispers, as he wipes dribbles of his liquid off your chin with his thumb. “I love you so fucking much…”

You hum back in approval as he lifts you back up and onto his lap. Your face, still stained with his orgasm, comes up to kiss him. He grimaces slightly. You taste infinitely better than he does. He’s almost thankful you part ways with his lips so that you could pepper kisses down his neck.

And when you start sucking and nipping in the same way you did that game night, he smiles. His arms wrap around your waist as you suction his pulse point.

‘I could get used to this,’ Jake thinks.

The audition the next day went surprisingly easily. He truly was the only one trying out for the main role, while Suji was already pre-selected to play the female lead. Jake thinks it’s a bit unfair. What if other people wanted to audition too? But whatever. At least he got the part.

He finds you in between your lectures, holding out a boba for you in his hand. Jake’s not wearing a turtleneck this time, proudly wearing the battle scars of your teeth on his neck. No one’s brave enough to bring it up to him yet, to his dismay. Except you, who promptly smacks him in the arm for his shamelessness. 

“You look like a pervert,” you grumble, still taking the drink from him.

He chuckles at your cute expression. You say that like it wasn’t your intention to have him show the bites off. To show that he is very much occupied with someone else. Not Choa. Or whoever this other girl was.

“I was wearing my jacket the whole day,” he reassures. “Just took it off when I came to see you.”

He flexes slightly. “You think I’ve bulked recently?”

You roll your eyes and ignore his obvious fish for compliments. “So how’d it go? The audition?”

He smiles. “You’re looking at the male lead of Singing Striker,” he says proudly, hand to chest. “And before you ask, the name was not my choice.”

You scoff at the cheesiness. “Congrats,” you say through small sips of your gifted drink. “Break a leg.”

“Babe… when you say it like that, I feel like you mean it the other way.”

You shake your head, speaking robotically. “So who’s the female lead? It’s a romcom, you said?”

“The girl,” he starts, snapping his fingers like he doesn’t already know who she is. “Suji. From the restaurant. The one who recruited me.”

Your eyes morph into a squint, like you’re glaring at him. 

“...Interesting,” you say, willing yourself not to overreact. So Jake is hot now (always was). Girls just love to approach him with invitations to stuff. And he gets to act in a musical with someone that Jay described as “the baddest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.” Great! You love that, actually.

You bite down hard on the boba straw. “You know what… Are they casting for extras?"

And it's like a bad habit now. How you nip and scar his neck like you’re feeding off him every time a girl even so much looks in his direction. It’s easier than saying you’re jealous, easier than admitting that you have a sick sort of need to control who Jake interacts with.

You almost bent a metal spoon in the cafeteria when a girl asked for his number while you were sitting right in front of him. Granted, you did denounce being in a relationship with him pretty heavily the first few weeks at school. You knew she had every right to shoot her shot, but that didn't stop you from taking Jake right into a janitorial closet and making you eat him out as an apology.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans into the space between your thighs as your hands push him deeper into your wetness. “I've never even seen that girl in my life—”

You grit your teeth, angry that he even mentioned her.  “Did I ask?” you growl through sharp breaths. “Just shut up.”

He smiles against your clit, sucking harshly to elicit more of your beautiful noises. He hums into you. Happy that you're mad at him. Happy that he gets to do dirty things with you without having to practically be on his knees and begging. Well, really, he already was.

His tongue laps at your folds, thrusting in and out to prolong his stay in between your thighs. Maybe he is teasing, but really, he’s just taking it all in. Your addictive noises. Your sweet taste. The feeling of his fingers digging into your ass just to hold you up. The way you clench around his tongue when he arches it inside, real deep. Yeah, he needs you bad.

Jake is lapping at you, your legs constricting around him even tighter when he finds his way back to your clit. When he tugs on it with his teeth, you jolt.

“Jake—” He does not care. He nips again, flattening his tongue to soothe the slight pinch. You arch your back into him, riding his face until you stop yourself. You look desperate. Pathetic even. But Jake groans.

“Keep going,” he huffs. “Use me, babe. Use me like I’m your fucking toy.”

You tsk, wondering where he learned to talk like that. 

“Fucking pervert,” you mutter through harsh breaths. But your grip on him does tighten, and he whimpers at the feeling of you tugging on his locks.

“You like it when I'm like this, don't you?” You grit your teeth, pushing him in further. His nose is practically buried into your clit as he fucks his pink muscle into you at a merciless pace.

“Like when you get attention. Like when everyone fucking wants you.”

You're seething, practically riling yourself up. He tries to speak, but you clench around his tongue, trapping his voice. He hums into your folds instead, licking the roof of your warm hole as he finds the exact spot he's been searching for. You mewl.

“Fuck! T-there!”

You're grinding onto his face now, smothering him with your scent. Yes, he thinks to himself, please suffocate him. Tremors go through your body as you feel something intense build in the lower pit of your stomach. So close. So fucking close.

Jake’s grip on your ass loosens as he lets you do all the work. Your legs over his shoulder pump furiously into his face. Like, Jake is just a mere vessel for your climax. And he wouldn't have it any other way. He doesn't even nurse his own hard-on, one that's painfully stretching his jeans. 

You're fucking his tongue, whining with each thrust, eyes starting to roll back, fingers almost pulling Jake’s hair from his scalp. Your hips stutter and then—

“Fuuuck…” Your orgasm pulses through you in ways that have you screaming silently. Your legs are trembling as his mouth vibrates with his hums against your core. Jake’s lapping up all your juices with an urgency.

Everything. He wants to taste everything. When you gently push him off from the oversensitivity, he resists at first. He holds you in place until he gets his fill, until tears are threatening to spill over. But your legs finally find the ground as he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, out of breath. 

‘Whore’ you want to say out loud, but you know that would only make him hornier. He’s weirdly into stuff like that. But you smile as you comb through his hair. He doesn’t have complaints about you messing it all up as long as you’re fucking him, huh?

Jake, still on his knees, looks up at you with a lick of his lips, savoring the remaining taste of you on it. You wish he could see how he looked. Flushed. Damp. Yours. You almost lift him up to kiss him when—Ding.

The loving gaze you two share is cut off by the sound of his phone. He finally gets up from his knees, checking the notification.

“Oh shit,” he mutters. “Suji says I missed the costume fitting. I think I need to head out soon—”

You smash your lips against his, interrupting his train of thought. You moan at the taste of yourself on his devious tongue. Jake smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. Maybe you could add a few more hickeys to his collection before he heads out... Just for good measure.

jake: let’s go to jay’s together?

For one of your weekly hangouts. The nights you try to avoid because they always end with you ignoring the pile of assignments you’ve already been putting off. 

you: sure. wya rn?

You smack your forehead the second you realize how quickly you sent that text. You swear you weren’t waiting. It wasn’t like you were staring at the last message he sent five hours ago, ruminating over whether it was appropriate to tell him how much you missed him.

jake: meet me by the bleachers :D practice is ending soon.

The speed at which you change outfits is impressive, already heading to the damn field before you realize it. He’s there, dribbling with a couple of his teammates. You sit at the top of the stands, a bit out of his sight. He catches a glimpse of you anyway and waves. You shoot him a simple smile of acknowledgement that dampens almost immediately.

Because you also see Choa, handing him a water bottle. When Jake reaches for it, trying to avoid brushing her hand, she purposefully finds his fingers anyway. It’s enough for your stomach to sink.

Even though he’s just smiling politely. Even when it looks like their conversation lasts for two seconds. It doesn’t feel any less bad. Choa notices you staring, and she scoffs. “This is a closed practice—”

“She’s with me,” Jake corrects her immediately. “I told her to come. That’s okay, right?”

You lift an eyebrow, challenging her. Jake said it the nice way. If she had to hear you speak, you would have probably been escorted off the field by now. She coughs awkwardly and nods, instantly folding under Jake’s attention. Your boyfriend, by the way.

“O-of course,” she stammers. “Just make sure she doesn’t see the playbook.”

The guys continue playing, and you move down a few rows, keeping Choa in your line of sight. It’s like she feels the daggers you send her way because she whips around to glare at you.

“It’s kind of pathetic,” she starts. “How you cling onto him.” You squint at her, not sure if you heard her correctly. You turn around, too, to check if she really had the audacity to speak to a stranger like you in that way.

“You talking to me?” you ask, pointing at yourself mockingly. She clicks her tongue.

“Who else?” she bites back. “Do you even have a name, or do you usually just go by Jake’s guard dog?”

Your cheeks burn in anger. Oh, if you were in high school… She’d have been on the ground by now, makeup stained with turf and pebbles. But unfortunately, you’re trying to stick to your resolution. A reformed delinquent girl at a prestigious university—

“You mute too?” Choa adds in for good measure. You stand, and it’s like Jake’s Spidey senses tingle because he stops to watch, monitoring if he needs to step in.

“You know,” you say, voice cool and devoid of emotion, “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who has to talk like a baby to get a man’s attention.”

She snarls. “Excuse me?”

“Jake’s not gonna let you hit,” you mock, scanning her up and down with a disgusted face. You only say the next part just to piss her off. “You’re not really his type.”

“And you are?” She steps in closer. “You’re stuck in the fucking friendzone, acting like hot shit—”

Oh, if only she knew. The truth is sitting on your tongue, burning, begging to be spoken just so you can wipe that stupid smirk off her face. But you’re not that angry yet. Not enough to expose yourself.

“You seem like such a loser,” she continues, voice laced with malice. “Everyone already thinks you look like some stray puppy following Jake everywhere he goes. Don’t you have a life of your own? Any hobbies? Isn’t it sad showing up where you’re not wanted?”

Ouch. Jake was your puppy. He follows you around everywhere. 

She digs right into that ugly little fear in the back of your mind. That you look as pitiful as you feel. That you truly were just biding your time in this dumb university until Jake showers you with attention. Is this what a relationship’s supposed to feel like? Like you’re waiting for him, all the damn time?

You inhale a deep breath. You’re better than this. Better than catfights over someone that’s already yours. A man who sleeps on your chest almost every night... But you’re not above being petty.

“And did he tell you all that,” you ask with fake sweetness, “or are your delusions that Jake’s gonna fuck you starting to get to your brain?”

She opens her mouth, but you cut her off. “I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you,” you continue, sarcasm dripping in your voice. “Make sure Jakey knows exactly the kind of girl you are.”

Choa bites the inside of her cheek. “Not like I said anything wrong.”

“Oh, right.” You pitch your voice up to that grating baby tone she uses with Jake. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate you calling me a ‘fucking loser,’ since you care so much about what he thinks.”

You could laugh at her suddenly hunched shoulders, but you just drop back down onto your seat, fake scrolling through your phone. “Don’t you have a team to manage?”

Choa whips her bob around, stomping back toward the group and desperately hoping that no one heard. But Jake is already staring. He doesn’t look mad. Just resigned. 

“Choa?” he calls out, voice low and almost inaudible. He’s not smiling like usual.

“Yes?” she answers immediately, with that lilted tone that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You don’t hear the conversation that takes place, so curious as to why Choa’s expression suddenly drops.

“Don’t ever talk to her like that again,” he says, and the entire team stiffens around them. 

“And next time,” he adds, walking past her, “Just mind your fucking business.”

–

You never, in all your years of living, thought you’d be sitting in an auditorium seat watching your boyfriend act like he was in love with another girl on stage. But here you are, leg bouncing and forearms itching from the irritation bubbling in your chest.

“But don't you get it?!” Jake rehearses, script in hand. His hands flail in fake exasperation. You cover your mouth to hide the wince forming on your lips. “How can I choose between the stage and football?!”

“You don't have to choose,” Suji steps in, acting much better than Jake, at least. “You can do both.”

Jake sighs, throwing his hands up in the air. He's facing her now.

She's pretty, you think. Really pretty. Probably one of the most gorgeous girls you've ever seen in your life. And Jake is staring right into her eyes. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks the same. You grit your teeth at the thought.

“But what would people think of me?” he sighs. Suji shakes her head, moving closer. Your brows knit. That's not part of the script.

“Who cares what other people think?” she says softly, resting her hand on his chest. Your expression darkens immediately. “If it feels like you're alone… Then I can be there to support you.”

Maybe Jake's character should care what other people think, especially if he’s gonna prioritize singing on stage with some pretty girl over his football career—

You slap your own cheek lightly. Relax.

“Cut,” the musical director calls out. “Great job, you two! After this is the dance scene. We can rehearse that tomorrow. I think that's all for the day.”

When the actors and stage crew finally funnel out, you watch Jake stay behind, chatting with his costars onstage. So radiant, smiling at them with his toothy grin and cracking jokes as he says goodbye. He never used to be like that. Used to be so painfully shy that Jay had to accept his academic awards for him in high school.

And yeah, you feel like shit when he's standing there, surrounded by people who have stars in their eyes when he talks, while you're grumpily waiting in a faraway seat with no real excuse to interrupt. You're just part of the stage crew, after all. Just one of the invisible people who move props in between scenes while Jake and Suji’s characters fall deeply in love with each other. Yuck.

But you’re not gonna do the usual thing of dragging him to the nearest secluded area and fucking his brains out. No—you’re better than that. You’re not a loser! You’d let this pass.

“Bye, I’ll catch up with you guys soon! My friend’s waiting for me.”

The word ‘friend’ digs deep into your heart. But that’s your own fault.

Jake walks toward you, and the quick smile he throws your way is cut short the moment he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He stops in front of you, forehead still glistening from the stage lights, eyes glued to the screen even as he talks.

“I have practice in like thirty minutes,” he sighs, scrolling through his calendar. “And then the crew wants to have, like, a group dinner later tonight.”

He cranes his neck to release some tension, finally looking up at you. “Damn. My character is lowkey right. It really is hard balancing the two.”

You roll your eyes and stand up. “The crew? Like Jay and Sunghoon?”

He shakes his head as he walks beside you, still a bit occupied with his phone. He's sending text messages to some massive group chat, text bubble after text bubble popping up.

“The main acting crew,” he says, emphasizing the second word. “I think they wanna run the lines at En Bar and get a couple of drinks.”

You almost stop in your tracks, but you force yourself to continue walking with him, arms crossed. Good for him, you think. And you mean it. He's adjusted so well to university life, while yours feels like it revolves around him.

What's Jake up to? Is his practice done? Who's he talking to? Is it Choa? Is it Suji? Is it every girl that makes eye contact with your newly socially adept boyfriend, who just so happens to have the most gorgeous face known to mankind?

You want to punch yourself real bad.

“Do you wanna come?” he asks when he notices you've fallen silent. He thinks it's cute when you're jealous. Sulking and pouty—when it’s obvious why you’re upset. Not when you're quiet. Not when you're creating distance between you two as he walks beside you.

“I can ask them if we can reserve more chairs—”

“It's fine!” you interrupt, but even you don’t convince yourself. “I have work to catch up on anyway.”

His lips part as if recalling something important, something he promised you. 

“I'm so sorry, babe!” he gasps. “I totally forgot that you needed help studying for your exam tomorrow!”

You shrug your shoulders. You’re a cool girlfriend. Super chill. Not crazy at all.

“No, it's okay,” you say, chain necklace feeling heavy on your chest. “I'll just go to the tutoring center. You're busy, I get it.”

His eyes are still laced with concern. You sound so disconnected, so not yourself. Did he do something wrong?

“I can come over tomorrow?” he suggests, but it almost comes out as a plea. “We can watch the new movie you wanted—”

“My roommate’s gonna be home.”

“Okay…” he says, voice fading. “What about my dorm?”

You shake your head.  “I'm not really up for a movie, I guess.” 

Jake’s expression sours. It feels like you’re shoving sheets of metal down his throat. He can take you angry. Can handle you screaming, kicking, crying, and calling him names. He can’t take whatever this is.

“I can just cancel,” he says quickly. “I’ll come over tonight!”

And Choa’s voice resounds in your ear.

“You seem like a fucking loser.”

You bite your bottom lip and stare at his wavering gaze. You wonder if he pities you. 

Has he noticed? How quickly you reply to his texts? How often you show up to his extracurricular activities? How you can’t seem to admit that you’re hurting, even when he’s right here in front of you? God, you hate this feeling.

“It’s okay,” you say, and it’s small like a whisper. “Need some alone time anyway.”

“Alright,” he breathes, relenting to whatever boundary you’ve set with him. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, but when you flinch, he retracts his hand instantly.

“I love you?” he tests.

You give him a small smile and nod, pushing past him. He moves like he wants to catch your hand and stop you. But as always, he lets you walk just a little too out of his reach.

Because you still don’t say it back.

–

So this is what it feels like to twiddle your thumbs and try not to scream as Jake misses yet another hangout... He’s busy with his daily practices and rehearsals. You get that. But it’s still physically torturous to sit through Jay and Sunghoon stoking the fires of your insecurities.

“He’s gotta be seeing someone,” Sunghoon sighs, reclining into the beanbag in Jay’s apartment. “Dude just abandons his friends without any pussy involved? There’s no way.”

You smash a throw pillow from the couch and into his face, and Jay throws another one for good measure.

“Why do you always think with your dick?” Jay mutters. “Just let Jake be. This is his moment. Not like he had much to work with in high school.”

Sunghoon sighs. “Yeah,” he mumbles, almost apologetic. “He was pretty lame back then.”

You never thought so. Maybe you joked about it, but you never really meant it. He was kind. A little shy. So eager to please and follow you around. And now that the roles were reversed, you weren’t sure how to feel anymore. Fuck. Why couldn’t you just be happy for him?

He has this amazing life outside of you now. Cool friends (not Jay and Sunghoon). Great prospects for the future. It’s like a bird leaving the nest. Your carefully cultivated nest.

You felt like a cloud raining over his head when you’re around him now. After Choa, you started to notice the whispers around campus a little more. How people avoid him when you’re around because you can’t carry empty conversations about upcoming exam scores the same way Jake can.

It’s just different. He is. And it feels like you are too. But not a good different. It’s the kind that makes you feel like this isn’t how you should be. That you aren’t who you want to be… Maybe Choa was right.

And now a pillow is thrown in your direction. You shoot daggers at Sunghoon with your glare.

“What?!” you yell. He pounces in fear.

“I asked,” he coughs. “Is college treating you okay? You making friends?”

You roll your eyes. “Are you my dad?”

Jay sighs. “We always talk about Jake. Sue us for wanting to know how you’re doing for once.”

The words linger. What are you doing?

–

You’re stewing in it, marinating in how lonely it feels to stand in a corner with the stage crew while Jake, Suji, and the rest of the main cast laugh amongst themselves. Whatever.

“Those two are so cute,” a girl beside you says. Gaeul. So sweet, so bubbly. So oblivious to how tightly you clench your teeth. “They’d be like the it couple on campus, no?”

When you look between Jake and his toothy grin and Suji with her sweet laugh, you can’t help the way your heart constricts. “Yeah,” you mutter in disgruntled agreement. “I guess.”

Jake sends you sneaking glances, ones you don’t notice despite your eyes lingering on him. 

You haven't been the most responsive lately. He texts you a lot in between practices and rehearsals. Whenever he has the chance. He asks to come over. Asks you to come over. And you’ve turned him down almost every time.

You didn’t attend his last two games, you’re skipping rehearsals that you used to sit through for hours, and Jay knows where you're holed up more than he does. He’s worried about you. Worried that you’re avoiding him. Were you avoiding him?

“I heard you two are really good friends,” Gaeul asks you with sparkling eyes. “He seems like such a catch. How’d you not fall in love?”

You shrug. What answer are you supposed to give? It’s not like you were resistant to his charm either. “He went through a transformation recently,” you admit. “We were both kind of outcasts in high school.”

“Me too!” she says excitedly. “I bleached my hair, and everything before uni started. What about you? Were you two like super shy?”

You shake your head. “Jake was. I was just a bad student. Got in trouble a lot. My parents literally laughed when I told them I wanted to go here.”

And your heart thuds in your chest from a memory. Because Jake believed in you. Sat through hours of studying, teaching you the difference between derivatives and whatever the fuck linearization was, just for the chance to attend the same university. So he could spend time with you, so he could be with you. And now you barely see him.

“Really? I’m not surprised, though. You seem like such a chill girl. Like you don’t care what other people think of you.”

“Trust me. I’m far from it.” You catch Jake’s longing gaze again, but you turn away.

“Starting to think it was a mistake joining this thing,” you mumble, “with how often everyone forgets their lines.”

She laughs. “I like how straightforward you are,” she says with a wide smile. “Don’t really mince your words, do you?”

You smile too, in what feels like forever. It felt free to talk about something—anything—outside of him.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know how to hold back what I say.” Which is a lie. Because you hold back a lot. More than you let on. 

“Alright!” the stage manager yells. “Let’s get in position for the final scene.”

The kiss scene. The one you’ve dreaded for so long. You and Gaeul move across the stage, setting up the mics and instruments in their right place. You move past Jake with your head down. He frowns. So you are avoiding him.

“Places, people!”

You watch, from the wings, as Jake pours his heart out into the lyrics. A song about breaking free from stereotypes and whatever other inspirational stuff this whole musical’s about. He’s good. Really good. He moves like a natural on stage, throwing Suji these soft, tender glances that look so painfully real. She glows under the lights, stars in her eyes. And as the song comes to an end, he picks her up to spin her.

Just like the script says. And you clutch your forearm at the sight.

“I feel like I can really be myself with you,” he says to her. “Like I don’t have to hide or pretend.”

Whatever.

“And you make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.”

The two stare at each other. A pause. Jake leans in. And so does she. Fuck.

You can’t do this. Can’t watch. You turn and walk out the back exit. Your chest is heavy, constricted with that ugly pang of envy.

Fuck this feeling. It hurt. Why did it have to hurt? You hate the tears that well up in your eyes, hate the shivering of your shoulders as you hug yourself in the parking lot of the stupid auditorium. You need to go back in. Save face. Show how little that kiss scene affected you because you’re supposed to be his friend in the eyes of everyone else.

You clutch your necklace through your shirt, fingers twisting the ring. Jake, who loves you. Who desperately wants your relationship to be public, to show you off. The same Jake on stage kissing another girl for a stupid musical you didn’t even want to be a part of.

He doesn’t deserve this. This monstrous version of you, who cares too much but gives too little. Overbearing to the point of suffocation.

So you walk back in, face steeled and tears wiped. He’s talking to the director with Suji, like nothing happened. Like all semblance of your self-esteem wasn’t just ruined a few minutes ago. But you need to stop. Because it isn't his fault. It isn't even Suji’s.

It’s yours. You hurt your own feelings.

Jake sees you and immediately lights up, calling your name as he jogs over. You don’t smile back.

“I have some time after rehearsals,” he says lovingly, his hand tugging your arm. “Wait for me?”

This would be the last time you would.

–

He tries to hold your hand on the walk back home to steady his heart rate. Opening night creeps closer and closer, and preparation alone won’t save him from the nerves. But when you pull away before his fingers can intertwine with yours, he flinches.

Maybe there are too many people around, Jake tells himself. You’re probably worried about being seen. And so he continues his merry yapping. He doesn’t notice the defeated glint in your eyes or the slow steps you take next to his. He’s still riding the high from rehearsal, still proud he finally made it through every line without stuttering or needing the script.

Maybe he’ll do well enough on opening night that you’ll let him kiss you afterward. Maybe you’ll walk toward him with flowers while he wraps you in his arms. He’d spin you around, brag to the whole world that you’re his girlfriend. Say it loud and proud in front of annoying ass Jay and Sunghoon, who got front row seats.

The thought pulls a grin onto Jake’s face, making him skip ahead a little. And you both keep walking toward the dorms. Just like any other day.

Until you ruin it.

“I’m dropping out of the stage crew,” you say, casually. He stops in his tracks. All semblance of a smile wipes from his face. The show is sold out. It’s too late to get you tickets. 

“You won’t be able to watch,” he says, panic laced in his voice. You’re at a standstill, in the middle of campus, surrounded by trees and concrete. “You should’ve told me! I can see if I can pull some strings—”

He’s already taking his phone out to text someone. Probably the director. He doesn’t even ask why. Just goes straight to problem-solving. Your Jake. Too good. Too kind. Too forgiving.

It’s too much.

“I’m not coming to watch,” you say, harsher this time, stopping him from sending the message. Guilt washes over you instantly. Because he looks at you with his brows knit together, eyes wavering.

“I don’t understand.”  You don’t want to come? You don’t want to support him?

Your mouth opens to say something. Anything. But your throat feels hoarse, shoulders too heavy. Shit. Don’t cry. You don’t cry in front of anyone.

“Jake,” you start, clenching your quivering hands open and closed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His heart drops. 

“Do what anymore?” he swallows, his mouth dry. “I’m confused—”

“I think we need to break up.”

Numb. Everything is numb.

“W-what?” Tears sting Jake’s eyes before he can blink them back. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

You shake your head. “Jake,” you whisper, careful not to get too close. Careful so you don’t make the mistake of taking back your words. “I don’t think we’re good for each other.”

He inches forward. You take a step back.

“Do you think that? That I’m not good enough—”

“No,” you interrupt. But he isn’t listening. And he doesn’t want to. Because this feels like a fucked up joke, a prank on him that’s been taken too far. Won’t you stop?

“Because if it’s something I did, I can change,” he begs. And your heart breaks a little at how desperately he searches for a hint of emotion in your face. But you don’t relent. You can be the bad guy. You always are. 

“Please. We can talk this through.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, an unusual softness in your voice. “I don’t want to change my mind—”

“Why not?!” he asks, voice louder. The quiet that falls between you two is masked by the rustle of surrounding trees, orange and red leaves falling around you two. The cool, autumn air brushes your face. His eyes sting with redness. 

“Why don’t you tell me anything?” His voice cracks. The aching in your heart makes you want to give in, to take it all back. But you aren’t like Jake. You can’t adjust, can’t welcome change so openly. 

So as you look at him with his slicked back hair and sharp features, so different from a year ago, it feels like you've already lost something. The version of yourself who had more to give than hollow excuses and marks left on his skin.

You couldn’t admit to it even now. That you hate who you’ve become. “I’m telling you right now,” you gulp, bracing your own words. “That I want to break up.”

And the first semblance of tears falls down Jake’s cheeks as he lets out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t believe it. Can’t accept it. He won’t let this be the end.

“If it’s because of what Choa said—”

Your brows furrow. “You heard what she said?” 

His hands are in his hair, tugging at it with frustration. You seem angry, but he doesn’t know why. He never does.

“I told her to mind her business,” he explains quickly. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. So if you’re breaking up with me just because she called you clingy or whatever…”

And he doesn’t know it, but the words trigger something in you. Something you’ve been pushing down over and over again. The feeling of seeming weak, of needing him. The need to monopolize. It sickens you.

“It matters what I think Jake!” you finally burst out. Frustration etched in your voice, shaky from the cold air and your wavering emotions. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“All I ever do now is wonder who you’re with, why you’re with them, and I just… I just feel so fucking lonely.”

He reaches for you, but you push him away. Your grievances spill out of you before you can hold them back.

“I’m paranoid of anyone who talks to you. I couldn’t even fucking watch you do that stupid kiss scene,” you continue. 

“We didn’t even kiss!”

“That’s not the fucking point!” you scream, before you can stop yourself. You inhale sharply when he flinches. Calm down. This is not his fault. Why are you getting angry with him?

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, taking one more step back. He holds your wrist gently to keep you in place.

Jake stares at you with his lips parted, stunned. “So why can’t we just go public?” he pleads. “You wouldn’t have to feel this way if—”

“That’s not the issue either,” you scoff, but you can’t even convince yourself. Because isn’t this how it all started? Your unwillingness to be embarrassed, to seem vulnerable in front of others. Was this not the root of it all?

“Then what is?!” he cries, his grip on your wrist tightens, not to hurt you, but so that you don’t run. Because you’re good at that. Running.

“I get insecure too,” he reassures, but you look past him now. “But I tell you. I tell you when I’m hurt, I tell you when I’m down. Because I… I want you to understand me. I want to understand you too…”

He swallows hard before continuing. “So I don’t get why you would even bring up breaking up before we even try to solve the problem together—”

“Because I don’t want to solve it, Jake.”

His hold on you loosens instantly, arm dropping to his side. You feel colder as he steps back. Jake stares at you, hurt laced in his gaze. Like you stabbed him in the heart and twisted the knife in to marinate.

“...You're always like this,” he mutters under his breath. “Always saying hurtful things without thinking about how they make me feel.”

He feels his throat close up as he draws in some baited breaths. The tears come in more heavily, his cheeks damp as they roll down his pained face. 

“So you see what I mean?” you say, your own tears threatening to spill over without you even realizing. A part of him instinctively wants to wipe them away, to pull you close and make it stop. But all he feels is anger. Because you’re the one breaking up with him. You’re the one choosing to end things. What right do you have to cry? What right do you have to look shattered when he's the one in pieces?

“I’m horrible to you,” you let out with pained laughter. He shakes his head immediately. 

“No, you’re not—”

“I always pick fights—”

“You don’t—”

“I act like a fucking bitch—”

“Don’t call yourself that—”

"I feel like I’m insane when I’m around you,” you let out, before you can stop yourself.

“I don’t think that at all—”

“But I do, Jake,” you cry. “I hate how jealous I get when you’re surrounded by other people. I hate feeling like I’m holding you back. I hate what I’ve become since…”

And you can’t finish because his tears have stopped. He’s looking at you with a new kind of anguish. The kind that you don’t necessarily expect. The kind that feels like disgust. 

“Since you started dating me?” he says like he correctly finished your statement. But that’s not what you're going to say. Never that.

