the kitchen is dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of the refrigerator left slightly ajar. the clock above the sink ticks softly, the silence between each second pressing in like a weight. sunghoon pauses in the hallway, his eyes adjusting to the low light, and sees her—hana—sitting at the counter in some oversized sweater, legs pulled up onto the stool, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her.

she doesn’t notice him at first. she’s staring into the bowl like she’s waiting for it to speak, spoon limp in her hand. her hair is tied up messily, and her face looks washed out, almost too pale against the navy of the sweater. the kind of tired that seeps into your bones, not the kind a good night’s sleep can fix.

he steps inside, careful not to startle her. "you’re up late."

her head jerks slightly in surprise anyways, but when she turns to him, she just nods. it doesn’t reach her eyes. "couldn’t sleep."

he moves to the sink, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. "me neither. too much going on in my head, i suppose."

hana hums in agreement, but it’s a quiet sound. barely there. she takes another bite of cereal and chews slowly, like it takes too much energy to do even that. there’s something off about her—more than usual. it’s not just exhaustion. it’s like she’s not really here.

"you’ve been quiet since dinner," sunghoon says, trying to sound casual.

she shrugs. "just tired. school’s a lot."

he leans against the counter, watching her. "you’re usually better at faking it."

hana lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. "guess i’m slipping."

for a moment, he sees it—just a flicker—when her sleeve shifts as she lifts the spoon. a faint mark on her wrist, thin and almost healed, but unmistakable. his chest tightens. he wants to say something, ask why, ask if it was because of what happened, what she’s been going through, why she’s so… gone.

but he doesn’t. maybe it’s fear. maybe it’s denial. maybe it’s because if he asks, he has to hear the answer. maybe he knows. maybe he doesn't.

maybe he's willing to accept the wrong answer that he has in his mind. as long as it filled the blank. helped him avoid the truth.

avoid the truth, that's what sunghoon's always done.

so instead, he says, "mom and dad are just on edge. it’s not you. you know how they are."

hana looks down at her cereal again. "it’s always me."

her voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t catch it.

"what?"

she shakes her head. "nothing."

a beat passes.

"but maybe that’s fair, they don't expect much of you." she adds, even quieter this time before looking towards him, still avoiding his eyes and scoffing.

sunghoon straightens a little. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

she meets his eyes for the first time, and for a second, he sees something heavy there—something dark and too complex for words. but then it’s gone. she blinks, and her smile is back, paper-thin.

"don’t worry about it. just me being dramatic."

he doesn’t push. maybe he should. but he doesn’t.

hana stands up, rinses her bowl in the sink, and walks past him with a soft "goodnight." he watches her disappear down the hallway, the sleeves of the sweater that were previously rolled up now falling down, her steps silent.

he stays in the kitchen for a while after that, staring at the empty stool she left behind. the refrigerator hums quietly beside him. there’s something in his throat he can’t swallow down.

he tells himself everything's fine. their parents have always been like this. what's another day?

that she’s just tired. that she’s stressed, like everyone else.

but deep down, a part of him knows he missed something. that maybe she wanted him to miss it.

and still, he let her walk away.

the car ride to the police station is quiet, except for the dull hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio that no one bothers to fix. you sit in the back seat, hands in your lap.

you don’t ask questions. you don’t speak unless spoken to. the officer in the passenger seat glances back at you now and then, but he doesn’t say much either. his partner drives like the road is made of glass. slow. deliberate. quiet tension hangs in the air like fog.

you keep your gaze out the window the whole time, watching the city blur past. familiar roads, cafés you’ve been to. the ride was pretty uneventful.

all you could do was watch the world blur past through the window. the city is bustling. early morning, students getting to university or school and others getting to their jobs. it feels like you’re slipping into a different version of the world—one where time is slower and things feel heavier.

no matter what might be going on with someone else, the rest of the world remains unaffected, everyone going on with their daily routine. it's a reminder, in a way, that the world will always go on. time and life don't stop even when you feel like the world is crashing down on you.

when the car finally pulls up to the station, your stomach knots. the building isn’t as intimidating as it should be—just gray brick and glass, with a flickering security light over the entrance. but still, every step toward the door feels heavier than the last. like something is pulling you backward, whispering that you shouldn’t be here.

well, no shit, you know that. you know you shouldn't be here.

the air in the police station is sterile and too cold. it smells like paper, burnt coffee, and something metallic that clings to your tongue. fluorescent lights buzz overhead. the walls are washed in off-white, lined with framed badges and safety posters. it smells like cleaning chemicals and old paper.

the station isn’t as intimidating as movies make it out to be. a few officers nod to the officer who brought you here as he passes by, but no one really looks at you. it’s quiet. oddly calm.

he leads you down a hallway to a small room—not an interrogation chamber, not exactly. just a plain room with a table and two chairs. a clock ticks somewhere nearby. the AC hums faintly overhead.

you sit stiffly in the narrow chair across from the officer, fingers locked tightly together in your lap. the fluorescent light overhead buzzes faintly, just enough to be annoying. it feels like you’re being watched from every corner of the room, even though you aren't.

or maybe you are, who knows.

the officer who walks you in—detective mark, his badge reads—offers you water, which you decline. your mouth’s too dry to drink anyway.

"just need to ask a few questions," he says as he takes a seat across from you, opening a navy colored folder. "you’re not under arrest. this is just to help us clarify a few things. we’re just reopening some things regarding the hana park case. we’re reaching out to people who were close to her back then."

you look up at the detective, scoffing. "you don't have to lie to get me to stay calm, officer. i already know why i was called here."

the detective raises his eyebrows before leaning back in his seat, smirking amusingly. "then, that makes my job easier."

he flips the folder open slowly, almost theatrically, like he wants to draw out the tension in the room. your stomach twists at the sound of paper shifting. you can't see what he's looking at, but you catch your name typed in bold near the top of a document.

"let’s start simple," he says. "tell me about your relationship with hana park."

you exhale through your nose, sharp. "we weren’t friends, if that’s what you’re asking. we went to the same school. that’s about it."

he hums, pen tapping lightly against the folder. "did you ever fight?"

"define fight."

"any verbal altercations? disagreements? tension?"

you tilt your head, resisting the urge to laugh. "we were teenage girls in high school. what do you think?"

he writes something down, the scratch of his pen somehow louder than anything else in the room. "so there was tension?"

"if you’re trying to build a case off of high school drama, i think you're reaching."

"so, you're saying you didn't have any tension between her?"

you furrow your brow, shaking your head. "now when did i ever say that, detective mark?" you pause, before continuing. "i'm sure your witness told you all about that, though. why waste time in getting me to say it too?"

detective mark doesn’t respond right away. instead, he turns to a different page in the folder and slides it toward himself. "so you agree." he says casually. "you agree to having bullied her in high school?"

you stare at the folder, then at him. the word bullied feels like a punch to the gut, even though you’ve had years to prepare for it. even though it’s not the first time someone’s thrown that word at you. and even though… maybe, on some level, they’re not entirely wrong.

you swallow. "yeah," you say quietly. "i did."

detective mark doesn’t look surprised. he just nods, as if ticking a mental box. "care to elaborate?"

you run your fingers over your thumb, tracing over the nail like it might distract you from the lump forming in your throat.

"i was cruel," you admit, voice low. "not all the time. but when it counted. i said things i shouldn’t have. made her feel small. laughed when others did too. there were moments when i could’ve stopped it and i didn’t. moments when i made it worse."

you don’t look at him when you speak. you’re not sure you could.

"so why?" he asks.

you pause. "because she got under my skin. because she wasn’t as sweet as people like to pretend she was. and maybe because, deep down i envied her. the fact people cared for her no matter what. her parents did too."

that gets his attention. he sits forward a little. "meaning?"

"meaning," you sigh, eyes flicking toward the corner of the room, "she knew exactly what she was doing, too. hana wasn’t some defenseless, helpless victim. she had claws, she just knew how to hide them better. she played the part of the perfect girl when adults were watching, but she—she had her own way of hurting people. quiet, subtle. calculated."

you lean back in your chair, your gaze hardening slightly.

"she’d spread rumors and make sure they couldn’t be traced back to her. she’d isolate people, whisper things that made you question your friends. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there. and if you ever tried to call her out, she'd act like you were insane. and people believed her. they always did."

detective mark raises a brow but doesn’t interrupt.

"so yeah," you continue, "i fought back. immaturely, harshly. i wasn't as good as her in controlling my emotions. in ways i regret. but i wasn’t the only one who did damage. i didn’t push her into a cliff. and, god, i’m tired of being painted as the sole villain just because i didn’t pretend to be nice."

a tense silence stretches between you.

shit.

you didn’t mean to say all of that. not like that. but now that it’s out, you don’t take it back. you can't.

"but, don't worry. i know how bad of a person i was too. hell, i'm reminded of it every day. i wasn't some saint. like i said, i was cruel and you don't have to tell me twice. i'm not trying to sugarcoat my actions."

detective mark nods slowly, flipping to another page. “and was anyone else aware of this? her… two-sided behavior?”

"i don't know, how am i supposed to know.." you paused before continuing. "she was sweet to everyone, i guess. she only behaved like that with me. don't ask me why, i'm just as clueless as you so i don't fucking know."

the detective nods before flipping through the pages, taking his attention off you.

he turns to a different page in the folder and slides it toward himself. "we asked the witness about the last notable interaction you and hana park had at school." he says casually. "he mentioned an incident a few months before graduation. something involving a confrontation between the two of you in the school courtyard."

you freeze.

your heart skips a beat, but your face stays neutral.

you remember that day. how hana had cornered you near the garden benches, how her voice had been loud enough to draw attention. how she'd twisted the truth until her version sounded cleaner, more sympathetic. and how sunghoon had seen it. how he’d believed her without a second thought.

you lick your lips, trying to find your voice. "what about it?"

"you tell me," the detective replies smoothly. "i want to hear your version."

you smile flatly. "my version won’t match the statement you have in that file."

"doesn’t matter. tell me anyway."

you pause, staring at the table, the cold metal edge pressing against your arms. then: "we argued, what else?"

you purposely leave out the painful part of that interaction. the part that solidified your doubts that day.

detective mark raises his eyebrows. you can’t tell if he believes you or if he’s just letting you speak.

"that's not the full truth, is it?"

you stay quiet. your mind is scattered, you don't know what to say.

"you know what i think?" he says, closing the folder. "i think there’s more to this story. and i don’t think you’re telling me everything. not yet."

"maybe i’m not," you reply, leaning forward slightly. "but that goes both ways, doesn’t it, detective? and plus, i told you everything that you asked for. i admitted i was a bad person. even told you about what i think of hana. not that you believe it."

his smirk fades, just slightly. "we have reason to believe hana’s death wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. and based on what we’ve been given, you're a name we can't ignore."

"by sunghoon?" you ask flatly. you don't even try to hide the bitterness in your voice. you were avoiding mentioning his name till now, even though you already knew.

mark doesn't answer.

instead, he stands. "that’ll be all for now. you’re not being charged. but stay available in case we need to talk again."

before he walks out, you call him. "by the way, what exactly did your witness say about me?"

mark turns around. "confidential."

"seriously.. don't i have the right to at least know what i'm being accused of.."

he shrugs before walking out, the door closing behind him.

you remain seated for a second longer, fingers digging into your knees.

you don't know why you did that. why you barely said anything. you had a chance to talk about why it's not you. yet you didn't. you went quiet.

maybe you just don't care anymore. it's driving you insane and you just want this to end.

maybe you're sick of no one actually listening to your side of the story. never really believing you.

you tell yourself you're not guilty every time. that you aren't the reason. yet, when you're put on spot, you can barely say anything.

it feels painful to talk about anything negative related to hana because god, you aren't any better.

but you're happy with what you did say.

you rise out of your seat, following mark out, head spinning with more questions than answers.

you sit on the hard, plastic chair just outside the interrogation room, your arms wrapped around yourself even though the room isn't cold. it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes in your ears. same fluorescent lights hum overhead, and the faint sound of phones ringing and keyboards clacking drifts in from deeper inside the station.

you check your phone—low battery, two missed calls from emi, and a message from your family’s driver saying he’s stuck in traffic and will take at least twenty more minutes to get to you.

great.

you rub your eyes, leaning back and staring at the scuffed ceiling tiles. it’s funny how sterile everything feels here. emotionless. like the building itself doesn't care who walks in and out of it, or what they leave behind.

a soft click of a door opening draws your attention. two officers walk out of a hallway just off to your left, not noticing you sitting there as they continue their quiet conversation.

"—didn't think a family member would reopen the case himself." one of them says, flipping through a file.

"the brother, sunghoon park?" the other asks, voice curious.

"yeah. gave a written statement early morning. said he suspects someone and even gave text messages as proof."

your blood goes cold.

you don’t mean to eavesdrop, but your body goes still, ears straining.

"did you read it?" the second one asks.

"part of it," the first replies. "he said his sister had told him that the suspect—" there’s a pause, "—that she'd tried to push hana down the stairs, purposely. like a physical confrontation. apparently hana came home crying and suspect almost got suspended because of it."

your stomach drops. you know exactly what they’re talking about. the rumor. the lie.

"the department's treating it like crucial evidence now. it can't even be overlooked since it's coming from a family member of the victim."

you almost got suspended because she accused you of physically hurting her. you fucking didn't. you had never gone that far. you never tried to push her down the stairs! but of course, no one believed the bully. you can't even be mad about it. you had that reputation.

but honestly, maybe you should thank her. that day, the principal called your parents and for once, they actually came.

they scolded you pretty bad at home but hey, at least they noticed you.

no, wait ..what the fuck are you saying?! that doesn't make it any better. the police is actually basing the case off a false allegation?!

you clench your fists.

you remember every detail of it—how no one believed you even when you tried to explain. how hana wouldn’t meet your eyes after it spread. how sunghoon’s glare followed you down every hallway, convinced you were even worse than what he thought.

the whole thing damaged you mentally pretty fucking well.

the chair scrapes harshly against the tiled floor as you stand up abruptly. the sound earns a glance from the receptionist, but you’re already walking — storming — down the hallway where detective mark disappeared not long ago. your chest feels tight, heart pounding loud in your ears.

you make it halfway down the corridor before spotting him through a cracked office door, casually sipping from a paper cup while skimming through a file.

"detective mark,” you say, voice sharp.

he looks up, surprised. "miss—"

"you’re seriously basing this case off of that?" you step into the room, not waiting to be invited. "a story she made up years ago? something that never even happened?"

his expression doesn’t change much — he just lowers the cup and leans back slightly. "careful, miss. i can’t have you barging in here—"

"no, you don’t get to sit there and pretend this is procedure," you snap, anger bubbling past the point of reason. "she lied, it's a fucking lie! no one believed me then, and now you’re dragging it out like it’s proof i—"

you stop yourself, breathing hard.

his gaze narrows, calm but unyielding. "you’re saying it was an accusation she made back then?"

"yes!" you bite out. "she told people i pushed her down the stairs. that i was violent. everyone looked at me like i was a monster after that."

his silence is maddening.

"you think i don’t feel guilty about the way i treated her?" you go on, voice lower now, bitter. "i do. i think about it all the time. but i never stooped as low as physically hurting her."

detective mark says nothing for a long moment.

then he closes the file slowly, fingers tapping on the top of the folder. "we’ll follow the truth wherever it leads," he says finally. "if it turns out what you’re saying is right… that’ll come to light, too."

but you don’t feel reassured. not when the damage is already being done all over again.

you swallow back the rest of your frustration and leave before you say something you’ll regret.

your phone buzzes—driver’s outside.

you walk slowly, your legs stiff, heart heavier than when you walked in. outside the station doors, the sun is starting to dip beneath the skyline, casting long shadows across the pavement. you didn't realize it was that late.

you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and walk toward the car, the echo of their voices still lodged in your head.

the front door clicks shut behind you, the sound unusually loud in the quiet house.

your shoes are off before you even realize it, and your bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. the hallway is dim, just like always—your parents never remember to leave the lights on, or maybe they just don’t care to. the silence is so thick it presses against your skin.

there's soft noise from the cluttering of utensils, probably from one of the housekeepers.

you don’t turn on any lights. you know the way.

the living room feels colder, like the air hasn’t been disturbed in hours. you greet the housekeeper, with as much politeness as you could possibly foster up. you were exhausted, obviously.

you groan and fall onto the couch.

your phone buzzes. a message from emi.

emi: u good? call me back when you're free.

you stare at it for a few seconds before locking the screen and tossing the phone face-down onto the blankets sprawled out on the couch.

your gaze drifts to the coffee table, to the old yearbook shoved halfway under a stack of papers. you’d meant to throw it out years ago but never did. maybe part of you was waiting for someone else to throw it out for you.

just yesterday, it felt like you were so sure about your role in this whole thing.

and now—you’re not even sure what part you play in it anymore.

the fabric of the couch is cool against your skin. the house feels like it’s breathing with you, the quiet heavy and suffocating. the only light comes from the dim lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. your legs are pulled up under you, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around them like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

everything feels... still. like nothing’s really moving, but at the same time, everything’s swirling around inside you. emotions you can’t quite name, thoughts you can’t untangle. it's too much. it's too quiet.

you think about emi's message. about hana. about everything that happened and everything you didn’t say. everything you didn’t do. maybe you were supposed to be something else. maybe you were supposed to be stronger, better. maybe things would’ve been different if you had known what to do when it mattered.

but you didn’t.

you exhale slowly, trying to breathe through it, but it’s hard to escape the weight that’s settled on your chest. the silence gets louder the longer you sit, like it’s filling up the space around you, inching closer, pressing in. you can't even hear the clatter of the utensils anymore. you look around, at the empty room, at the things that were supposed to make it feel like home. but it doesn’t. not anymore.

and you're not sure what’s left for you to do.

you glance at your university bag, still slumped by the front door where you left it yesterday. the edge of a notebook sticks out from the half-open zipper, a corner bent, like even it gave up halfway.

you sigh, the sound thin in the silence. maybe if you just did something—anything—it’d be easier to breathe. even if it’s meaningless. even if it’s just pretending like university matters right now. pretending like you're still a person who can still piece things together. even if it’s just noise to fill the space, to drown out the parts of your brain that won’t shut up.

you sit for a few more seconds, just long enough to debate not moving at all. but eventually, gravity gives in and so do you. you push yourself up, legs stiff, joints creaking like you’ve aged decades in a single day. your steps toward the bag are slow, reluctant. like each one costs something.

the zipper’s stuck for a moment—snagged on something you can’t see—and you almost leave it there. but then it gives way with a sharp tug. your fingers brush over textbooks, loose papers, the corner of a crumpled receipt, a pen you don’t remember packing. finally, your hand finds your laptop. it’s cold.

you settle back onto the couch, the cushions dipping beneath your weight. the screen lights up your face in a dull, pale glow. your reflection stares back at you for a second too long before the desktop loads. empty folders. deadlines you want to ignore. unread emails with subject lines that suddenly feel like they're written in another language.

still, you click open a blank document. type a title. backspace it. retype it again, slower this time. open a reading you’ve already skimmed three times and highlight the same sentence twice without realizing. you stare at it like it might give you some kind of answer if you just look long enough.

it feels ridiculous. like going through the motions of someone you wish you could be, stress free.

but it’s something.

and right now, that’s all you’ve got.

well shit. you tried to study, refocus all your attention from everything else in your life to your university life. you tried to complete some of your assignments, study for your upcoming tests.

you tried hard to distract yourself but it seemed futile. you couldn't pay attention at all.

you stared at the same paragraph for what felt like hours. the words blurred, reshaped themselves, stopped meaning anything halfway through the first sentence. it wasn’t even complicated material. you'd read tougher things with half a brain and no sleep before. but now? you couldn’t even make it to the end of a line without your mind wandering somewhere else—somewhere you didn’t want it to go.

hana’s name kept surfacing, uninvited, like a splinter your brain kept picking at. like an itch beneath your skin. everything else around you faded into static, muffled by the sharp, insistent memory of things you didn’t say. things you did. things you never understood.

you blink down at the document open in front of you—blank except for a single header, blinking cursor beneath it like it’s mocking you.

you rub at your eyes. they’re tired, even though you haven't done anything. maybe that’s what exhaustion looks like now. not physical, not from long nights or too many lectures, but from everything else. the kind of tired that settles in your bones and just stays there. you could sleep for a week and still wake up hollow.

you pull your knees back up to your chest. press your forehead against them. breathe in, out, like you’re trying to manually remind your lungs how to work.

minimizing the tab, you are met with the black screen of your laptop home screen, forcing you to look at yourself in the reflection. your reflection stares back at you in the black screen. and you hate how tired you look. like someone you wouldn’t recognize in a crowd.

it felt like life was forcing you to acknowledge just how much everything had changed.

damn it!

you can't focus on studying. at least not right now. you had to do something to get this off your mind.

you could talk to sunghoon, tell him that whole incident was an accusation and that you didn't even do anything like that but.. you know how well that went last time. that's probably out of question.

they already made up their minds.

you swallow hard. the anger sits in your chest like a stone. how did everything spiral like this?

your knuckles tighten against the laptop edge. the screen reflects you again, faint and ghostlike—and it hits you all at once: if no one’s going to believe you, then you’ll prove it yourself.

fine.

if they want to think you’re the one responsible, let them. let them whisper. let them look.

but you’re not going to let this be the end of your story.

you're going to have to prove it yourself that you changed.

and the first step for that would be having to prove that you had never gone as far as making someone commit suicide.

and that weird, eerie feeling you have deep down that there's something else that led up to this? something that you're missing that's always been right in front of you?

you're going to start by figuring that out.

your heart pounds as you yank your bag closer, pulling out old notes, your phone, even the journal you swore you’d stop using. you don’t know what exactly you’re looking for yet—maybe a timeline, a detail someone missed, a message someone forgot they sent.

but you’ll find it.

you’ll find something. anything.

because if clearing your name means doing it on your own—then so be it.

the cafe is nearly empty, save for the soft hum of music and the occasional clink of ceramic mugs being cleared behind the counter. sunghoon sits in the far corner, hoodie pulled up, hands wrapped tightly around a lukewarm drink he hasn’t touched. jay walks in with his phone still in hand, eyes scanning the room before spotting him.

jay slides into the seat across from him, shrugging off his jacket. "you could’ve picked somewhere less depressing." sunghoon doesn’t look up. "you came, didn’t you?"

jay leans back, watching him for a moment before furrowing his brow. something’s off. more than usual.

"what’s going on with you? you've been acting weird since friday."

sunghoon hesitates. his knuckles tighten around the mug. "i went to the police station yesterday."

jay frowns, sitting straight before motioning for the waiter to come back in a bit. "why?"

"i gave a witness statement. in hana's case."

there’s a beat of silence. jay blinks, confused. "what witness statement? wasn't the case closed by your parents?"

truth is, hana's suicide was going to be investigated by the police as there was suspicion of something dark going on in that high school due to the fact this was the second suicide in almost the same timeframe.

hana and sunghoon's parents shut the case down to save face, just in case something weird was discovered.

only now, when sunghoon gave a statement, was the case reopened.

sunghoon swallows, and finally looks up. his expression is unreadable. "i got it reopened. i gave a statement about her."

and suddenly, the air feels colder. heavier. "what the hell are you talking about, sunghoon?"

"i told them they should question y/n," he says, like that explains everything. "and everything i knew about those two."

jay’s eyes narrow. "you gave a witness statement against her. that could ruin her life. you realize that, right?"

sunghoon’s jaw tightens. "i didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. and for all i care, she deserves it."

"no," jay says, voice rising just slightly. "you said what you think was true. what you think happened. that’s a big difference. look, i'm not trying to defend her in any way, she was cruel but are you actually going to say she was the one responsible for hana's suicide?!"

sunghoon doesn’t respond.

jay leans forward, elbows on the table. "you didn’t even talk to her."

"didn't need to," sunghoon snaps, defensive now. "she made hana's life hell in high school! everyone knew that! any sensible person would come to this conclusion too. why would hana randomly take her life in the summer after high school ended?! you think i don’t know that? you think i don’t know how it looks? it looks exactly like how it is."

"how it looks?" jay echoes, incredulous. "you’re basing your whole version of the truth off how it looked? god, sunghoon—this isn’t just some high school drama. this is someone’s future. her name. everything."

sunghoon’s fingers twitch against the ceramic. "i'm not a kid. that's exactly what i want. my sister lost her life and you know damn well i won't stay quiet. she deserves a punishment for what she put her through. i know what this means."

"do you?" jay’s voice is sharper now, anger breaking through. "because it sounds a hell of a lot like you’re just trying to pin it all on her so you don’t have to face the real mess."

sunghoon’s eyes narrow. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

jay stares at him, voice low and deliberate. "i'm not against you wanting to get justice for your sister but what i am against is you pinning it on some high school drama. you’re avoiding the truth and you know it damn well. blaming her so you don’t have to deal with the fact that your parents—had a huge role in what happened that night."

sunghoon freezes. "you don't know shit jay. it wasn't just some high school drama. i saw how hana was at home."

"and you also know damn well it wasn’t all y/n's fault," jay continues, quieter now, but no less forceful. "you know it. but it’s easier to point fingers than admit the whole system’s screwed, that the people you both grew up trusting are the ones pulling the strings, isn't it?"

"don’t," sunghoon warns, his voice cracking just slightly. "don’t bring them into this."

"why not? because it makes things harder?" jay’s words are a slap."“because then you’d have to accept that this isn’t just about her? that this is about you too—and how you let it get this far?"

sunghoon’s silence is answer enough.

jay shakes his head, bitter. "you’re smarter than this. you’re better than this."

"it’s not that simple. jay, you don't fucking know my parents and you don't have the right to comment on them either." sunghoon says quietly.

"right. of course. it's not like i grew up with you sunghoon. spent all my childhood in your house because i lost my parents early. it's not like i saw how your parents acted with you and hana. of course." jay paused, exhaling before continuing.

"but still, no, i'm not saying i know everything about your family sunghoon but i know enough to tell that your parents are fucked up. and most of all, i know you sunghoon. you've been my bestfriend ever since nursery for god's sake!"

the silence fills the atmosphere again, making the whole mood all the more unbearable.

sunghoon begins, "but what she did wasn't right."

"no," jay agrees. "it never was. but that doesn’t mean you get to throw her under the bus just to make yourself feel better."

sunghoon finally looks up, really looks at him—and there’s guilt in his eyes. fear. regret.

but also something else. a flicker of uncertainty. like he’s only just starting to question everything.