“Since you didn’t need me anymore,” you whimper. “I’m not a good girlfriend, Jake. You’d be so much happier without me. Everyone would think it if they knew.”

He stands in front of you, hollow. If they knew. He has to laugh. That’s the problem. No one does. You don’t want them to. It’s clear now.

“Fine,” he says, and the steadiness of his voice makes you shudder. Good. This is what you wanted. 

He’s staring at you, jaded like he had come to terms with it. He used to love how insistent you were about your point of view on things, how firmly you stood by your opinions. Used to envy it. But now, he detests it. That stubbornness. 

“Whatever you want,” he sighs, hands slipping in his pockets. “Let’s break up. Pretend we never happened.”

Your mouth parts. “Excuse me?”

Jake scoffs, hands tightening into a fist. They’re trembling, but he won’t let you see. He can do what you do. Act like he’s okay. Act like you didn’t just kill him. He’s gotten very good at that. Acting.

“I’m being honest, Jake—”

“You don’t love me,” he cuts in. And your heart sinks. “That’s all this is. You never show it. You never say it. And I’m tired of hearing you pretend like you’re doing me a favor when I’m practically begging you not to leave.”

His voice cracks, but he continues. “So fine,” he mutters. “Have it your way. You won’t ever have to admit that we dated, start a clean slate without me. Just like you want.”

He presses his lips together and gives you one last look before he takes his hands out of his pockets. He’s fiddling with the ring. His ring. The ring that matches yours.

“You know,” he starts, voice trembling and bitter, “when it was the other way around… when I felt like shit about myself…. I never once thought of leaving you.”

His gaze is on the ground. “Because I always thought I was better with you than without. Because you made me want to be better.”

His voice falters. He looks at you now, sniffling. 

“I tried to be better.”

And in one swift motion, Jake takes off the ring.  “...But you didn’t even want me enough to stay.”

“Jake, no—” 

But it’s too late. You see him throw it, the bushes rustling nearby. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He shoves his hands back in his pockets and walks past you to the direction of the dorms.

“There,” he says quietly behind you. “Like we never happened.”

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even spare you a glance. It’s only when he’s fully out of sight that you dig through the orange and red pile of leaves, through dirt and branches. Tears stream down your face as you sob, searching for it like a mad woman. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic. 

But you can’t find it. No matter how hard you try to find a silver glint in the greenery, there is nothing. And you clutch onto yours like it’s your lifeline. He threw it away. How could he throw it away?

And you wonder then if you made the biggest mistake in your life.

–

You thought the pit in your stomach would fade once you ripped the bandage, but the hole in your heart opened wider. And it’s only been a week.

Jake used to dodge questions about his love life, but now he admits to anyone with ears who walks by that he’s single. You have ears. And you walk by often. You’re not sure if he’s taunting you or if you just want him to be.

When your eyes meet his at the one lecture you still share, he’s the first to turn away. Jake used to sit beside you, shoulder brushing yours, tilting his laptop so you could keep up when the professor switched the slides too quickly. When you pass the football field, you try not to wince when you see Choa latch onto his arm like she belongs there. He used to always pull away. 

The worst part is that these stolen glances are all you have of him. He’s blocked you on everything, which feels weird to think about. Jake, who’s always gentle, always forgiving, always offering second chances—even to people who don’t deserve it. Maybe this time you’re one of them.

You have no right to be upset. Not anymore.

And so you wrap yourself in your studies, check out new extracurriculars, even try to make new friends on campus who know nothing about Jake. You try to rebuild, try to go back in time before that fateful day in high school when you met him. But it’s been far too long. 

He was a part of you, so deeply ingrained in your daily life. How could you act like you two never happened? Like your relationship never existed? How could he do it so well?

And then, you have to remind yourself. You'd already been doing that anyway.

–

“So what did he do?” Jay questions, tuning his guitar while Sunghoon and you sit in his living room. “Did he tell you he was done paying for your stuff or…”

“Shut up,” you grumble, already agitated enough as you scroll through Suji’s Instagram. You couldn’t even muster the energy to be jealous over a photo of Jake and her holding up peace signs next to each other. You just feel empty. “Nothing happened.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “He’s usually texting one of us to get you to answer his messages by now. It’s been crickets from him for the last two weeks.”

You swallow hard. He used to do that?

Jay’s gaze flickers toward you and sighs as he fiddles with his guitar strings. “You know, I really don’t get the two of you,” he mumbles. “Like you already rejected him in high school, you’re practically just stringing him along at this point—”

You sit up. “Excuse me?”

He shakes his head, dropping the guitar onto his lap. “Jake told us,” he starts hesitantly. “That you ran away when he tried to confess last year.”

‘But that’s not the full story,’ you want to scream out loud. 

“Yeah,” Sunghoon laughs as if recalling a memory. “Dude! Remember in the summer when he started going to the gym with me?”

Jay cringes. “Yeah, and he told us it was because he’d be starting this season, but we knew it was just because you said you liked macho guys.”

You shake your head, ears warming at the thought. That’s insane. 

“Oh, and that stupid ass ring,” Sunghoon adds, clutching his stomach. Your hand instinctively clutches at your necklace, fingers brushing the chain. “His mom beat the shit out of him when she found out how much he spent on it.”

You twiddle with the ring through your shirt. You should've taken it off by now. He'd already thrown his away. So what use was it leaving him if all you were going to do was hold on?

“Why would he do all that for me?” you mutter, not realizing that you said your thoughts out loud. 

Jay shrugs. “Love makes you do stupid things.” And then he sighs. “Go easy on him, okay? You know how he is. Jake’s a sensitive boy. Especially when it comes to you.”

You look down at the ground, shame bubbling up in your chest. Jake loved you. He really did.

–

You smile from your view of the auditorium, even from the back, feeling like a speck of dust in the full house. A bouquet is in your hand as you nervously find your seat. Jake’s right. Everyone’s here to watch.

You could see Jay and Sunghoon’s tiny heads toward the front, pushing down the bitterness of not being able to sit as close as they were. It's not fair, you think. You had to buy a last minute ticket off a student who could no longer make it while they don’t even like musicals. You shake your head.

This isn’t about you. It’s Jake’s big night. 

The lights dim. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—steps onto the stage in a football jersey that looks almost exactly like his real-life one. The audience quiets at his entrance. As he delivers his cheesy opening monologue, you mouth the words with him. He’d practiced it so much in front of you. Pride wells up in your chest. He doesn’t stutter once. 

Even when Suji joins him on stage, even as they sing together during their characters’ first meeting, you couldn’t help but smile. 

The scenes blur as you lose yourself in the show. You watch the characters as they are and not as your ex and the girl you desperately wanted to hate. It was actually fun. The cheeky glances, the perfectly rehearsed dance scenes. The way the main character so seriously thought that singing was going to affect his football career. It made you laugh, made you tear up, made you suck in a deep breath when Jake leaned into her. 

And because you’re still you, and because the wounds still feel fresh, you close your eyes. You don’t have to know if he really did it or not. It doesn’t matter. It’s his moment.

‘If only I felt like this the whole time,’ you thought to yourself. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to psych yourself up to find him afterward and pour your heart out to him. You shiver at the thought.

But Jay had said it: love makes you do stupid things.

And you do. Love him. 

Enough to buy him flowers. Enough to admit that you’re done hiding. Enough to risk asking him to love you again—even if there’s a chance that he already moved on.

–

“Bro,” Jay starts, with tear-stained cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again. I can’t be crying like that in front of everybody.”

“Quit football,” Sunghoon says, patting Jake on the back with unusually red eyes. “Just focus on this musical shit. I swear you could make it big time.”

Jake chuckles, watching as the auditorium empties of guests. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad you two liked it.”

God, he wishes you were here. He could imagine exactly what you’d say when you walk up to him, with a small smile you try to suppress. Saying good job while ruffling his hair. Trying to act like you didn’t cry like everyone else. Jake smiles, quietly, at his own thoughts. It’s ridiculous, coming up with hypotheticals when you’d already made it clear. You don't want to be with him anymore. 

“Jake.” 

His heart instinctively skips a beat.

When he turns, the air in his lungs escapes him. You’re holding a bouquet so big it hides most of your frame, looking at him expectantly as you push it towards him. His eyes widen, unable to speak or even take the flowers from you. Is he dreaming?

“You did a good job,” you say, trying to sound as genuine as possible, wanting him to feel your sincerity.  “You killed it up there.”

“Thanks,” he says shortly, finally taking the flowers from your hands. He can’t help but stare. 

“I—” you try to push out, but Suji rushes to the stage to tap Jake on the shoulder.

“Hey.” She smiles up at him. “We're heading out soon for the celebration. Did you still want a ride with me?”

“Damn, even musicals got afterparties?” Sunghoon mutters to Jay, who attempts to shush him.

Jake returns a smile. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

And when he turns around to look at you, to finally hear what you have to say, your eyes are glossed over. Maybe you’re too late. Maybe this is idiotic after all. It's been weeks. There's no guarantee he'll even listen.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” you mutter, though you've changed the words you meant to say entirely. It's supposed to be: ‘I’m so proud of you. Will you take me back? I’ll stop being so mean. We can tell everyone we’re in love—yes, even Jay and Sunghoon.’

But old habits die hard. And Suji—beautiful fucking Suji—crushed every ounce of confidence you had to come up to him in the first place.

“That's all,” you say, shooting him a small grin. It doesn't quite reach your eyes. He notices. Jake always does. Just never knows the reason why.

Before you can step back, he grabs your wrist, spinning you into his arms. Like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms.

“Don't,” he whispers. “Please… don't run away this time.”

You stare up at him, searching his gaze.

“Man, what the fuck is going on…” Jay whispers behind the two of you.

Sunghoon shrugs. “You think they finally…?”

Jake turns his head to give a disgruntled look to his two idiotic friends, and they shrink, making their way down the stage to finally give the two of you more privacy. He turns his attention back to you, wrist still in his hand, and gently moves it down to take your hands in both of his.

“I thought you didn't want to come,” he starts, licking his lips through the nerves. “Why are you here?”

Your cheeks heat up. Fuck. Where do you even start?

He draws circles with his thumb on the back of your palms. “Why?” he asks again, more confident this time.

It would be easy to act like your old self and push out a half-assed excuse. That you just want to be supportive, even after you’ve broken up. That you don’t miss him at all. But you're too tired to pretend like Jake's absence in your life didn’t feel worse than when you were with him. 

“Because…” you start, with a shaky breath. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

His brows furrow. “About what?”

And you feel your heart pumping in your chest, your palms slick with sweat. This is harder than you thought.

“I wanted to—” You swallow, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to apologize. With the ring. The one you threw away.”

You see Jake's ears turn a bright shade of crimson. “Actually—”

“But I couldn’t find it,” you cut in. “No matter how hard I looked. I tried. I really, really…”

You start to choke up. Because fuck. He'd gotten you that ring to confess to you. Spent all his pocket money so that he could get something he knew you'd love. Had it engraved with the letter J. Your Jake. Your handsome, talented, smart, and wonderful Jake.

“...really want to get back together,” you finally let out, eyes shining underneath the stage lights as tears threaten to spill over. “I'm sorry, Jake.”

His breath hitches, hands releasing yours so suddenly. Your heart clenches. “You broke up with me,” he mutters.

You nod. “I-I thought I needed to. To find myself. But… you were right. I was just running away from my problems.”

You swallow hard, correcting yourself. “Our problems.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “So is this the part where you expect me to forgive you?”

Your heart clenches. “I'm sorry,” you say again softly.

“You still haven’t even given me a reason,” he scoffs. “So tell me why. Why do you want to get back together when—”

It’s like slow motion, what you do next. You cup Jake’s face right into your hands, crashing your lips onto his. In front of Sunghoon. In front of Jay. In front of the whole cast and crew who were packing up to leave. The same people he’s had to make excuses to about why he suddenly looked so distraught these past few weeks. You pull back, breathless.

“Because I love you,” you say, loud enough to elicit gasps from your watchers. You don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. Because the words fall naturally from your lips, like breathing. And it's like music to his ears. 

“I fucking love you,” you repeat, hands still on his cheeks. His mouth parts open, breathless. He blinks. Once. Twice. And then he smiles, tears forming in his eyes. Jake swoops in, his lips finding yours again. His mouth moves against yours in tandem, slow and passionate. Your eyes flutter shut, soaking in the taste of him. You missed him so much.

When he pulls away, a shit-eating grin lights up his face. “Finally,” he whispers, cheeks flushed. “You finally said it back.”

You lightly swat his shoulder. You should've known he was trying to egg you on. Jake and all his damn questions.

“I love you too,” he mutters against your temple, squeezing you against him. “I love you so much.”

He peppers kisses all over your face, and you hear gagging on the sidelines.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he mutters into your hair. “That shit fucking hurt.”

You smile sadly. “I promise—”

“YOU TWO WERE DATING?!” a familiar voice cries out. Of course. Nosy-ass Sunghoon. You resist the urge to drop kick him right then.

“I have a better question,” Jay pipes in. “Are we invited to this afterparty too or…”

Jake furrows his brows, turning to the idiotic duo. “What afterparty?”

Sunghoon and Jay bombard you with questions about your secret relationship, but mainly just start arguing about who was gonna call the taxi for the party they still desperately wanted to go to, since Suji had already left.

Running far away from the auditorium, Jake and you giggle as the two idiots try to chase after you. When you both reach his dorm, he doesn't waste one second after you close the door to lift you over his shoulder. You yelp as your feet lift off the ground, squeaking when your back hits the mattress with a soft bounce.

He sets the bouquet softly on his nightstand before hovering over your frame, and his knees sink into the mattress as he traps you underneath him. Jake strokes your cheek lovingly, his hand trailing down and down until it reaches the edge of your skirt. Still as short as ever. Thighs so pretty underneath the thin fabric.

“I missed you,” he sighs, hands trailing to the edges of your panties. He strokes your plush skin, sending shivers down your spine. You want to roll your eyes, deflect the warm stirring in your core as he scans your figure, eyes clouded with lust. But you’re supposed to be turning over a new leaf. Honesty and all that.

“Imissedyoutoo…” you mutter lowly, rushing through your words.

He moves closer, ear practically touching your lips. “Hm?” 

You lose patience, baring your teeth and nipping his helix. He flinches, glaring at you with a playful scoff.

“You said you weren't gonna be mean anymore…” Jake sighs, tone dripping in mockery as he pouts. And you want to say something more, but Jake’s hands land on your ass, giving you a subtle squeeze.

You know what. You'll humor him. Just this once.

You bring your lips to the ear you just bit, kissing it lightly. Steady hands trail down the fake football jersey he adorns, and to the painful bulge of his shorts. Jake sucks in a deep breath.  You chuckle, amused at how suddenly it hardens. So easy to arouse. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, licking his outer shell. He shudders against your touch, your breath on his neck triggering goosebumps all across his arms. You squeeze him through the fabric, his head falling to your shoulder. “I’ll stop…”

“Don’t,” he lets out through ragged breaths, as you stroke him languidly. You chuckle. He’s so cute. Cheeks tinged with pink. It makes you want to do worse things to him...

“Lie down,” you command, and he gladly takes your place on the bed. Your knees encase him now, tugging his stupid jersey over his head. “Let me make it up to you…”

His muscles are so well-defined, glistening under the light of your dorm room. You trail kisses down his chest, licking down his abs. Salty. Just how you like him. Jake squirms underneath you as you tug his shorts down, his dick slapping your chin on the way up as it springs free. Jake almost cums from the sight, tip flushed red and pulsing with need. To feel you. To be so buried deep inside you that he can feel the head poking through your stomach. 

When you move your head down to kiss his hardness, he digs his fingers into your shoulder. “No, baby,” he mutters. “Come up here, hm?”

You furrow your brows. Why the fuck was he trying to interrupt you during your apology?

“Wha—” 

Jake cuts you short, manhandling your waist as his fingers press into your hips. He positions your knees on both sides of his head, turning you around. He pushes your mini skirt all the way up to scrunch around your midsection. Yes, you might have an amazing view of his throbbing cock, but now you can't see his beautiful fucked out face. He breathes in the scent of your panties with hooded eyes, nose grazing your clothed folds. 

You pout. “I thought I was the one making it up to you—”

“You are,” he chuckles, interrupting you instantly. He pushes your ass down to his face with one hand, using the other to press your back flush against his body. Your face inches closer to his member. Oh. That's what he's doing.

“Pervert…” you mumble, coyly reaching out for him. So thick and large that you need to use both hands to engulf him, pre-cum dribbling out of him as if on command. 

“I am,” he mumbles, pulling your panties low enough to give him access to your cunt, lying just below your knees. He licks a stripe up your drenched folds all the way to your puckered hole. You wither against him. “Call me whatever you want, baby. Just sit on my face when you do it.”

Your hips land down on him softly as your thumb spreads his liquid down his engorged length. This position was new to you, meaning it was also new to him. But Jake moves expertly like the quick learner he is. He plants open-mouthed kisses on your folds, pink muscle lapping at your labia like a man starved. Your tongue sticks out to offer kitten licks over his tip. 

But Jake hasn’t had you in weeks. And he knows what he wants. And it’s not the weak jutting you do against his face, or the shallow sucking you offer his engorged cock. No. He wants all of you. The sick part of you that would degrade him, that would rile yourself up like all those nights before. And he doesn’t want to have to mention a stupid nickname some stupid girl said to bring it out of you.

There were more healthy methods, he’s sure, to guide you right where he wants to be. And so Jake’s hands grip your ass, pushing you down on him harder. Forcing your hips to grind back and forth against his face at the rabid pace he sets, nose sticking in between your folds slightly as his tongue laps at your clit. Like this. Dirty. Raunchy. Aggressive. He fucking loves it. 

“Ngh—” you cry out, propelling him to push himself deeper in your mouth. You take a deep breath so his cock can slide through more easily, taking as much of him as you can to drown out your warbled moans. Your tongue finds the underside of his thickness, tapping him as you start to gag. And when Jake reaches the back of your throat, he gives you a second to calm yourself before he bucks his hips up into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, remembering to hollow your cheeks as he shoots forward. But it’s hard to stay focused when his wet, pink muscle pushes into you. 

“Fuck—Taste so good, baby—” The squelching sounds that mix with Jake’s moans against your bundle of nerves are obscene, sucking and flicking his tongue with a fervor you try to match now. Your tongue curls up to meet the underside of his girth, bobbing your head up and down with ferocity. Anything to please him. 

“Mmmm—” you moan around him. Your mouth feels so fucking good, but your pussy on his lips was like actual heaven. He could eat you out all day. As a reward. As a punishment. Anything. 

And he breathes your scent in again, groaning once more. He pushes his nose closer to your folds, the tip of it engulfed in your wetness. You almost gag around his dick at the intrusion, saliva pooling at the base of his cock. You wrap your thighs around him tighter, bouncing on his face like he was nothing but a sex toy. Erratic. Desperate. Yes. Just like that. Fuck him like you never want him out of your sights again.

He knows you're close, knows by the way you start scratching at his thighs like an agitated pet. But, no. Jake needs it. Needs you to cum all over his face. Make a mess on him. Of him. His tongue plunges into you now, index finger coming up to play with your clit.

His cock pops out of your mouth with little resistance as your body goes slack with pleasure. You're just licking at his dick with a loose hand at this point, eyes rolling back from ecstasy. 

You whimper against the slickness of his sloppy mouth, drool continuing to fall out of the corners of your mouth through your slurred speech. “Ngh—No—Let me—Fuck—Jakeeee—” you try to say, but it all sounds nonsensical.

Jake understands, more than you know, as his heart constricts so deliciously. 'My poor baby,' he thinks. Just wants to make him feel good. Wants to make it up to him so bad. But you don’t know that the only thing that could make him happy right now is for you to choke him out with your sopping cunt. 

“Mmm—Ngh—Ahh—” He’s too good down there. Too fucking messy. Why does he do this? Why does he love making you sound like a fucking animal? Your toes curl, the grip around his shaft tightening as your back arches even more into him. 

You feel it. But it's different from usual. It feels like too much. Like an impending explosion. You claw at his thigh even more, all of a sudden panicked. “Jake—Let go—Jake—” 

When he shakes his head, his tongue swipes your clit left and right. His grip on your ass pushes his nose more deeply into your soaked folds. You whimper, cheek nuzzling against his length in desperation. 

“I'm serious….” you whine as you try to pull away. This is weird. You feel weird. You try to run away from it, that foreign feeling. But it's no use. Jake's too smart, too quick. He presses you down on him harder, hugging your waist, suctioning your clit, cheeks flushed from how quickly his mouth works against you. 

“JAKE!” you scream as your thighs clamp around him, hips shuddering uncontrollably. Like a hose turning on for the first time, a spray of your juices lands onto Jake's chin and neck, coating him in your dampness. He welcomes it, tongue sticking out to taste as much of it as he can.

You cry above him, tears landing on his dick that still rubs against your heated face. He laps up every last remaining bit of your climax desperately, like they’d dry up too quickly if he didn’t. You whine, grinding yourself on him to steady your heart rate. When he’s fully satisfied, Jake frees you from his clutches, lying you down on the bed so your head can finally rest on a pillow.

His cock is still incredibly stiff. And you're still in tears.

“You… fucking… dick,” you say in between sniffles, not believing you could ever climax that hard in your life. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?”

And he knows what’s going through your head. Because old habits do, in fact, die hard. And now you probably think he was out fucking anyone and everyone during the weeks-long hell that was your breakup. Jake chuckles, pulling your skirt down. He bites his bottom lip at the sight of your folds. Glistening with his saliva and your juices. He fists himself tightly. 

“Still so jealous, baby?” He smirks. God, please let him indulge in his pouty girlfriend at least once more.

“No, but be honest,” you mumble. “Did you—”

“Fuck other girls?” he finishes your sentence, scoffing playfully at the ridiculousness. Your eyes narrow.

“Well, did you?”

Jake spent almost every day crying, unblocking and blocking your number over and over again just to see if you'd notice. But he can tell you all that later. Because right now, you're giving him a death glare that only makes his cock throb harder. 

“No, babe,” he mutters, swiping his wet tip against your even more drenched folds. So puffy after all he's put it through. He peppers kisses on your shoulder. “You know I’d never.”

And you do. He’s only ever been with you. Will only ever be with you. You know that. But still. The wheels are already turning in your head. You know… you're usually the one worried about these things. Doesn't he deserve a taste of his own medicine?

“Imagine if I did—”

And he slams his dick into your plushness, eliciting a scream from you. He doesn’t even let you complete your evil plan.

“FUCK—”

“Don't finish that sentence,” Jake glowers, brows furrowed. You lick your lips deliciously. "That's not funny."

“See how it feels?” you whimper, as he delivers another harsh thrust, your shirt riding up your stomach from the impact. You arch your back off of the bed as Jake groans into your neck, licking a stripe up your jaw.

“All this just ‘cause I made you squirt,” he mumbles angrily, wincing as your pulsing walls squeeze his length into a tighter grip. “So fucking immature.”

You chuckle evilly. “Immature like who? Sungho—”

His childhood friend’s name doesn't even leave your lips when Jake clamps his teeth into your neck. Hard. “OW—”

A taste of your own medicine. But his skin grazes something then—a thin chain that he's seen before but never questioned.  You never wore it when you fucked. A circular hardness underneath your shirt that weirdly looks like…

He tugs on it before you can protest, and there on the chain is a ring. With J engraved on the inside. His gaze softens. And you become a blumbering mess underneath him, shy with embarrassment. “I can—Explain—Just—” 

Jake pulls out enough so his tip is the only thing suctioned in your folds before pistoning into you harshly once more. You whimper.

“Shut up and let me fuck you,” he mutters into your ear, before engulfing your lips in his. With a newfound energy, Jake pounds into you with urgency, pace brutal against your already sore pussy. His hand comes up to grab your tits, spilling over your bra from the impact of his movements. So rough. So mean. Damn, you were rubbing off on him.

You have this aching desire to flip him over and ride him back into submission, but the slapping of his hips into yours devolves your thoughts into unintelligible moans. 

“Ngah—Fuck—Oh my god—”

Jake’s mouth leaves yours as his eyes travel downwards to the piece of jewelry. He likes how it looks on you. Sitting so nice between your bouncing breasts. Maybe, he’d buy you a necklace next. A pretty Tiffany necklace to go with the pretty Tiffany ring on his pretty girlfriend’s pretty finger. Fuck. You’re so fucking pretty.

He brings the ring up to his mouth, biting down on the metal, before he lowers himself onto your lips once more. With the ring in between his teeth, he grabs at your jaw to open for him. Jake transfers it over to your parted lips as you catch the ring with your tongue, coated in his saliva. He dives down into you, your tongues battling as the coolness of the metal moves between your mouths. His thrusts are slower now, but you moan just the same.

Drool drips down both of your lips, the ring getting passed between you two in the movements of your open-mouthed kisses. He lets up, the necklace falling wetly onto the pillow. He admires the red marks the chain leaves on your neck. Maybe a Tiffany choker instead?

And his thrusts deepen, until your cervix repeatedly kisses his mushroom tip. He wished you could see your expression right now. So needy. So perfect. 

“Jake—Baby—” When the pet name leaves your lips, Jake lets out a deep, guttural groan. Like he'd been waiting his whole life for you to say it.

“Yes, baby?” He repeats after you, sweat beading down his forehead as he continues to split you open, pumping into your tightness with urgency. His hands are pushing your thighs open now, admiring how the ring sits sloppily on your neck as he jackhammers into you.

“I love you,” you moan out, your hands reaching for his face. “I love you so much.”

He looks at you with glassy eyes, soft and tender. He kissed you again, sweeter this time. 

“I love you too.” 

And he spreads you apart further, fucking you into the squeaking mattress with his pulsing dick, so big that it fills you everywhere you need him. He pushes in and out, evoking a new set of tears to stain your cheeks. “Baby,” you cry out. “I'm almost—”

“Wait for me,” he pleads, elbows falling to the sides of your head. He buries himself in the crook of your neck. “Can you, baby? Please—”

You try to nod as he's ramming into you as deep as he can go. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, about how good you are for him, how pretty, how perfect, how he loves the marks you leave him, how he wants you to control him, how you’re the only one he’d ever be with in any lifetime ever.

“Ngh—” His hips snap forward with everything he can give. He feels it now, too. That coil that threatens to spill inside you. But he can't. No condom. No birth control. 

And when your hips rise, clenching around him, your orgasm hits you like a truck. You mewl out in pleasure, crying as Jake tries to pull out of you. But you suction him so well, too well, that it's a little too late. He twitches deep inside of your pussy. And his mouth falls open as the first spurts of cum spill, but nothing escapes his lips. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. He needs to pull out. But your cunt feels so damn good… So warm… So wet… And so much of himself has already spilled inside you… It's okay, right? To fill you up with all of it? But he has self-control. He swears it.

“No…” You whimper when he actually pulls away, his seed dribbling everywhere.

“...’m sorry, babe,” he groans, as his hand wraps around himself, stroking languidly. “I’m so sorry.”

Jake’s cheeks are flushed as he pumps the remainder of his climax on your drenched folds, painting your clit a milky white. He sees the first of his juices push out of you, his fluids like cream all over your puffiness.

“Fuck,” he moans, his fingers coming up to spread it all across your folds. But when you look down, all you feel is empty. All you feel is the need to push down against his fingers and take him all over again. 

Jake's eyes widen as he lets out a shaky breath. You look so desperate. For what? He's not sure. But he can't deny his baby anything. He can't deny himself either. He wants to see it just once. Seems like you do too. 

“Can I?” he asks in a low whisper, fingers spreading your folds apart to watch more of his load seep out of you. And you nod, shyly, relieved you didn’t have to beg for it yourself, already going through too much exposure therapy for one day.

And so Jake gathers the cum that's gushed over his digits, and with a shaky breath, he pushes them back into you. You tighten your grip on his biceps.

“Fuuuuck—” You cry out when he starts pumping them in and out, slow but still so fucking deep. His veiny fingers always know which parts to knead. 

Jake’s eyes are in a daze, obsessed with how his cum goes back in so easily—even when you’re still so tight and so sensitive. Everything feels so fucking drenched. And like this, he wants to see you come undone again.

“One more, baby…” he pleads in a low whisper, pressing butterfly kisses on your eyelids. He licks the tears that spill from your eyes. So pretty like this. “You want to make it up to me, right?”

You can only whine in response, hands shaking as they clutch onto him for dear life. 

“Hm?” He asks for confirmation, curling his fingers up to the spongy spot inside you. He grinds his palm on your engorged clit. Whimpering out a pathetic ‘yes,’ you let the pleasure overtake you once again. Your body feels like it's on fire. Too hot. Too much. But still, your back arches up into him, whimpering.

“Come on,” he whispers into your ear. Low and steady. “Give it to me.”

And you can practically hear the mess that his three fingers are creating as they pump into your folds, can feel the stickiness of your mixed juices coat your inner walls. But you shut your eyes, letting the warm tingling overtake your core. Yes—Right there—Fuck—

“I'M—” you screech, but it's no use. Your head falls back against the pillow as you sob. And Jake curses underneath his breath as you spray all over him once again, massaging your clit as he pulls his fingers out to watch. Your hips rise to meet nothing, just your body spraying so beautifully against his torso. His dick could harden once more any second now from the sight. He relishes in it, admiring his work as his cum pushes out of you again. Thick and creamy.

You look down too, seeing the fucked-out state he's put your body into. Maybe you would've been right to flick his forehead and call him every insult in the book for filling you up like that. But fuck. Could you ever have him cum outside of you again if it felt that good to have his cum inside you? No, you'd definitely need to get on the pill ASAP.

Jake’s gaze falls onto your face now, at your bruised lips and your dried tears. But the ring catches his eye once more, the one he hadn’t seen in a year. And his heart flutters.

“Babe?” he starts, lying softly next to you. He wraps you in his arms, not minding the dampness of the sheets below. He’ll clean you up later.

“Mmm?” You respond, on the brink of unconsciousness. Satiated. He touches your chain, the other hand wrapped around your stomach, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“How long have you been wearing our ring like this?” Your breath catches. You'd hoped that he'd forgotten, that the conversation could wait for the morning when your heart wasn't thumping so loud. It takes you a second before you respond.

“Since you gave it to me,” you admit, slowly. Jake can feel the warmth creep up to your ears. And he wonders how he's never seen it, how you seem to hide it so well after all the times he's undressed you before. But then again, you’ve always been good at keeping secrets.

Still, he smiles. Because even after you walked away, even when you said you were done, you still kept this piece of him. Wore it so beautifully around your neck, too.

Fuck—he’s never letting you walk out on him like that again. If you even hint at breaking up, he might actually end up begging on his knees and—

“Not like it matters anyway,” you cut through the silence grumpily. “You threw yours away.”

He lets out a surprised laugh and pulls you closer, squeezing you tight. You pout. What’s he so jolly for?

“What do you mean?” he asks cheekily. “That never happened.”

You turn around abruptly, facing him with furrowed brows. “I literally saw you—”

Your words are cut short when his mouth finds yours, one hand steadies your jaw as the other reaches blindly into his nightstand. A drawer opens. He pulls back just enough to show you the turquoise box, one eerily similar to the one you have in your closet, as he flips it open.

His ring. Silver and engraved with your initial. But how…?

“I guess I'm really good at pretending to throw things,” he answers before you can even ask. Thought I’d be a little dramatic that day…”

You smack his shoulder, but your hand massages the spot soon after, swallowed by the wave of relief that crashes over you. He didn't really let go like he made it seem. He was still yours, even when you thought you lost him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you grumble, pinching his cheek. All he does is chuckle. 

In one smooth motion, Jake lifts your necklace and unclasps it, letting the ring unfurl out and into his palm. You don’t stop him. 

He looks at you for a second, as if asking for permission. You offer Jake your hand instead of speaking. He slips the piece of jewelry onto your ring finger, kissing your knuckles. Then he slides his own ring back where it belongs, to where he’s always kept it. Jake smiles up at you, planting another sweet kiss on your lips.

And you know you’ll wear it proudly this time. Without him having to ask. 

“I love you?” he says, gently, like he needs to hear you say it back just one more time. Just to make sure. And you kiss him again, warmth coating your features.

“I love you too.”

His heart clenches in the best way possible.

Damn, he could really get used to this.

epilogue

Jake runs to the benches, grabbing at his water bottle like it’s his last salvation. He gulps it all down in seconds, sweat seeping down his body. Practice was way too intense today.

“Oh my god, Jakey,” a lilting voice punctures through his ear. “You're literally dripping.”

His eye twitches as she enunciates the last word. 

“Choa,” he starts, shooting daggers at her. He's too exhausted to put up with this today. Or ever. She was graduating in a few months anyway. He might as well say his piece. “First of all, my name is Jake. And second of all, it makes me really uncomfortable when you say things like that.”

Choa pouts, tugging his sleeve like a toddler. “Why?” she giggles. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” He pulls away, not even bothering to look at her. “I just don't appreciate how you talk to me.”

She glowers, thrown off by his disposition. He's usually so sweet, so polite. What happened?

“It's ‘cause of your friend isn't it? You know she was so fucking rude to me—”

“My girlfriend,” he corrects immediately. Choa’s hands drop down to her sides. Jake pays her no mind, packing his stuff into his duffle bag instead.

“W-what?” she stutters out. “Since when?”

He shrugs, finally slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Since forever.”

“What?!” she screeches. “How come you never told—”

“Oh Jakeyyyy,” you sing out in an octave higher than your regular speaking voice. He presses his lips together to prevent the laughter that almost seeps through his mouth.

“Yeah, babe?” He calls out, looking past Choa. You're standing with your arms crossed, eyeing her down from a few meters away. A bright new necklace shining above your shirt. 

Your gaze flickers back to him, not bothering to waste your precious energy on the small, vicious girl. You tilt your head to the side, beckoning him over in a silent command. And he follows.

Your loyal little puppy.

Jake takes your hands into his just to really rub salt on Choa's wound, your matching rings clinking against each other.

“Do you remember Gaeul from the backstage crew?” you announce proudly, the bob-headed girl long-forgotten. “She wants to hang out with me tomorrow!”

Jake smiles, ruffling your hair. “That’s great!”

“She's throwing something at her apartment this weekend, too,” you slide in. “Maybe… we can go together?”

“Oh yeah, Suji told me—” And he stops himself. But it’s too late. You’re already frowning.

“Okay, so let me go ahead and take Jay instead…” And he pouts at your words.

“Not fair,” he mutters, but you see the smile he suppresses. 'What a freak,' you think to yourself.

You click your tongue, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “...I'm biting the shit out of you later.”

And if Jake had a tail, it most definitely would’ve started wagging.

“Promise?”

fin.

A/N: Don't save him, he don't wanna be saved.

“I just love him,” your sister sighs dreamily. 

To any sane person passing through your living room, it might sound like she’s talking about a lover. Someone who knows she exists. Someone who reciprocates the pathetic yearning in her voice. But no. From where the two of you sit, side by side on the couch, her eyes are locked on a complete stranger on the television, rubbing the stomach of a grumpy black cat.

She’s made you sit through a playlist of ENHYPEN content for hours now, a new EN-O'CLOCK episode playing one after the other. Your sister stretches out a hand toward the screen like she’s about to caress it and you cringe out of secondhand embarrassment. 

“Tomorrow’s the day,” she whispers, voice soft. “When we see each other again…”

You feel a sharp chill down your spine. She’s talking about a concert. One that she’s dragging you to because she has no one else to go with. “Sophia,” you say carefully. “You know you don’t actually know him, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “What are you talking about? I literally video-called him the other day.”

You blink at her. “Yeah... because you bought seven hundred copies of their stupid album—”

She waves a dismissive hand. “But he always recognizes me! He knows my name.”

You swallow back a sigh. Of course, he does. Anyone would, if the same girl showed up to every fan meeting, concert, and award show. “Whatever you say,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Moving back home after college wasn't supposed to be like this. Being forced against your will to watch a bunch of grown men throw each other into a pool, while you wait to hear back on job applications. You love your sister, truly. But she’s also a full-grown adult who spends her free time following around a K-pop idol who wouldn’t care if she lived or died. 

Lee Heeseung.

You didn’t mean to remember his name, but now even hearing it makes your eye twitch. It’s not that you hate him, exactly. Maybe resent is the right word? That whole group, really. So cocky. So sure of themselves. Basking in the screams of girls like Sophia, who would throw their whole life savings just to catch a glimpse of them.

“And when I see him tomorrow,” she murmurs, almost in a daze. “He'll fall in love with me.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort. “How are you planning to make that happen? You gonna bring a book and start reading it by the barricade while he performs?”

You're joking. Clearly. But when she actually looks at you, thoughtful and serious, your smile falls. “Should I?”

–

“So… what do you think?” 

Heeseung tries to keep his voice steady, but nevertheless, it wavers from his desperation. Across the small meeting room, his manager studies him with an unreadable expression. Just a few minutes ago, he gave a presentation to a room full of executives on a project he’d spent the past few months working on in between grueling schedules. Writing, producing, and choreographing a solo album. All his. 

“It’s good,” Manager Jung admits, breaking the silence. “Everyone knows you’re fully capable of doing this.”

Heeseung smiles, relief starting to stir within him. “Thank you.”

“But..." his manager continues softly, "I don’t know if everyone else thinks so.” 

The older male takes a deep breath. “They’re worried that a solo album might mean… you’re having ambitions beyond ENHYPEN.”

Heeseung's eyes widen, shaking his head even before Manager Jung finishes speaking. It’s just something he wanted to try. Something beyond his comfort zone that he could call his own. “I’m not going anywhere,” Heeseung continues. “I’m committed to the group. I promise.”

The older male reaches across the table and places a reassuring hand on the idol's shoulder. “I know,” his manager says firmly. “And I’ll make sure they know too. Just focus on tomorrow’s concert, okay? Stay out of trouble, keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll let you know when they make a decision.”

When Manager Jung leaves, the laptop in front of him still glows with the first slide of Heeseung's presentation. His stare lingers on it for far too long before closing the screen. 

Heeseung exhausted all his energy on demos and concept ideas, spending sleepless nights convincing himself he was good enough to be called an artist instead of just an idol. He had hoped for something more concrete from Manager Jung. Some kind of yes, or at least a maybe. But "I'll let you know" never really means anytime soon in this industry.

–

It’s absolutely miserable in the pit of the concert. The people behind you are using your shoulder as a tripod. Their massive Canon lenses that they managed to sneak in are resting against you. Though you want to whip your head around and tell them off, you also don’t want to get mobbed by a bunch of rabid fans.

Your sister spends the whole setlist admiring only Heeseung, ignoring a high-five from Jake when he passed by your section. Though you secretly judge her, you still let yourself enjoy the free ticket. Before you know it, the whole arena is sobbing as the ENHYPEN members share their closing remarks. 

All you can think about is traffic. And whether your sister would be open to getting takeout after. You haven't eaten for hours...

Heeseung clears his throat into the mic. He’s wearing a simple white graphic tee and hoodie, dark shades hiding his eyes. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead under the stage lights. Damn it. He does look good.

“I really love the stage,” Heeseung says softly. “I’m so happy to receive everyone’s love and support. I hope we can continue to be with you, ENGENEs, for the rest of our lives.”

The audience roars in agreement. He stands there, trying his best to take it all in. But his mind keeps going back to the tracks sitting unfinished on his computer. The ideas that might never make it past the studio. God, he wants it to work out so bad.

–

“Are you insane?!” you hiss, nearly tripping over nothing as your sister drags you down a dark path behind the arena. The sewer nearby emanates a foul stench. “The concert ended like half an hour ago!”

She rolls her eyes like you’re the overdramatic one. “They do a send-off, idiot. I need to find a way in before they leave.”

You stare at her with bulging eyes. You're almost tempted to call your parents. Or the police. Anyone who could talk some sense into her. “Why can’t you be like the other weirdos and just wait by their vans?”

She lets go of you to march toward a set of double doors barely lit by one overhead bulb. You swear a rat just ran across your peripheral vision.

“This is ridiculous,” you huff, arms folding tight across your chest. “Please. Can we just go home?!”

Sophia stops, turns to you, and dangles her car keys in front of your face. “Unless you want to take a bus or walk all the way back, I suggest you keep watch.”

She doesn't spare you a glance, testing the door handle. It creaks open. "You can't be serious…"

“I’ll text you when it’s over,” she squeals in delight. “Call me if security shows up.”

“Sophia—”

But the door slams shut before you can grab her. She’s gone, and you don't follow her in. Your conscience won’t let you. You glance around, senses heightened when you glance at a few shifting shadows in the corner of your eye. Your phone screen glares back at you. Low battery. Great.

So, with a resigned sigh, you slump down on the cold concrete just outside the metal door, hugging yourself as you sit beneath the buzz of the overhead light.

–

“Send-off is in two minutes,” the tour coordinator calls out. “Please make sure you’ve grabbed all your stuff. We’ll be heading straight to the vans right after.”

The boys nod. Heeseung checks his bag. Lip balm, cologne, portable charger… All there. He zips it closed and hands it off to a staff member, who disappears down the hall and towards the vans.

Through the barricade ahead, he can already see the crowd of ENGENEs gathering with signs and phones raised. He smiles instinctively. Because no matter how tired you are after a concert, you can’t show it. These fans have to think you’re invincible.

As he steps out and begins making his way down the crowd, he stops to sign a few photocards and pose for selfies. He’s good at this. Always warm. Always approachable. Flirty. The version of himself they all want to see. But halfway through, a sinking feeling tugs at his subconscious. Like he’s forgotten something. Something important.

“Heeseung! What’s your favorite photo on your camera roll?” a fan calls out, holding up a phone to record him eagerly. He blinks, caught off guard. He saved a funny meme earlier. A photo of a dog he sent to the group chat. He reaches for his back pocket. Nothing. Front pocket. Still nothing. 

And then it hits him. 

He tells the boys after he’s interacted with as many fans as he could that he left his phone behind. “Make it quick,” a staff member tells him in passing. “We’ll send a different car to get you by the back entrance.”

He nods, sprinting back through the glass doors. Relief washes over him when he finds his phone exactly where he remembers leaving it. On a table in the changing room. 

Heeseung spots the green EXIT sign shortly after, pushing the heavy door open. It doesn’t budge. He frowns, pushing again. Harder this time. BANG.

“OW—”

Heeseung freezes. What was that?

He steps out into the humid summer night and jumps at the sight of a shadowy figure on the ground, groaning. Rushing forward, he kneels beside the figure. You look like a fan. A fan, he just slammed a door into. Heeseung's brain short-circuits when he sees a smear of red. Blood. On your forehead. “Oh my god,” he says under his breath. “D-did I just hit you?”

“No,” you snap, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure my head just hit the door all by itself—”

His pulse quickens and his career flashes before his eyes. Manager Jung’s words resound in his head. Stay out of trouble. “Not good,” Heeseung mumbles. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening." He stands up, pacing back and forth like a maniac. 

“Chivalry is dead,” you mutter, sitting up on your palms without his assistance. The nerve to not even apologize! What a dick.

You squint up at him, your vision starting to clear under the flickering light. Blondish hair. Hoodie. Shades pushed down enough to catch a glimpse of big doe eyes. Familiar. But not actually.

“Heeseung?” you say slowly. His name barely leaves your lips until he’s shushing you, holding his hands up in a prayer position, and looking around with a horrified expression.

“Please,” he begs. “You can come to our fansign next week if you don’t scream my name-”

You scoff. “I don’t want your autograph, you freak,” you reply harshly. 

Heeseung realizes then how badly his words came out. Like he was offering hush money. He scans you, guilt twisting his stomach. But what were you even doing here in the first place? Were you a stalker? He shakes his head. There's no time to think about it now because your bleeding hasn’t stopped, and your eyes start to glaze over. He leans back down in a panic.

“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” he asks hurriedly, as the headlights of a black van make their way towards you two. He points at the car. “We can take you. Just please don’t tell anyone—”

“Screw you,” you mumble through your lightheadedness. “Sophia… I need to see Sophia…”

“Who’s Sophia?” he asks, crouching to grab your wrists. He urges you to keep talking, just in case you lose consciousness. "Do you hear me?"

“My sister,” you groan, tsking at his impatience. He helps you stand, your weight falling against his chest. 

Heeseung sees you better now, up close and under the dim light. You’re pretty. Like, really pretty. ‘Definitely not the time,’ he scolds himself.

“What happened?” the driver asks through a rolled-down window. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No,” Heeseung says quickly. “There might be cameras. Let’s go to the hospital.”

The driver hesitates, then nods. Together, they get you into the passenger seat. Heeseung shuts the door behind you, exhaling sharply. This van was a backup, meant to carry all of the boys' stage outfits. There’s barely room for one person to sit, let alone two. He tries his best to squeeze in beside you, but his shoulder presses against yours all the same.

“Who is this?” the driver asks hesitantly. Heeseung doesn’t know how to respond. Because really, he doesn’t know either.

“Um…” he starts, shifting his gaze to you. “What’s your name?”

You click your tongue, saying it sharply.

“Nice to meet you,” he laughs nervously. “Please don’t hate me.”

You glare at him, unable to even find the energy to roll your eyes. Nausea floods your senses. “Too late,” you mumble, slowly drifting off. 

“Hey, no!” Heeseung snaps his fingers in front of you and gulps. “Stay awake.”

He’s done for. Absolutely done for. He's going to be all over X tomorrow. His solo album will be trashed with all the other songs he’s submitted in the past. Fuck. He heaves out a deep breath and leans in close to you, your eyes suddenly shooting wide open.

“Get away, you creep!” you manage, pushing weakly at his chest.

“Relax! I’m just...” His voice drifts off, giving up any semblance of a productive conversation. When he reaches past you carefully, you tense as you breathe in his scent. A mix of sweat and citrus. “Just let me put your seat belt on for you.”

–

“It’s not a concussion,” the doctor says calmly. “Just a surface-level injury. She should be fine.”

Manager Jung nods. He arrived minutes after Heeseung called and despite being flustered, he immediately secured a more private examination room before anyone could recognize him. 

Heeseung hasn't left your side. He can't. He feels too guilty to leave you alone, with the left side of your forehead all bandaged because of him. The rest of the boys were covering for his absence at their post-concert staff celebration back at the company. He didn’t even know if he could show his face to all of them right now.

“That’s... good to hear,” Heeseung says with a smile, immediately faltering as he meets your sharp gaze. 

“Then why do I feel like throwing up?” you ask dryly.

“You mentioned you were in the front row of the concert, right? Probably fatigue or dehydration.”

Your face warms. You did say that. But only when Heeseung was in the bathroom and far, far away from you. You sneak a glance at him now, and sure enough, you catch the faint twitch of a smirk on his lips. Great. Now you look overdramatic. 

“Can I go?” you mutter, not bothering to hide the impatience in your voice. 

“Yes,” the doctor replies kindly. “But please make sure to monitor your symptoms. If you feel any loss of consciousness within the next few days, please come back immediately.”

Heeseung’s manager follows her outside to finish some paperwork, and the two of you are left in an awkward silence. While you text your sister, Heeseung watches you like a hawk with his shades pushed up into his hair. The moment he sees you open a social media page is the moment he’d step in.

Apparently, Sophia was caught trying to sneak into the send-off. She didn’t even get to see the boys. As you’re about to send her the hospital’s address, Heeseung clears his throat.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally lets out, soft like how he spoke during the concert. Perfectly media trained. “I really didn’t mean to—”

“Save it,” you sigh, still in a bad mood. You can tell when someone puts on a customer service voice from a mile away. “I’m not gonna say anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His ears flush pink. Because, yeah. That is what he’s worried about. To him, staying with you was basic common decency. But still, he knows how it could look. The internet dissects everything. One photo, one rumor, and suddenly he’s being accused of favoritism. Or worse. Dating a fan.

Still, he studies you. You don’t seem like you were trying to ambush him. You don't seem like a fan at all. You’re too irritated with his presence, like he disrupted you rather than the other way around. Isn’t it usually a stalker’s plan to run into their favorite celebrity? But, he guesses it’s best not to ask questions.

“We kind of need that in writing, actually,” he mumbles shyly. “My manager… he brought the paperwork. We can compensate you for all this.”

“Wow,” you drag sarcastically. “Lucky me!”

Right on cue, a knock comes from the other side of the door. “Heeseung,” Manager Jung's voice comes out muffled. “Have her sign the form, and let’s head out soon. Wear your mask when you leave.”

You turn your gaze to him, who’s looking at you sheepishly. He’s holding out a folded packet of paper with a pen clipped to the front. You tug it from his hands, signing your initials and name on whatever is highlighted in yellow. Like you were even in the right state of mind to fill out this damn NDA. 

Could you sue them for this? Probably. But you’re too tired to care and the money they offered was enough for you to take without complaint. You just want to go back home. 

“So...” he starts cautiously, breaking the silence as you reach the last page. “You’re an ENGENE?”

“No,” you reply flatly, hoping to tick him off. “I probably never will be now.”

He raises a brow, skeptical. “You’re not? Then what were you doing, front row, at our concert?”

You scoff. “Being forced against my will to listen to grown men sing about being vampires,” you state with disdain.

“Funny ‘cause I swear I heard you screaming my name at the barricade—” Heeseung’s bluffing. He has to be. He couldn’t have heard your moment of weakness during that one part of his in Teeth… could he?

“Shut up,” you grumble, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He tries to hide his smirk. Because he didn’t see you. Not at all. Just wanted to tease you, but he doesn't quite know why. Really, Heeseung should be exhausted by now, his body aching from hours of performing on stage. But instead of resting, he’s here. With a girl who clearly wants nothing to do with him. He’s glad you don’t.

“You’re lucky I signed this thing,” you say, flipping the packet back to its first page. 

“The offer still stands, you know?” he says lightly. “You can come to our fansign event.” Before you can think of a clever comeback, his phone buzzes.

“Shit.” Heeseung scans the screen, jaw tightening.

“What?” you ask, cautiously. 

“Fans are swarming the waiting room,” he mutters. “Someone must’ve seen the van.”

“Don’t you have bodyguards to escort you out?”

“We didn’t bring security,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought that would be more lowkey…” Apparently not.

Your eyes dart to Heeseung's face, watching him carefully. You wonder if he's always looked like this or if stage lights and video editing were just that good at masking the dark circles underneath his eyes. He looks tired, defeated even. Like he’s used to this. He scrolls through X, searching for his name. And there it is:

enhaluvbot: heeseung went to the hospital straight after the concert i hope he's ok ;_;

No mention of you. No photos. Nothing that could jeopardize his career. His solo. For now. That’s all that matters. Your phone buzzes next. You glance at the message, eye already twitching.

big sis: heeseung’s in the hospital. i’m staking out to see him. just take a taxi home so i can make sure he’s ok :<

You stare at the screen, mouth open in disbelief. Did she not care if you, her younger sister, were okay? You don’t have your wallet. Your phone’s battery is almost drained. And now your ride home is outside the hospital, probably crouching behind a trash can for a glimpse of the same guy standing in front of you. Fuck this.

“I’m leaving,” Heeseung says suddenly, zipping up his hoodie. “Is your sister on her way?”

“Oh, she’s here,” you say solemnly. “Just... not for me.” 

He gives you a confused look. You don’t elaborate.

“This is really dumb of me to ask,” you start, your voice quieter now. The most docile you’ve been with him since you met just two hours prior. He leans in slightly to hear you better. 

“Would it be weird if I asked whether you could help get me a taxi?”

Heeseung scratches his head. Any company executive would be screaming at him to say no. That any proof of him being with you tonight was a paper trail he could not erase. But he looks at you, bandaged and exhausted. He swallows hard. What kind of person would he be to leave you here to fend for yourself? He’s the reason you’re even here in the first place.

He lets out a deep breath, slipping his mask on and bringing his shades down to rest on his nose. He’ll break the rules just this once. 

“Let’s just ride together.”

–

The two of you slip out of the hospital through the back. A taxi, called with specific instructions from Heeseung, waits near the side entrance. 

“Please drop her off first,” Heeseung tells him, settling into the back seat with the middle unoccupied between you two. “Then take me to this address.”

Back to the company, to the post-concert celebration he’s already late for. 

The driver squints at you both from the rearview mirror. Heeseung’s face is hidden behind his mask and shades in the dead of night. The left side of your forehead is wrapped in a bandage that’s bled through just a little. 

“Wow, HYBE! Are you an idol, sir?”

You snort before you can stop yourself, and Heeseung shoots you a tiny glare. A stupid idea pops into your head, the opportunity too good to pass up.

“No,” you sigh dramatically. “Please don’t misunderstand! He’s actually really ugly under the mask. Could never be an idol. He just dresses like this for fun.” 

Heeseung turns his head so fast you can hear the sharp rustle of his hoodie. You try to bite back a grin.

“We’re just visiting the company,” you continue with an exaggeratedly sweet tone. “You know BTS? He LOVES them.”

Heeseung covers his mouth to hide the reddening of his cheeks, like his mask isn't already doing that for him. The taxi driver just nods awkwardly, not sure if it made sense for a fan to come to an entertainment company at this time of night. He’d be surprised, Heeseung thinks.

“And you, ma’am? Why are you bleeding?”

“I—”

“She fell,” he cuts in before you even have the chance to speak, exacting his revenge. “In front of hundreds of people. Everyone was pointing and laughing. It was really embarrassing, sir. You should’ve seen her!”

Now it’s your turn to glare at him. The driver chuckles, looking between you two.

“He thinks Jungkook is his best friend, sir,” you say again, eyes locked on Heeseung’s. “Has posters of him all over his room—”

“She tripped trying to steal candy from a kid,” Heeseung shoots back. “But the kid had a black belt in judo and pinned her down. He's six years old, by the way.” The two of you fire extravagant lies, one after the other. By then, the taxi driver had already tuned your voices out.

“Young love is nice, isn’t it?” he sighs, continuing to drive. “I remember when my wife and I started dating—”

Heeseung waves his hands frantically. “Oh, we’re not—”

“With him? As if—”

But both your protests fall on deaf ears. The driver’s phone rings, and he’s already talking to someone else. You slump back in your seat, upset that you weren’t able to correct him in time. Heeseung glances at your sulking figure and smiles behind his disguise.

It’s unsettling, but weirdly comforting, how you are with him. Like all pretenses were thrown out the window. You can't help but think the same. Never in your life did you expect a celebrity to be as petty as you.

“I’m so sorry, you two,” the driver says abruptly, snapping you both out of your thoughts. “I forgot to pick up my daughter from her friend’s place, so I need to head back immediately. Can I drop you both off at your address, sir? It’s closer.”

Heeseung blinks. “But she needs to get home. She’s injured.”

The driver shrugs his shoulders, flustered. “I’m sorry, but she’s waiting on me. There are other taxis in that area you can wave down.”

“Okay,” Heeseung says slowly, then turns to you. “Will you be okay?”

You just hold up your phone, dead and useless in your hand, as a reminder to him why you even rode together in the first place. You feel pathetic once more with what you’re about to request.

“Do you think I could borrow a charger?” you ask, cringing slightly. “Just for a little, so I can let my family know I’m on the way home.”

He smirks. “Borrow? Like we’re going to see each other again?”

You glare. “I’m literally bleeding,” you say, pointing at your forehead. The one he slammed into a door. Valid point, but there’s nothing he could do now.

“My bag isn’t with me.”

You both sigh, gazing up at the front of the HYBE building as it comes into view. Neither of you makes a move. Heeseung scratches his head and relents. So much for staying out of trouble.

“...Do you want to come up with me?” he asks softly, making sure the driver doesn’t hear. “You can charge your phone in one of the recording studios.”

–

The taxi drops you both off a block away from the company. Heeseung spots a few girls ahead, their eyes scanning every figure that walks into the building from the front entrance. He doesn’t recognize them. Not any of the usual fans that stalk ENHYPEN.

Still, he pulls his hood lower and moves fast. You follow close behind, head down. You two maneuver past them and slip through the side entrance of the dark building. Inside, sleek wooden panels and stone floors greet you. You manage to hide just behind Heeseung to be let in, bypassing the facial recognition software the whole place seems to have.

“This is insane,” you mutter, in awe of how futuristic it all is. Heeseung doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking like it’s normal. 

For him, it most likely is. Stopping in front of a door, he glances both ways down the hall before opening it. The inside of the room is almost enveloped in pitch darkness, save for a floor lamp in the corner. You enter behind him, the control panel full of blinking LEDs and buttons that look too complicated to touch. The recording booth was on the other side of a glass window. 

Heeseung practically lived in this room for the better part of the year, recording new melodies for ENHYPEN’s music. And sometimes, he’d be in here at the dead of night to test new sounds he wanted to try in his own self-produced tracks.

“I’ll grab you a charger,” he says, then hesitates. “Can I trust you to head out after you’re done?”

You shrug. “No promises,” you say, admiring the couch by the door. Velvet. You take a seat, making yourself comfortable. “I might have to record something before I go.”

He scoffs. “Just leave through the exit we came from. If you see anyone holding a camera, hide.”

Heeseung takes off his mask and sunglasses, examining them a little bit, before handing them to you. “Use these. Just in case.”

You take the items that smell faintly of his cologne and bite the inside of your cheek. Isn't this weirdly intimate?

“You really have to think about this kind of thing all the time?” you ask, cutting through the silence.

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. His lower back leans lightly against the couch's armrest, eyes on the floor. He's heard this too many times before. It’s not like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounded. How he has to constantly hide wherever he goes and whoever he’s with. 

He shakes his head. “Not always. Most days, we don’t get bothered. We aren't at that level of popularity. Maybe at the airport. But that’s just what being an idol is about.”

Still. You think about how different his life is from yours. From the fancy ass buildings to the stalkers-in-waiting. It must be exhausting, having to keep up appearances. 

“This shouldn’t be normal for anyone,” you whisper, surprisingly tender. You look at him and guilt riddles you. Your sister and her far-from-normal tendencies led you here in front of him… and she's part of the problem.

“No one should have to spend every moment of their life looking over their shoulder,” you continue. “Not even assholes like you.”

He laughs softly. You really lack a filter. “I love my job too much to worry about a few bad fans," he reasons. "If I weren’t doing this..."

Heeseung's voice drifts off, but his eyes find yours. "I’d be nothing.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Because somehow, the saddest thing you’ve ever heard is said with the happiest smile on his face. You don’t doubt that he was born for the idol life. It seemed like it on stage and even more so here. The way he shrugs off things that would break most people. Good for him, you think to yourself sadly. He has something you wish you had. Purpose.

“And you?” Heeseung asks suddenly. “Who are you?”

You never felt small throughout the few hours you’ve spent with him, but the question knocks the wind out of you a little. Because you don’t have an answer. “None of your business,” you say begrudgingly.

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Just a stalker.”