"fuck." he whispers under his breath.

jay’s voice softens, just a little. "fix it."

the sky’s dark by the time sunghoon pulls out of the lot. jay’s words still echo in his ears, louder than the music playing low through the speakers.

you’re just avoiding the truth. you’re putting the full blame on her because you can’t accept that your parents had a part in it too. and you know damn well.

he grips the steering wheel tighter, knuckles pale. the city glows outside his window in patches—streetlights casting halos onto the pavement, shop signs flickering neon. everything feels distant, like he’s driving through a world half-asleep.

the car’s too quiet. even with the music. which is ironic, since he had kept it on max volume.

he rolls the windows down a little, just enough for the cold air to bite his skin. it helps. not much, but a little.

he doesn’t know why it pissed him off so much—what jay said. maybe because it was true. maybe because it wasn’t. maybe because it was easier to believe that none of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t been the way she was back then. cruel. sharp. calculating. that’s how he remembers her, at least.

but memory’s slippery. especially when guilt’s involved.

he stops at a red light. drums his fingers against the steering wheel, creating some sort of rhythm he couldn't recognise. exhales.

it’s not like he doesn’t feel.. weird about it. he does. god, he does. but regret doesn’t equal innocence. she did things too. they all did. none of them walked away clean from high school. honestly? maybe not even him.

the light turns green.

his phone buzzes in the passenger seat. he doesn’t look. probably someone from uni. or maybe his mom, asking when he’ll be home, always so strict about knowing where he is. he doesn’t answer.

the streets start to empty as he nears his neighborhood. the city bleeding into suburbs, lights getting dimmer, the hum of traffic thinning out. the same route he always takes, but tonight, everything looks different. like he’s not really here. like he’s watching someone else drive his car, live his life.

he pulls into the driveway. parks, but doesn’t get out.

his hands stay on the wheel.

maybe jay was right. maybe he was just scared of what it would mean if he admitted he was wrong. or maybe he was wrong. he couldn't figure it out.

and if he looked at her—not the version of her in his memory, not the girl he’s been blaming—but her, now.

he leans back in his seat. stares up at the ceiling of the car.

what then?

the guards open the gate. his house looks the same as always. neat. cold. silent.

he stays in the car.

just a few minutes more.

you missed the first call.

it rang while you were organizing your bathroom shelves, too muffled through the bathroom door to catch your attention. the second one came less than two minutes later—this time, vibrating loudly on the counter like it had something urgent to say.

you didn’t expect to see yunchae’s name on your screen again so soon. not after she moved abroad last year. not after everything went to hell.

yunchae was your bestfriend in high school. in a way, she still is. but you both grew out of contact after everything.

"hey," her voice was bright, a little breathless. "surprise. i’m back."

you blinked, still half-distracted. "what?"

"can you pick me up from the airport? i landed early. flight was hell. i’ll owe you forever."

you processed what you heard for a second before sighing and reaching for your keys. "text me the terminal."

the drive there was a blur of traffic lights and soft music humming through the speakers, your mind running faster than the car. she hadn’t said anything else on the phone—no explanation, no warning, just hey, i’m back. like it was that simple.

it was like that before too. she just left suddenly after everything happened. and now she's back, just as suddenly.

you spotted her by the arrivals gate, dragging a worn brown suitcase behind her and waving with a grin that somehow made you feel seventeen again. hair a bit longer now, outfit still impeccable despite the 13-hour flight. same old yunchae.

you rolled down the window and she slid in, tossing her bag into the back seat.

"god, i missed you," she said immediately, pulling you into a quick side-hug before settling in.

"care to explain why you keep disappearing and appearing out of nowhere?" you glare at her before starting the car, placing your hands back on the steering wheel.

"man, i'm really sorry. shit came up. i want to meet you before i left but i couldn't." yunchae says as she leans against the window.

"could've at least texted me. be glad i didn't make you take a cab."

she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. "still dramatic, huh?"

"pot, meet kettle."

the car fills with easy silence, the kind that only comes from old familiarity. there’s music playing low on the radio—some mellow pop song neither of you know. streetlights start to flicker on as the city shifts into midnight.

"so, how's university?" she asks, taking out her phone, responding to texts, at least that's what it looked like from the corner of your eye.

you shrug, eyes on the road. "fine. same old, i guess. assignments piling up, annoying professors…"

she snorts. "yep. sounds about right."

the road curves gently, streetlights casting long shadows across the dash. you pass a late-night convenience store glowing pale in the dark, a couple walking a dog, an old man locking up his storefront. everything looks peaceful in that surreal, 11 p.m. kind of way.

"how was switzerland?" you ask, glancing at her briefly. "did you fall in love with a ski instructor or something?"

"god, no," she groans dramatically, stretching her arms over her head. "you have no idea how boring that whole thing ended up being. not only was it sudden, my cousin flaked on me half the time, and the other half i was stuck in some crusty museum trying not to freeze my ass off."

you smile. "damn, that's rough. still sounds better than being stuck here."

"okay, fair," she laughs. "but i did miss this. all of it. even your shitty driving."

"watch it. i'm technically in charge of your life right now." you say, joking.

she grins, but there’s warmth behind it. "i mean it, though. missed you."

you glance at her again, this time a bit longer. "yeah..i missed you too. felt weird having no one to talk to. felt foreign in a city i grew up in."

another lull falls between you—comfortable again. the kind that doesn't feel like silence at all, just space.

you turn into a quieter street, trees lining both sides. yunchae tucks her legs up on the seat, head tilted toward the window.

"hey…" she starts, after a while. "i know you’ve probably had to talk about this a lot lately, but—i heard about hana. and… the investigation."

your grip on the steering wheel tightens for just a second. you keep your eyes forward. "yeah. figured you would."

"i didn’t want to bring it up right away. i just... i’ve been reading stuff online, and people keep saying you were called in for questioning?"

you nod once. "they think i had something to do with it."

she’s quiet for a beat. the car hums softly as it glides down the road.

"do you?"

you let out a humorless laugh. "you think i'm the one who drove her to this point too?"

"no," she says quickly. "no, i didn’t mean it like that. i just—fuck. you know i don’t think you’d ever do something like that."

you don’t say anything.

"i mean, we were bitches back then," she continues, softer. "like, really awful sometimes. i know that. but you wouldn’t—"

"it doesn’t matter what i would or wouldn’t do," you say, cutting her off gently. "people already made up their minds."

yunchae leans forward, finally putting her phone down completely. "then screw them. you don’t owe anyone shit. do you think you're guilty?"

you glance at her. "..no. no fucking way. sure, i fucking regret shit too but this?!"

"then that's all that matters. as long as you know you're right. but.. we still have to prove to the investigation team you aren't involved in her suicide."

you nod, your mind scattered with other thoughts. "'we'?"

"i mean it," she says. "we used to be a team, remember? i’m not just gonna sit here while you get blamed for something you didn’t do."

your chest tightens—not in a painful way, but in that strange, foreign way that happens when you realize someone is still in your corner.

"…thanks but you don't have to do that," you say, quieter than before, avoiding her eyes.

"i don't remember asking you. pretty sure i was informing you." yunchae says, grinning.

you raise your eyebrows before grinning back, nodding.

she leans her head against the seat, eyes closed, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "besides, i’ve been out of the drama loop for way too long. might as well catch up."

you laugh softly, turning into your street. the headlights cast brief golden glows across parked cars, windows, the quiet world you’ve been trying to keep steady.

"you sure you’re ready to dive into all this again?" you ask.

"for you? always."

monday morning hits like a slow punch to the ribs.

campus feels... well.. the same.

that's what pisses you off the most.

the sky’s overcast, but the sun pushes through in hazy streaks, casting long shadows on the concrete as you walk across the quad. your hoodie is a bit too warm for the weather, but it was what you found in your closet first thing in the morning. comfortable and more than enough.

your steps are steady, practiced—you just keep moving, wanting to get the day over with as fast as you could, hoping that you somehow walking faster would make everything else faster.

but that's the problem.

it doesn't really matter what you do in this world.

because it was already starting.

two girls at the bike rack near the literature building, whispering between sips of iced coffee. "…did you hear? they’re reopening that case. the one with that girl, hana something—" "from eles high, right? the suicide?" "yeah. police called someone in last week. crazy."

well, that's just insane. sure, you knew your high school was famous since it was a prestigious one. and on top of that, this was the second suicide case from your high school. you knew it had a lot of media coverage but,

hearing it right in your university?

damn, life kicks you when you're down, huh?

you keep walking. you don’t look over, you can't. all you can do is just push your hands deeper into your sleeves and pretend the words don’t land.

they do.

a group sitting outside the cafe, half-laughing, half-hushed. "isn’t it wild how no one really talked about it after graduation?" "someone I know said she was in the same friend group as hana. apparently there was drama—like, serious shit." "do you think it was, like… foul play? or just guilt-trippy rumor stuff?"

you pass by them like a ghost.

walking scott street, feeling like a stranger.

a guy in your psych lecture, nudging his friend as they scroll through a forum post on his phone. "swear to god, someone said she was bullied. like, seriously messed up shit back then." "who even gets questioned after so many years? they must’ve found something new."

you slip into your regular seat, jaw tight. no one’s looking at you. obviously. they don't know. maybe that's worse.

the room smells like old paper and burnt coffee from a travel mug someone left open. the air conditioning hums unevenly overhead. your professor is late. the chatter doesn’t die down, it just shifts—murmurs beneath the surface, soft but constant, like static in your ears.

you pull out your notebook, draw aimless lines in the margins. pretend to reread last week’s notes. you try your best to not listen, but your ears catch every fragment. "can’t believe she jumped—" "—they say it wasn’t that simple—" "—heard she was one of those rich girls, y’know?"

you feel your throat tighten.

because it’s not about you. not explicitly. not yet. but it’s getting closer. every word feels like it’s orbiting your name, spiraling in, just waiting to land.

you shift in your seat, trying to ignore the prickle on the back of your neck. the tension in your shoulders is beginning to ache. everything feels just a little too loud, a little too sharp, like the world is breathing down your spine.

and the worst part?

part of you wonders if you deserve it. if your silence back then makes you guilty now. if the rumors, the whispers, the unease—they’re just karma working its way toward you.

you stare at the blank space between your notes, heart thudding quietly. not enough to panic, not enough to break. just enough to remind you it’s there.

you don’t say anything. you don’t turn around. you just sit there, breathing through the noise, the tension curling in your stomach like smoke.

trying to remind yourself that you know the truth. trying to believe that’s enough. trying to believe it still matters.

you reach into your bag, pulling out a pen that clicks too loud in the quiet. someone glances your way. you look away immediately. not weird at all.

the door opens and your professor finally walks in, shuffling papers. the noise dies down slowly.

but the air doesn’t clear.

because even as the lecture begins, even as words fill the space and the lights hum above you, you can still hear it.

the not-knowing. the suspicion. the story that’s rewriting itself without you.

and you wonder how long until it stops being whispers.

and starts being your name.

you almost don’t hear her at first.

you’re halfway down the hallway outside your lecture room, still trying to blink the heaviness out of your eyes, when a voice cuts through the noise.

"y/n! where the fuck were you?"

you freeze.

the tone hits first—urgent, sharp around the edges—but not angry. not really. more like worried frustration, the kind that comes from someone who’s been spiraling quietly on the other end of a phone you haven’t picked up in days.

you turn, slowly.

emi stands just a few steps away, one hand clenched around her phone, the other stuffed in her jacket pocket. her hair’s slightly messy, like she rushed across campus to find you. there's a crease between her brows, and her chest rises and falls a little too fast.

you don’t say anything right away. you hadn’t meant to ignore her. not really. you just… couldn’t. not when every message felt like it needed an explanation you didn’t have the words for.

"emi—" your voice comes out hoarse. you clear your throat, try again. "sorry. i was busy."

"don’t do that," she says immediately, stepping closer. "don’t give me some half-assed answer like that. i’ve been calling you all weekend. you know how worried i was because you weren't picking my calls up? it was normal once but then i felt weird when you didn't call back."

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking away. the hallway is mostly empty now. the crowd that spilled out from class has thinned. only a few scattered footsteps echo behind you.

"yeah, i know, i should've called you back," you admit. "emi.. i messed up."

"messed up?" she tilts her head. her expression softens, the crease in her brow loosening, just slightly. "what happened?"

you open your mouth but the words don't fall out. you still don't have the courage, do you?

what an idiot.

you don’t realize your zoning out until emi reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, grounding you.

"y/n?" she asks, quieter now. "you seem.. off."

you swallow hard, jaw clenched.

"emi, do you trust me?"

emi stares at you for a moment. "uh.. as much as i can trust someone i met around two weeks ago?"

you huff out a weak laugh. "well, that works too. then, just give me time. i'll tell you everything."

"..what?" her voice is firm. "stop acting like some protagonist in a sulk movie. what are you talking about?"

now that she mentions it, you kind of are.. doing that.

you cough out awkwardly, smiling before pushing her forward, urging her to lead the way to your next class.

something inside your chest gives a little, like pressure easing from a valve. you blink hard, biting the inside of your cheek. you won’t cry—not here, not now—but god, do you feel the ache.

"i’m sorry," you murmur.

you don't know to who. or to how many people.

you let her tug you along the hallway, her hand still loosely around your wrist.

act like a normal functioning citizen for once, y/n. goddamn it.

the next morning comes too fast.

you wake up late. the kind of late that makes your stomach twist the second you check the time on your phone. some random message notifications, and other usless notifications. and a lecture that started fifteen minutes ago.