“Don't call me that,” you interrupt, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m not even a fan.”

“You’re not? Really?” He laughs almost out of disbelief. “We’re already past the point of lying, you can just—”

“I don’t like you,” you interrupt him plainly. “If my stupid sister didn’t drag me to your concert, I wouldn’t have even bothered to come watch a bunch of fuckboys sing shitty music they don’t even produce themselves…”

But your voice drifts off. Because you see how Heeseung's gaze intensifies, his brows furrowing in disappointment. He’s heard it all before. From people online, from accounts with no profile pictures pretending like they know exactly what kind of person he is. Standoffish. Cocky. Flirtatious. Disingenuous. That's all they say about him. And so do you.

“You don’t even know me,” he says, voice low.

“You’re right. But I’ve seen enough.”

Designer clothes. Girls groveling at his feet. Performances all over the world. His life is wonderful. There’s hordes of fans that support him every day, who would love him at his highest and lowest points in his life. He works in an industry that probably pays him more than you'll ever see in your lifetime. He’s set for life. 

Your back straightens from your seat on the couch as Heeseung walks toward you.

“I think you’d think differently of me if you actually tried to get to know me.”

“I don’t want to.”

He gives you a look. “What use do you get out of acting so hostile with me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Nothing, really. “I just don’t see what’s so good about you,” you mumble. It’s meant to be a joke, a slight dig at him. But still, he flinches.

Memories of his trainee days, of nights spent wondering if he should have just gone to college or do his military service early like his other friends, wash over him.  “Trust me,” he replies, throat dry. “I don’t either.”

And you wonder if you went too far. You typically do. You lower your gaze. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—”

He cuts you off. “Can’t we just start over from when I asked you who you were?” he sighs.

You look up at him and raise a brow. “Why does my opinion matter to you anyway?” you ask, genuinely. “I’m a nobody—”

“Well I want to get to know this nobody before I hand her my charger,” he cuts in.

You hesitate. He did do more for you tonight than Sophia did, at least. Maybe you owe him an honest and civil response. “...I'm still figuring it out.”

A silence falls between you two as Heeseung takes a seat next to you. He doesn’t quite look at you. "How come?"

You shrug. “Just graduated from university. Don’t have a full-time job yet. I was working at a restaurant for a while, but the pay was horrible. My sister’s a mess, my parents are up my ass.” You swallow back a bitter laugh. “Never really had the time for self-reflection.”

He watches you quietly, and you take it as permission to keep going. “I guess you can call me a coward,” you admit, voice low. “Felt like I missed my chance to do something great with my life. And now I feel like everyone else has already started their lives, and I’m…”

You don’t know why you’re saying all this. Maybe because he asked. Maybe because it’s the first time someone actually took the time to care. And maybe because he’s a stranger you’ll likely never see again.

It’s a bit embarrassing, though. Because you know the kind of person you’re speaking with. An idol. Someone who actually pursued their dreams. He wouldn’t get it. “So yeah,” you sigh. “Still figuring it out.”

He chuckles, and you almost give him a glare. But there’s a tenderness to his gaze that you can't quite place. 

“Aren’t we all?” Heeseung replies, finally looking at you. He was never very good at comforting others, but it's genuine. Because Heeseung understands you, more than he’d like to admit.

Because he doesn’t know when he ends and the idol version of him begins. As the oldest, Heeseung is supposed to be the dependable one. The mediator. The most experienced. So many responsibilities but so little time to remind himself why he even chose to be an idol. He only remembers when he’s on stage. 

You glance down at the mask and shades in your hand. Silence overtakes you both once again, and you fake a small cough. 

“How much do you think I can sell this online?” you ask, noticing that the sunglasses he's given you have a silver Prada logo on the side. He huffs out a quiet laugh and with a slight pause, he stands up from where he sat.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “I’ll get you a charger... and some food. Since you’re fatigued and everything.”

Your mouth parts slightly in shock. “You don’t have to.”

He smiles. “But I want to.”

You look up at him. He's handsome, really, even out of the stage lights.

–

Heeseung’s been stuck at the celebration longer than he intended, in his fifth round of empty small talk with some staff members. Every laugh, every congratulatory pat feels robotic because his mind keeps drifting back to the small recording studio three floors down. Back to you.

“You tired?” Jungwon asks, hand resting on his older member’s shoulder.

Heeseung nods, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Long day.”

An understatement. Jungwon only knew the surface of what happened after the concert. He doesn't know about your presence in this very building at this very moment. Fuck. He needs to get back to you. “I’m just going to head to the restroom for a bit,” Heeseung mutters, coughing into his fist. 

At the catering table, he grabs a couple of pastries. He stacks them neatly on a plate like a man starved. Then he slips toward the door, glancing over his shoulder. Behind him, he doesn't hear Jungwon mutter to Sunoo. “Why is he bringing all that to the restroom?”

Heeseung takes the stairs two at a time. By the time he reaches the recording studio, he’s half-expecting it to be empty. It isn’t. You’re still there. Slumped over the couch, head buried in your elbow on the armrest. Asleep. Or unconscious. For a moment, he panics. Should he be concerned? His hand hovers uncertainly before he shakes your shoulder gently. “Hey...”

You groan, shifting slightly in your sleep. Heeseung sighs in relief. 'Good,' he thinks to himself, 'you’re not dead.'

He sets the plate down on the table and plugs in your phone with the charger he retrieved. “So much for just charging your phone,” he says under his breath, more to himself than you.

He takes a seat on the rolling chair and spins around to look at you. Heeseung smiles, but stops himself. He wonders if any of this is okay. Being in this room with you. He shakes his head. Who is he kidding? None of this would ever be. Making up lies to a taxi driver, opening up to a complete stranger. But why did he find this kind of fun? Hanging out with you.

Every interaction of his is examined and scrutinized. No matter if he was talking in front of the camera, to fans, or even to other idols. But with you, it's almost easy. To be himself. You treat him like a person. A regular person. He misses that more than he realized. He used to be like everybody else. Used to pull all-nighters for high school exams, which he would still ultimately fail. Used to take on part-time jobs so he could afford the newest console games. 

The mundanity of his old life... sometimes he wishes for it back.He shakes his head again, trying to push the thoughts away. He unlocks his phone and types a quick message to Jungwon. ‘Leave before me. Don’t wait up.’

Then he puts it face down on the table. Heeseung sits there, admiring the steady rise and fall of your breathing. He reaches a hesitant hand out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyelashes flutter just a little. You are really pretty.

His mind screams at him to leave, to go back upstairs, and return to the familiarity of the staff that made this lifestyle possible. But Heeseung tells himself he’ll wait with you here until you wake up. He did injure you after all.

So he spins back around, types his password into the computer, and opens up a music file he’d been working on for the past three months. He doesn’t bother to put on a headset, just plays the track from start to finish. He’d get in so much trouble right now, playing this in front of you. But it’s okay, right? Anyway, you’re asleep—

“It sounds good,” you mutter groggily behind him. He whips the chair around back to you. Shit.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, pausing the track. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Keep playing,” you sigh into your arms. “I like it.” A flood of warmth coats Heeseung’s chest. You like it. He smiles, pressing play again, letting the song’s softness permeate the foam-padded walls. 

–

You sit up too fast when you wake up, your hand flying to the back of your neck as the stiffness settles in. Heeseung is slumped in his own chair. You almost scream, forgetting where you were. 

There’s a plate of food on the desk, most likely stale by now. Your heart skips a beat. He actually got you that? 

You double-tap the screen of your phone and see forty missed calls from your parents and Sophia. But what’s worse is the time. 8 a.m. You shoot up, grabbing your things, practically ripping the charger from the wall socket. Voices echo faintly from outside the room as panic surges through you. Staff are already at work. Were you seriously here all night?

Heeseung stirs. His eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep, until he sees your mortified face. He sits up. 

“I’m fucked,” you say under your breath, flashing him your screen. He leans forward, taking the phone in his hand to see it better. You try not to acknowledge how his fingers brush yours.

“No,” he gulps. “I’m fucked.” He slouches back into his chair. 

“How do I get out of here?” you say in a hushed tone as if the people outside would hear you through the soundproof walls.

Heeseung rubs his face. “Just walk out. No one’s going to notice. A lot of people work here.” He hesitates. “Me, on the other hand—”

His phone buzzes before he can finish. He picks up the call, interrupting his monologue of despair, knowing his members would interrogate him when he's back at the dorm. Heeseung's tone shifts instantly. “Hello, sir,” he chirps, suddenly more alert. He's sitting straighter, voice a little higher, and tone more formal. Your eyes narrow.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the tracks,” he says excitedly. But his expression falls a little as he listens intently to the other person speak on the other line. “Of course, sir. We can change it if you don’t like it. I was wondering if we can keep that—Oh, no, it’s okay... We can get rid of that too if you want—”

He’s so eager to agree, didn’t even hesitate. You don’t know the full context, but you recognize the tone well. The sounds of someone desperate for approval. When he hangs up, his expression is tight. Not at all like the guy from last night with his quiet laughter and teasing remarks. When Heeseung meets your gaze, he knows the look you give him. Like he’s a lost puppy.

“Our creative director. He's being an asshole about some changes I made to the lyrics—” he clarifies, but he stops himself. Because why does he need to explain himself to you?

“It’s okay,” you say softly, noticing his furrowed brows. “I get it.”

You swallow hard. “But you don’t have to always accept what people tell you,” you continue. “It’s okay to say no.”

And his eyes waver. No one’s ever really told him that before. Heeseung’s whole life, his whole career, was about obedience. It’s been drilled into him. Keep your head down. Respect your elders. Take feedback silently. Don't ever be selfish. He heard it constantly as a trainee. In I-Land. At the start of his debut. And here you are, a complete stranger, telling him he could stand up for himself.

“Thank you,” he says with a sad smile. He tries not to read into the way your eyes ignite something in his chest. That subtle pull he feels toward you. It's a feeling he's used to pushing down. You adjust your clothes to be more presentable, moving towards the door.

“It was nice meeting you.” You pause, not sure what else to say. “You’re a lot nicer than I thought you’d be.”

Because he seemed so quiet in the shows you’ve watched him in. Too flirtatious with fans. Too passionate on stage. You painted a negative picture of him in your head because your sister was so in love with him. She tended to have bad taste in men. 

He smiles back, just a little. “On the other hand, you’re very mean—”

You sneer. “Want me to take it back?”

“I’m kidding,” he laughs. “Thank you too. For being a good person.”

Because it could have all gone wrong today. You could have taken advantage of the situation. Could have had him trending on all social media platforms that same night. You could have ruined his life. But you didn’t.

You both reach for the door at the same time. His hand lands on top of yours as it clicks open. His face is close. Heeseung’s deep brown eyes look into yours with a softness that makes your palms sweat.

“See you around,” you say, as low as a whisper. Not really knowing if you will, but it feels right to say. Heeseung doesn’t say anything back. He can’t. Your hand underneath his… he wishes it could stay there forever.

But no matter how much he wishes you’d stay in his head, to be in this moment with him, he can’t say what he really wants to. And so, you walk away.

–

You try your best to adjust to the regular schedule programming of your life, focusing on job applications you have yet to hear back from. Anything to distract yourself from the fleeting presence of Lee Heeseung in your otherwise uneventful life.

It's annoying, trying not to think about him when your sister continues to shove ENHYPEN content down your throat. But your brain keeps going back to a few days ago, how his voice was so much softer when it wasn't echoing through an arena.

Even after she ditched you after the concert, your silent treatment toward Sophia barely lasted a day. She bribed you back with takeout and coffee, flashing that credit card of hers so easily in your line of vision. So now she’s back to replaying the Bad Desire music video in your living room.

It’s like you can’t escape him. Heeseung’s face is everywhere. On news sites, store ads, even the email sitting in your inbox: BELIFT LAB: Confidentiality Agreement and at the top of your bank account deposits.

But somehow, Heeseung's ever-looming presence doesn’t stir the same resentment you thought it would. It used to all feel fake. His smile, his charm, his confidence. But his laugh sounds the same as when you met him. His willingness to look after you, to stay with you, seemed to match the caring personality on the vlogs Sophia forced upon you. 

You almost wish it didn’t feel so familiar. Every time you see him, some part of you slips back to the recording studio, to the version of him who saw through your guarded facade. 

Sophia still doesn’t know what really happened after the concert. You never really told her. Partly because of the NDA, mostly because she has a few screws loose when it comes to Heeseung. To your family, it was simple: you slipped, hit your head, and spent the night in the hospital. Your parents didn’t ask for details. As long as they didn’t have to pay for anything.

"WHAT?!" she exclaims from the couch. You ignore her.

“There’s a cup sleeve event for ENHYPEN happening right now,” she cries, smacking a hand on your shoulder. “And Heeseung just showed up. He never comes to these things!” 

You flinch. “Did you not see the weather advisory?” you reply, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened when you heard his name. “There’s gonna be a huge storm later-”

She scoffs. “When has that ever stopped me?”

–

Sophia always has her ways of dragging you out of the house. Then again, promising a free dinner to an unemployed person always seems to work. And that’s how you find yourself standing in a line, sweating under the sweltering heat of the sun with a crowd of ENGENEs walking past you two. They’re holding iced Americanos adorned with the boys’ faces on the cup sleeves. You tap your foot impatiently, wiping beads of sweat from your forehead.

This better be the best coffee you’ve ever had. Your sister holds out her handheld fan as it slows to a stop. It was the only reprieve you two had in this unforgivingly humid summer. 

“Shit,” your sister cries, shaking it like that’ll help. “Can you buy a battery? I think my fan just died.” You rejoice, willing to do anything to get out of the line and escape the mugginess.

After a block, you spot a convenience store. Cool air greets you the second you walk in, and you almost moan in relief. The cashier barely looks up when you ask where the batteries are, just points toward a shelf near the counter for eating. 

Someone sits there, hood up, mask pulled down, slurping ramen like he was in the comfort of his own home. And though his face is obscured, there's something about his posture. 

“Heeseung?” you say in a low whisper, battery pack in one hand and fan in the other. The person puts up his mask sloppily and whips his head around. His eyes open wide, and you’re even more sure of it now. It really is him.

“It's you.” His voice is muffled, but his eyes say it all. Like he was greeting an old friend. Hesitantly, you take the seat beside him. “How’d you know I was here?” he asks with a raised brow. 

You rest your chin on your hand, basking in the cool air of the store. “You think I keep up with you like that?”

Heeseung holds a doubtful glint in his eyes. “So you just happened to run into me for the second time this week?”

You roll your eyes. “Then why don’t you report me?” you bite back. “Since you seem so concerned.”

Heeseung purses his lips. You’re probably right. Once was a coincidence. But twice? He looks at you a bit more thoughtfully. No. He believes you. “And you're at this specific convenience store because…?”

“Sophia,” you answer, like that explains anything. “She dragged me to your fans’ event thingy.”

That’s when you notice the Americano beside his instant ramen bowl. With a cup sleeve of himself. You pick it up, grinning. “Really? Narcissistic much?” you chuckle as you point at his face. 

He lowers his mask just enough for you to catch the faint smirk underneath. “Was I supposed to ask for another member's?” 

Without thinking, you slip the cup sleeve into your purse. “Wha—”

“For my sister,” you say quickly, interrupting him from his protests. “So she doesn’t get upset later if she gets someone other than you.”

“Sophia… is your sister,” Heeseung starts slowly, like the gears are turning in his head as he speaks. How harshly you speak to him. How little you knew about him. And now he feels embarrassed. “And she’s a fan? Of me?”

You snort. “No, she’s your wife.” He blinks, and you almost try not to laugh at how genuinely alarmed he looks.

“I’m joking,” you laugh. “She thinks you two are, at least. Recognize her?” You pull up a photo from the concert with the two of you pressed against the barricade. 

“You were actually that close?!” he gawks, taking the phone from your hand. To think, in that same photo, he was probably on the stage performing his heart out. That version of Heeseung would have never imagined what would happen after.

As for your sister... he knows her, alright. You notice immediately how his face sours. Maybe it would be a bad time to reveal that she almost snuck into their sendoff…

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “If Sophia’s ever made you feel uncomfortable. She just gets obsessed really easily—”

“No, it’s okay,” he sighs, handing the phone back to you. He takes another slurp of his ramen before bringing the bowl to his lips to swallow the broth down. Heeseung looks at you with an unexpected solemnness. 

The few interactions he’s had with your sister were a bit awkward in his memory. She would ask him about his ideal type, what kind of dates he would go on if he had a girlfriend. Questions he had preplanned answers to. “Like I said before," he says, recalling a memory. "I’m used to it.”

You wonder how often he tells himself this just so he can convince himself that it’s fine. Before you can think of anything to say, the door chimes behind you. Heeseung pushes his mask back up when he notices two teenagers walk in with ENHYPEN merch.

“Ugh,” one of them cries. “Someone said they saw Heeseung earlier. I wonder if he’s nearby.”

“Let’s check online,” the other one offers. “I think people saw him near this area…”

You don’t even need to say anything, Heeseung’s already standing. But instead of bolting like you expect him to, his hands find your wrist. Warm and firm against as it wraps around your skin. Before you can even react, you’re running with him out the door. The two girls look up, but it’s too late. The only proof of your existence in that convenience store was the ramen bowl and plastic cup that Heeseung left behind.

–

You’re breathless as he pulls you into alleyway after alleyway, eventually reaching one that opens up into a quieter street. An empty neighborhood that feels out of place in a city like Seoul.

“Why are we still running?!” you manage between gasps, trying to pull your arm out of his grip. “And why are you taking me with you?!”

He stops abruptly, chest rising and falling beneath his hoodie. It’s like Heeseung puts two and two together as he turns around. The way his hand is still around your wrist, how tightly he’s been holding on.

“Sorry,” he coughs. He releases you instantly, shoving both hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “I panicked.”

“Why do we always end up like this?” you say, fanning your face. How Heeseung was wearing those layers in this weather was a mystery to you.  

“Like what?” he asks with a small smile. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Trying not to be seen by your stupid fans,” you grumble. “I feel like a criminal."

Heeseung shrugs. “Well, you do keep following me around,” he starts teasingly through his mask. “You might actually be.”

You want to hit him so bad, but you hold off the impulse. “If I were you, I don't think I'd ever leave my house,” you shudder, remembering how the girls were scouring for updates on his location. “You need to hire a personal bodyguard.”

He chuckles. “I mean, I usually don't. Just… haven’t had a day off in a while.”

You raise a brow. “So you spent it getting shitty coffee with your face on it and eating ramen you could’ve made at home?”

“Can a man not leave his dorm and support a small business for once?” he jokes, hands in the air like a man under arrest. You manage out a small huff of laughter.

Heeseung's always really kept to himself. Not like he hated being with the boys all the time, but they spent almost all their waking hours together. Sometimes (most times) he likes being alone. There's no one around to impress. No one to disappoint. 

He instinctively looks around in search of cameras, afraid the watchful eyes of fans have found him here with you. When the coast is clear and the paranoia fades, he lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. Heeseung takes a moment to gaze at you for a second, memorizing your features just in case you slip through his fingertips once more. Just a few minutes of your time would be okay, right?

“If you’re free,” Heeseung mutters. “Do you wanna hang out?”

You blink. “Like right now?” He nods.

“I probably shouldn’t,” you say, glancing back toward the direction you came from. “My sister’s waiting for me.”

“The same sister who left you alone to sneak backstage?” he asks with a raised brow.

You narrow your gaze. “I didn’t tell you that...”

“I’m not an idiot,” he replies. “I see her everywhere. Let me guess. Were you keeping watch for her that night? Outside the backstage area? Was she trying to sneak in?”

Your eyes widen. Fuck. Just from his expression alone, he knew he was right. “Are you… gonna press charges?” you ask seriously. “Against her? I already signed the thing, so you can’t do anything against—”

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I won’t…”

His eyes linger on yours and down to your lips. There’s something you can’t explain in the way he looks at you. It makes you want to run far away from him and pull him close at the same time. Though you’d never admit it out loud.

He smirks. “As long as you spend some time with me.”

–

It’s nothing special. You just walk. Talk. Bicker. Keep walking. The streets here are vacant, save for a few chirping birds on telephone poles. The only person you’ve seen so far was an old man dozing off on a plastic stool, newspaper over his lap.

Heeseung asked what you studied in school, listening to your rants about tuition costs and late night shifts. You ask how hard it is to live with six other men, and he sheepishly reveals that he's one of the messier ones in the dorm. He’s shocked when you tell him that your favorite song of theirs is Polaroid Love, so different from your prickly personality. You wince a little when he casually mentions how smelly his feet get after dance practice. You could’ve left by now. Said your goodbyes. But you don’t, and neither does he.

In the humid heat of summer and in this secluded part of the city, drops of precipitation start to descend. It’s almost sudden, how quickly the rain pours down. 

Heeseung takes your hand, and you don't resist like all those other times before, as he guides you toward the nearest awning. He peels off his completely soaked mask, stuffing it into the pocket of his black sweatpants. And he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. It’s only when you give him a questioning look that he releases you, wiping his hand on his pants to distract himself from the pattering in his chest.

“We should’ve brought an umbrella,” he mutters. You chuckle at how unprepared you both are, even when you knew that rain would come.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Now we’re soaked.”

You wonder why Heeseung’s gaze wavers. Why he shifts away from you so suddenly. You don’t notice how translucent your white blouse has become in the rain. How it clings to your curves in a way that makes him feel guilty for even taking a glimpse. He unzips his hoodie wordlessly, quickly wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Why—” And your face heats up, realizing then why he forced it upon you. Your bra was practically visible.

“Thanks,” you mutter begrudgingly, sliding your arms into the sleeves to pull the hoodie’s material closer. It smelled faintly of cigarettes and ramen packet seasoning. You wonder if he smokes.

“You should be more cautious with strangers, you know. What if I just ran off with this?”

He scoffs at you playfully. “Why don’t you want me to trust you so badly?”

Before you can protest, a notification rings for both of you. A flash flood warning in the area.

“Shit,” Heeseung sighs. “We need to find a place to wait this out.”

He shows you his screen, and sure enough, the next four hours were forecasted for heavy rain. This was all Sophia’s fault, you tell yourself. You look around to find any semblance of temporary shelter. A cafe, a restaurant, maybe a convenience store like before. But all the places in this quaint part of the city were boarded up or closed. 

Then your eyes land on it, a place too embarrassing to mention out loud. Because you really, really don't want to go in there. Into a seedy-looking building, out of place and tucked in the corner. Its cream exterior is streaked with years of age and molding. The neon pink sign flickers through the haze of the rain. 

Heeseung notices your gaze, and the same ideas formulate in his mind. His voice comes out awkwardly. “What about over there?”

He points at what is so clearly a love hotel, blushing at his own unintended implications. You shift away slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of him. How your body is wrapped in his fragrance.

“Don't make it weird,” he mumbles, catching the furrow of your brows. “It's only for a few hours.”

You scoff. “I'd rather sit here and swim through the water than—”

Lightning cracks impossibly near you two as the sound of thunder almost shatters your eardrum. The rainfall comes down harder, the streets basically turning into rivers. You take a deep breath. There's no other choice.

–

Heeseung opens the door to a dingy room, tacky floral prints adorning the walls with a picture of a rose hanging above the bed. Every possible accent of the room was in bright pink, save for the brown lounge chair suspiciously positioned right in front of the bed. You grimace at the sound of your wet boots on the creaky wooden floorboards.

“You couldn't have gotten us two separate rooms?” you mutter.

“The guy said all their other rooms were under renovation,” Heeseung replies, flopping onto the velvet chair. “Plus… do you have the means to pay? Or did you just assume that I’d be covering for both?”

You stare daggers into him, unable to muster a thoughtful response. Because he's right. And now you think you should never have told him you were struggling to find a job. “Whatever, dickhead…”

Your eyes drift to the bed. Two pairs of silk pajamas are folded neatly atop it, one slightly larger than the other. Since when did shady hotels offer such amenities? 

You try not to think too hard about it because the humidity of the room clings to you, making you desperate for relief. Without thinking, you shrug off Heeseung’s hoodie. He scans your figure before quickly diverting his gaze, the wall suddenly becoming much more interesting. His ears flush a deep crimson.

“Why are you…” And then you remember how utterly soaked your blouse is as you look down. You cross your arms over your chest to hide the outline of your breasts. 

“I'm gonna take a shower,” you mutter, rushing into the bathroom without a second thought. Shit. What was that just now? Why'd he look at you like that?

Your chest tightens. You swear there was something in the way he looked at you. Like tension. Like fire. Cradling your head in your hands, you groan. Were you turning into your delusional ass sister?

You try to distract yourself with a cold and uneventful shower until you remember the forgotten pair of pajamas left on the bed. Clad in a towel, you crack the door open just enough to peek out. Heeseung is still sitting on the chair, eyes widening when he sees your head poke through. Wet hair clinging to your neck, droplets of water coating your bare shoulders. He swallows hard.

“Do you mind handing the clothes to me?” you ask sheepishly. Heeseung walks in a daze, head full of thoughts too scary to say out loud, and grabs the smaller of the two silk pajamas. He holds them out to you.

“Hurry up,” he mumbles, trying his best not to look. “I need to take a shower too.”

You’re sitting on the bed, watching Heeseung—in the matching pair of pajamas—hang his damp clothes next to yours on the coat rack. The subtle hum of the hotel-provided hair dryer fills the room as he dries them out. 

When the lights flicker from the storm outside, your body jumps before you can even process the sound of thunder. Heeseung’s eyes flicker to you. “Such a scaredy-cat…” Heeseung chuckles, turning off the dryer when he’s satisfied with his work. 

“At least I'm alert,” you argue. “Unlike somebody…”

“Right…” He pays you no mind as he sets the dryer on the nightstand. Your eye twitches.

“What kind of idol just walks into a love hotel with a girl?” you taunt, irritated by his lack of response. “If I were some psycho, you’d probably be dead by now.”

“Are you?” he teases, sitting beside you on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and you scoot away instinctively to create distance between your warm bodies. “A crazy psycho killer who pretends to hate me?”

“It’s not pretend,” you say dryly. “I do, in fact, hate you. There’s a damn scar on my forehead because of—” He leans in, your words stopping at your throat as he examines the small scab hidden beneath your hair. For a moment, guilt flickers across his face, but you open your mouth before he can speak.

“Like you’d think you’d care more about your career, but it seems like I'm the only one with a brain between us,” you spit out. And you don’t even know why you say it. Maybe because it’s the way he’s looking at you so intently. Or how you can feel his breath on your skin with how close he’s sitting. Your heart beats too fast around him. 

“And how’s your career working out for you?” Nevermind. Fuck him.

“That's such a low blow.”

“But it’s okay when you insult me?” he scoffs. “You think I’m an idiot—”

“Most idols usually are—”

“And you’re so quick to judge people.”

His hands ball into fists in his lap, breath ragged. The shift in his once soft demeanor makes your chest tighten. You know how you get sometimes, how prideful you can be. Defensive, even. Your words only ever come out wrong with him. 

“Well, isn’t that the truth?” you huff. “God, did you hear yourself a few days ago? ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Will do, sir.’ You’re like a total pushover.”

He tsks, jaw tightening.  “Coming from you?” he asks mockingly, shifting closer. The mattress dips further, his hand pressing into the sheets beside your lap. Heeseung leans in close to your ear. “Don’t be mad that I worked for my dreams while you sit around and wait for yours."

You grit your teeth, the feeling of his breath on your neck like needles on skin. You hold your gaze on him. “At least I don’t have to fake who I am just so I can get people to like me.”

He glares at you, and in a split second, he moves away. “What a brat,” he murmurs under his breath, facing away from you.

You laugh darkly. “I’m a brat? Me? A brat? What about you?”

“What about me?” Heeseung counters. “I'm not the one who spends every second trying to start an argument. When all I’ve done—”

And he swallows his words a little, scared of how you might react if he were to tell you the truth. But there’s nothing to lose. Maybe he’ll never see you again. Maybe it's for the better.

“When all I’ve done…” he starts again, voice wavering. “All I’ve done these past few days since we met is fucking think about you.”

You feel every part of your body heat up. A warm, fluttering feeling you can’t describe. You push out a bitter laugh. “Oh, and was I supposed to, too, Mr. Idol? Was I supposed to fall to my knees when I saw you again?”

“Why are you so mean to me?” he asks quietly. “Do I bother you that much?”

You exhale, trying to find your composure. You do like being around him. That’s the problem. You had already made up your mind that he was off-limits, that he’s probably a horrible person and your sister can’t distinguish reality from his carefully curated persona. But he’s real. And in front of you.

“I didn’t even want to go out today,” you say, voice quivering. “My stupid ass sister forced me to. I’m sure you think any girl would kill to be in my position right now, but I don’t even want—”

“You know what I want?” Heeseung’s voice drops low. He swallows hard, licking his lips. His eyes glued to yours. “I wanted to see you again.”

“What?” you muster out. His hands find your face, his fingers firm against your cheek. 

“You heard me,” he whispers. Heeseung leans in, his lips touch yours for a split second before pulling away. You close your eyes shut from instinct, craving for contact once more.

As if obeying your silent command, his mouth finds yours again. Testing the waters with soft movements. You hesitate, torn between the argument still echoing in your head and the warmth in your chest. He’s supposed to be a stranger. A fleeting passenger in your life.

But his lips move passionately against yours, like that of a lover. When you finally match his languid motions, his hand slides around your waist to pull you in closer. Heeseung’s kisses are sweet, deliberate. But this isn’t right. 

You spent years rolling your eyes at the mere image of him on a screen, fighting with Sophia about how ridiculous it was to obsess over a man who would never even look in her direction. And now he’s here. Kissing you so tenderly that you think your heart might explode. The guilt sears through you suddenly.

You push him away, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “Fucking perv,” you spit out, standing abruptly. Heeseung holds your forearm, his grip gentle, pulling you to face him. He’s still sitting on the bed, looking at you with those eyes. Those beautiful, pleading eyes.

“Is this what you and your boys do?” you ask through gritted teeth, your voice shaking. “Make moves on random girls, take them to hotel rooms, and then fuck them and—”

“No,” he says quickly. He hopes you believe him just this once. “I’m not that type of guy. And I wouldn’t do that. Not to you."

He hesitates, licking his lips, searching for the right words. Because if he’s being fully honest, Heeseung has spent almost every hour of his free time in the last few days trying to find you online. He’s scrolled through countless accounts, only getting as far as seeing your private Instagram account. Too scared to follow. Too scared of rejection. Too scared to cause trouble for the group.

He had a pit in his stomach when you left him, a more intense feeling than when he left his phone in the dressing room. Like he had lost something important. Someone. 

And he sees it in your eyes too. How you push down your laughter when he makes a joke. How you leaned into his touch. How your words are sharp, but your pulse hammers fast. “You like me,” he blurts out, not even knowing that he said it out loud.

You laugh. “No. You’re delusional.”

He shakes his head. His grip on your wrist loosens, but his doe eyes stay on yours. You could pull away now. But you don’t. “Then why’d you kiss me back?”

His words hang in the air. And it’s strange because he knows this is stupid. Knows the risk. Knows that his company executives would lose their minds if they saw him like this. But he doesn’t want to think about it. He’s spent every waking moment in the entertainment industry only thinking about his image. He just wants to feel this. To be here with you.

But you’re no good at opening up, at letting people in. And it scares you more than you’d like to admit. “I don’t know,” you finally reply. And he smiles. Heeseung’s hands meet your waist, pulling you into his lap. You don’t resist.

“We just met,” you say, trying not to let the way he wraps your legs around him get to you. His fingers brush gently against your skin, moving the wet strands of hair away from your forehead. “I've known you for less than a day—”

“The best hours of my life,” he interrupts, smiling.

"We’re not even friends—”

“We could be?” Your heart flutters against your will. Screw him for being so charming. For knowing all the right words to say. Against your better judgment, your gaze drifts down toward his lips. You crave them.

“Is this something friends do?” you ask, voice low, leaning into him ever so slightly.

“Something we could do,” he whispers. And you don’t shove him away this time when his lips meet your temple, the area he hit with a door just days ago, and down to your own. His mouth works against yours, tongue pushing deeply into your wet cavern. His large hands roam your clothed back as they slowly trail your bottom

His touches are feather light against the fabric of your pajama pants. He almost lets go when you grab his wrist, only to force him into gripping you tighter. You had no desire to be treated like a delicate flower. 

Heeseung takes a handful of you, groaning into your mouth at the feeling of your plushness. God, you have ruined him. He pulls away, awed by the trail of saliva that connects the two of you. He rests his forehead against yours, panting heavy against your skin. You feel him then. His rigidness underneath. You stare up into his eyes, meeting his intense gaze. 

Heeseung searches for any semblance of regret in your features. That the pretty pout you give him is all in his imagination. That the short time you shared together did not affect you in the way it fundamentally changed him.

“I want you,” he says, a small whine evident in his voice. His hands don't leave your body. “Please tell me you want me too.”

Your mouth opens, almost ready to give a snappy rejection. But then you’d be lying. So you settle for the truth. “You don’t even know me,” you reply in a low voice. 

Heeseung lifts you off of him for a short moment, and you feel the back of your head softly land on the pillow. You lay underneath him now, his wet hair dripping down onto your cheek. On your neck. On every exposed part of your skin. 

“But I want to,” he whispers. “If you’ll let me.”

And you don’t know what overcomes you when your fingers find his shirt, pulling open the buttons of his top. Or what possesses Heeseung to push away your fumbling fingers to unbutton your pajamas as well. You shrug off the material, and you hear his breath hitch.

His eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You aren’t wearing a bra. You’d taken it off earlier, too uncomfortable to wear when it was soaked like the rest of your clothing. But you don't mind. Because you admire him, too, in his shirtless form. His toned body, muscular in all the right places. Sweat dripping down his chest from the stuffiness of the room.

You try to prop yourself up on your elbows to get closer to him, but Heeseung stops you. He pushes your shoulders down softly back into the mattress. His lips trace shadows of kisses down your neck until his face hovers over your tits. 

Heeseung lands soft kisses around your nipple before swallowing a mound into his mouth, sucking gently as his tongue laps around your sensitive bud. His hand moves to grasp your neglected breast, massaging and switching sides when you whine at the loss of contact. 

Your teeth break the skin of your lip, and a metallic taste finds its way to your tongue. He smirks. What did you get out of stifling your sweet moans?

“I think I like you like this,” Heeseung sighs, his mouth parting from you. He lifts his head, eyes never leaving yours, as his index fingers hook the waist of your pajama pants. "Finally quiet for me."

You glare down at him impatiently. "Shut up..."

Your fingers find his, helping him pull down the fabric. He chuckles, but it's stopped short. “Fuck,” he groans when he’s met with bare skin. Your back arches up into his touch.

You’re not wearing panties either, too uncomfortable to wear the soaked fabric against your newly showered skin. 

“Were you expecting this today?” he teases, tracing his fingers on your inner thigh. “Didn’t bother wearing anything when you knew you’d be stuck here with me?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to focus on the way his hand inches closer to your nether region. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Heeseung leans down, face just above your torso. He gives a teasing lick at your navel, one that makes you grasp onto his shoulders from the warmth of his tongue. He pays you no mind, lowering himself down and peppering kisses on any part of your skin that his mouth can touch. And when you think he would stop at the place you needed him most… he doesn’t. 

He moves lower, his wet pink muscle licking down your thigh, to your knee. All the way to your ankle until he reaches the very tip of your toes. Like he's teasing you. But not for him. No, this is his indulgence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, as his face travels back up and in between your legs. “Every part of you.” You bite the inside of your cheek. He shouldn’t be talking to you like this. Or else you’ll start to forget who he is. A stranger. An idol. Your nemesis. 

Heeseung's palms spread your knees apart, pressing his lips against your inner thigh. He laps at your soft skin, his eyes never leaving your furrowed brows of pleasure. You take hold of one of his hands, intertwining your fingers. You don't know why you do it, but it feels right to have your palm in his. It's intimate. More intimate than how his mouth hovers over your sensitive clit. He gives an experimental lap of his tongue. 

“Ngh—” you almost let out, but you bite your lip again. Heeseung chuckles against you. His hand clenches yours, giving kitten licks on your wet folds. 

“Pretty here too,” he mumbles, before licking a long stripe up to your clit. He stays there, dragging his tongue around your sensitive nub in circular motions. His free hand grips the plushness of your inner thigh, stretching you out for him further. He wanted access to all of you. 

He dips down, mouth finding your entrance, licking up and down and back to your clit. Tongue smoothly gliding over your soaked folds, your clit pulses against the open-mouthed kisses he presses on it. You grind up into him from the wet sensation of his suckling, searching for relief. For him to finally draw it out of you.

Heeseung playfully glares at you, a mischievous grin forming on his face. Then, he nips at your clit, and your hand lets go of his. “Why’d you stop?!” you growl. He chuckles.

“Why are you pretending like it doesn’t feel good?” he shoots back, pressing featherlight kisses above your clit. You whine, annoyed. Your nails meet his hair, digging into his soft locks as punishment.

“Just shut up and do it properly,” you say through gritted teeth, pushing his face down closer to your exposed folds. He resists, looking up at you with a lick of his lips.

“Such a fucking brat,” he whispers, one of his hands finding its way toward your entrance. “Acting like you don't want me...”

His fingers swipe your outer folds, gawking at the milkiness that coats his skin. "...when you're this fucking soaked?"

“Fuck you,” you spit out, wrapping your legs around his head to drag him in. He almost laughs, but you smother any sound that comes from his soft lips. Heeseung laps at your clit, his index finger dipping ever so slightly into your warm, wet folds. 

"Oh—" 

It's foreign, the feeling of him pushing his digit into you, inch by inch. The way his tongue suckles your nub ever so gently. It's so slow, so cautious. You hate it. Your hips move on their own as you pull away from him, only to thrust up against his hand and back to his tongue. He groans against your pussy, taking the hint.

His wet, pink muscle flicks over your clit over and over, spreading your mess all over his already soaked face. Heeseung adds a second finger, working you open with a twist of his wrist. He rubs against the top of your inner walls, finding your G-spot so easily.

“Fuuuck,” you draw out, back practically off the mattress. He scoffs against your skin, nipping at your inner thigh as he fucks his fingers up into you.

"You like that?" He lifts his head, admiring your angry little face. The way you can still muster a glare with your scandalous moans. The way you don't look intimidating to him at all. Not one bit. 

“Fuck you Hee-” His face edges close to your cheek. "Don’t scream my name," he whispers in your ear. His voice is low, teasing. "Someone might hear."

"You're such a dick—" Your complaints are muffled as his mouth crashes down on yours again. You taste yourself on his tongue, eyes clenching as you feel a pressure in your stomach start to build.

Heeseung doesn't mean a single word he's saying. Doesn't actually want you to suppress any of your desperate little sounds from your fuckable lips. No. He wants more than anything to hear it spill out of you. Like you’re his. Like he’s yours.

Your grip on his hair tightens as he pistons in and out of you brutally. The squelching sounds of your drenched pussy fill the room. It's ecstasy, his fingers plunging so deep inside of you. So close. You're so fucking close. 

You pull away, lifting one of your hands to your mouth to cover the unbecoming noises that threaten to fill the room. It's too much. He's too much. You can feel it now. His thumb rubbing so deliciously on your clit, applying pressure on the bundle of nerves so deliciously.

Tears prick your eyes as you dig your heels into the mattress. Yes… That's it… Right there— And then, he stops. 

"What the fuck!" you groan, eyes clenching from the loss of contact. Heeseung's hands meet your wrist, yanking your hand away from your mouth. He's seething. And you don't get it. Because didn't he just say...?

"I thought you didn't want me to scream," you say through gritted teeth. "I was so close—"

"I don't care," he says darkly, the shadow of him looming above yours. He pushes his palms against both sides of the pillow, leaning down to your face. "Don't hide from me."

You bite back a sour laugh. "Why don't you make up your mind instead of wasting my fucking time?"

Heeseung pulls you up, despite your yelp of protest. He lies down where you writhed underneath him just seconds ago, his hands indifferently clasped behind his head. He's composed, save for the heavy outline of his manhood on the light fabric of the pajama pants. 

“Then don't waste mine either," he replies. “Do all the work. If you want to cum so bad.”

You’re tempted by the offer, really. But you know this is just a sick test from the devilish way he looks at you. You would not give in. Could not. 

A harsh sound of thunder from the outside interrupts your thoughts, and you flinch once again. And like clockwork, your blood boils. Because Heeseung laughs at you. Again.

“Such a coward,” he chuckles, eyes shamelessly scanning your tits as they bounced from your shock. Your jaw clenches, and before you can hesitate, you climb on top of him. Your legs cage around his middle, and you don't miss the way his eyes flutter.

Without a word, you push his pants low enough to free his hard member. You bite back the gasp that threatens to spill out of your lips when you see his size. So large. So girthy. Tip, a pretty pink. A long vein on his underside. And it makes you see red. Because, of course, a gorgeous guy like him can have a gorgeous dick like this. It isn't fair. Everything about him is perfect.

“Fuck you."

"I'm trying to," he smirks.

You bring your hand to the tip of his cock, spitting on it as you glare up at him. Stupid, idiot Heeseung. Why can’t he just stick it in himself? 

Your fingers spread the saliva over his mushroom tip, all the way down to the base of his cock. You take your time, stroking and spreading his precum. His dick twitches when you squeeze him tight. Heeseung bites his lips, watching as you take control. The eye contact. Your fucked out gaze. Finally, you position yourself on top of him. He doesn't try to help, tries to maintain his fake composure. But fuck, he needs you so bad. Your hands guide his cock to your entrance. 

You sink onto him, agonizingly and painstakingly slow. A pace that takes everything in him not to just grab your hips and slam himself into you. But he doesn’t. Because the scene in front of him, of you struggling to take in all of his length, of your face contorting into such a lewd expression, makes the temporary frustration worth it. He’s so hard inside you, pulsing with desire. Heeseung is stretching you out so much, even if he’s only halfway into piercing your wet core.

Your brows furrow as you look down at him, gauging his reaction. But he’s so smug, and he’s wearing that stupid smirk on his face that makes you want to smack him. He enjoys this. Relishes watching you work for it. But in the deepest part of your mind, you can’t help but admit that you like how arrogant he looks right now.

It used to be so annoying, seeing this on a screen. But it's so much better in person. He's so much better in person. You lift yourself momentarily to give yourself some relief from the stretch. Your hole throbs around him, and his jaw clenches at how tight it feels when you push back down on him, so close to bottoming out. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he sighs out, his hands kneading your breasts to distract you from the pain. To distract himself from how good it feels for his cock to be sinking into you this deeply.

Heeseung’s fingers tug and pinch your nipples as you fall forward enough for your face to hover above his. You let out a silent scream as your hips flush against his, fully enveloping his thickness into your warm, wet folds. He looks at you with such tenderness, a gaze so soft it feels foreign from the mocking smile he gave you earlier. 

You try your best to adjust, your gummy walls tightening as you feel him stiffen even more inside you. You bite your lip, but Heeseung looks up at you pleadingly. Like a last resort.

“Say it,” he breathes out unsteadily, fully aware of how hypocritical he's about to sound. “My name.” And even though you find yourself wanting to bite back, wanting to spit at him and tease him the way he teased you... You couldn’t. Because you were past the point of saving face. Of letting your pride get in the way of the pleasure.

And so your hips move on top of him, your palms now landing on his toned stomach for balance. Your movements are deliberate, gyrating your hips in a steady rhythm. You could get addicted to this. To the sight of this tall, handsome man, coming undone underneath you. And so you bounce harder. Faster. Loud enough that the sounds of your ass smacking down on his balls reverberate throughout the dowdy hotel room. The headboard creaks annoyingly against the wall with your breakneck pace.

Heeseung’s hands wander to your thighs, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin. But that’s all. He does not get in the way of your desperate movements; he does not interfere with how erratically you impale yourself on his throbbing cock. You feel it, that familiar bubbling in your core.

“Heeseung,” you finally cry. And it takes everything in him not to cum right then and there. His name never sounded sweeter—not even when fans chant it during concerts. No. This is the best he's ever heard it. So good he should call his parents later to thank them for ever coming up with such a name. “Heeseung," you moan again. "I’m… I’m so…”

His hands squeeze your bottom, guiding you down on his cock. To finally help you reach your peak. Because you’ve given him what he wants. “I know, baby,” he says, the pet name coming out of his lips so naturally. “I know.”

You claw at his chest, gripping onto him as you chase your orgasm. You need it. So bad. And Heeseung finally thinks you deserve it. With every thrust, the tip of his cock almost leaves your tightness entirely until he pushes all the way into you once again. In and out and in and out, he fucks up into you at an unforgivable pace. He smacks your butt ever so slightly, squeezing and pulling them apart. It sends you forward.

“Heeseung—Fuck—I'm—” you scream. Red, hot waves overtake your vision.

Your climax rips through you like a bullet, pussy clenching around him in a vice grip that makes him moan. Your fluids gush out, staining the inside of your thighs as you ride out your much-needed high. You rotate your hips against him needily, muttering sweet nothings as your head falls onto his neck. 

He grits his teeth. Trying to keep his breathing even. Because he doesn’t want to let this end, doesn’t know if you’ll ever let him see you again. You lick up at his neck, flinching when he pulls away. “No marks, baby,” he chuckles. 

You try not to pout. Like his rejection doesn’t sting you one bit. He sees it, though. The disappointment in your surprisingly coy expression. And he smiles. His lips hover over your neck, too.

“I can give them to you instead?” he offers teasingly, against your skin. He nips just underneath your jaw. “Would you let me?”

You roll your eyes and pull him in closer. You know he’s not done. Know from how fucking hard he still is inside you. And the way he’s been subtly grinding into your soaked folds since you came. So you just give him a tired nod. He's just given you the best orgasm of your life. This is the least you could do.

“Don’t leave too much,” you mutter lazily, but he’s already sucking at your jugular. 

His fingers meet yours again, intertwining your hands while his lips move against you feverishly. Even though you’re still so sensitive, so exhausted from the high you just came down from, you move against him once. He pulls you in, for his lips to find yours again. Heeseung’s feet plant themselves on the mattress, fucking up into you with a new sense of urgency. 

His thrusts are quick, methodical. So different from how erratically you impaled yourself on him. Heeseung knows what parts of you to hit, knows the deepest ridges his cock can hit within you if he angles his movements just right. And he does. Again and again. 

Heeseung's leaking tip kisses your cervix as you moan into his open-mouthed kisses. He lifts himself from the mattress and into a seated position, wrapping his arms around your waist as he tugs you flush against his chest.

“Heeseung—” you cry out at the new angle. He bounces you on him, as his tongue finds your nipples once again. He bites the top of your chest. Nips at the junction of your shoulder. Sucks the underside of your jaw. And he continues to push into you until the sensation in your core is back. Until he starts to feel it himself.

“Shit—” he moans through gritted teeth. “Baby—” Your nails dig into his back as you cry into his shoulder. Your tongue laps at his sweat, trying your best not to bare your teeth.

Heeseung lays you down on the bed now, knees pushing underneath your thighs so he can fuck you better in missionary. He's so close. So desperate to cum. But he wants you to feel it again. Wants you to know what you’d be letting go if you didn’t give whatever this was a chance. Because he wants to see you more. Wants to talk to you more. Wants to fuck you more. 

His lips meet yours, but it’s not the messy kiss you thought it would be. It's sweet. Barely there, soft and tender. Like the first one he gave you. And yet, he still pistons into you.

“Oh my god—” Your head spins as you feel the floodgates of your pleasure start to rush out of you once more. Your hips lift into him as you cum for the second time, whining into his mouth at the overstimulation of his brutal pace.

“Me too, baby,” he groans against your lips. “Me too." His movements become irregular, his face reddening with motivation. "Fuck—"

Heeseung pulls out, his fist finding his cock. He strokes himself with such fervor, watching you with hooded eyes. His tongue pokes out of his mouth ever so slightly in focus, so close to reaching his orgasm. It's addicting to witness. How desperate the flick of his wrist is. How tightly he grips himself. 

His eyes clench from the fiery sensation that floods his body, groaning as thick ropes of white liquid coat your body. It covers your chest, stomach, and neck like paint. Warm, wet paint. He moans when his eyes meet you again. Because you look so fucking beautiful, covered in his cum and panting underneath him. You really are perfect. He doesn't doubt it all. Perfect for him.

And it doesn’t matter to either of you that the rain had died down by now. That Jay is blowing up the group chat, asking if they want to watch movies in the living room together. Because all he wants to do, and all that he really can do, is get lost in you all over again. He pecks and bites everywhere his lips can touch. On your back. Chest. Neck. Making up for the marks you can never give him.

When morning hits, you expect him to be gone. So you try to wake up before him, before you see an empty bed. Before you get hurt when he ultimately decides to leave without a trace. So when Heeseung is still there, arms enveloping you into his chest, you forget how to move.

7 AM, sleeping through his ten alarms. It’s like deja vu, back to a few days ago when you woke up to the sight of his sleeping form in that studio chair. You were contractually obligated not to say anything back then. So why did he stay? And why is he still here?

You reach out without thinking, fingers tracing the faint line of his brows. It feels unfair, somehow, that you couldn’t admire him this closely before. Maybe if you knew how he’d really be in real life, soft and easygoing, you might give him more grace. But it’s more fun, arguing with him. 

“Wake up,” you sigh when his phone goes off again. “Don’t you have work or something?” His naked form stirs, groaning. He pulls you in tighter, and you wonder if he truly is as asleep as he claims to act. The small smile on his face gives him away. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles into your hair, voice low and groggy. 

“Maybe for you,” you say. “But I actually need to go home…”

You start prying his hand off your waist, but his eyes flutter open. This grown man pouts at you. “You’re leaving? Already?”

“I don’t know if you know where you are right now, but this is a love hotel. We should’ve left, like, last night.” He groans at the reminder, sitting up on the heel of his palms. The rounds that followed the first... he could never regret staying. Did you?

“I didn’t even get your number yet.” You blink. He was serious about that? 

Just refuse, you think to yourself. Go about your day and forget about him. But his gaze is expectant. And you find it hard to refuse him and his stupidly cute face. So you hand him your phone. He hums happily as he types. Too happy.

“Is this covered in the NDA?” you ask, half-joking, half-trying to steady your pulse. The room is engulfed in your mixed scents, and you’re too aware of his body heat.

“No,” he chuckles, as he hands it back. He saves himself as <3 in your contact list. You try not to read into it.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks. He’s teasing, but there’s a sincerity behind his words. 

“What are friends for?” you sigh, tugging free of his hold to pull your now-dry clothes back. But it doesn’t come out as naturally as you intended, and Heeseung’s smile falters a little, too.

He doesn’t say anything, and that silence is somehow worse. Because, yeah. He knows what this can’t be. And you do too. Still, as you tug your shirt back into place, you feel the ghost of his fingers around your waist from moments ago. Warm and gentle. Like that of a lover.

–

So when he’s not working abroad, and when the house is empty on late nights, Heeseung slips in through the back door with his hoodie pulled up and a mask hiding half of his face. He knows exactly where the spare key is buried beneath the flower pot. Knows how early to leave before your parents return from their graveyard shifts. Knows how to stay still in the corner of your room when your sister FaceTimes you.

You feel like shit keeping this from them. Especially when your parents start to complain about missing ramen packs in the pantry. Or when Sophia gushes about how she can’t wait for ENHYPEN’s new album when you’ve already heard the songs spill softly from his lips. It feels like you’re dating your big sister’s crush—except he barely knows she exists. And you aren’t really dating.

But it feels right when he’s with you. When his breath traces your spine, when his fingers find their rightful place on your hips. When he tells you you’re perfect for him. Perfect with him. So much so that you start to believe him.

–

“I’m surprised you’re ever able to wake up for your job,” you mutter as Heeseung buries himself on your chest. He was supposed to wake up from his 15 minute nap ages ago. The promise of starting a new movie together is already long forgotten.

“It’s your fault,” he grumbles into your shirt. “You’re so warm. Like the sun.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, well can I at least work on a job application or am I going to be forced into laziness like you?”

“You worry too much,” he sighs, like he’s ever had to search for a full-time job in his life. “You’ll find something. Just give yourself some time to relax once in a while…”

He squeezes you tighter, one eye squeezing open to see the cute furrow of your brows. “With me.” And you indulge in him. You let him fall asleep once again, snooze an alarm once or twice, and stroke his cheek. You memorize the angle of his jaw, the piercings in his ears, and the strands of hair that fall on his face.

Because each night, a new part of him slips through your fingers, another thing to lose when he’s off being an idol. How the purple spots on your skin from his bites fade away when he's not there. How the small gifts he buys you are tucked in the corners of your room, away from your curious sister's gaze. Yet still, he lingers in all your five senses.

You see the soft rise and fall of his chest on nights he sleeps over, so overcome with exhaustion that he dozes off in your arms mid-conversation. You hear the edge in his voice when you intentionally troll his games during late-night calls. You smell him in the faint trace of cigarettes suppressed by mint, a habit he never lets you see. You feel him in the quake of your floorboards as he practices new choreography in your room, knocking into shelves without a care, as if the room belongs to him. You taste him in that infamous cloud egg, along with the gentle frustration he tries to mask when you don’t stir it the way he does.

And you wonder if anyone else in arrangements like this notices these things. If they let themselves. Because last time you checked, friends don’t keep video calls running across time zones, waking up to each other's sleepy faces. They don’t fuck each other in the shower and help wash each other’s backs right after. They don’t ask what kind of flowers you like before boarding another flight. No. It’s not normal. You don’t want it to be.

–

“It would be nice,” he says one day. “A picnic by the Han River? We can go tomorrow night.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your attitude the same as it always is. “Are you crazy? What if we get seen together?”

“That’s what the shades, beanie, hoodie, and mask combo is for.”

You roll your eyes. “We might as well just stay inside,” you mutter.

It’s been getting to him, the hours with you that never feel like enough. Sometimes when he sees your Instagram feed, his thumb lingers too long. You hanging out with friends in crowded cafés… He’s envious. Of you. That you get to live your life without the constant fear of being watched. And everyone else. Because they’re with you.

Heeseung sighs. “I just want a change of scenery,” he replies softly. “Can’t we go? Idols go on dates there all the time. They never get caught.”

You scoff. Will this be a date? You want to ask what he means. But you swallow the question down, like you always do, and pretend it doesn’t burn in your throat.

“Aren’t you busy?” you ask. He’s been spending every free moment here, and that isn’t much. A comeback on the way. Endless rehearsals. You wonder why he bothers seeing you at all. He smiles, pressing a kiss on your temple. A new habit he’s formed. 

“I make time for you,” he mutters into your hair.

–

Typical of Heeseung, he remembers to bring every kind of snack from the convenience store, yet somehow forgets the picnic blanket. And you forget to wear a jacket, thinking the humid air of summer would still hold its warmth. But it’s surprisingly chilly at 2 a.m., and now you’re enveloped in his hoodie while both of you sit on the damp grass. Your jeans cling to your skin, and his shoulders tremble from the cold.

“If I weren’t an idol,” he asks quietly, overlooking the Han with a beer in hand,  “would you still find me handsome?”

“Who ever said I find you handsome in the first place?” 

He glares at you jokingly. “Coming from the girl who has me saved as a heart in her contact list.”

“You’re the one who typed that in my phone—”

“But you never changed it,” he cuts in, smirking when you don’t say anything back.

“Sure,” you sigh, relenting to his stupid pout. “I’m sure you would have still been popular if you weren’t famous.” He smiles, sadly. He’d never know. Will never know. “Okay, how about if I were a worm?”

You scowl at him through your mask, and you can’t see the amused expression he wears on his face. Heeseung stays true to his word. He’s covered head-to-toe in black with his cap, mask, and shades. You wonder why he went through the trouble. He looks more suspicious this way.

“How about if you weren’t annoying?” you sigh, and he laughs.

“How’s the job hunt been?” he asks after a moment, glancing at you. He notices the tiredness underneath your eyes. He always does. And you know he feels guilty, though he’ll never say it. That you lose sleep just to see him in late nights like this. That your life had started to bend around his schedule.

“It’s hell,” you sigh, cracking your neck from side to side. “It’s like no one wants to hire these days.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” he says reassuringly. “I can ask around the company and maybe put in a good word—”

You shake your head before he can finish. “That’s not fair to you,” you mumble, though a small part of you seriously considers it. You’re not sure you could handle another argument with your parents about your future. “I wouldn’t want you to do something like that for me.”

He looks at you, confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean? That’s what friends are for.”

He says it, like usual, but the hesitation hangs in the air. It hurts to say these days, but it’s the only label that’s true. Still, you can’t help but wonder why he does this. Why he asks you to wait up for his calls, for you to keep him company in the hours no one else sees him. Why he touches you like you mean something to him if all he wants is a friend. Shouldn’t he already have enough of those?

“You know,” he starts hesitantly. Not sure how to tell you. Not sure if he should trust you as much as he already does. It’s been almost two months since that night in the alleyway. “I have a solo project I’ve been working on for over a year. I still haven’t heard back from the company about it.”

Your eyes widen. The songs he’d played for you in passing. Ones you'd Shazam with nothing ever showing up. “They’d be stupid not to,” you reply. “You have an amazing voice.”

He smiles, the soft curve of his lips showing beneath the mask. “And you’re more than capable of landing a job, too. We’re all walking our own paths. So… you don’t need to feel alone. We’re all anxious about something.”

He gives you a reassuring pat on your shoulder. “I believe in you.”

You smile. “Thank you,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

You wish you could see his doe eyes right now, through his thick shades. Wish you could pull down his flimsy mask and kiss him. Just once in public, without having to think about who might be watching. But you can’t.

Heeseung shivers next to you through his thin shirt. He tugs lightly at your sleeve, which is technically his. “Can I have my hoodie back?” he asks jokingly.

“I don’t know,” you say, faking a pondering look. “I kinda like it. Looks good on me, right?” You strike a pose, hands on your hips.

“You know,” he teases, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were starting to like me.”

You almost unzip the hoodie off your frame, feigning disgust, but Heeseung lifts his hands defensively, still laughing.

“Keep it,” he says through his chuckles. “Wear it when you miss me.”

Your cheeks heat up. “What’s there to miss?” you mumble. “Videos of you are always playing in my living room.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “That’s not me.”

He lowers his sunglasses just enough for you to see his eyes—deep brown, reflecting a bright glow from the dim glow of the street lamps. “This is me.”

He holds his gaze, staring at you with such fondness. It took time for him to get here, to peel back the walls you’d built, to convince you that he wasn’t who you thought he was. And now that you’ve let him in, he wishes he could freeze this version of time. He’d capture this moment forever if he could. 