"shit," you mumble, dragging yourself out of bed.

your limbs feel like lead as you move. sleep didn't come too fast. you’d spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, your thoughts stuck on an endless loop—but eventually you did fall asleep. it was good but now it feels too short. despite waking up around thirty minutes late.

your bag’s already half-packed from yesterday. you throw on whatever you could find first, tying your hair up quickly, and barely remembering to grab your ID before rushing out the door.

campus is already alive by the time you get there—students scattered across the green, clusters of voices rising and fading as you pass. the sky is overcast, soft and gray, a gentle wind curling around your sleeves. it smells faintly like rain, despite it not raining. you hope it does, the weather is terribly hot.

you jog across the quad toward your building gate, praying you can make it on time. this is definitely not the first time you've barely made it and it's still the first month of university.

you're so fucked.

your lungs are practically burning, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you slow down near the entrance, clutching the strap of your bag as if it was on the brink of falling off. you were though.

you lean down slightly, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. the cool morning air stings your throat.

oh.

oh.

you blink.

as if the universe hadn’t already done enough to mess with your week by making you late, you spot that familiar head of black hair just a few steps ahead—neatly styled, effortlessly careless in the kind of way that’s probably unintentional.

how is it even possible to look attractive from the bac-

wait, no, that's not the point! why does sunghoon have to be running late on the same day as you?! damn it!

you groan under your breath.

seriously?

he’s heading in the same direction as you. which means—unless you want to risk being even more late—you’ll have to walk behind him, or worse, catch up.

you slow your pace automatically, trying to create distance without making it too obvious. you consider ducking behind a group of students near the vending machine. or maybe pretending you forgot something and doubling back?

you curse internally.

alright, y/n, think. how do you avoid him without looking like a total weirdo?

wait, no.

why do you even need to avoid him, huh? it’s not like you did anything wrong. it’s not like you’re the one who jumped to conclusions and went ahead and gave a damn witness statement some random saturday morning.

yeah. exactly.

your spine straightens a little as the thought lands. annoyance starts bubbling beneath the nerves. who’s hiding? not you. definitely not today.

in fact… you could even be a little petty.

you smirk to yourself—barely, but it’s there. subtle, bitter. a defense mechanism, maybe. or maybe just a reminder to yourself that you do still have some control, even if it’s just this.

that's when you get an idea.

perfect.

with a subtle shift of pace, you time it just right—cutting ahead of him at the last second and "accidentally" fumbling with your bag right in front of the path.

you bend down, slowly, dragging the moment out as you pretend to fix your strap. rummaging just enough to take a little longer than needed. just enough to make him stop behind you.

"seriously?" you hear under his breath. that's when you both look towards the building gate as it closes.

perfect. sure, you're late too but honestly, you were willing to sacrifice your record (as if it wasn't already bad) if that meant sunghoon would too, end up being late.

you blink innocently over your shoulder. "oh—sorry," you say, all airy sweetness and false concern. "my bag strap’s been acting up all morning."

his jaw ticks.

he doesn’t respond. just shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly annoyed. and maybe, just maybe, the tips of his ears are a little red.

you don't know what the hell you're doing but what you do know, is that you're definitely enjoying it.

you stand upright again, adjusting your strap with a fake little tug for dramatic effect. "you can go ahead now," you say, finally stepping aside with a polite, practiced smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching your eyes.

you’re not proud of it. okay—maybe a little proud. damn, it's been a while since you let yourself be petty. well.. if you don't count the paper incident from last week.

"go ahead?" you hear him scoff, "the gate closed."

"oops, guess you'll have to take the longer route. don't worry, you're already late sunghoon, another ten minutes won't make a difference, will it?" you smile, looking right up at him.

told you i'd get you back for that water incident.

"you, are late too." sunghoon replies, shooting you a glare, narrowing his eyes at you.

"uh-huh. and whose fault is that?" you say, leaning back a little.

you see sunghoon furrow his brows, shocked as if you'd just told him that the laws or gravity were a political lie. you were barely controlling your laughter.

"are you actually saying i'm the one who made you late?!"

"yeah! you're the one who started talking about nonsense with me! now look, because of you i have to not only miss my lecture but also face consequences later."

you'd easily turned it around to make it look like he was the one who made you late causing you to argue with him. you grin but quickly cover it up, putting on an annoyed expression.

sunghoon stares at you like he’s trying to calculate the trajectory of your logic and where it all went so horribly wrong. "you literally blocked the gate," he says, gesturing dramatically toward the now-shut entrance behind you. "with your body."

you cross your arms, feigning offense. "wow. body shaming now? really, sunghoon?"

his jaw drops. "what—no! that’s not even what I meant."

"mmhm," you hum, looking away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning again.

he runs a hand through his hair, clearly on the verge of losing his mind. "you are so—"

"brilliant? intelligent? witty? correct?"

"insufferable," he finishes, deadpan.

you cough out, hand flying to your chest in mock betrayal. "wow. let's not go that far, now. that's harsh, isn't it?"

sunghoon takes a slow breath, clearly counting to ten in his head. "you are not blaming this on me. and i don't even want to talk to someone like you."

you look away before looking back at him. "but i do, and am blaming you 'cause you are at fault."

he steps closer, arms crossed now, mirroring you. "is that so?"

you swallow before nodding, looking back at him.

he huffs a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "you are unbelievable."

"and you," you point at him, poking his shoulder, "are late. because you distracted me. don’t deny it."

"you distracted me!"

you raise an eyebrow. "is that your way of admitting you were looking at me?"

sunghoon’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again like his brain had to reboot mid-thought. "i— that’s not—" he groans, turning around as he mutters, "i can’t do this with you. fuck off."

"yeah, well say that to my face park su-"

professor sen's voice interrupts the very polite interaction you and sunghoon were having.

"well, well, well. if it isn’t my two most punctual students."

you and sunghoon freeze like you’ve just been caught committing a federal crime. slowly, both your heads turn in unison to see your elective professor standing a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow arched in classic judgmental fashion.

shit.

"not only do you both skip my class," professor sen continues, pacing a little in front of you, "but you also have the audacity to stand here and argue? loudly? in front of the closed gate? during class hours?"

sunghoon clears his throat. "technically, the gate closed while we were talking—"

"mr. park, would you like me to round your grade down to the nearest zero?" the professor snaps without missing a beat.

sunghoon instantly straightens. "no, sir."

"good. and ms. y/l/n? this isn't a high school for you two to be arguing like kids."

you give your most apologetic, wide-eyed look. "we weren’t arguing arguing. it was more like… academic debating. elective bonding, if you will."

professor sen blinks. "elective bonding?"

sunghoon side eyes you, about to complain about you when you plead to him with your eyes, as best as you could.

sunghoon, i swear to god, my grades are like the one thing i have-

you don't really expect him to listen, not like that's ever worked before but you try anyways.

thankfully, he does end up listening. ironic, really, someone who gave a witness statement against you and thinks you're a terrible person and is accusing you of shit you didn't do actually ended up saving you.

well, maybe not for your sake. technically, he had to save himself too.

"yeah," sunghoon chimes in. "we were discussing, uh, social dynamics. and how personal interaction can impact stress levels and time management skills in—"

"in young adults!" you finish quickly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. "like us!"

the professor stares at the two of you. long. hard. like he’s trying to determine whether you’re completely full of shit or just mildly delusional.

"you know what," he says finally, voice way too calm to be comforting. "you want to study social dynamics? perfect."

uh-oh.

"you’re both going to write a paper on it. together."

sunghoon audibly chokes. "wait—together?"

professor sen grins like this is the best part of his day. "yes. a joint essay. i want a five-page analysis on the impact of interpersonal conflict on productivity—due by the end of the day.”

"end of the—sir, that’s—" you look at your phone. "it’s already almost noon.."

"then i suggest you get started," he says, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "maybe next time, you’ll consider attending class instead of engaging in whatever this was." he says, accentuating the 'whatever this was' with his finger, pointing at you two.

he walks off without another word, leaving you and sunghoon standing there like you just got hit by a truck.

you both slowly turn to each other, only to turn away and groan. what the fuck did you just get into?

damn your pettiness. you felt very proud of yourself earlier but now you're damning your actions.

you both ended up being pushed to some room in the corner of the campus to work on this essay with a stupid deadline.

"so.. uh.. how's it going? sorry for all this, by the way.." you ask, wincing at the awkwardness but trying to start a conversation with him anyway. maybe you can even gradually bring up the topic of the case.

..or maybe not.

sunghoon looks up at you, glaring. "weren't you just shouting at me ten minutes ago?"

you cough out, muttering out another awkward apology. how do you always fuck up this bad, y/n..

"you should be sorry. you're the last person i want to be stuck here with." sunghoon replies, going back to writing something on his laptop.

you sigh, groaning in your seat at sunghoon's response before leaning back.

"but now we’re writing an essay about it. poetic, don’t you think?" you say, giving another shot at starting a conversation with him.

...only for sunghoon to side eye you again before going back to his work, not responding.

...when did you become this awkward and bad at conversing with people? last you remembered, you were amazing at this. you sigh once again, exasperated.

sigh, then again, it's not like he would talk to his sister's "tormentor" or something.

..wait, no. it's not even you! he's gaslighting you too now. goddamn it.

you groan again, looking over at sunghoon who was completely ignoring you and concentrating on his work.

..honestly, if you think about it, he's kinda cute when he's being cold and focusing on someth-

no! what the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?! get ahold of yourself, seriously..

you straighten up before grabbing your bag to take out your laptop. enough of whatever you're doing right now, you need to help out in this essay too. especially since you might be kind of at fault for this. aha. and it's your responsibility too.

finally, you both do manage to finish everything before noon and submit it, taking a sigh of relief at finally being done.

"not bad. you both make a good team." says professor sen as he goes over the essay you both submitted.

yeah, good team my ass.

professor sen hadn’t even made it five feet to the door when he suddenly turned back around, clapping his hands once like a man who just remembered he had more to ruin. great.

"oh, and before i forget—there was also a group project assigned in class today. partners were chosen during the first half of the lecture."

you and sunghoon immediately stiffen.

"and since you two weren’t there to draw names from the list," he says, "you’ll be working together. you seem to make a great team anyways." professor sen completes, exaggerating the 'great'.

you gape at him. "what?!"

sunghoon groans, already half-turning away. "thanks, professor, but i’d rather die."

what the hell?! is this man stuck in highschool?! he's so childish!

..okay, maybe you aren't one to talk.

"great. then you can write your own eulogy as an appendix to the essay," professor sen says with a sweet smile, then points a finger at the both of you. "i expect genuine teamwork. the topic and rubric are already uploaded. due in two weeks. now, unless you’d like another assignment on top of that, i suggest you both start walking toward the library." he finishes before glaring, giving no space for further argument.

you and sunghoon stand there in stunned silence as the professor finally leaves for real this time, humming to himself like he hadn’t just handed you a joint death sentence.

sunghoon mutters something under his breath as he runs a hand through his hair. "i swear to god, i am going to lose my mind."

you don’t reply.

you’re too busy watching the way his jaw tightens. the way he exhales like the air around him’s not enough. the way he starts to turn to leave like he can’t get away from you fast enough.

like being seen with you is somehow beneath him now.

and something inside you—somewhere between the exhaustion, the tension, the bitter twist of everything that’s happened—just snaps.

"you know what?" your voice cuts through the space between you, sharp and loud enough to make him freeze mid-step.

he doesn’t turn around.

so you keep going.

"just so you know—your whole fucking witness statement is based on a lie."

that makes him turn.

his eyes are dark now, not in that amused, teasing way they sometimes are. this time it’s different. heavier.

you breathe out shakily, the words rushing out before you can stop them. "hana fed you a story and you ate it up without a second thought. and now, what? i’m the villain? i’m the one everyone whispers about in hallways like i planned it all from the start?"

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, jaw clenched.

silence again. thick and heavy, like the sky’s about to break open.

you blink, suddenly aware of the heat behind your eyes, the weight in your chest pressing harder than before. this wasn’t how you wanted to tell him. hell, you didn’t even know if you wanted to tell him. you were still unsure if you wanted to bring this up at all but now you did.

you did. and it’s out there now. floating in the open air between you.

you get that he would be angry. that's his sister for god's sake but it hurt that he was blaming you for something you didn't do.

but then again, maybe his anger is warranted for. god, you have no idea.

sunghoon’s eyes flicker, something unreadable shifting behind them. but before he can say anything—

you turn away.

"forget it," you mumble, already walking ahead. "i'll complete the project myself and add your name in it. i am responsible for this mess anyways and you don't want to work with me."

and maybe, just maybe, this is what rock bottom looks like. arguing in front of a locked gate. group projects with the guy who wants you behind bars. your truth spilling out like it’s been waiting for months.

but if nothing else—at least now it’s out.

and he heard you. for once, he heard you.

you walk out before he can, your steps abrupt and your thoughts scattered.

you take out your car keys, walking toward your car when you hear the sharp buzz of a notification from your phone.

you don’t check it at first. your hand tightens around the steering wheel before you even get inside, the conversation from moments ago still echoing in your head. your voice, louder than usual. his expression—blank, then angry, then something else you couldn’t read even if you tried.

you finally glance at the screen.

you finally glance at the screen.