But when Heeseung pulls his mask down for a brief sip of beer, he doesn’t hear it. Neither do you. The faint click of a camera shutter from across the river. Of a fan, hidden in the dark, fingers trembling around her lens. She isn’t sure what she’ll do with the photo quite yet, but she knows this isn’t right.

Because her idol isn’t supposed to be meeting girls like this in the middle of the night. Idols aren’t supposed to sneak into someone’s house far from the center of Seoul whenever they're finished with their overseas schedules. They’re not supposed to look at someone the way he looks at you.

Shouldn’t he know better? He’s an idol. He should act like one.

–

“Who you texting?” Jungwon asks, leaning against the mirror of the dance practice room. Heeseung doesn’t look up. He’s too busy sending you a photo of the new merch line he helped create, a set of cactus pins. He thinks you’d like them. 

“My brother,” he lies, straight through his teeth.

“Your brother got you kicking your feet and giggling?” Niki chimes in, doubt etched all over his face. Heeseung only shrugs. “He’s funny.” 

But all they’d have to do is glance at his phone screen to catch him in the lie.

pretty girl: they’re actually kinda cute. send some.

Heeseung bites back a smile, ignoring the side-eye of curiosity from Sunoo across the room. The boys never press him much. They respect Heeseung too much to pry, to question the things he keeps close to his chest. But Jungwon breaks the silence.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says in a low voice. “You know what some fans will do if they find out. It might not be safe for her.”

Heeseung sucks in a deep breath. Because he’s never really thought about it like that before. Not fully. Not beyond the thrill of sneaking out to see you, beyond the warmth that fills his belly whenever you greet him at your door. For the first time, the warmth he usually feels when he sees your name on his screen starts to feel like fear. He swallows hard, locking his phone, forgetting to reply to your message.

“Yeah,” he murmurs after a long pause. “Yeah, I know.” But he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. And that makes him feel like shit.

“You’re late,” you say, rolling your eyes when he slips in through the back door. Heeseung massages the nape of his neck, tugging off his mask with the other hand.

“Sorry. Practice was rough,” he groans, already making himself comfortable on your living room couch. He catches what's on the TV. An old fancam of him, mid-performance with his notoriously pink hair. 

He turns, smirking. “I thought you said your sister was in Tokyo for a conference,” he laughs, nodding at the screen. “Did this just turn on by itself?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, rushing to the remote to turn it off. “Don’t flatter yourself…”

He stands, pulling you into his arms before you can escape. His warmth seeps through the fabric of his long sleeve as he presses his face into your hair.

“I missed you,” he sighs. You scoff, pushing him back down onto the couch. You straddle his hips, sitting on his lap. He adores you most like this. On top of him. “You say that to all the other girls?” you whisper darkly into his ear. 

You don’t know why you say it. Maybe because you’ve been finding yourself scrolling through video after video of people thirsting after him, of him openly flirting with his fans, eyeing the pretty ones like he doesn’t have you waiting for him here. Even if he’s not yours. Even if this was supposed to be casual. You still had the right to be possessive… right?

“Eager today?” he chuckles, eyeing your lips as he subconsciously licks his own. He rubs circles on your lower back with his thumbs. “You know there’s no one else.” You lean into him, planting a delicate kiss on his lips. “So show me.”

Your hands find his hair, and he kisses you harshly as you pull him in. It’s urgent, how quickly the both of you take off your shirts. Most nights that he’s here, you don’t have sex. Which confuses you the most. He doesn’t expect anything from you. Doesn’t touch you when you don’t lean into it, doesn’t press you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. A friend before the benefits.

So when he’s like this underneath you, desperate and hands all over your body, you let yourself get lost in him. He hoists you closer, pushing your pajama shorts to the side to feel you better. Your panties are soaked through, and those, too, are set aside. Heeseung groans when his digits meet your bare skin, prodding your entrance in an upward motion.

“So fucking wet,” he groans, eyes meeting yours. “Just watching me through a screen has you worked up like this?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pulling him in by his shirt’s collar and smashing your lips against his.

His fingers enter you, and you’re so used to the size by now that they slide in with little resistance. He basks in your small whimpers above him, wondering how you can still be so sensitive to his touch. He pushes his fingers in as deep as they can go, prepping you for his length. He stretches you out, your head falling on his shoulder from his penetration.  

“Don’t watch those anymore,” he whispers teasingly. “You have the real thing right here.”

You palm him through his jeans in response. Harshly. Heeseung groans into your hair. He’s already so hard, his bulge struggling against the tight fabric. He needs you. “You think you can take it right now, baby?” he asks in a hushed tone, like a secret shared between you two. “For me?”

Usually, you’d resist, draw out the time you have with him, and make him pay for having you wait. But it’s been almost two weeks since you last touched him like this. You need him just as badly. You nod your head, grinding into his fingers. Searching for more of him inside you. His palm grinds on your clit roughly.

“N-need to cum,” you cry, moving erratically against him. “Put it in.” He glowers at you through his long lashes. His movements slow down. “Say please.”

You bite your lip. “Don't tell me what to do.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, grabbing your jaw with the same hand. He forces you to look at him. Your vision almost goes red from the frustration. “Don’t be a brat.” You grit your teeth, bringing your hand to your core.

“Well, don't be a dick,” you mutter, as your own fingers slide in. But it’s not enough as you try to reach where he once was. Your fingers can’t go as deep, can’t penetrate yourself in the way that you want. Not since you’ve known Heeseung. Not since his fingers have carved their way inside you. He looks down and almost laughs at your pathetic movements.

“So useless,” he chuckles darkly, releasing his hold on you to unzip his pants. He grips himself through the fabric of his boxers as he stares you down. “Don’t even know how to touch yourself properly.”

And you moan when he pulls the fabric low enough for his dick to slap against his stomach, tip red with anger. He strokes himself languidly, watching you work towards an unachievable high. His hand spreads his precum throughout his length, deliciously coating himself in his stickiness.

Heeseung’s here. He could do this for you. So why can’t he just fucking stuff his cock inside instead of watching you struggle? “Heeseung,” you cry, your fingers aching from the shallow thrusts. “Just… Just need to cum—”

He scoffs. “So why can’t you?” He looks down between your bodies with a hooded gaze at how desperate your movements were compared to his methodical strokes. 

“You always have so much to say,” he continues mockingly. “But can’t even make yourself feel good.” And even if he’s not touching you, you feel your resolve breaking. Because he knows exactly what he’s doing. What buttons to push to have your harsh words turn into moans.

“Need you…” You cry, fingers relentlessly jabbing with no luck. “Heeseung. Please. Just put it in.” He smirks. You know what saying his name does to him. “Good girl.” 

He pulls your fingers out harshly, and you whine from the loss. It’s short-lived when he aligns his length to your entrance. You’ve exhausted all of his patience, and so he pushes in. Slowly, at first. His eyes screw tight. How are you still so tight for him? You push down, not caring to let yourself adjust. You were past the point of needing it. Though you won’t admit this to him, you’ve been soaked since watching his fancam.

Heeseung bottoms out inside you, your head rolling back at the way he fills every nook of your insides. Your core stretches out around him, clenching tightly against his thickness. “Fuck—” you cry, grinding down on him. Heeseung pulls you in closer, his breath hot and heavy against your heaving chest. He peppers kisses atop your breast to soothe himself. He looks just as needy. 

You adjust yourself so that your hands are positioned behind you, holding his knees. Lifting slightly, you impale yourself back down on him. Again and again until you find a steady rhythm. Up and down, gyrating your hips the way you know he likes it. The way he’s taught you. He grabs your ass with both hands, guiding you down his thick cock. 

“Fuck baby,” he says through bated breaths. “So good at riding me now…”

“Shut up,” you growl. You can’t cum before him. Your pride wouldn’t let you. Your nails break the skin of his shoulders. He sucks in a breath from the pain. And you shouldn’t be doing this, knowing how any little mark on him could be caught by the watchful eye of the public. But a sick part of you wants the cameras to see… want his stupid ass fans to see who he really belongs to.

“No fucking manners,” he growls, pulling out of you. You cry from the loss of contact, but he pushes you face-first and ass up onto the couch. He pulls down your shorts haphazardly, inserting himself back into your warm, wet folds. Heeseung groans, pushing your head down onto the cushion. 

“Hee…Please…”

“Always so fucking rude,” he says as he thrusts into you from behind. His pace is unforgiving and brutal. Your ass bounces against his lower stomach, his fingers digging deeply into your hair to muffle your moans. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

It’s unfair when he’s like this, all riled up. It makes you cum too quickly. “Come on, baby,” he laughs as you claw at the armrest. “Use that pretty mouth of yours now.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, arching you up to crash his lips on yours. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth. Wet, pink muscles battling each other for dominance. You’re close. He is, too. His pace quickens.

“Ngh—Oh my god—OH—”

Your knees collapse underneath you, and he follows, his chest on your back. He thrusts in and out so deeply, tip kissing your cervix as you feel him in your lower stomach. He releases your hair, his lips now finding your back. Heeseung grabs your breasts from behind, kneading them in circular motions as he nips at your skin. 

“I’m—Fuck—Please—Heeseung—” You gasp. You can feel it, taste it. He brings his middle finger to your clit, as you push your head down into the armrest to cry out. And it hits you in waves.

You let out a long, drawn-out whine as your climax is dragged out of you. You whine, jutting your hips backward to feel more of him. He chuckles, biting down on your shoulder. You gasp. It’s punishment for the nail marks on his body. He pistons in and out of you until the very last second. Until he reaches the danger zone of cumming inside you without a condom. Because fuck, he loves doing you raw.

Heeseung pulls out, flips you around, and positions his cock just above your face. You put your tongue out on instinct, like you’d been waiting for this. For him. He pushes into your mouth in one swift motion, throwing his head back as his tip hits the back of your throat. The first ropes of cum fill your mouth.

“Fuck baby…” he sighs, thrusting slowly to come down from his high. You suction around him, milking him for all he’s worth. You swallow as much as you can, eyes never leaving his. He relishes in the feeling of you lapping the underside of his cock. He could stay in you forever, but he knows better. 

Heeseung pulls out of you with a pop from your mouth. He bites his lip, eyes dark at the seductive sight in front of him. Your hair tousled with droplets of his cum on your chin. “Pretty,” he whispers. He leans down to kiss you, but you turn away. 

“I’m gross right now,” you protest, cuter than you intended. You turn away even as he tries to attempt a kiss on the cheek. 

“So am I,” he pouts. “Just let me—”

“No,” you scoff, pushing him off. “I don’t know who else you kiss with that nasty mouth of yours.”

He chuckles as you rush to stand with your wobbly knees. He looks at you with a fondness that almost makes you swoon. Almost. “We’re exclusive, aren’t we?”

He has no idea how those words make your chest tighten. “I-I need to clean up…” you mutter, refusing to answer his question. Your fluids shine on your inner thighs, shorts completely disheveled as you hoist them back up. You don’t even know where he’s thrown your shirt. 

“Come back!” he calls out, but you’re already running past him and in the direction of your bathroom. Heeseung lies on your couch, reveling in the satiated feeling in his chest, zipping his jeans back up. He could never get bored with you, no matter how hard he tries. He reaches for his phone in his back pocket. A notification lights up the screen. From his manager. A meeting tomorrow. Urgent. 

Heeseung feels the pit in his stomach form instantly. A million possibilities run through his head. His late-night disappearances from the dorms. The solo album proposal is still gathering dust on some HYBE executive’s desk. The argument with Jay a few days ago left the younger one teary-eyed. It could be any of those things. It could be all of them. Why just him, though?

“You good?” you ask, waddling back into the living room. You sink beside him. He nods, lips pressed thin.

“It’s nothing,” he replies in a low whisper. He stands up, and you try not to complain as he’s already reaching for his shirt. He usually stays. Usually has time to spend the night. 

“You’re going already?” He pulls the long sleeve over his head.

“I got something tomorrow,” he mutters, walking toward the door. He’s already putting his shoes back on. You search his face for something. Warmth, reassurance, even a lie. But all he can spare you is a glance. One that feels devoid of all the emotions he’d shared before. He’d done a complete 180 in a span of five minutes.

“Thank you for tonight.” 

And your heart sinks. Because he doesn’t do that, he doesn’t say things that make the sex feel transactional. When he utters those words, when they creep into your ears. Somehow, you feel used. And suddenly, this feels wrong.

Heeseung taps his foot against the wooden floor, the rhythm tense and hollow.

“We’ll move forward with the project,” Manager Jung says, but there’s no warmth in his words. Heeseung imagined this moment differently. An encouraging pat on his shoulder, his members jumping in to congratulate him. But no. He knows there’s something more. A laptop sits ominously on a table beside the older man, its black screen reflecting the overhead light.

“We think your project would be good for the group,” Manager Jung continues. “But we need to ensure the promotions go smoothly. We'll shoot and record everything and release it after the comeback.”

Heeseung nods appreciatively. “Of course—”

“But,” his manager interrupts sharply, “I need to clarify some things with you first.”

Manager Jung moves the cursor of the laptop to click on a tab. A video fills the screen of a hallway in HYBE that Heeseung has walked through millions of times. He swallows, a knot forming in his stomach. The camera lingers on the familiar concrete floors and fluorescent lights… until it lands on him. Bringing you into the building. Leaving in the morning. 

“Heeseung,” the older man says steadily, stopping him. “You brought a non-staff member to our company building and, without permission from any of us, took a taxi with her—”

“That’s—”

“And both the taxi driver and a love hotel receptionist tipped a journalist that an idol who matched your description was with a girl,” he continues. “Is that true?”

Heeseung’s chest tightens. But how could they know? How would they know? “That was months ago!”

“So who is she to you now, Heeseung?”

He freezes. There’s so much to say, too much to explain. But his manager would never understand. They never do. “Please,” Heeseung chokes up, his throat failing him. “I’ll be more careful. W-we don’t meet in public—”

“Do you know how much it costs to pay that journalist off?” Manager Jung asks coldly. “Do you know how hard I had to fight for this project to be greenlit? The project you begged for.”

“And I am so grateful,” Heeseung blurts out. “I promise. This won’t happen again—”

“It won’t,” he replies flatly. “Make sure it won't, Heeseung." 

His manager shuts the laptop down forcefully, standing up. He looks down at Heeseung with a hardened gaze. "You owe the others an apology," the older man continues. "As the oldest member, you hold a responsibility to set a good example for them.”

That’s the word. Responsibility. He'd almost forgotten. His hands dig into the material of his pants, nails threatening to rip through. He stands up, his head low, and bows deeply to his elder.

“I’m sorry.”

–

<3: can’t come tn i have practice

It’s the third time he’s turned down your invitation to come over. And yet, he’s just a few bus rides away. The nights he melted against your skin, the endless hours wrapped in each other, and talking about the future like they were concrete. No matter how busy he'd get, he still found time for you. And now he can’t bother to text you most nights.

You wonder if maybe he’s tired of you. Maybe he finally dropped the nice guy act he wore so well. Maybe there’s someone else. Maybe there are a thousand reasons you’ll never know, and you'd still have no right to ask. Because you don’t know what this is or what it's turned into.

And you understand that he’s busy. You do. But it still hurts to only see him when Sophia’s playing their music videos in the living room, a memory of him on that same couch that feels so far away now. “What do you do,” you ask your sister, in a rare moment of vulnerability, “if a guy starts acting distant with you?”

Sophia grimaces. “I don’t know. Don’t ask me about real men.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you call those freaks then?”

You point at her phone, where she’s scrolling through ENHYPEN edits like a woman hypnotized. “They’re better than men,” she says, like that explains everything. 

Something tugs at your chest. Because no matter how many albums she buys, no matter how many calls she gets to fumble through with shaking hands, she will never truly know Heeseung. Nor would she actually want to.

She’ll never know how petty he is after a disagreement, asking for examples of all his wrongdoings just to put you on the spot. How hoarse his voice gets when he goes through packs of cigarettes and vape pens, only cooling off from them when he knows he'll have to interact with fans that day, or when he's recording something. How utterly imperfect he truly is. Because he is just a man, capable of having flaws and making mistakes.

Would she still love him if she knew that Heeseung? Would she still smile at his face on her screen if the qualities that made him human bubbled above the surface?

“So stop following him around,” you mutter under your breath. She pays you no mind.

“What’s the point anyway?” you continue, riling yourself up. “What do you get out of it?”

Sophia finally looks up, glaring. “You just don’t get it,” she sighs, shaking her head. 

"No," you shake your head. "You don't." But, she’s already back to smiling with that deranged look in her eyes.

“Oh my god! Heeseung just posted on Weverse! He never does that—” You storm upstairs. Shame burning at the back of your throat. Because even as you reach for your phone, checking the last message you sent, reality is cruel.

you: interviewing for a job this week. so nervous.

Left on read.

You feel no better than Sophia, waiting for <3 to light up your screen. It’s pathetic.

–

It’s intentional, how dry he is. How distant.

“How’s the album coming together?” Jake asks, sitting beside him on the practice room floor. 

Heeseung shrugs, a lump already forming in his throat. It’s hard to talk with any of them these days. The other boys live easier lives, dating other idols or stylists they can see without fear. They can meet at high-profile after parties, share romantic whispers backstage. He can’t.

He can’t be seen with you anywhere. Can’t linger too long on the sidewalk of your place or answer your calls if a single stranger might overhear. 

“We film everything next week.” The younger man stares at Heeseung with a faint curiosity.

“I’ve been wondering,” Jake presses. “Did you change some of the lyrics?”

Heeseung nods. He was never ever really satisfied with his music. Constantly rewriting. The love songs he wrote always sounded too generic, written in the way he thought fans could imagine themselves being sung to. But the new lyrics, he can be proud of. Replaced with words that remind him of private moments in your room, of references he hopes no one will catch. Except you.

“They sound good,” Jake continues through Heeseung’s silence. “They sound a lot more heartfelt.” Heeseung nods again, but his eyes are somber. He brings his vape to his lips, already exhausting it of all its citrus flavor. His second cart this week. 

Jake looks at him, concerned etched all over his face. "Slow down with that."

How obvious is it to everyone else? That he's slowly dissolving. Does Jake see it? Do the boys? Would the fans? No. They can't.

And he inhales another drag despite Jake's protests, punishing himself with the harsh burn in his throat.

–

The late-night calls disappear. The updates he’d give you on their new songs feel like years away. And after an interview that seems more promising than the rest, one that feels like it could lead somewhere, the screen in front of you blinks with a headline of an article. 

Heeseung Of ENHYPEN Set To Release Mini-Album 

Your eyes drift to the last text he sent you. A week ago. And you wonder why this hasn't been mentioned. He must’ve known, right? He’d been babbling for months about this project. Showing you demos, asking for your opinion. You heard those songs before his own members did. So why didn’t he tell you?

You’re the type to take a hint, to know when you’re not wanted. You stopped trying to reach out after the first three texts were ignored. But it’s hard to let go. Maybe because you’ve told him so much about yourself. Maybe because you know so much about him. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. It’s casual. Temporary. Always was. Still. Fuck him. 

“I don’t know how to feel about Heeseung releasing a solo,” Sophia sighs, sprawled out on the couch. “I feel like he’s not ready.”

You wish she’d just shut up about him. Delete his playlists, tear down his posters, anything so he won’t keep existing in this house, he would always sneak into.

“I mean, what if the music he makes is shit?”

“You’ll find a way,” you sigh, exhaustion evident in your voice. “You with your blind loyalty.”

Sophia turns to you with a hint of hurt in her eyes, actually listening to you for once. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Prove me wrong,” you mumble. “Give me one critique about that guy that doesn’t end with you just swooning right after.”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with him. What could I even say? That he’s too perfect?” The corner of your eye twitches just a little. Of course.

“The only thing that would pop your Heeseung bubble,” you start, “is if he started dating someone.”

Sophia scowls. “No—”

“Yes,” you interrupt. “That asshole could kill a puppy and you’d still put him on a pedestal.”

Sophia throws a pillow at you. “Good thing Heeseung isn’t the asshole you think he is.”

You bite your tongue. If she knew, would she even care? About him? About you? “Trust me,” you scoff. “He is.”

–

“What are you doing here?” you ask bitterly, as a familiar masked figure lingers at your back door. He’s wearing a beanie that hides the color of his hair, and the dark rings under his eyes are more prominent now than they’ve ever been. He didn’t even text you that he was coming. Just showed up. 

“Can I come in?” he asks quietly. Normally, he wouldn’t. Now he waits at your door like a stranger. You step aside hesitantly, letting him through. Heeseung doesn’t take anything off. Doesn’t even untie his shoelaces. You narrow your eyes, the scent of smoke so palpable. He used to be so good at masking it.

“If you have something to say—”

“We need to talk." He cuts you off, keeping his gaze on the floor. Hands buried in his pockets so you wouldn't see how badly they were trembling.

“Then speak,” you say sharply. “Don’t waste my time.”

More than you already have, you want to add. More than he’s already taken from your once monotonous life. More than the color he splashed within it. 

His voice is shaky, faltering under your watchful gaze. He knew this would be hard. Knew he was never good at letting things go. “We can’t do this anymore,” he finally says. “I can’t… I can’t fuck things up right now.”

You can only laugh. To you, it’s already ended. One week of silence was enough to scrub him from your mind. Almost. “You didn’t even need to tell me,” you mumble. “I could already tell.”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wet. “It’s not you—” 

“I know it’s not,” you interrupt venomously. “You’ve always been the problem.”

You turn away before he can see what he’s done to you. Before he can see the tears threatening to spill. “If that’s all,” you say, swallowing hard. “Then feel free to leave.”

He moves to take a step forward, but he knows it’s not right. Minimizing risk. That’s what he was here for. “Our texts,” he begins, voice strained. “Anything you have with me in it… could you delete them?”

You whip your head around, the tears that streak your cheeks glistening under the light. He sees them now. He forces himself to stay where he is, forces his hands to be useless at his sides. To not admit that this isn’t what he really wants. 

“Are you serious?” you ask, taking a step towards him with folded arms. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that,” he replies quickly with pleading eyes. “Everything you have... it could be used against us. I’m trying to protect you.”

You look at him with disgust, one that he cowers under. “You’re protecting yourself.” 

You thrust your phone into his chest. “Delete everything,” you say through gritted teeth. “There’s nothing I want to remember anyway.”

Heeseung flinches, his hands shaking when he takes the phone from you. He types in your password the way he has countless times before. Memorized it like every other part of you. He blocks his own number, deletes the folder of photos you kept of him, and the endless messages. He erases the proof that he ever existed in your life. He wasn’t meant to be in it anyway.

When he returns your phone, the shame creeps up again. “I didn’t want to say goodbye like this—”

“How else would we say it?” you scoff. “What, did you want to fuck one last time?”

“You don’t know what it’s going to be like when people find out," he murmurs. "You’ll be in danger—”

“Trust me,” you say, unconvincingly, through your wavering voice. “I want to forget about what happened between us just as much as you do.”

Heeseung searches your gaze, but it breaks him. You’re not his girlfriend. You can never be. “If people find out,” he tries again, softer. “They’ll ruin everything.”

You shake your head. “They don’t have to,” you whisper, knuckles white around your phone. “You already did.”

Heeseung sucks in a deep breath and takes a step back. He deserves it. Really, he does. He deserves the hurt, the anger, the coldness. He can only blame himself. He moves toward the door.

“It’s funny,” you whisper as his hand reaches the door handle. “You’re exactly who I thought you'd be.”

He pauses, turning to face you once again.

“A pushover.”

You take a step toward him.

“A suck-up.”

And another. Close enough now that he can hear the shake in your breath.

“A fucking liar.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything back. Doesn't flinch this time. He can’t. Because if this moment ends with him refuting you, it would be a lie.  

No matter how much he wishes he could stay and comfort you, he still opens the door and walks away. He has to.

–

The click of a camera sounds off from across the street. From a seething silhouette. She stares at the familiar cadence in his steps as he leaves your house. He doesn’t notice her presence. Never does.

She doesn’t know that he’s already said his goodbyes, doesn’t know that it took everything in Heeseung to leave. All she thinks about is herself. About what he’s done. And how he needs to suffer the consequences of his actions. 

–

And when he gets back to the dorm, Heeseung lets his bedroom door slam behind him. Sliding down the door until he’s sitting on the floor, knees drawn up. He ignored Niki’s greeting in the hallway. Pushed away the hollowness that consumed him. Until it all comes crashing down on him now. He buries his face in his hands and lets it happen this time. The tears, the regret panging against his chest.

Tomorrow, he’ll be like new. He’ll be the Lee Heeseung everyone knows. Calm. Composed. Able to roll with the punches that come with life. But for now, he is the Lee Heeseung he hates, the one who misses you. The one who aches with every being with the guilt of the overwhelming warmth he feels with you. Heeseung wipes his face with the back of his sleeve, breath trembling.

Love stories don’t always have a happy ending in his line of work. He’s an idol for god sake. He needs to act like one.

–

You’re wearing a black blazer, one Sophia gave you when she first landed her corporate job. You don’t fill it out in the same way she does, but still. You think you look good. The first time in a while where you felt like you’re heading somewhere productive.

And you’re proud of that, of yourself. Of the stubbornness it took to keep trying. Even when your thoughts keep drifting toward him. How he so vehemently believed in you. How he understood you. But it’s been days now since he wiped away his presence from your life. Weeks since he acted like you mattered to him.

“Sophia,” you call out from atop the staircase. “How does this look for the second round?”

And when you descend, hoping to see your sister’s grin, you are met with a coldness so abrupt it stops you mid-step. She sits frozen on the couch, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. Your eyes travel down to the phone on her lap, on a screen that you can barely make out. But you do.  Your stomach drops, eyes flickering between her hardened stare and the phone.

“I-I can explain,” you stutter out, voice cracking as she rises to her feet. She doesn’t answer, brushing past you and disappearing into her room.

“Sophia, please—” The soft click of her bedroom door locks behind her.

–

“What did I tell you?!” 

Manager Jung’s voice echoes off the mirrors of the practice room. Heeseung barely has time to react before the older man shoves his phone inches from his face, backing him into the corner like he’s seventeen again. Like he’s a defenseless little trainee. The screen shows a tweet. Fifty thousand likes from an anonymous account, posted just last night.

Idol shamelessly dating in public. #LeeHeeseung #ENHYPEN

Heeseung's throat dries. It's pictures he’s never seen before, but he knows them well. The wet grass. The wind cutting colder than it should have been on a summer night. Your voice, muffled by the black mask he made you wear. Though your face is blurred, he knows it’s you by the shape of your hands, by the hoodie you still hold hostage. 

He scrolls. Another photo of him leaving your house, hood up and head down. Even on the day he called it quits. A shiver runs down his spine. Your name is written in the post’s quotes from a different account, along with your graduation photos. Unblurred. They know. They already fucking know.

“What did I say?” his manager snaps. “Stay out of trouble. Was that so hard?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “They’ve already started sending funeral wreaths to the company.”

Heeseung doesn’t answer, his pulse ringing in his ear. He’s seen this all before with his idol friends, with the other members. Seen how badly a dating rumour can ruin a career. But you’re a normal person. You never asked for this. You’re not built for this scrutiny. He is. He’s supposed to be.

“Lie low,” Manager Jung continues. “Don’t say anything. We’ll instruct her to stay silent, too. The news will pass.”

Heeseung glares at the older man, his voice dark. “What about her? How are we going to protect her?”

His manager raises an eyebrow. “That’s not our responsibility." Heeseung’s eye twitches. 

“Besides,” the older male starts, “if she says anything to imply a relationship, then we’ll have to take legal action. It’s defamation.” 

Heeseung’s fingers curl into a fist so tight his nails dig into his palm. It would be so easy to swing his arm at the man he once respected and make him shut up. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even say anything. Because he’s exactly who you think he is.

A pushover.

–

jungwononly: BELIFT isn’t saying anything so it must be true

xxenhaxx: i know her. she’s not even pretty lolol

Gobigorgohome: Wow lee heeseung dates his fans what a fucking loser. she goes to concerts with her sasaeng sister lolol

anonymous101501: die bitch.

You read comments until your eyes sting, until their words jumble together. Strangers dissect your life and worth like it’s second nature to them. You wonder how he puts up with this every day, reading the insults that many write about him. How he put up with you and the assumptions you made about him.

You tell yourself you’re strong, that this shouldn’t get under your thick skin. But if you thought you couldn’t escape Heeseung before, you truly can’t now. Ever since the photos came out, ever since your address got leaked to the whole internet, every part of your existence has become tethered to him.

The street outside your house is no longer quiet, raw eggs splattered all over with yolk drying on the concrete of your front steps. A mess you can’t even come outside to clean up anymore. 

Your parents ask if you’re okay even though they aren’t themselves. They leave earlier for work to avoid the onslaught of cameras and people, holding their tongue when insults are thrown their way. And Sophia. She hasn’t spoken to you in days. Her door stays shut, ENHYPEN merch all sitting in boxes outside her door. You’ve knocked. Tried to speak to her. Tried to apologize. But she’s shut you out. 

You hear the fans’ chants through the walls, voices blending into each other that they almost become white noise. Another egg slams against your window. Fake blood spreads across your front door in abstract streaks. You bury your head under the pillow, hands pressed tight against your ears, but it doesn’t help. Their words still seep in.

Slut. Leech. A nobody.

–

“Have you checked up on her?” Jungwon asks quietly, voice breaking the silence of the dorm’s living room. “I think some fans found her address.”

Heeseung sighs, eyes fixed as he scrolls through X. Deactivated accounts, pitch black profile pictures. Fansite after fansite. Closed. Even ones opened since his debut. Fans who told him that they’d support him no matter what. Gone like they never existed.