???: how do you sleep at night, i wonder ???: maybe you'll sleep better behind bars.

your stomach drops.

for a second, all the air seems to leave the car. the world outside feels muffled, like someone stuffed cotton in your ears. the soft thrum of the city—the distant horns, the footsteps, the rustle of leaves—fades into nothing.

you reread the messages. once. twice. and then again, as if the words might change.

they don’t.

you don’t recognize the number. it’s not saved, and it doesn’t ring any bells. but the weight of the message—it’s personal. specific. targeted. this isn’t a spam text or some twisted joke.

whoever it is… they know. they know everything in detail.

your hands are suddenly clammy against the leather of the steering wheel. the conversation with sunghoon might’ve left you rattled, but this—this is different. this is fear. this is the feeling of being watched.

you look out the windshield, half-expecting to see someone standing there. watching you.

no one’s there.

you lock the doors anyway. your thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to block the number. report it. reply.

you don’t do any of those things.

instead, you just stare.

because deep down, even if you don’t know who sent it, you think you know why.

and that might be worse.

it can't be sunghoon, you think. it just feels weird for him to do this. he isn't scared to tell you that to your face. he has, told you that to your face. why would he suddenly resort to mysterious threat messages?

only someone has has a need to conceal their identity would do this.

..but who?

the message doesn’t leave your head.

it’s burned into the inside of your eyelids—every time you blink, it’s there, etched like a warning carved in stone.

"how do you sleep at night, i wonder."

you never replied. never blocked it either. just let it sit there in your phone like a ticking bomb you’re too afraid to dismantle. it was dumb but you could barely think when you got that message.

by the time you get home, your hands are shaking. not violently. just enough to make the key miss the lock once, twice before it finally clicks. the hallway is dim, quiet. you don’t even bother flicking the lights on anymore—you know the way. you always know the way.

but the silence tonight feels heavier. like the walls are listening. well.. it always does feel heavy, who are you kidding?

you toss your bag on the couch and sit down next to it, only intending to catch your breath. but your body doesn’t move again. it just stays there, curled in on itself, a hand pressed to your mouth as if that might stop the nausea rising in your throat.

guilt is a strange thing. it doesn’t always come like thunder. sometimes it drips—slowly, steadily, like water from a cracked ceiling.

and tonight, it’s pouring. it's pouring hard.

there's helicopters over my head,

hana’s name wasn’t in that message. but you felt her in it. every syllable. every sharp edge.

and it felt like there was something else. something you were missing. you couldn't figure it out even if you wanted to. your mind was far too scattered.

her face flashes behind your eyes. not the real one, not the one you remember in hallways and classrooms—but the one from the yearbook. the one frozen in time. forced smile. hair curled just right. the version of her that people posted when the news broke, as if that was all she ever was.

a picture. a tragedy. a headline.

you close your eyes and wish you hadn’t.

every night when i go to bed.

because you see her.

and you don't know what's real and what's not anymore. your mind was doing everything to make you forget what you thought you knew. it felt like she was standing in the hallway. behind your reflection in the mirror. curled at the edge of your bed. silent. watching. never speaking. but always there.

you sit up abruptly, heart pounding, chest tight. you try to tell yourself you’re just tired. just stressed. just paranoid.

probably.

you rub your arms, suddenly cold. your laptop is still on the coffee table, screen black, reflecting your face back at you. you stare at it and you can’t help but think of that conversation with sunghoon. the way his expression shifted. the way your voice cracked even though you told yourself it wouldn’t.

and now—what?

now you’re getting cryptic messages from strangers. now it feels like you’re seeing ghosts in every corner. now hana’s name tastes like blood in your mouth.

maybe this is what she wanted. no—no, she wouldn’t want this. right?

hell, who are you kidding? no one but yourself, you suppose.

except… who knows anymore.

you weren’t kind to her. not really. and while you weren’t the only one—you were one of them. and the only one who people really saw.

they didn't see her. they saw you.

you deserved it, anyways.

and that truth sticks to your skin no matter how hard you try to scrub it off.

you cover your face with your hands and exhale, the sound trembling and thin.

the guilt doesn’t just sit in your chest anymore. it moves. it creeps up your throat and into your bones. it’s rewriting your memory in real-time, coloring every laugh you shared with your old friend group, every sharp whisper behind someone’s back. twisting it. warping it.

and worst of all?

you can’t even tell what’s real anymore.

was it as bad as it feels now? or are you just haunted by the version of events you think you remember?

either way—hana is everywhere. in your mind, your dreams, your silence.

you reach for your phone again. not to call anyone. just to check if the message is still there.

it isn't.

you blink, double checking, checking again, as if it would bring the message back.

it's not there anymore.

fuck. you should've saved it. then again, it's not like you were thinking straight. and so what if you save it? so what if you manage to track the person?

then again..

you might have actually lost it. are you seriously imagining threats now?

no, it was definitely there! there's no way you imagined all that..

but honestly, you don't know what's real and what you're making up anymore.

you should just go sleep.

the cemetery is quiet. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful—just still. still, and cold.

sunghoon walks slowly, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. he hadn’t meant to come here. not really. it wasn’t planned. he was just driving. at least, that’s what he told himself. but somehow, the turns felt familiar. somehow, the wheels knew where to go even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

it’s not even that far from the city. just a short drive away, tucked between hills and behind wrought-iron gates. hana’s resting place. marked by a polished stone that felt too heavy.

his footsteps crunch softly against the gravel. there’s no one else here. of course there isn’t. it’s too early for weekend visitors, too late for the caretakers to be around. the sun is barely hanging above the trees, a washed-out gold behind thin clouds. shadows stretch long and spindly across the earth.

then—he sees it.

the grave is simple. her name carved cleanly into the stone, with the dates beneath. the flowers someone placed there have wilted around the edges, petals dry and curled inward. he doesn’t know who still comes here. probably not their parents.

he scoffs at the thought.

sunghoon stands still for a long while. just looks. as if he expects her to rise up from beneath the ground and tell him what he’s supposed to do now.

"...hey," he mutters after a while, voice low and awkward. "it’s been a while."

the wind answers him. dry, indifferent.

he wasn't used to this. it's not like he visits graves on a daily basis but also because hana and sunghoon weren't close at all.

he sits down in the grass, elbows on his knees, clasped hands in front of his mouth. he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. there’s nothing poetic or profound about this. he just didn’t know where else to go. he just.. ended up here.

"you’d probably think i’m stupid for being here," he says. "i think i'm pretty stupid too, for coming here."

he lets out a humorless breath, something caught between a chuckle and a sigh. his gaze falls to the dirt, to the small cracks in the stone’s base.

"i thought i was doing the right thing," he says finally. "when i gave that report. when i told them what i remembered."

his voice wavers. just slightly.

"but now i don’t even know what the hell i remember. i mean.. i do.. i do want to do this.. but now, i'm not too sure. i was so sure just a few days ago. i don't know what happened."

he picks at the cuff of his sleeve, jaw tightening.

"y/n… she said i only saw what you wanted me to see. and maybe she’s right. maybe you… twisted things. maybe we all did. god, maybe jay is right. maybe i am only seeing things the way i want to. but that.. doesn't make her any better. but that's still.. fuck, i'm lost."

there’s bitterness in his voice now. confusion wrapped in the kind of guilt that doesn’t leave no matter how many times you try to shove it down.

"i keep going over it. what happened. what we all were back then. and i just—" he stops himself. his throat feels tight. "i don’t know what’s real anymore."

the wind shifts again. a crow caws distantly in the trees.

he looks at the stone. the name. her name.

"you’re not here to answer me," he whispers. "and that’s the worst part. you left, and now all we’re left with is versions of you that none of us can agree on. hana, you've always done this, huh?"

he runs a hand through his hair. looks away, swallowing hard.

"maybe i'm the stupid one. maybe i was the one who sad our parents through those stupid rose tinted glasses too much. maybe i didn't see things the right way. maybe i saw you wrong too."

he pauses.

"...or maybe i just didn’t want to."

the silence grows again. deeper. he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t move. just sits with it. with her. with the weight of what can’t be undone.

after a while, he rises to his feet.

"i don’t know who to believe anymore, hana," he says quietly. "but i’m starting to think i should’ve listened more. to everyone. to myself."

his eyes flicker back to the name carved in stone.

"whatever happens… i’m sorry. it feels like i'm the one whose actually at fault, hana. don't worry, i didn't come here for empathy."

there’s nothing else to say. not really.

he turns and walks away slowly, footsteps lighter than when he came. but the air still presses down on him like the ghost of a weight he’s only beginning to understand.

the phone buzzes once, twice, before you finally reach out to answer it, thumb sluggish against the screen.

"y/n?" yunchae’s voice comes through, bright, a little breathless, like she’s walking somewhere.

you don’t respond right away. your gaze is fixed on the ceiling, lying on your bed with your hair splayed out and limbs heavy. the phone is on speaker, propped up beside you, the light dim and the outside world a soft gray blur beyond the curtains.

"hey," you say finally, voice low. "what's up?"

"you sound like you haven’t slept."

"haven’t."

she clicks her tongue before you hear her sigh. "couldn't?"

"mm. i have some projects to do and i already skipped university. i’ll sleep later. or after this life. whichever comes first."

she sighs. "morbid."

"kidding."

a pause settles over the call, static and silence humming between you like a shared thought neither of you wants to say out loud. yunchae clears her throat.

"anyway… i was thinking about what we talked about yesterday. about the whole thing about finding evidence that's in your favour."

you blink, eyes drifting toward the mess on your desk. papers. post-its. the faint glow of your laptop screen still open to a document you haven’t touched in hours.

"yeah?"

"so… i remembered that girl who always used to hang around her. rina, i think? i didn’t know her super well, but she and hana were pretty close in second year. i might still have her number from back then. or at least her socials."

you nod slowly, even though she can’t see it. "what about her?"

"well, i'm not too sure but," yunchae admits. "we could try talking to her. if we find out if there was anything else that was bothering hana, it would automatically prove you innocent."

you close your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose. your chest feels tight. like everything’s being held together by fraying thread.

"as if she would talk," you murmur. "for me."

yunchae’s voice softens, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. "it's worth a try. do you have a better idea, ms sherlock?"

"i don’t know yunchae. maybe this isn't a good idea. why do we have to play detective.." your voice cracks just a little. "maybe we should just forget about this. let what happens just.. happen. i don't know if i can do this."

"well, if you want, you can drop out." her voice is quiet. "but i'm not backing out, thanks. whatever this sunghoon dude is trying to do, i'm not letting him do it. accusing you of something so insane."

"it's not like what he's doing is unaccounted for.."

"shut up. no more words."

you stare at the ceiling again, smiling a little, letting her words sink in. you don’t have the energy to say thank you. you hope she hears it anyway.

"okay okay ms world peace. send me her number if you find it or something else." you say after a beat, voice steadier than it feels. "i’ll try to reach out. or you could."

"will do," she says, already typing. "and y/n?"

"yeah?"

"whatever happens next… i’ve got your back. i mean it."

your throat tightens.

"i know. thanks."

the line goes quiet again. this time, it doesn’t feel as heavy. not completely.

but still, you don't know quite what to feel. you thought maybe her words would be that little push to give you hope but it seems like that's not it.

you'll just have to wait and see.

sunghoon closes the front door behind him, the soft click of the latch sounding louder than it should in the sprawling, immaculate hallway. the marble floor reflects his silhouette as he slips off his shoes, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. he can feel the weight of the cold from the cemetery still clinging to him, in his fingers, in the ache in his chest as he walks into his house.

he doesn’t bother announcing his arrival. someone always knows. someone always sees.

he’s halfway to the stairs when the sharp voice cuts through the stillness.

"where were you?"

his mother stands at the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over her designer blouse, lips painted and perfect like always. his father looks up from the newspaper, seated on the pristine white couch that’s only ever been used for guests.

sunghoon doesn’t answer at first. he drops his bag on the floor by the stairs. his shoulders are tense.

"i asked you a question."

"i visited hana," he says flatly, not looking at her. "the cemetery."

there’s a beat of silence. then the familiar scoff. clipped, disapproving.

"and for what purpose?" she says. "to wallow in sentiment? she’s been gone for almost half a year now, sunghoon. it’s time to move forward."

"she was your daughter," he says, more bitterly than he meant to. "you could at least pretend to give a shit."

his father lowers the newspaper, eyes cool. "watch your tone."

"why? because i’m embarrassing you? ruining your perfect little image of the ideal son?"

his mother’s expression hardens. "this has nothing to do with image—"

"everything is about image with you!" he snaps suddenly, voice cracking under the pressure that’s been building all day, all year. "you only see your kids as trophies! a list of achievements to parade around your dinner parties and club meetings!"

do you feel ashamed,

"that’s not true," his father says sharply, standing now. "we’ve given you everything. the best education, the best opportunities—"

"and what was the cost for that? to lack us of any kind of love?" sunghoon cuts in, eyes burning. " to give us nothing but pressure. expectations. judgment. and hana? all you ever cared about was how she reflected on you. and when things got bad, when she started falling apart—she became a liability, didn’t she?"

his mother’s face goes pale. "enough."

"no. say it. she was a taint on your reputation, wasn’t she? that’s what she was to you. not a daughter. not someone who needed help. just a stain on the perfect little family portrait you like to shove in everyone’s faces."

when you hear my name?

the silence after that is thick. heavy.

his father doesn’t say a word. his mother looks like she’s about to explode — or cry. but she does neither. just stands there. frozen.

sunghoon breathes hard, jaw clenched. his hands shake slightly at his sides.

"i’m not going to be your puppet," he mutters. "so quit fucking asking me where i was like some spy. you find out anyways through all of those agents of yours, why bother asking me?"

he turns on his heel and storms upstairs before either of them can say anything else, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

behind him, the house stays still. suffocating. fake.

just like it’s always been.

he was halfway to his room when he stopped in front of the door.

hana’s door.

it looked exactly the same — untouched, neat and fitting of someone who never left her bed without making it. the soft cream paint, the little chipped edge at the bottom, the old sticker from a concert they went to years ago still peeling at the corner.

he should’ve kept walking.

but his hand reached out before his brain caught up, fingers curling around the doorknob and twisting it open.

the air inside smelled faintly like her perfume. floral, quiet and old. her room was still frozen in time — the books on her shelf, her throw blanket draped over the chair, half-finished project stacked neatly on her desk.

he stepped inside slowly.

his heart twisted at the sight. a rush of guilt, grief, and confusion all at once. he didn’t come in here often. their parents were working on emptying this soon. probably to erase every trace of her. every trace of her from their family. maybe it could ease their guilt. if they even had any. after all, it was just another set piece in the house of perfection they lived in.

sunghoon walked toward the desk, running a hand across the wooden surface. he glanced at the scattered books, the dried-up pens. and then, something caught his eye in the little drawer under the desk.

he opened it before he could stop himself. it's like his hands moved on their own volition.

notebooks. old polaroids. a few folded papers.

and one envelope. his name wasn’t on it, but he recognized the handwriting immediately.

your handwriting.

he was able to recognize it due to the project you both had to do and submit together. he had seen your handwriting there.

..totally not because he was paying a bit more attention to you then he should have. for whatever reason he couldn't wrap his head around.

his chest tightened as he slowly pulled it out, the date on the corner unmistakable — mid-summer, the summer after high school ended. right around when you'd said you sent an apology.

his brows furrowed. carefully, he opened the letter, his eyes scanning each line.

it was an apology. genuine. messy. emotional. you admitted to everything — the way you’d followed along with the group, how you let things go too far, how you didn’t know how to fix what was broken but you wanted to try. how you had some sort of insecurity. there was no defensiveness. no excuses. just remorse. regret. sincerity.

his stomach turned.

hana told him you never reached out.

she told him you kept bullying her even after high school. she cried about how you still laughed at her online, how she couldn’t escape you, even in the holidays. and he believed her. because she was his little sister and you were the easy villain.

but this letter — this existed.

i asked you "how is your sister?",

and it made no sense. why would you send something like this if you were still tormenting her?

his hands trembled slightly as he folded the paper back up, thoughts spinning too fast to catch.

why would hana lie?

he sat down on the edge of her bed, the letter in his lap, replaying everything in his head. your voice from earlier in the day echoed louder now.

"just so you know, your whole witness statement is based off a lie hana fed you."

back then, he was too angry to understand what you meant. too loyal, maybe. too convinced of his own version of the truth. too blinded by his own version. the one he wanted.

"heard she got her degree."

but now… he couldn’t ignore the doubt creeping in. if you were telling the truth about this, what else were you telling the truth about?

what did hana hide?

what did she want him to believe?

sunghoon’s gaze drifted across her room again, looking at her posters, her old notes stuck to the wall — all the little pieces that once made up a girl he used to call his sister. a girl he used to care for deeply, even if he did not show it. a girl he thought he knew better than anyone else.

but now, for the first time, he wasn’t so sure.

maybe he didn’t know her at all.

maybe he only knew what she wanted him to see.

and what about you? did he truly know you?

it wasn't a lie that you were cruel. everyone knew it. but what he knew, was that a lie?

his fingers tightened around the letter as the silence in the room thickened.

it used to comfort him, this silence. now it felt like it was watching him.

accusing him. he deserves it, maybe.

and once again, since the investigation started, sunghoon wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. or who.

maybe the truth wasn’t as simple as he thought. maybe it never was.

he might be on the right track but maybe not in the right way.

he stood up slowly, folding the letter with care and sliding it into the pocket of his jacket like something fragile. something dangerous.

and as he stepped out of hana’s room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, a single thought pressed itself into his mind, quiet but undeniable—

what if i was wrong? what should he do now? should he really drop this so easily because of this?

he didn’t have the answer.

end note: petition for both reader and sunghoon to go therapy!!!!! anyways this was really long wtf but i hope u all enjoyedd <3333 tysm for the support

taglist: @arcvillie @mochi13 @chocminteu @outroherrr @gyurilla @supershy3 @woibeb @saraabbas @nithxhoon @dajeong-cats @rairaiblog @beebopisjustwatching @rikidaze @renlikecookies @graythecoffeebean @ginjey19 @semi-wife @valesunae

smut tags :: MONSTER COCK AGENDA. Jay is a pervert and smells ur towel lmao, mentions of food and detailed popsicle eating,  reader is very vocal and talkative, slight use of the pet name “pretty”, a lot of cum, cream pie, unprotected sex, mention of bc pills, Jay has a huge cock and he didn’t even know it, inexperienced Jay, experienced reader, finger sucking, nipple sucking, grinding, oral (f recieving), Jay gets on his knees, making out, sex on a table

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         It wasn’t shocking that you were failing but it was shocking that not a single one of your friends were failing with you. They somehow managed to keep their grades up while partying just as often as you do. You don’t know how the hell they did it and you also don’t know why the hell they refuse to help you study now that they’ve seen your failure.

         Not the greatest friends, you think. They won’t help you study because they only have time to study their own classes and to continue partying without you, apparently. You knew you had to come to terms eventually that these people aren’t your friends. They’re just people to party with, people to have fun with, and apparently, people that will watch you struggle.

         It’s frustrating to walk home from classes by the run-down houses with booming music already playing. Without fail, every time, you wish you could be attending instead of studying. It’s even more annoying when you give up on your studies because you’re just not fucking getting it, and you probably would be fucking getting it if you were at a party talking to potential boyfriends or fuckbuddies. 

         Fairness in the world is so hard to grasp. Someone else always has it, but never you. The worst part about all of this is that you’re very aware of how lucky you actually are, you wasted away in college and allowed yourself to get this low simply because you were lucky enough to be well-liked. You prioritized the pointless things over the important things, and now you’re suffering for it. Complaining that you can’t attend parties, looking like a bore to your friends who pity and are embarrassed by you for not being able to multitask like everyone else.

         That’s right. You can’t party and study like everyone else, so maybe now it’s time to focus on the task you’d pushed aside for so long.

         Studying. Ugh.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         You don’t know Jay past the fact that he is in at least three of your classes, extremely quiet, and constantly in the library when you pass by to leave the campus. You’re a little bit ashamed to admit that the majority of people you are well-liked by are the people who are ignoring you right now. The only choice you have is to find someone that can help you catch up on all of the studies you’ve blatantly abandoned. You could go through the student center and “officially” attend tutoring sessions with someone who would likely scoff at you for not getting it, or you could find someone of your own choice to help you. 

         That’s the only reason Jay comes to mind. Again, he is in three of the four of your classes. Every semester, without fail, you’ll look for your name on the dean’s list knowing that it’ll never show up, but you have seen Jay’s name on that list more times than you care to remember. 

         Jay knows of you as well. The girl who cut in front of him in the cafeteria to grab coffee with her large group of friends, making him ten minutes late to be early for his class. The girl who loudly slammed a book down in the library and nearly gave him a heart attack, the girl who came into class stumbling and giggling with one of the guys, clearly still tipsy from the night before. 

         You are everything that Jay isn’t. You are everything he avoids when accepting friends into his life, and his interest in you doesn’t really go past the point of having a stubborn, pretty girl to look at. He is a man after all. A man who is finally away from home, surrounded by hormonal women and men who can’t see past their brain fog of sexual fantasies in class. Never towards him though, he’s usually just on the outside looking in. 

         Jay has those fantasies too, but it isn’t his focus. He is dead set on being a top student, one that people recognize on the academic end rather than the partying end of it all. So, here he is, sitting with his nose in a book, glasses sliding down every few minutes as he munches on a pack of crackers. He’s been here for three hours already and finds comfort in the silence of the library. It’s such a vast place with so many corners to hide in if someone were to come and disturb his peace. Today is no different from any other Friday, where few students choose to study and instead opt for one of the various frat parties or bar hops. 

         You wish you could be one of those people, truly, but instead, you’re making your way to the library in search of Jay. The one student who you assume may actually take you up on the offer of study sessions. You imagine his shocked face when you sit in front of him, and you try your best not to imagine a look of disgust rather than approval. You need Jay now, for the first time in your life, more than ever. His knowledge of the three out of four classes you have will surely work wonders on your GPA, you will probably have to admit how much you’d be relying on him in order for him to even consider your offer too.  

God, you hate begging.

The library is so deafeningly silent when you walk in. You can’t hear even the slightest of a whisper as you walk around and peek into the many empty study rooms and cubicles. After several minutes of searching, the anxiety bubbles up inside of you. What if he decided to do something else? Of all days? The one day where he is needed to be studying? 

Just as you turn to leave, ignoring the entire second floor of the library, you nearly walk straight into him. And by nearly, you actually do  walk directly into him. 

Books clatter to the floor, Jay sighs as he looks down without making eye contact with you. It’s not the first time he’s been walked into and it probably won’t be the last. He is forever wishing that people could just watch where they’re fucking going.

“Hey, I’m sorry–” You go to say as you lean down to help him pick up the mess, he still doesn’t look at you though. Honestly, he barely even notices you there with those airpods in his ears and eyes on the floor. 

To be fair, most people who walk into him just continue walking, so…

         When he does take note of another person helping him retrieve his things, he looks up. You’re not shocked that all he does is nod at you when he takes the book from your hands and makes his way back towards his study space. 

         In an awkward way, you follow him. You feel dumb and kind of lost in this world of books and good students. Up the stairs, towards the floor you’d not even bothered to check, Jay unintentionally leads you to his little corner that already has papers and books laid out. 

         You swallow hard when he takes his seat and looks up to see that you have followed him. Jay is quick to swipe one of his AirPods from his ears and you can kind of tell that he instantly went from relaxed to nervous.

“Uh–” You look around, feeling awkward standing there. “I was looking for you.” 

“Me?” Jay questions with a soured look on his face. He doesn’t really do it intentionally, it’s just, like, what? 

 “Why?”

“Okay, just hear me out.” You start, taking a few steps forward and inviting yourself to sit at his table. There is absolutely no arm space on this side, but that doesn’t entirely matter. You begin your pitch.

“I know it’s kind of weird, but, I’m failing.”

“That’s not weird.” Jay mocks, shaking his head and moving to put his airpod back in his ear.

“Wait! Just, please–hear me out.” You plead now, a little frustrated that he’s already refusing to help you.

         He looks around and then lets out a deep sigh. Rubbing his temples, he nods.

“I know we aren’t the type to like, help each other or whatever– but I’ve asked all of my friends, and they kind of blacklisted me…you are my last resort, I swear.” You say, begging with your eyes. “Can you please just help me study for like, one day a week?”

         His body is stiff and his face is unimpressed by your pitch. 

“An hour a week?” You adjust clapping your hands together to plead even harder. You very nearly start to grovel on the ground before him. “Jay, please. I need to get my grades up.” 

“If you had just given yourself a day a week, you wouldn’t have to be asking someone you’ve never even spoken with to help you study.” He rolls his eyes, still mocking and appearing a bit cocky at the sudden power he’s been given. Of course he only gets approached when someone needs something from him. 

 “How many classes are you failing?”

“I’m failing three classes and have a C in another–” You shamefully admit. “Just an hour a day, please.”

         Jay eyes you over, shifting a bit in his seat before letting out another sigh. 

“Finals are barely a month away.”

“I know! I’ve already got extra credit lined up so I can at least get my grades up by a letter but– I,” You look down, more ashamed than before.

“You don’t know how to actually do the extra credit, do you?” Jay finishes for you and is, for some reason, shocked when you nod. 

         He can see the panic in your eyes, and he noticed for the past week that you’d been looking incredibly tired around campus. Not the hung-over type of tired either. He’s noticed you move your seat closer to the front in one of the classes and even noted that you’re actually taking notes during your time spent there. Maybe he should help you out. If not for the fact that you genuinely seem to need it, but also maybe because he’s like, incredibly aware that he is attracted to you.

 He always has been, but that’s not the fucking point. 

“Okay, you can come study with me whenever you want then. I usually study here because I have a roommate who isn’t exactly the quietest person–” He goes to explain. 

“I have an entire apartment to myself, you can come study at my place. Really, I’ll make food and everything.” You panic, still trying to sell the idea despite him already accepting your offer. 

         Jay is a little shocked and offended that you have your own apartment, and yet you’re failing your classes. No way in hell are you paying for that yourself. This only prompts him to want to help more. Because, like? An entire apartment to study in? Where a pretty girl makes his food? 

“Okay, that can work. What days and times can I be over?” He follows up with a nonchalant nod, noting the three shared classes and the one other you’ll probably need help with. He hopes he’s already taken the outlier class, otherwise he won’t be much help in that regard. 

“You can walk home with me after those classes if you want, and we can study until you’re ready to leave?” You offer. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be every day, but–”

“We can meet up after every class and decide if you want to study or not.” Jay finishes for you yet again, and you nod with a smile. 

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask, wanting to make a mental note of keeping your end of the bargain. 

         Jay thinks hard at that because being put on the spot like this makes answering any question a bit difficult. 

“Here–” You hold out your phone. “Put your number in and you can think about it. I’ll text you so you have mine.”

 You can’t wipe the smile off of your face, the anxiety is practically dissolving from your body at the very idea of someone being willing to help you in the comfort of your own apartment.