“It’s not like I can reach out,” he says finally, voice low. “I had her block me.”

He taps on a shaky video of an older man sweeping the sidewalk, gathering shards of glass and broken eggshells. Heeseung feels like he's been punched in the gut. He recognizes your house, the blue gate he used to pass through to get to the back entrance. 

He watches the older gentleman bend down to clean the mess that people left behind. The fake blood, the paper signs with death threats. The face of a man he never got to introduce himself to. Only ever seeing his pictures when passing glances at them on your living room wall. 

Your father, exhausted and defeated. He has to blink a few times to stop his eyes from burning.

Jungwon pats his older member’s shoulder gently. “This will blow over soon,” he says, trying to sound hopeful. 

But Heeseung just shakes his head. “I should’ve been more careful,” he says, voice trembling. “I shouldn't have dragged her into this mess.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jungwon replies, sitting next to him. 

“It’s ridiculous,” Heeseung scoffs bitterly. “How do they expect me not to say anything?”

He sets the phone down on the table, face pressed into his hands. Nothing he does now will make it better. He’s broken too much, jeopardized everything. But the solo project will continue as long as he continues to stay silent. That's what matters, right? His career? 

But still. He misses you... and the way you made him feel. He wonders what that feeling is.

–

By now, the sound of shouting outside has become the norm. You barely sleep, flinching every time a sound comes from outside. You’ve started playing music throughout the whole house just to drown them out. 

So when you hear the front door open, your feet carry you downstairs with panic. You don’t know what you’re running towards. Your parents aren’t home at this time of day. It might be an intruder. But no. It’s Sophia. She’s standing. With a carton of her own eggs, pelting the small crowd of girls outside your gate.

“Do you all have nothing better to do?!” Sophia screams. “Why the fuck are any of you still here?! It’s been three days!”

You freeze, a few steps behind her. And somehow your heart feels full. You thought she’d be against you, outside with the rest. Calling you all kinds of insults. But here she is, hair messy, still in her pajamas, defending you like the big sister she is. It’s been a while since she’s acted like one.

“Do you all really think you have a chance with him? Just say you’re jealous and leave you bitches!”

You laugh in what feels like ages. Sophia. Mentally unstable Sophia was actually helping you. That’s more you can say about some others. You push past her, showing your face for the first time to the brigade outside your door. She glances at you with worry in her eyes. You squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. You can defend yourself. 

But when you see them now, your gaze softens. Most of them are kids. Preteens and teenagers. Victims of an idol industry that encourages this behavior, encourages them to think that they own the idols they worship. That they know him. That they own him. You exhale. BELIFT’s warning email is still fresh in your inbox and in your memory.

Do not engage. Do not respond publicly.

Fuck that.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” you say to the crowd. “What does any of this accomplish?”

“Shut up, old hag,” one screams. You scoff.

“Go to fucking school or something,” you call out. “Live your life. Literally do anything else.”

“Leave Heeseung alone!”

“Do you think I control him?!” you cry out, pointing at the crowd furiously. “You all fucking do! You get to decide what he’s allowed to be. What he’s allowed to feel. Congratulations! He’s all yours.” Sophia almost holds you back, guiding you closer inside. 

“Are you dating him?” one cries in the crowd. “Who is he to you?!”

You heave out a deep sigh, softening your voice. Their phone cameras are pointed at you now.

“Who is he?” you swallow. He’s a lot of things. Kind. Awkward. Always overthinking. Too obsessed with how other people view him. Too in his own head about the kind of person he should be.

“I don’t know,” you say with a wavering voice. “The Heeseung you're all so obsessed with… I promise you, I don’t know him. And I wouldn't want to.”

You turn away before anyone can shout at you again and close the door behind you. A silence follows, one that seems so foreign now. Sophia is staring at you, eyes wide in fear. When she sees a tear slip down your face, she doesn’t say anything. She just steps forward and wraps her arms around you. Because you never cry. Not in front of her at least. 

You don’t try to stop the sobs that come as you sob against her shirt. “I’m so sorry, Sophia,” you hiccup.

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you sorry?”

“I thought you’d hate me,” you huff out between choked breaths. She wipes your tears away and sighs. 

“I realized you were right, you know? My bubble was burst. I have absolutely no idea who he is.” Her gaze is so soft on yours. “But it seems like you do,” she continues with a smile, tucking a hair behind your ear. “And Heeseung is whatever. But you’re my sister. If you’re dating him and he makes you happy, then who the fuck am I to say anything?”

“S-so we’re okay?”

She crinkles her nose. “I promise you I’m not mad,” she mumbles. “Even if you took my man.”

You cry even harder. Because she’s trying to be funny, but nothing about this is. He’s not yours either.

–

When the news dies down and excuses are made when he’s absent from public appearances, Heeseung still can’t shake away the dread. The public has convinced themselves that it was all shock marketing for his solo. Or a rivaling fandom that wanted to sabotage his project. Anything but the truth.

Because you lied for him. You danced around the topic of your relationship, told the impressionable fans outside your door that he was no one to you. And it worked. 

Sitting in a styling chair, Heeseung wonders if any of this is worth it. A life where he hides behind other people’s decisions. Where he has to pretend that what he had with you meant nothing.

“All she had to do was stay quiet,” Manager Jung mutters beside him, replaying the clip of your speech at your house on his phone. “But this might be good. Maybe it will take the heat off of us—”

“And what?” Heeseung interrupts coldly. “Put it on her?”

“The company is still cleaning up after your mistakes, Heeseung—”

“By doing nothing?” 

Heeseung stands up, his stylist moving away from him. He’s never one to yell, always calm and collected. But he’s tired. So fucking tired. “It’s not her fault that this happened, so why should she have to deal with everything by herself?”

“You put this on her,” his manager snaps. “Not us. So how about you lower your tone when you speak like that?” He’s right. The whole room is looking at him. Staff members who've only ever seen him with a polite smile on his face are wide-eyed and nosy, stopping their camera adjustments to hear him better. They wait for him to apologize. And Heeseung grits his teeth. 

He can’t keep acting like the perfect person they want him to be. “Then…” he breathes out, voice quieter. “I want to release a statement.”

Manager Jung’s appearance darkens even more than it already has. “No, Heeseung,” he sighs. “No. That’s not your decision to make.”

Heeseung scoffs under his breath. “Yes. It is.”

He turns around, wiping the sweat off his brow, ignoring the frantic calls behind him. Before he can talk himself out of it, he is out the door. He leaves his phone behind. It doesn’t seem as important as this does now. 

Like he has countless nights before, he takes that 30-minute bus ride. Gets off at the stop that's a ten-minute walk from your house, which is still trashed with litter. He doesn’t stop at the front gate, aware that maybe some fans were still there watching. Not that he cares anymore. It’s way past that point. He comes in through the back and knocks. But it’s not you.

Your sister answers. He lowers his mask to give a shy smile. She freezes, grabbing onto the door frame to prevent her from fainting. Old habits die hard. But she tries to harden her expression. You told her everything after all. NDA be damned.

“W-what do you want?” Sophia says, attempting to toughen her exterior. “She doesn’t want to see you right now.”

He swallows. “But is she here? I just want a second with her.”

He gives her the most pleading look he could muster. “Please?”

She glares at him. The remaining delusions she had of this man dissipated with the wind. Those times you’ve complained about a mysterious boy who mysteriously ghosted you. He looked pathetic like this. Clad in all black, hidden from the world, and begging for a chance to speak with her little sister. 

The version of Heeseung that she thought she knew… he’s not as perfect as she thought he was. “What’s in it for her?” 

He licks his lips, voice low as a whisper. “I just need to tell her,” he mutters, “everything I couldn’t before.”

–

Even after the stunt you pull, you hear nothing from him. Not on the news. Not on social media. You refresh your search on him. He's still preparing for his solo album. Good for him. His life didn't change. But yours did.

“Get your ass out of bed just this one time,” Sophia cries, trying to pull the blanket off your figure. “Don’t you want to celebrate the new job?!”

You groan, burrowing deeper into your warm cocoon. It was a miracle you even got the email. You still half-expect another one to appear saying "Sorry, due to recent events..." But somehow, the offer stuck. You start next week. And you were more than willing to spend every second until then under self-appointed house arrest. You grunt, kicking blindly in her direction.

“Hey!” she hollers. “No one’s even out there anymore. I promise it’s safe.”

You roll your eyes. “Where would we even go? I don’t wanna go to a stupid club-”

“Just a night out,” she says quickly. “Free drinks and food. Everything on the house.”

Free food? You sit up, eyes crusty from all the scrolling. Even the world's toughest battles couldn't change your love for free stuff from your sister. She knows you too well.

“I don’t have anything cute to wear,” you mumble out, excuses falling from your lips. “And if I get mobbed outside, I might end up fighting someone.”

“Let me take care of it,” she says softly. “Just… Let me make it up to you. For that night.”

You blink at her. The night you met Heeseung. Why was she bringing that up now? Why was she suddenly trying so hard? But she stares at you with pleading eyes. “Fine,” you mumble. Sophia smiles at you. 

“You can’t stay inside forever,” she says. “Celebrities deal with this all the time. You’ll live.”

“I’m not a celebrity,” you snort.

“Good thing too,” she scoffs, flicking your forehead. “Not with that hairdo.”

She leaves the room for a second, coming back with a beautiful silk dress. A delicate floral print adorns the off-white material, with brooches adding a touch of elegance to the dress. It’s a gift, she says. Just trust her. 

You don't notice how the tag in the back says Prada. You think nothing of it when she’s spraying you with a fruity perfume, dousing your hair in product that slicks your hair in the right ways. You’re both out the door, in a taxi that feels far less elegant than the dresses you wear. The car stops in front of an old-timey theater in a more upscale part of the city, an expensive-ass opera house. 

Yes, your sister was horribly irresponsible with her money. She once bought a $1000 keychain she saw Heeseung and Sunoo wear on their bags just so she could match with them. But how badly did she want to cheer you up? This part of Seoul wasn’t accessible to people like you. Not in your tax bracket.

You both approach a well-suited man at the end of a long hallway who greets you with a guest book in hand. “Names?”

And when your sister takes the lead, hand wrapped around your arm as she pulls you into a fancy waiting area, your eyes flutter in confusion. High tables with no chairs that are more for socializing than eating. People buzz around, networking. 

“Where the fuck are we?” you mutter into her ear. "Did you take me to your work event?"

She shakes her head. “A friend of mine invited us,” she whispers. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sophia stops a server with a tray of finger foods that look too delicious to eat. You do it anyway with a fake sort of grace. Though you felt stuffy in the tight dress Sophia forced you into, it does feel nice to pretend once in a while. Like you have your shit together like everyone else.

Next thing you know, a group of servers is ushering you both into a small auditorium with dark walls and red chairs. It fills in quickly, overlooking a stage with black curtains and the golden amber hues emanating from the lamps strewn across the stage. And the prettiest of pink roses accent the piano and floor. Your favorite.

Sophia forces you to take a seat in the corner of the theater. Your attention is diverted to the stage where a lady with a mic greets the guests. She talks for a while, though you have a hard time listening when you notice a row of people with large cameras rush up to the front. 

“We ask that you leave flash photography for after the number,” the lady says. “Videos may be uploaded with permission from our team. Again, we are so happy that you have all joined us for tonight’s release party.”

A what? You stare at Sophia, wide-eyed and clueless. You clutch her forearm. “Release party?”

A soft piano hums through the room as everyone gathers around, fixating their gazes on the stage. At the very front, you spot six men. Ones you’ve seen countless times before, all dressed as dapper as everyone else. And you freeze. “Sophia—”

She shushes you, forcing you to look at the stage. The lights dim, and a spotlight trails to the left. A man walks out from the black curtain, hidden behind a black fedora. In any other setting, you would have laughed, but the dark gingham suit he wears fits well with the golden hues of light. The stranger’s brown hair peeks through. You see him better now that he lays the hat gently on the piano. Fuck.

He takes a gentle hold of the mic, singing with an ease that only he could, a soft melody carried by his clear voice.

Lee Heeseung, with his cheeky smile and pouty lips, searches the gaze of the crowd with his hands tucked into his pants. Like performing is as easy as breathing. And you almost melt from the sight of him, but you wear a hardness on your face that masks the fast beating of your heart. His eyes search the room, the lyrics flowing from his lips.

“So this is love…” He turns his head, finding you in an instant. “I know it is.”

And the moment passes. He continues his performance, while you fall apart at the seams. Heeseung takes off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves as the music quickens.

He sneaks in glimpses of you. Your watery eyes are reflecting so beautifully off the golden stage lights. He loses himself in the music. His music. Everything he’s ever wanted to say, everything he’s ever wanted you to hear. For you to know him. For you to see him.

When it ends, he gives a bow so slight. And his eyes find yours again. 

–

“I’m leaving,” you say, standing up from the suede red chair without a second thought. You rush out, Sophia chasing after you.

“Stop that,” she tries to match your speed, failing miserably in her high heels. “I’m not letting you.”

“No, fuck this,” you mutter. Rushing past the theater doors, you turn your head towards her. “Why’d you even bring me here?”

“Please, just hear him out,” she sighs. “He wanted to see you after his performance.”

“Why?” you mock. “So he can see how I’m doing after he’s rubbed whatever that was in my face? So he can tell me he made the right decision?”

“He deserves a second chance,” she pleads, your steps finally coming to a halt. She tries to grab your hand, but it’s balled up into a fist. She settles for your elbow instead. 

“Of course you would say that,” you laugh bitterly. “So what did he promise you? Tickets to their concert? A backstage pass? Did he offer to take you to a fucking hotel right after?”

“Stop—”

“No!” you cry, tears ruining you’re makeup. “I’m done. I don’t need this shit. I don’t need him.”

You pull away from her, your high heels clacking against the marble floor. She follows you, silent now. You push down the pathetic sobs that exit your mouth, sighing in relief when you see the outside. But it’s strange. A black van is parked on the curb with an open door. Like it’s waiting for you. You hesitate, backing away until you feel the warm press of your sister’s hands on your back. She inches you toward the vehicle.

“W-what?” You try to turn, but the ground beneath you disappears as Sophia gives you one big push. You fall into the car, your knees landing on the dark carpet.

“OW—” And you see who’s inside, at the back, waiting for you. He holds a bouquet of pink roses wrapped in white paper with pleading doe eyes and a nervous grin, a suit vest that perfectly hugs his frame. You shake your head, lifting yourself onto your palms. Sophia pushes your feet into the car forcefully, and you throw her a panicked look.

“This is me trying to make it up to you.”

Quickly, she slides the car door. "What the fuck—"

Heeseung offers you a hand. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, flinching slightly when you push him away. “This was the only way I could reach out.”

“And whose fault was that?” you scoff, trying to open the door. But there's a child lock.

"Is this your plan? Try to kidnap me and apologize?"

He purses his lips. "Please. Just give me a few minutes of your time."

You look up at him, the roses in his hand, and the softness in his demeanor. You couldn't forget him even if you tried. So you sigh, sinking into the back seat with him. He lays the roses down to sit between you two. He had so much to say, so much to confess. But he didn’t know where to start. So you do it for him.

“Do you think just singing to me is gonna make everything okay?” you ask, venom laced in your voice. “Last time I checked, you were the one who wanted nothing to do with me—”

“I was wrong, okay?” he says, interrupting you. His voice lowers. “About everything.”

Heeseung bites his lip, heaving out a deep breath. “I fucked up, I know that…”

He sneaks you a glance, but you can’t even bother to look at him. He sees the thin streak of mascara that coats your cheek.

“I was thinking about what you said,” he starts, voice cracking just a little. “About how I just let things happen to me because I’ve normalized them or made excuses. And I just thought you didn't understand what it's like being an idol... but you’re right.”

He gulps. "You're right. I am a pushover. I am a suck-up. I am a liar..." Finally, you look at him. His chest tightens.

“I want to be better," he whispers. "For you.”

You scoff.  “Isn’t it a little too late for all this?” you choke out, biting the inside of your cheek out of anger. “We’re not supposed to be seen with each other.”

He shakes his head. “I don't care anymore. I care about you.” 

You suck in a deep breath. The snappy words that usually come out of your mouth when he’s around fade away. You feel it through him now. The regret.

“They… they won’t promote my new album,” he continues. “This is the only thing they let me do. Outside of this one event, I’m on my own with promoting everything. No music shows. No variety shows.”

He takes your hands into his, more to get support than to give it. You let him. “Like an independent artist,” he says with a cruel smile, hiding a despair you can’t fathom. 

Your mouth falls open. “But why? I thought the rumors had already died down…”

“Because,” he starts, relieved now that you’re unconsciously clutching onto him. “...I don’t want to be a liar anymore.”

He swallows hard. Unsure if this will ever come out right. But he needs to say it. “I want to be with you. I want to take you to nice things like this. Nicer places. So we don’t have to hide behind shades or masks whenever we go out. I don't want to keep us a secret.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs as he closes his eyes. Us? Since when was there an us? “So what are you trying to say?” you ask, in a low whisper. His thumbs rub over your knuckles.

“I’ll never,” Heeseung gulps. “Never do anything like I did before. I won’t shut you out. I won’t ask you to keep secrets for me.”

His head rests on your hands as he begs. You feel the wetness of his eyes hit the back of your palm. “I'm sorry,” he finally says. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

A stillness falls between you two, save for the soft sniffles barely audible from his muffled nose. You lift his head to meet your eyes, your palm resting under his chin. Despite the pain, despite the silent treatment, he seems so sincere. And maybe if he was just some guy who ghosted you and came crawling back without an explanation, then maybe you would have slapped the shit out of him. But this is Heeseung. And you know he has his reasons. So you nod, your own tears threatening to spill over once more. You don’t even try to hide them.

“You can leave,” he says through bated breaths, brushing the mascara stain from your cheek. “You can walk out of this car right now if you want. But if you let me… I… I want to tell you how I feel. Without running away.”

Your hand meets his wrist, losing yourself in his beautiful eyes. “And what is that?” you say, in a low voice.

He leans into you, his breath impossibly close to yours. “That I'm in love with you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest, and a smile finally pokes through your sullen face. You inch forward, catching his lips with your own in a soft kiss. When you pull away to see his fluttering eyes, your heart warms.

“I think I am too.”

The van parks in a destination unknown to both of you. Somewhere secluded. The driver walked out minutes ago, far enough away to give you both privacy in the back seat.

Your lips melt against Heeseung’s, tongues dancing to make up for the nights spent waiting to have this moment again. Your body remembers him, yearning for contact. He pulls you into his lap, admiring the way the expensive fabric bunches up your thighs. A dress he’d bought for you ages ago, not sure how appropriate it would be to offer it to you, knowing you'd outwardly refuse. You looked so fucking good in it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, peppering kisses down your neck. The neck that once wore his bruises so beautifully. You unbutton his vest, pulling apart the material and sighing from frustration when his dress shirt is still underneath. 

“And you’re wearing too many clothes,” you grumble. He chuckles as your hands work their way down the new set of buttons, revealing his tanned skin one by one. He unzips the back of your dress, relishing in how it falls so easily for him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, masking a grin. “Why do you never wear a bra?”

He licks his lips at the sight. Your bareness, dimly glowing by the car’s overhead light. He takes his hand out to rub a nipple, perky and plump. “Didn’t think I needed to tonight,” you mutter mockingly. His gaze darkens.

“I’m not complaining,” he whispers against your skin, nipping at your collarbone. His mouth finds your bud, suckling at it as his hooded gaze follows you. You wrap your fingers around his hair, giving in to his warm touch. 

It feels like all the other times before, but so much better. Because even if you’re in the back of his company van and hidden away from the world, you’ve never felt more seen by him. He’s learned everything there is to know about you. 

Knows how much it drives you crazy when three of his fingers are inside, knuckles deep, massaging that spongy part of your core that makes your back arch into him. Knows how malleable your body is when he lays you down on the seats, flowers he forgot to offer you tossed onto the floor. Knows that when he bares his neck to your lips, that your mouth will flutter with sweet sounds because finally, he lets you mark him. But he still wants more.

You bite down hard when he positions himself impatiently between your legs. “Need you,” he grunts, his pulsing member catching between your folds through the thin lace of your underwear. “Right now.”

You let out a sound of agreement, continuing your nibbles against his skin. "Heeseung—"

He groans at the sound of his name, pushing your underwear to the side. You grab at his brown hair, pulling him to look at you. “Make it up to me.”

He nods feverishly, entering your tightness in a painstakingly slow pace. It always ends up like this. Not enough time to prep you, but still so fucked out underneath him. You find his neck again, digging your canines into him as he stills inside. He winces in pain, head falling forward. Heeseung deserves it. And god, does he love it.

He waits for the clench of your walls to soften, his thumb rubbing small circles on your clit to distract you from the stretch. Car sex should be messy. It should be quick. A damn driver is waiting outside of some sketchy parking lot just so he can reunite with you. But he could give less of a fuck. He’ll take everything in, take you the way he wants to. The way he knows you like it.

Heeseung’s hands are clasping your hands into his, above your head. His thrusts start slow and agonizing, but addicting all the same. They’re harsh against you, snapping his hips forward with perfect control. “Ngh!” 

Your breasts bounce with each recoil of his thrusts, hitting the deepest part of you. Your eyes refuse to shut, too enthralled with the sight of your connection. Of him going so deeply inside of you that the imprint of him is visible beneath your belly button.

It’s silent, save for the wet sounds of his pounding, the rustling of clothes that stayed on from impatience, and the small sounds that come out of your lips. But it’s the loudest you’ve ever felt him. The intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your held hands, pushes you closer to your climax faster than any other night. He is yours. He’s made it clear.

“More…” you cry. And you don’t know what you’re whining for, but you beg anyway.

“Anything you want,” he moans, pressing his forehead onto yours. “I can give you, baby. I promise…” You shut him up with your lips. Because this is enough. Him back, him dropping the pretenses. You don’t care for hors d'oeuvres or designer dresses. You miss him in your room. You miss him in that stupid hoodie. Just you. Just him. The Heeseung you know, the Heeseung you love.

“I just want you,” you cry, the familiar coil shooting through your toes and up your core. He buries his head into your hair, his slow pace quickening when he hears your breath hitch. The slickness of your walls only makes it easier for him to penetrate. In and out, over and over again. He’ll give you everything. 

“Heeseung—” 

The sweet sound of his name from your lips eggs him on. He plows deeper into you, rubbing against your sweet spot. Deep and hard. Until you start to see stars. Until your fingers clutch his and your mouth opens into a silent scream, hips stuttering up to meet his. Until your red-hot orgasm propels him to go faster and harder, cursing into your skin. His thrusts are cruel, rolling into you as you try to push down the oversensitivity. The car squeaks from his rough movements.

“Heeseung,” you whine again, tears falling down your face. He kisses them away, face flushed as he nears his own climax. Your makeup, so beautifully ruined.

“So pretty, baby,” he mumbles, pistoning harder into you. “So pretty.”

You choke out a sob, already another orgasm threatening to spill over. He feels it too, feels the last of his sanity fly out the window.

“Shit—I’m gonna—” He tries to pull away. Tries.

“It’s okay,” you coax him, wrapping your legs around his frame. He always pulls out. Never gives himself the satisfaction of cumming inside of you. But you want it now. More than ever. “It’s a safe day.”

It’s not like he hasn’t thought of it before. He never wore a condom with you anyway. He’d been holding back from it because it felt too intimate, felt too real. But he knows now what this is. What you have. And he’ll gladly give in.

His thrusts drag along your G-spot repeatedly as your hips arch up into him. “Mh…Oh my god…Hee—”

"Fuck—"

He moans with you, head resting on your shoulder. Ropes of hot, white cum fill your tight walls. You whimper underneath him, your second orgasm washing over you as the heat in your core spreads through your body. He thrusts as deeply as he can, whispering sweet nothings into your skin, pushing more of himself into your gummy walls. Your juices mix with his, squelching noises permeating the car. 

When you look up, the windows are all fogged and dewy. “You’re so perfect, baby,” Heeseung sighs into your hair, coming down from his high. The best one yet. “Perfect for me.”

You brush his hair down from all the tugging you put it through, giving him a cheeky grin. “And who are you?” you ask teasingly. “Who am I perfect for?”

He smiles against your jaw, looking up at you through his beautifully long eyelashes. “Your boyfriend,” he smiles.

“Is that your way of asking?” you scoff, glaring up at him.

He lifts himself to your eye level. "No," he kisses your forehead. "The performance was."

Your cheeks warm, all of a sudden, so shy. The pink roses. The sneaking glances. Damn, he's good.

Heeseung grins. “So? Is that a yes?”

You shove his chest lightly. “Sure. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Big mistake,” he teases, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m never letting you go again.”

Even when you’re both appropriately dressed (save for the panties Heeseung hides deep into his pants pocket), the driver still feels less awkward to go back into the van. You take a second to admire the bouquet now in your lap, Heeseung’s hand in yours.

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you glance at him. “About your album. It would’ve been great to see you perform on music shows and all that.”

He smiles. There’s no sadness behind it this time. “Don’t be,” he reassures you. “I know what I'm signing myself up for.”

“But still. You didn’t have to do all this for me. The dress, the flowers… Convincing my sister—”

“Trust me,” he interrupts you. “I was going crazy without you.” You laugh at his surprisingly serious expression. You believe him.

“We didn’t have to go public, either,” you mumble. “I don’t want our relationship to hurt your career.”

He squeezes your hand, eyes searching your worried gaze. “It would have been public anyway,” he starts hesitantly. “Because I dedicated every song to you. I’ll give you a copy when it releases.”

Your mouth parts open in shock. “What?”

He laughs because he knows you heard him. Heeseung kisses your temple, the scar of your first meeting with him slowly fading with time. He hopes he can replace it with his presence instead.

“They’re all about you.”

–

Even though Heeseung hasn’t opened WeVerse in weeks, he finds himself typing from the small couch of the dorm living room. And hits send.

I’m so sorry to ENGENEs for the recent news. I want to be honest and say that the situation a few months ago had hurt me and the one I love very deeply. I just hope that our privacy can be respected at this time. Thank you, and I’m sorry for making any of you worry.

Sophia gawks at her phone, twisting it around to show you. The photocard of Heeseung that was once in the back is now replaced with a Polaroid picture of you and her as kids.

You try not to bite back a smile. “That’s my man, by the way.”

fin.

The Epsilon Nu house looked almost exactly like Saturday night, just with everyone dressed to fit the mixer’s theme. Normally, at themed mixers or socials like these, you loved seeing how everyone dressed up, but tonight you couldn’t focus on any of it. All you could do was watch Kaarina and Chaewon from across the room. You saw them making their rounds and circling groups of your sorority’s new pledge class like sharks. They were clearly hunting for whichever freshman had supposedly slept with Jake.

Your stomach had been in knots since lunch. You’d called Yunjin in a full panic earlier, and even now your anxiety was still at a high. The longer Karina and Chaewon hunted, the worse it got. Because what if someone had actually seen you and Jake Saturday night? What if all it took was the wrong person whispering in the wrong ear, and suddenly your secret wasn’t a secret anymore?

“You need to chill. You’re gonna end up drawing more attention by acting like a coked-up psycho,” Yunjin hissed in your ear, snapping you out of it. She yanked the crushed solo cup from your hand, giving you a look.

You gave her a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. I just… Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know what the hell Jake was thinking, coming up with the dumbest lie imaginable. And now look what’s happened; it’s landed on the laps of the two nosiest people alive. You know they’re not gonna let it go until they’ve found who slept with him.”

“Yeah, it was a fucking stupid move, but also he probably panicked and didn’t think.” Yunjin sighed, flicking her bangs out of her eyes. She’d gone all out goth for the theme. She was wearing so much black eyeliner that she looked like a different person. “Have you even talked to him yet?”

“No,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “I’ve tried calling. He won’t pick up. I haven’t even seen him tonight.”

You were mid-huff when a voice cut through.

“Who haven’t you seen?”

You both whipped your heads around, only to relax when you saw who it was.

Jay.

He looked ridiculous but also kind of perfect for the theme, dressed head-to-toe in a football uniform that even had the shoulder pads in. He took up half the damn kitchen doorway, and you couldn’t help but smile when Yunjin’s whole face lit up. She threw her arms around him, and for a second, you forgot your panic. They really were cute, and honestly, Jay was one of the good ones. You were happy they were getting back together. 

“Hey, Jay,” you greeted, giving him a side hug. “You look good. Where’d you even get the uniform? It looks legit.”

He grinned. “Thanks. Borrowed Jake’s old uniform from high school. No idea why he didn’t just wear it, but hey, it was less work for me. Definitely better than whatever that idiot’s got going on.”

He gestured across the room, and you followed his finger to where your twin was at the beer pong table with Heeseung. The two of them whooped when they sank a cup. Sunghoon’s hair was so stiff with gel that not a single strand moved, and he looked ridiculous with the white sweater tied around his shoulder. You and Yunjin both snorted.

“But who were you looking for?” Jay asked, circling back.

Before you could get a word out, Yunjin cut in.

“Speaking of Jake,” she said smoothly, “Y/N’s actually been looking for him.”

Your eyes flew wide. You shot her a glare. Was she out of her fucking mind? She wasn’t actually about to out you—

“She’s just been stressed this week,” Yunjin continued, casual, “and could probably use a smoke.”

Relief hit just as quick. When you met her gaze, she arched a brow, and you knew she’d bought you the perfect excuse. Everyone knew Jake always had a stash.