         He, on the other hand, is a bit more anxious now. He realizes that now, he’s going to be studying with you. A girl who had never even looked at him twice during the semesters you’ve shared classes. He’s putting his number into your phone, and you’re going to be texting him, and spending time with him instead of going to the parties that he’s never invited to. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?” You ask in his silence, sending a quick text to him so that he can save your number. He nods and looks down at his books. “Don’t forget to text me what you want to eat, okay?”

         He nods again as you stand to walk away. He watches intently at the way you have a little bounce in your step and can’t help but feel his cheeks flushing. God, why is he doing this to himself? 

         Slamming his head on the desk, he, much like you, cannot stop smiling now. All thoughts of studying for the remainder of the night left his head and were replaced with his new study schedule. He thinks he will try and take it easy this weekend, specifically so he is mentally prepared. He’s only talked to you for a total of fourteen minutes and he’s already lost his ability to study and think clearly. 

If he’s lucky, the two of you will pass this semester with flying colors. There’s still that tiny part of him though, that wonders if maybe you’d find interest in him, and maybe he will fail the semester with you because, honestly, you are so distracting.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         On Monday, you sat up straight in class while eyeing the back of Jay’s head most of the time. Mostly to prepare yourself for if and when he makes a break for it. He hasn’t even texted you what he wants to eat today, and part of you wonders if he went back on his promise to you. Not that it was much of a promise in the first place, anyway.

         He was a little shocked that you weren’t the first out of the room once everyone wrapped up though. Like you, he was assuming the same thing. You’d make a fucking break for it and pretend you never approached him in the first place. After all, It was common for you to leave mid-way through class or be the first one out the door. Instead though, he finds himself proud of you. You stood there awkwardly looking at him as the room emptied out, clearly unsure of what to do or say to him.

         Jay nods your way as if to beckon you towards him. 

“You’re still wanting to study today?” He asks with a brow raised in surprise. 

All weekend he had thought about it. Thought about the possibility of it just being a joke to you, or maybe that you’d change your mind and allow yourself to flunk out like you already had been doing. His heart kind of jumps a bit noticing you looking at him like this. 

“Yeah? Wasn’t that the plan?” You ask, nudging him a bit once you get up beside him. “You didn’t text me what you wanted to eat so you’re just gonna have to eat whatever I have in the fridge, by the way.”

         Jay nods, opting to stay silent at this moment. He’s going home with you. He’s going to be seen on campus walking home with you. He’s not the sort to want attention, but this situation feels dangerously attractive to him. Especially when he takes note of how you’re probably going to look all…cozy and at home in your apartment. Like, he gets to be in your space teaching you things that you should have already known. 

         It all shouldn’t be so exciting. After all, his days are filled with the typical boring sessions of reading, writing, noting, and memorizing. It is exciting for him though. Never has he studied with someone like you, or really even gotten to talk to someone that most of the men speak to, the unreachable men no less. The ones with families that own the city, and all the houses in it.

You’re one of the unreachable women on campus, he thinks. The ones with standards based on fun, attractiveness, and chaos rather than charisma, personality, and knowledge. It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Jay to be doing this right now.

“Okay, so...” Jay drones out, avoiding eye contact with you as he packs things into his ratty backpack. “I’m not super hungry right now but–we are going to your place right?”

He needs the confirmation himself if he’s being honest. Nothing would suck more than assuming and being proved wrong.

         You nod with a smile, grabbing his hand as soon as he throws his backpack on. It isn’t intimate to you, but for him, it’s…something. Holding his hand is reserved for intimate relationships with family or girlfriends. He never holds hands.

 He’s never really gotten the chance to anyway, aside from a little cousin when they were crossing the street last summer. He can’t help but buckle in on himself in a shy sort of way as you lead him from the room and out of the building. 

         You’re rambling about all of the things you need to study. All of the snacks you could offer to him. All of the hours you wish you hadn’t wasted partying, yet, all he’s thinking about is how warm your hand feels in his. You seem to be a natural at talking to people. Touching them without a single worry in the world, it’s kind of nice, he thinks. The fact that you aren’t ashamed to be seen together with him, heading towards the place you sleep. Sometimes Jay forgets that this is college. No one actually cares who is hanging out with who unless they are in the middle of a raunchy frat party, seeing their love interest getting touched against a dirty bathroom counter. 

         He smiles to himself as he finally catches up to you and allows you to stop dragging him around. He keeps pace with you now, resting his hand as if to allow you to let go, but you don't. 

“Just around that corner–” You say,  glancing over at him and noting the shade of color his face has become. “You good?” 

         Jay nods, staying quiet and trying to force himself out of his thoughts. He glances down at your hand holding his and then back up at you on instinct. 

“Ah, sorry.” You mumble, releasing his hand and trying hard to understand that maybe you truly are too clingy with most people in your life. You think his reaction was kind of cute though, and now you’re a little determined to help him relax those stiffened shoulders. Jay can’t be as boring as he seems, right?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I have peanut butter and jelly, eggs, noodles, some leftover pizza and–”

“I’m not hungry, but If I can have some water or something, that would be cool.” Jay cuts you off, slipping off his shoes in an immaculate show of how clumsy he is. You can hear the clatter of your entire coat rack falling to the floor due to his weight leaning on it through that single task. 

“Okay–” You side eye his mess with a slight smile. “Water, got it.”

 You trail off to get him the drink, keeping a small mental note of how nervous he appears to be right now. He’s panicked, frantically trying to balance your coat rack back in place as if you hadn’t walked directly into him just the Friday before. 

“Jay, it’s just a coat rack.” You laugh with water in hand, hearing him mutter a sorry as he hangs one of your empty purses back onto it.

“Thanks.” He says now, reaching out for the drink.

         Watching his eyes go from the glass of water to your apartment, you smile at the look on his face. Such a smart guy acting so incredibly stupid the moment he’s alone in an apartment with a girl. Cute.

“Is this good?” You ask as if you’re offering a change of subject so that he doesn’t have to think about the coat rack he had just knocked over. You point over to your dining table that’s placed perfectly in a little nook against a window and look at him as he stands in place. “We can start whenever you’re ready?”

“Can you show me to the bathroom first?” Jay blurts, hyper-aware of his awkward demeanor. He needs to calm himself down before even thinking about sitting down to fucking study. 

   You point to the bathroom quickly, making your way to the table and adjusting everything so there is space for the piles of books soon to be laid on it. You watch only a little bit at how Jay makes his way over to said bathroom in a show of not-so-confident body language. He seemed kind of cocky on Friday, but today he seems to be like jelly. 

         You sit at the dining table without thinking much more of the man in your bathroom, instead, you pull out some textbooks and lay them out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         Jay stares at himself in the mirror, he can practically see the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he comes to terms with the fact that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to your apartment to study. You’re attractive. That alone is a reason in his head to avoid it, but he’s here and he’s already made a fool of himself. 

         He slaps his face a bit with some cold water and tries to will himself to stop acting like such an awkward idiot. Surely you’ll pick up on his inability to talk to women if he doesn’t get it together, right? You’re going to think he’s some weirdo, a pervert maybe, before throwing him out and avoiding him forever.

         Staring harder at himself, he waits for the color to run from his face so that way he can get out there and start the study session, but then his eyes start to wander. 

         Your bathroom is immaculately clean save for some makeup stains on the counter and a few stray hairs that must have been yanked out of your head while you attempted to brush out a night of drinking. It smells fresh and your perfectly hung towels look plush hanging against the wall. Without a thought in his head, he leans towards the towel so that he can dry his face and hands, and that’s just what he does. Except, maybe he buries his face into the towel a bit longer than he needed to, and maybe the smell of it was so astronomically sweet that he nuzzled against it even more.

         He could tell the towel had been used at least once though, solely because he could smell a scent that wasn’t the soap on the counter, nor any laundry detergent he’s aware of. Then…his eyes flick to the actual hand towel that he somehow missed, right beside it? A lace bra. The flush comes back to his face, making him feel even warmer than he did when he entered the room. Which feels like a fucking nightmare if he’s being totally honest. 

         It dawns on him again. He’s in your apartment, smelling your towels, and staring at your bra. Coming to the bathroom in an attempt to calm down has done nothing more than make things worse, and the only option he has now is to stumble out of the bathroom hoping you assume he was in here doing number two rather than planting his face into a towel where you dry off your naked body. 

         Mumbling to himself, Jay prepares himself to face you. Sure, you probably see nothing out of the norm if he does well and hides the fact that he’s hyper-sensitive just for being in your space, then again, Jay has never been the best at playing pretend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You offer him a bright smile once he finally makes his way back into your living space and seats himself at the table. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with you, bashfully pulling his own books out of his bag with shaking fingers. 

“Are you okay? You sure you don’t want a snack or something?” You look at him, head tilting at him in concern. 

Jay finally looks at you and notes how comfortable you seem while he feels like he’s internally falling apart. There shouldn’t be any fucking issue in his head when it comes to this situation, but here he is, panicking because a pretty girl is in front of him. 

He feels so dumb, so obvious, so embarrassed. Yeah, maybe he should eat something, at least so he can buy some time to focus on something else before he starts stuttering through your studies. At this rate, all you’re going to learn about today is how awful Jay is around women. 

“Maybe I should eat, yeah–” He says in a small voice, still staring at the books as he places them on the table.

“Come look in my kitchen, we can eat something together?” You offer, reaching toward his hand. 

He pulls back from your touch and tries to play it off casually like he was just reaching for a pencil, but you didn’t miss the fact that his hands were cold and shaky.

Taking note, it starts to dawn on you. You’ve dealt with men like him before, and it was always an interesting situation. To check your theory, you rise from the chair and lean over the table, being sure to squish whatever cleavage you have visible to make it more visible to him. 

“Salty or sweet?” You ask, watching his eyes intently and the way they struggle to reach your face. Score one for you, Jay is definitely a man above all. Luckily for him, you have lots of experience in that field, while he appears to have very little in the field of women. 

“W-what?” He drones out, pulling his eyes away from you in an attempt to hide the way his face immediately flushed. 

“The snacks? Savory or sweet?” You laugh, propping yourself back from the table and hopping into the kitchen, checking behind you to see if he follows.

He does stand to follow, but by the time you round the corner, he isn’t behind you like you figured he would be. Peeping your head around the corner, you watch as he holds his hands in front of his groin, looks down at himself, and then lets out a deep sigh. You then watch as he adjusts himself in his pants, uncomfortably hiding a semi-hard on so that he could come into the kitchen without suspicion. 

By this point, you’ve already decided that studying will very likely not be part of today’s schedule. He wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing like this, right? You should help him, right?

“Took you long enough.” You joke as he appears in the kitchen, turning to look at him and intentionally trailing your eyes down his body just to see if you can see any sort of bulge. He’s safe though because he apparently must have skills in hiding his arousal during the worst times. 

Jay, on the other hand, can already tell that your shift in mood is intensely different compared to before he went to the bathroom. Twice now you’ve been blatant towards him and it is not helping him at all right now. Is he reading it wrong because he’s very obviously horny right now? Were you really trying to dangle your breasts in front of him like that? Are you really checking him out right now? 

“Sorry–” He looks down. “I– uh, I dropped something.” He offers as an excuse, uncomfortably trying to shift from your view and avoid eye contact. 

“Sure.” You say with a roll of your eyes, knowing full well that he was hiding his cock. “I want something sweet. Sounds good?” You change the subject, reaching out and running your fingers down his arm. 

He swallows hard, stiffening his shoulders and nodding to you. Without hesitation, you let your fingers stay against him for a few seconds longer, keeping eye contact with him before turning and opening a cupboard. 

“Peanut butter crackers, cereal, and oatmeal.” You deadpan, slamming the cupboard and stepping to the fridge. “Pudding.” Then you open the freezer. “Popsicles, and ice cream.”

Jay just stands there when you close the doors to the fridge and look at him in question. He could opt for the crackers but his throat is already dry enough. Choking right now would be even more humiliating. Cereal could work but that would be embarrassing too, for some reason. Oatmeal is an option, solely for how disgusting it looks, surely it would tame his boner. 

But, popsicles? Hell no.

“Grab whatever you want, I'm eating a popsicle.” You say, raising a brow and throwing open the freezer door again to take your pick.

Of course, it’s  intentional. It’s fun to see his eyes light up at the very idea of seeing you eat a popsicle, and even more fun to imagine how flustered he’s going to be in mere minutes.

Jay looks to the floor and heads towards your fridge, also opting for a popsicle despite his very recent internal protest. Mostly so you don’t think he’s a pervert when he inevitably sees you eat it. But also, like, just in case you really are trying to flirt with him right now, at least his lips will taste sweet too. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had expected Jay to get flustered, and boy did he. What you didn’t expect though, was to become flustered yourself by the image of Jay’s tongue darting over sweet ice, and then over his own lips to suck up the melted and sticky juice. The only image in your head right now is the idea of if he would lick his lips like that if you were to spread your legs for him. Would he lick up your mess on his face, chasing the flavor the same way he’s doing right now?

A dull ache begins to spread throughout your body as you watch him. His eyes still avoid you but you manage to catch him a few times. Each time he makes eye contact with you, your gaze shoots to his lap just to see if he’s gotten hard enough for his cock to leave its tucked position in his waistband. 

Jay is hyper-aware now too, with the way you’re staring and almost leaving your popsicle unattended as he eats his own. He feels confused, like? Are you doing what he was actively avoiding doing to you? Jesus, you really are kind of a whore, god.

By the time the popsicles are finished, your fingers are sticky from allowing it to drip down the stick. You make a point to suck each of your fingers innocently, looking under your lashes at him for split seconds as you begin to shuffle through the papers on the table. 