“Oh, perfect timing then,” Jay said, clueless as ever. “I just came down from the game room. He and Jungwon were smoking up there. Kid’s never touched weed before, so Jake and I gave him a hit, and after just one, he was gone. High out of his mind. Jake and I were fucking dying; seriously, you’ve gotta see it.” Jay cracked himself up just thinking about it.

“Oh uh, perfect then. Yeah, I’ll head up. Thanks,” you said quickly, grabbing your cup back from Yunjin. You gave them a wave and slipped toward the back stairs.

By now, you knew the EN house too well. Even with the alcohol buzzing in your veins, finding the game room upstairs wasn’t hard. The hallway was quiet, the music from downstairs only a muffled thump broken by faint moans bleeding from one of the closed doors. No surprise there. Everyone knew the upstairs was basically off-limits unless you were a brother or invited up. The keypad on the stairwell made sure of it.

The sharp scent of weed grew stronger the closer you got. You didn’t bother knocking before pushing the door open.

Just like Jay promised, Jake and Jungwon were spread across the couch. Jungwon was half-slumped over, furiously mashing buttons on the Switch, while Jake leaned back, joint between his fingers. His head snapped up when he saw you, and his eyes widened in surprise. Beside him, Jungwon’s did too, though his were already so glassy it looked like it took real effort to keep them open.

“Y/N!” Jungwon grinned, waving with way too much energy for someone that high. “Do you wanna play Animal Crossing with me?”

His words came out slurred, and you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. You got why Jay was cracking up earlier, Jungwon was clearly high off his mind.

“Sure,” you said, shutting the door behind you. Jake shifted, sliding over to make space in the middle. You dropped down between them. “You guys don’t mind me joining, right?”

Jungwon shook his head hard enough to wobble. “Not at all. In fact, we love your presence.” His eyes darted to Jake, panic flashing across his face. “Wait, I didn’t mean that in a weird way. I swear I don’t have intentions, I just meant-”

“Kid, shut up,” Jake cut in, deadpan, but you could see he was amused as he sported a faint grin.

Jungwon pouted but went back to his game. You had to smother another laugh.

You’d been pissed when you first found out Jake let Jungwon in on your secret, but seeing him now, in front of you, you couldn’t stay mad. Jungwon was harmless. Sweet even and definitely not the type that would purposely let out your secret to hurt you.

“So, you’ve been up here all night?” you asked, finally turning to Jake. He offered you the joint and you took it, inhaling deep. The smoke burned your throat, but the sting loosened your body, easing you further into the couch. You passed it back.

“Pretty much. I went downstairs for a little, but wasn’t feeling it,” he said with a shrug, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

That’s when you noticed his outfit.

Jake had gone full nerd for the theme with thick glasses and a button-up shirt that left a couple of the buttons open showing some skin. It should’ve looked stupid, but instead, he looked really fucking hot. Too hot. And you hadn’t seen him in days. With alcohol and weed fogging your system, staring at him was dangerous. You forced yourself to look away, fixing your eyes on Jungwon instead.

You almost lost it again once you actually took in what he was wearing.

Jungwon sat there in jorts and an obnoxious Hamilton shirt so loud that if you stared at it long enough, you were sure you’d get a migraine. Multiple photos of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s face were plastered in neon graphics all across the shirt, and you couldn’t help but wonder where the hell he even found this shirt. He was obviously dressed as a theater kid, and you didn’t know how you even missed it when you first walked in.

“I fucking hate Tom Nook,” Jungwon muttered suddenly, scowling at the screen. Then, overdramatically like a child, he groaned, snapped the Switch off, and crossed his arms. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

You and Jake caught each other’s eyes and instantly broke into quiet laughter.

“Buddy, you good?” Jake asked, voice strained from holding back another laugh.

Jungwon mumbled something under his breath, probably still cursing the raccoon, which only you and Jake crack harder.

“Whatever. I’m going downstairs. I need a drink after how much that little shit ripped me off.”

He pushed to his feet, stomping toward the door like a sulky kid. You covered your mouth to keep from laughing too loud, and Jake, at this point, wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was losing his shit cause of the kid.

But before Jungwon twisted the knob, he turned, eyes narrowing at both of you and somehow ignoring the fact that the two of you were openly laughing at him.

“Also, you better not fuck on that couch. This room’s my favorite, and I saw what you did to Niki’s room. If you ruin my safe space, I swear to God I’ll actually kill myself and haunt you for the rest of your miserable lives.”

And with that, he stormed out, door slamming behind him.

Silence hung for a beat. Then you and Jake looked at each other and burst into laughter again. 

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anyone high like that,” you said, wiping at the tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.

“You should’ve seen him earlier. He kept telling me and Jay that his butt felt tingly and that he was scared that it was because he hadn’t gotten his prostate exam yet.” Jake snorted as he passed you the joint, and even as you brought the joint to your lips and inhaled, you could feel the corners of your lips twitching. Just the fact that Jungwon even got this high was just too fucking funny.

“Yeah, I ran into Jay before I came up. He couldn’t stop laughing, telling me how the two of you got Jungwon high.” You inhaled, held it, then passed the joint back. It was nearly burned down to the filter. Jake took one last drag before crushing it out in the tray.

The buzz settled in fast; that warm feeling of being crossfaded washed over you. You leaned closer without thinking, sinking into Jake’s body heat, and his arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you snug against him.

“You know Chaewon and Karina are downstairs harassing every KT freshman, right?” you finally said, cutting through the haze. It killed the light mood instantly, but you couldn’t sit on it. This was what you came up to talk to him about anyway.

Jake sighed behind you. You reached up, threading your fingers through his where they rested on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I saw your text earlier,” he admitted. “I just didn’t wanna deal with it today. Sorry.”

You frowned, pulling back enough to look at him. “You could’ve at least let me know that.” Your voice came out sharper than you meant, but you didn’t care. You’d been spiraling all day, and here he was admitting that he had ignored you on purpose.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he murmured, giving your hand a squeeze. “I just didn’t think they’d find out. Especially not from your brother of all people.”

You let out a harsh breath. “Yeah, well, they did. And now Karina and Chaewon won’t stop until they find out which freshman you supposedly fucked.”

Silence stretched, heavy. The dizziness from the intoxication pressed down harder, your eyelids heavy, your chest tight.

Then Jake said, almost too casually. “Then, why don’t we just pick one?”

Your eyes flew open. You twisted toward him, blinking through the haze to make sure you heard right. “What?”

“I’m serious, if they won’t let it go,” he said evenly, “then let’s give them a freshman. I’m sure Yunjin can spread a rumor. By tomorrow, everyone will know.” He shrugged like it was nothing.

You stared at him, stunned. His bloodshot eyes blinked back at you, his face too relaxed for the weight of what he was saying.

The thought was fucked. Throwing some random freshman to Karina and Chaewon when you knew exactly how ruthless they could be. The girl’s life would be hell. But the worst part? It was actually tempting.

Jake must’ve seen the conflict on your face, because his arm tugged you closer until you were tucked against him again. His mouth dipped to your neck, as his lips found your sweet spot immediately, pressing slow, deliberate kisses that had your body softening against him. A small sound slipped from your throat. You knew exactly what he was doing, yet you still didn’t stop him.

“C’mon, Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low, coaxing. “You know it’s the fastest way to get them off our asses. I started this, so let me fix it. I’m literally handing you the perfect solution.” His hand slid down your thigh, fingers pressing as your cheer skirt bunched higher.

He nipped at your jaw, his breath hot at your ear. “How about this, you go downstairs, tell Yunjin to pick whichever KT pledge she wants, and start spreading the rumor. Then you and I leave. We can go back to your place, and I’ll let you do whatever the fuck you want with me.”

And of course, you nodded.

“Fuck, Y/N.” 

You honestly didn’t even know how long you’d been on your knees for. It was definitely long enough that they’d be bruised tomorrow, but that was the least of your worries, seeing as you hadn’t been able to breathe in what felt like forever. Your makeup was beyond ruined by now, mascara streaking, lipstick smeared, and the hair you’d carefully styled earlier was a wreck. Jake made sure of that when he brutally pushed your head down his dick as he weaved his hand in your hair. 

You were smacking at his bare thigh, indicating your need for air as your throat violently convulsed around his dick. Tears wouldn’t stop streaming as your gag reflex was pushed past its limit and bubbles of his precum escaped from the corner of your mouth, forming a white ring around his dick, and a bit even made its way up your nose. 

Just when you thought you might pass out, your vision blurring and even spots flashing, he finally let up, pulling you off him.

You gasped hard, coughing as you choked on air, desperate just to breathe. But the relief barely lasted a second before he yanked you back down, your throat being invaded again.

Jake pushed you down so far that you couldn’t even comprehend how your throat was even accommodating him before he pulled your hair into a ponytail and started dragging you up and down his dick. The obscene sounds of you gagging as Jake loudly moaned echoed in the otherwise quiet apartment. Your nails dug deep into his thighs as you tried your best to relax, but you were desperate for air again, and your body couldn’t stop squirming. 

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Jake grunted, his jaw tight, mouth open, eyes locked on you even as his hand reached for the phone beside him. For a second, you were blinded by the flash; he was taking a video of you as he started guiding you up and down his dick even faster before fully shoving you down to his pubic bone. 

You felt warm liquid fill your throat as the familiar salty taste flooded your mouth, but he shoved his cum way too far down, and there was just so much that you couldn’t stop yourself from choking around his dick, causing Jake to yank you off him. As you violently coughed while still trying to swallow everything down, you could even feel cum forcibly coming out from your nose. It was disgusting, and you were a mess, yet he still wasn't done cumming as you started to feel him on your face. You flinched a little as warm ropes of his cum shot onto you, and as more hit your face, you even felt it going in your eyes. The sting was brutal, causing more tears to flow down your face, and you knew you probably looked beyond saving. 

It was almost absurd how much he came, and when you finally felt him stop, you tried your best to wipe everything out of your eyes. It was everywhere on your face, hair, and even dripping down your cheer uniform, which was definitely ruined by now. 

“Jesus, Y/N, you look fucking disgusting. My own personal little cum slut, huh?” He gently gripped your head again before moving it around slowly in front of his phone, making sure to get everything on video. 

He then gripped his dick before softly tapping the tip against your lip. You knew what he wanted you to do, and you sighed but gave in as you started licking up the leftover cum that was on his dick, making sure to clean everything up, even down to his balls. 

The flash cut out, and Jake tossed his phone somewhere onto the couch before yanking the blanket over. He dragged it across your face, wiping at the mess, but he wasn’t doing much more than smearing it. Your false lashes were clumped and definitely ruined while your eyes were still burning. You snatched the blanket from him, trying your best to clean your face, at least your eyes, until you could finally see again before blowing your nose on it as well. When you pulled it back, it was streaked all over with a filthy mix of cum and snot. Yunjin would kill you if she saw what you’d done to her blanket, but that was a problem for later. You tossed it aside and swung yourself onto Jake’s lap.

His eyes were glazed, a mix of the orgasm and the weed, and a lazy grin stretched across his face like he was proud of what he’d just put you through.

You shook your head, annoyed, and your breath was still uneven. “You’re a fucking dick, you know that?”

“Yeah?” Jake laughed under his breath, and before you could react, he flipped you onto the couch so fast, trading places in one smooth motion. He shoved your skirt up, forcing your legs apart, bending your knees until your feet dug into the cushions.

Your entire core was exposed, and your tiny thong did nothing to hide how wet you were. You saw Jake send you one last smirk as he bit his lips, and without a warning, he dove in.

Without hesitation, he went straight to lapping at your pussy through your thong. He still had his glasses on, the lenses fogging up, and the sight alone nearly undid you. It was the hottest fucking thing you’d ever seen, and the way he was pleasing you had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck Jake,” you could barely pant out, and you could feel him smiling against your pussy as he heard the shake in your voice.

“Feel good, babe?” You couldn’t even answer him, too drunk on the sensation, the only response you could give was just moans.

And then without warning, he ripped your thong off you, and your eyes shot open as you looked down at him.

“Jake, I fucking loved that one!” 

The frown on your face was barely even there for a second, though, as your face contorted again when he dove back into your now bare pussy. He sucked on your clit, pulling the sweetest noises out from you before moving his mouth down to lap at your lips. You could feel yourself practically gushing out with how wet he was making you. 

“Sweetheart, I’ll buy you more,” he lifts his head up slightly, and you spot the bottom half of his face glistening as he sends you another smile before lowering his head back down.

He ate you out like a starved man, and your hands made their way down to his hair, gripping it hard. The pleasure was overwhelming, especially since you were still very much intoxicated, making you so much more sensitive. And once he started rubbing your clit with his thumb as he shoved his tongue in and out of your pulsing hole, you lost it. You pushed his head deeper into you as your head hung off the back of the couch, unable to hold it up.

And just as you felt yourself getting close to your release, you felt him rip away. But before you could complain, he ripped your skirt off before quickly moving up to rub his cock against your entrance.

His tip cocked at your clit in a way that made you shudder, and then without a warning, you felt him push in just enough to feel the stretch. Jake paused, giving you a second to prepare yourself, and then he pushed in further. 

Both of you groaned together loudly as he bottomed out. The stretch was familiar and painful, but it always was, and by now you welcomed the sensation because you knew that the pain was always followed by indescribable pleasure. 

With Jake, it was always different. It was a kind of pleasure you’d never felt before, despite how many guys came before him. Looking back, it was almost laughable that you’d actually thought that you had ever been satisfied by them. But nothing compared. Whatever it was about Jake, the way he touched you, the way he knew you, it felt impossible that anyone else could ever replicate it. And that was why you couldn’t quit him, no matter how much you knew you should.

“Ugh,” Jake grunted out as he gritted his teeth, “How are you always so tight. By now I’ve fucked you over a hundred times, yet you're always tighter than a virgin.”

His brows furrowed, and you could see how tight he was gripping the couch as he thrusted into you. The position he had you in made it so that you felt him impossibly deep, and you couldn’t help but reach out to his outstretched arm, holding tight as you used it to try and keep you stable. 

The lewd sounds of his balls slapping violently fast against your drooling pussy were embarrassingly loud, but instead, you found yourself unable to stop moaning as you clenched around his dick tighter the louder the noises got. Jake seemed to be the same as you heard him groaning and panting loudly from above you, unable to tear his gaze from where the two of you were connected.

“Jake, Jake, Jake,” you mewled out like it was a prayer. You clutched him tightly, unwilling to let go as your legs wrapped themselves around him tightly, wanting to feel him closer and deeper. 

You could feel every vein on his dick scraping against your pulsing walls, and you couldn’t help but drool as your tongue hung out at how good he was making you feel. You had no control over your body, drunk on pleasure, and you felt like you were going to melt straight into the couch. 

Jake reached to push your uniform top, helping you yank it off before he reached for your bare breasts, tweaking a nipple as he lowered his lips to suck on the other one. You were beyond sensitive, and every touch from him felt like fire on your skin. 

“Drunk off my dick, look at you drooling like a fucking whore. You’re a slut, huh? My own personal cumdump?” 

When you didn’t respond, he gripped your jaw tight as your big eyes rounded as tears welled in your eyes at how good you were feeling. You felt yourself trying your best to nod, but it wasn’t good enough.

He gripped your face tighter as he continued to batter against your cervix at an impossible pace, “Fucking say it. Tell me exactly what you are.”

“I’m- I’m your slut, your cum dump! Use me daddy. I’m yours, only yours,” you finally pulled yourself together enough to beg as a tear rolled down your face. At your words, you could see Jake’s jaw clench as his own eyes rolled in pleasure. 

You knew how much that specific word affected him, and you could feel his thrusts getting faster and harder. Jake was pounding deep into your cervix, and you could feel him trying to drive himself even deeper into you, as if he was trying to reach your womb. 

“Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up, fucking breed this pussy.“ Jake groaned out clearly intoxicated in pleasure. 

“Yes, yes, please, I wanna be overflowing with your cum,” you begged, and you felt yourself reaching that brink of snapping. You knew you were so close as you reached out and gripped the back of his neck before yanking him down to meet your lips. 

He groaned in your mouth as your lips and tongues sucked each other in. And then you felt it. Like a jolt of electricity running through you, you could feel yourself frozen in place, clearly overtaken by the orgasm. You felt as Jake also reached his climax as he came inside of you. Your inner thighs shook as you rode your high, and Jake kept pumping himself in you as he continued to cum. Like you asked, you were being filled to the brim with him. He had cum so much that you could even feel it slowly escaping from your pussy and dripping down into your other hole. Your pussy pulsed around him as he finally finished, and the two of you stayed wrapped in each other, not wanting to detach. 

A couple of moments later, Jake tightly gripped you before he moved your connected body to a more comfortable position where the two of you were able to lie down on the couch. 

You were beyond beat, not to mention still drunk and high, but you still gave him a small smile, which he reciprocated before giving you small kisses on your neck and adjusting so that he was spooning you from behind. 

He was still inside of you as you could feel his cum plugged deep within you. Small drips continued to run out, but you couldn’t bother to care for it, and instead, you reached for the blanket you previously used and wrapped it around the two of you. You make sure the side you used to wipe your face earlier wasn’t touching either of you, and then finally, the exhaustion took over as you felt yourself lulling into sleep.

The plan had worked almost too well. By the time you and Jake finally woke up on the couch the next morning, your phones were blowing up nonstop.

You’d always known Yunjin was your ride-or-die, the one person you could trust with anything. Loyal to the bone and fiercely protective. But it unsettled you sometimes, how fast she said yes to everything and anything you asked of her. 

She hadn’t even blinked before agreeing to help cover for you and Jake over the summer, not to mention her lack of hesitation last night. Maybe the alcohol played a role yesterday, but you knew better. She would’ve said yes sober, too and that scared you the lengths she’d go for you. Especially when you couldn’t honestly say you’d do the same for her.

“Okay, but how’re we supposed to get Jungwon in on this?” Jake muttered, pacing the living room with his arms crossed. “The kid’s not obligated to lie for us. He only promised to keep his mouth shut, not lie.” He looked wrecked, and now sober, he finally seemed to realize just how much bigger this had gotten.

You rolled your eyes from the couch. “This is all your fucking idea. If you’d picked literally anyone else, we’d be fine. But no, you had to drag KT and Jungwon into all this. Now look what we’re dealing with.”

“Yeah, I fucking get it. You don’t have to keep reminding me,” Jake snapped, his glare cutting sharp. “And don’t forget that you also agreed to all this last night. Nobody actually forced you to go to Yunjin.”

You shot upright, a frown twisting your face. “I was fucking drunk and high. Jake are you seriously tryna act like that wasn’t all you too? You’re such a dick you know that? You’re literally the one who-”

“I what?” he barked back, jaw tight. “I didn’t force you to do anything.”

“You literally fucking manipulated me into-”

“Jesus, seriously stop,” Yunjin’s sharp voice cut through. She sat on the loveseat, arms crossed, glaring at both of you as she huffed. “Maybe instead of blaming each other, we focus on coming up with a plan that can actually help us not get our heads chopped off by our best friends?”

You didn’t miss the disgust in her voice. She was still pissed, refusing to sit on the couch after walking in on you and Jake (unfortunately again) naked and making no effort to hide what you’d done. And thank God she hadn’t noticed the blanket yet, or you’d both be dead. You just prayed you could get it in the washer before she did.

“At least we can thank you for picking Wonyoung,” you said finally, forcing your voice even. “That was smart. Karina was probably already planning to go after her anyway.”

Jang Wonyoung had been one of the girls you rushed in the first round, and instantly you knew she’d be a Kappa Theta. She fit the part too perfectly, and it was no surprise when her name showed up on the bid list. Everyone had been excited about her at first. But that excitement didn’t even last a day.

Winter had been her bid day buddy, but she clearly hadn’t helped Wonyoung out the way you and Yunjin had with Yunah and Minju. The poor girl hadn’t gotten the rundown on who was off limits before, and that night at the EN bid day party, Wonyoung, drunk out of her mind, walked straight up to your twin and basically asked if he wanted to fuck. 

You remembered exactly how furious Karina was, and she hadn’t forgiven Wonyoung since. Even though Wonyoung apologized the next morning, swearing she hadn’t known, the damage was already done.

And it only got worse. That same night, after Sunghoon turned her down, she started telling the other freshmen how she thought Jay was “so fucking hot.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she practically cornered Jake too, asking him if he wanted to leave with her (you didn’t even find out about that part until this morning). Minju had told Yunjin yesterday about the Jay and Jake thing, swearing that since that night, the whole pledge class already thought Wonyoung was desperate.

So yeah, it made sense why Yunjin picked her. Everyone knew how jealous and possessive your best friend could get when it came to Jay, and if Wonyoung had already thrown herself at him, Sunghoon, and Jake in the same night, it wasn’t hard to spin the story that she was eventually able to convince Jake to sleep with her.

And the timing couldn’t have been worse for Wonyoung. She was already at the bottom of the house hierarchy. Her own pledge class had sided with the older girls, and everyone was whispering “pathetic pick me” behind her back because of one drunken night. Add in the new rumor that she’d gone after Jay and Jake too (thanks to Yunjin making sure Minju spread it to everyone last night), and Wonyoung wasn’t just desperate anymore. She was the desperate slut who got chosen over Chaewon.

Jake sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before finally looking at you. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll talk to Jungwon. See if I can get him to keep his mouth shut, at least until this blows over.”

Yunjin nodded, satisfied, but you stayed silent, jaw tight. Jake could feel your stare burning through him. He knew what you were thinking, and part of him wanted to fight for your forgiveness, just to say 'I’m sorry' and mean it, but pride got in the way. It always did. 

He was angry too. Angry that you kept throwing this on him, like he hadn’t already been losing sleep over it. So he just rolled his eyes, forced a tight smile at Yunjin, and grabbed his keys from the table before storming out. The door slammed so hard the frame rattled.

You sat there for a second, staring at it. Then the words just spilled out. “I fucking hate him.”

Yunjin snorted. “Yeah, sure. You hate him so much that I literally found you two spooning naked not even an hour ago.”

You shot her a glare. “You know that doesn’t mean shit. He’s still a fucking asshole. I’m just…” Your voice cracked. “I’m so tired of this bullshit.”

Yunjin sighed, hesitating. You could see it, the way she bit her lip, deciding whether or not to push.

“Well,” she said carefully, “If it’s really getting to you, you don’t have to keep doing this. You can just… stop. You know that, right?” 

You turned toward her, defensive. “What are you saying?”

She hesitated but didn’t look away. “You could just end it. Whatever you and Jake are doing, it’s the reason you’re both in this mess. You could just stop. You said it yourself, it’s no strings attached. So end it. Let it die before it ruins everything.”

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Because she was right and her words hit you harder than you wanted to admit. This whole thing had spun so far past what it was supposed to be, and if you were smart, really smart, you’d walk away.

But you couldn’t.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. All that came out was a shaky breath.

“Babe,” Yunjin said softly, her voice careful now, “it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

You tried to shake your head, but you couldn’t. You wanted to deny it, to laugh, to act like she was being ridiculous, but you couldn’t because she wasn’t wrong. You had felt it. You knew that you had tried to fight it, both of you had, but it hadn’t worked. It was already too late.

“Yunjin, no,” you said weakly, “I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t even like him. He’s such an ass, and we’re so bad for each other.” Your voice cracked, trembling between anger and exhaustion. “We can’t.

You could feel your eyes burning as your voice broke. You hated how weak you sounded. Yunjin moved before you could stop her, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you in tight.

“This is so fucked,” you whispered.

But it wasn’t just fucked. It was impossible.

A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, until you couldn’t tell if you were shaking from anger or heartbreak. Because now that you’d said it out loud, now that the truth hung between you, it hit you all at once.

Even if you and Jake somehow worked it out, even if you both swallowed your pride, even if you admitted what this actually was, it still couldn’t happen. Not with everything and everyone standing between you.

Because the second Sunghoon found out, it’d be over. He’d never forgive either of you. You’d lose your brother. Jake would lose his best friend. And Chaewon… you couldn’t even think about what it would do to her and how it would quite literally ruin all of your relationships you made at school.

It was cruel how you had somehow found yourself trapped in something you couldn’t quit but also couldn’t keep. And the worst part was realizing that you still couldn’t find it in yourself to walk away.

You’d already fallen too far into Jake for you to climb out and save yourself.

Chaewon had to admit it, today might’ve been one of the worst days of her life.

Getting woken up to a flood of texts from her friends saying that the one KT freshman who already caused so much drama was apparently the girl Jake had slept with was enough to ruin her entire week. But the part that hurt more was the small, desperate hope that maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe it was a rumor, maybe he’d been too drunk to remember, maybe it was just people talking shit.

She knew it was stupid.

The rumor had come straight from Jake’s mouth, but still, she wanted to believe it was a mistake. That he was too drunk to remember clearly.

But that hope shattered hours later when she finally texted him, asking straight up if it was true, attaching a screenshot she got from Wonyoung’s Instagram. His response came five hours later.

honestly i was pretty drunk but looks like her yeah sorry chae.

The words felt like a slap. The lack of emotion in them made her chest ache. He didn’t even sound sorry. Not a single hint of guilt, not even an attempt to care that he’d ditched her, someone he’d been talking to for months, for a random freshman he barely knew.

He hadn’t even come up to her the next morning, begging on his knees for forgiveness. He hadn’t said anything at all. And yeah, she knew they weren’t technically dating, but it had felt like they were. He’d made her believe they were.

She’d spent the whole day replaying everything in her head, every text, the flirting, all the times he’d hugged her when they saw each other at parties. Trying to figure out what changed. They hadn’t been as close over the summer, sure, but she’d been busy with her internship. He knew that. He still texted her anyway, and she thought they were fine. 

So what the fuck had happened?

By night, the heartbreak she had felt curdled into something darker. Jealousy. Rage. Wonyoung became the face of everything that had gone wrong.

“Karina, I can’t do this,” Chaewon had said, voice shaking as she paced her room. “I need that bitch to know she’s nothing. Everyone needs to know she’s nothing to him. Especially when I’m still here.”

Karina didn’t even hesitate. She was angry too; angry for Chaewon, and probably also because she’d never liked Wonyoung to begin with. “You know what we could do?” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Chaewon looked up. “What?”

“Well,” Karina started, “remember how I told you Sunghoon and the boys think Jake’s been sneaking around with someone? What if I told him that the girl was you? I know I already told him it wasn’t, but Sunghoon definitely still thinks it’s you. Once he tells the others, it’ll spread fast. Everyone will think you’ve been Jake’s girl this whole time. And by the end of the week, we can probably get Wonyoung to drop KT too. We can fucking get rid of that whore for good.”

Chaewon’s lips parted, processing the words. Then she laughed, quiet at first, then louder. It actually felt good. Like she could finally breathe again. 

It made perfect sense. People already saw her and Jake together at parties. Everyone already assumed something was going on. This would just confirm what they already believed.

“Karina, that’s fucking perfect,” she said, smiling for the first time all day. “You’re actually a genius.”

It was fucked, and she knew it. But it was smart. Wonyoung would back off, people wouldn’t stop talking about her and Jake, and Jake would understand once he heard. He always teased her about people assuming they were together, and she’d always had a feeling he probably liked it.

He just wasn’t good at showing it.

And in Chaewon’s mind, that meant everything was still fine.

Sunghoon had a shit-eating grin on his face. He fucking knew it.

Of course, Jake had been sleeping with Chaewon this whole time; who else could it have been? It made perfect sense. Every time someone brought it up, Jake brushed it off too fast, too casual, like he was hiding something. Sunghoon almost wanted to laugh. Finally, everything made sense.

He didn’t even stop to think before typing out a text to Jay and Heeseung, repeating exactly what Karina had just told him. Told you I was right. He hit send with a smug little satisfaction just as footsteps came up behind him.

“Man, did you hear about Chaewon and Jake?”

Jesus. How fast did news even travel around here? Sunghoon turned his head, and when he saw Niki’s face, grinning, like he’d just been handed the juiciest gossip, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, Karina told me,” Sunghoon said, chuckling, while still scrolling through his phone. “I’ve been suspecting it for a while.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m not surprised either,” Niki said easily, leaning back. “I mean, I literally saw them sneaking out together the other night. Kind of obvious.”

Sunghoon froze mid-scroll, his eyes flicking toward him. 

“Wait, what night?”

“The KT mixer,” Niki said easily. “Yeah, I saw them leave together. Jake was holding her hand.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed. That didn’t make sense. 

He’d been drinking that night, sure, but not enough to forget something like that. Chaewon had been with him and Karina the whole time. They’d walked her home.

“Uh, no,” he said slowly, sitting up. “That’s not possible. Karina and I were with her the whole night.”

Now it was Niki’s turn to frown. “Wait, what? Wasn’t she the one dressed as a cheerleader?”

“Yeah, she was. But it couldn’t have been her; we literally walked her home.” Sunghoon frowned. “Maybe you mixed her up with someone else who also dressed as a cheerleader?”

Niki shook his head, firm. “No, man. I swear it was her. She had the black and red uniform, the bow in her hair. No one else was wearing anything like that.”

Sunghoon went still. His stomach dropped, the grin long gone. “Niki,” he said quietly, his voice tight, “you’re sure Jake left with a cheerleader wearing black and red?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent. I swear I saw them so clearly. I even saw him grabbing her ass before they walked out holding hands. It was definitely Chaewon.”

For a moment, Sunghoon didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears, slow and sharp.

“Y/N wore her cheer uniform that night too,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was red and black.”

Niki froze. His mouth parted, eyes widening as the realization hit him.

“Oh shit.”