“So–” You say, popping one finger out of your mouth and inserting another. “Can we start here? I need to have a paper written on at least one topic on this list and have no idea how to find a good source to read from.”

Jay hears and sees you in tunnel vision right now, but he manages to catch the ass end of your sentence and begins to try and focus on the studies at hand. Still watching you suck your fingers into your mouth, he clears his throat and places his own popsicle stick onto the table, pretending he doesn’t wish your tongue would lick him like that.

“I wrote mine based on this topic, and I found a lot of good sources for it. I don’t think our professor would think too hard about us choosing the same subject–” 

“Yeah, especially because it’s me. They’d never guess you’re in my apartment right now.” You laugh, smirking over at him. 

“I would’ve never guessed either–” Jay says without thinking, barely processing how embarrassing he is before you squint at him with a wider smile. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, raising a brow and leaning forward. “Why’s that?” 

Jay tries to look around but now can’t seem to force his eyes away from you. A much different circumstance compared to before when he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. There’s a connection here, he can feel it. You’re definitely coming onto him and you have been for the past however long he’s been here.

“You’re kind of out of my league, don’t you think?” He laughs more at himself than he does the situation, and to you, he honestly looks pitiful after saying that. It’s incredibly attractive to you in the way he seems to praise you for being a failure simply because he’s attracted to you. At least, that’s the case if you’re reading him right.

“Who said someone like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two?” You have a smile in your voice, and it comforts him, but that comfort is shot down when you stand on your feet and walk over to him. “Who says I’m out of your league?” You ask again, watching him scoot back with his chair as you come closer.

You prop yourself against the table, essentially blocking him from his books and papers. You look down at him now, dipping your head in a playful way. “I don’t think I’m out of your league.” 

Jay notes how you’re between him and the table now. You look comfortable leaning in front of him like this, and when his eyes trail up to your face all his body can do is give in. He looks at you through large eyes, the overhead light is sparkling through them at you. 

In that instant, you can see his embarrassment fill his body because he’s no longer resisting the urge to be himself. He’s staring at you as if you could be a god and saying nothing in response to your words. 

“If anything, Jongie–” You soothe him, grabbing one of his hands and smiling at the way his pen immediately falls out of his grip. “You’re out of my league.” 

He blinks up at you, soaking in the words and not yet understanding in full what you’re doing until he feels warmth enveloping the entirety of his hand and wrist. 

“Do you know how lucky I am that you’re here right now?” You ask him, basking in the way you can see his breath get caught in his throat. “How lucky I am that you’re not only smart but hot too?”

He dips his head at this, a bashful show of your words having an impact on him. He hides his face briefly against his arm and then he realizes–

“Is this okay?” You ask, holding his hand in place as you begin to move your hips against his palm.

Jay watches the way you’ve managed to pull his hand out and plant it between your legs, all so you could grind against it without so much as a warning. He’s not against it though, if anything, his head is shot back to reality and he’s immediately back to glancing around the room and avoiding the scene in front of him.

His palm is against your literal, dampening panties, and all he can think to say right now is, “You could write your thesis on human connection and its effects on the brain.” 

You smile at his attempt to continue to study through this moment.

“I could,” You say with a deeper voice than before, feeling the way his hand stays relaxed in your grasp as you grind against it. “Or we could think about how your brain is being affected right now?”

Jay groans, feeling the warmth of your wet beginning to seep through the fabric, and honestly, it is happening so fast that he’s sure it would be more embarrassing if he walked out now. 

“How are you feeling?” You reword your question towards him, intentionally swiveling your hips so that you can position his fingers into your underwear. 

“You’re warm.” Jay chokes out, eyes now zoning in on your legs slightly spread in front of him. 

You let out a small laugh at this, pulling a bit on his arm to pull him closer, but he doesn’t compute it at all. 

“Do you like it?” You ask again, this time slipping his fingers into you. You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes back, fucking yourself gently against his fingers before you look at him.

He’s nodding, probably more thankful now that you’d worn a skirt today rather than pants. He didn’t allow himself to take note of your attire, because if he did, he would have made even more of a fool of himself. But he’s nodding now, watching the way you hold his arm in place and slide his fingers in and out of you. 

His silence is louder than his words could be right now, you think. You can feel him straighten his fingers inside of you, you can practically see him salivate at the very idea of how you’re using him right now. You’re not done though, no, no. He’s far too sweet like this, but you want to hear words.

Gently, you pull your hips back effectively slipping his fingers out of you. There, you lift his arm and examine your wetness against his fingers. You smile again, eyes now adjusting to his face rather than his wet fingers. 

Jay watches as you guide his fingers to his lip, and without a second thought, he opens his mouth to taste you against them. He licks circles around each of the two fingers, closing his eyes almost instantly so that he can relish the experience.

He no longer cares how awkward he must seem sitting here like this, letting you do all the work.

“Do you like the taste too?” You ask, releasing his hand and watching how he continues to suck his fingers. 

“Mhm–” Jay groans with his closed mouth around the digits, making damn sure to suck every bit off.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” You compliment him this time, tearing your eyes from him and slipping your panties down your legs. You turn yourself over so that you’re now bent over the table and you ignore the corner of one of the textbooks poking against your ribs, all in favor of what sound Jay will make when he opens his eyes. 

“You can taste more, if you want.” You offer, lifting to look behind you at the way his fingers drop from his mouth and his eyes immediately zone in on your bare pussy displayed for him under your hiked-up skirt. 

He does let out a whimper, one that seemed entirely desperate to do just that for you but–he doesn’t move. He just stares, soaking in the words you’re saying, memorizing each fold and dip in your glistening pussy.

You don’t intend to wait though. Reaching behind you, you grab the back of his head by his hair and guide his face to you. The way you can hear his chair tip over as he falls to his knees makes you quiver a bit before him, and you’re almost surprised to not just feel a face against you. It appears that Jay does know what he’s doing. 

He instantly jumps into action, loving the feeling of your hand in his hair basically telling him to do it. Giving him that green light, letting him.

You can feel his tongue exploring and his other hand reaching to lift your skirt entirely over your ass. His tongue is soft, warm, wet, and so entirely eager to lick and suck every inch of you. It’s not until he starts allowing his moans to vibrate into your flesh that you hike one of your legs up and open your cunt against his working tongue more.

Guiding him by his hair still, you press his face harshly into you with little to no fight for air from him, and you’re loving it. Loving the way he whines for more when his tongue reaches the furthest limit, loving even more when he finally reaches his hands up to your pussy and spreads it out for himself.

He isn’t even thinking at this moment, just tasting and feeling you guide his tongue as if this is what you wanted all along. The thought alone of someone like you wanting to fuck his tongue like this sets his cock on fire in so many ways. He’s so hard right now that it hurts to think about it at all. Jay doesn’t give a single fuck about how pathetic he must sound to you right now, whimpering and panting against you as if this was the only sweet thing in your apartment he wanted to eat anyway. 

You hear a clatter to the floor, knowing for a fact that he’s knocked his glasses off of his face from the angle in which he skewed his neck in order to fuck his tongue into you. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now, because goddamn he’s eating you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He’s impressively messy and loud with it too, making you feel as if you must taste like the sweetest thing on earth to him. 

For some reason, thinking back to all of the non-sexual situations you’d passively seen Jay in? It turns you on even more. The big-brained student who is constantly making straight As and never going out to parties eats pussy like this? Eats your pussy like this? Better than half of the men you’d already been with? Jay doesn’t miss a single centimeter of it,  and you can tell he’s focusing on you more than he has ever focused on his homework or studies before. 

You feel so deeply needed at this moment by Jay that all you can do is let out a desperate moan for him. One so that he knows he’s not the only one utterly stunned by the turn of events, but also because you’re fucking loving what he’s doing to you.

With each moan, Jay picks up his pace, using those same two fingers and spreading your cunt out impossibly wider just so he can attempt to bury his tongue deeper into the messy, wet heat you offer. He’s spreading you apart so well that it almost pains you to move without the fear of being torn open by his tongue alone. Your clit has barely even been reached but he still managed to make you feel sensitive to the point of wanting to beat your fists on the table out of sheer frustration for not approaching him sooner. 

Not only can he help you pass your classes, but he surely could make you feel like a fucking queen on top of it all, licking you open, up and down, as if he were born and trained for you and you alone? Insane.

“You’re so–” You groan out, releasing his hair from your grip but pressing your ass out more so that you can feel him slip his tongue back to your clit with impossible reach. He continues that, sliding his tongue from your clit to your entrance, dipping in and swirling the muscle before going back to your clit. All while he’s moaning, groaning, and panting against you. 

It’s too much, he’s so incredibly eager that you’re honestly too sensitive to let him keep going. You hate it when you pull your hips forward and lift from the table. Your legs are shaking when you do this, and shaking even more when you turn to face him and lean against the table again. 

“How–?” You look down at him in pleasant surprise, watching him lick his lips much like you hoped he would. “How are you so good at this?” 

Jay is stunned by your question because in all fairness, he’s only ever eaten a girl out once and like, it wasn’t that great because she made him stop within like a minute. He wasn’t really thinking about what to do with you though, or how to do it. He just…did it. That’s all. So obsessed with the taste and smell of you to the point he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He’d still be licking you right now if you didn’t move away. 

“I–don’t know.” He shamefully admits, nonchalantly moving his hands to his pants and unbuttoning them. Not to fuck you or anything, mostly just to release his cock from the chokehold of the denim rubbing against him. 

“You’re lying.” You deadpan, running your hand between your legs and quivering the moment your fingers run over your swollen clit. “There’s no way you haven’t practiced doing this.” You gasp, looking at him as if no other man exists. 

He shakes his head, looking up at you from the floor with innocent eyes. His lips are wet, his eyes are hooded, his hair sticking up from your fingers guiding him– it’s a lot to see him like this when you’ve only ever seen him as that goody-two-shoes student who doesn’t know how to have fun. Clearly, Jay knows how to have fun.

Your gaze on him makes him feel more bashful as he looks down to the floor, feeling embarrassed that you’re praising a complete amateur at this. 

Using your leg, you nudge him.

“You did all of that and didn’t even touch yourself?” You ask in curiosity, noting how he had only just now undone his pants to relieve pressure. “Let me see it.” You say again, almost demanding as you hop up on the table and spread your legs even more.

Frantic at your tone of voice, Jay stumbles to his feet and pushes his pants down to his thighs. His cock springs out and stands erect in front of you. You could stare all day, honestly. Jay, of all people? He’s the one with a cock this big? He’s the one with a size that could make you feel as if you’re being split in half? Well, fuck.

“God.” You comment, mouth falling open at the way it twitches in mid-air. “All of the girls would be fucking swooning, Jay, really.” You get a bit flustered yourself because only now do you understand who you just seduced and what he’s got to offer outside of brains. 

In all of his shyness, Jay hides his face from you again despite his cock out in all of its glory. Your mouth could honestly start watering if he hadn’t just eaten you out to the point of needing him to stop. Meaning, your throat is too dry right now to start drooling. 

Without another thought, you pull your shirt and bra off all in one go. No way in hell is he leaving without fucking you stupid with a cock like that. Absolutely no fucking way  would you let this go to waste.

“When’s the last time you’ve done anything with a girl?” You ask now, reaching for his arm and pulling his gaze back towards you, now almost completely naked save for your skirt hiked up to your waist. 

Jay stares at you again, much like he did when you spread your legs in front of him, this time zoning in on the way your nipples are erect and begging for his mouth to be put to use again. He nearly forgets that you’re talking to him because of the way you’ve presented yourself to him. The reality is right in front of his face, but he still wonders if this must be a dream.

“I–um– right out of high school before she broke up with me,” He says in a lazy voice, slightly raspy. It sounds as if it doesn’t even matter to him because he is so focused on you in front of him. “I’ve only had sex two times.”

“Aw–” You pitifully look at him. “What a waste, you’re such a pretty boy.” You coo, wiggling your hips as if to entice his cock to make its way towards you. “You’ve got the brains and the cock for it. You must feel so neglected.”

All he does is nod, because yes, he does feel fucking neglected, partly because he let it happen and mostly because he knows he doesn’t know how to talk to girls. Right now, Jay could genuinely start crying if you keep talking to him like this though. He can’t tell if you’re mocking him or being genuine, but the only thing he wants to do is bury his cock so deeply inside of you that all you can do is moan out mantras of how pretty he is again. He wants to hear you moan over how much time has been wasted without his cock inside of you, how badly you’d want him again and again after this. 

You can see his facial expressions change every few seconds and to be fair, your body yearns to be filled. With the way he is looking at you, there’s no way he doesn’t want to.

“Wanna fuck me, Jongie?” You ask, realizing that you much prefer calling him this rather than his full name because he seems to lean directly into it. 

“God,” He sighs out, hanging his head to look at the way his cock still stands painfully erect throughout the conversation. “Can I?” He asks now, making eye contact with you through pleading eyes.

You reach out for him, grabbing his waist and pressing his cock directly against your core. You lean your head back a bit to look at him and the way his eyes sear straight through your own. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks are rosy, and his lips are glistening. You lick against them, and the way he immediately starts to kiss you makes you think he’s a liar. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his mouth regardless of where it is. His tongue presses into your mouth so beautifully that you genuinely could argue that this man has only ever had sex twice. 

Maybe he’s a natural? 

Jay knows exactly when to grind his cock between your folds, knows exactly when to pull back to kiss your neck, and knows exactly how to lean you back with his hand protecting the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam against the table. 

He slips his cock so beautifully as he trails his kisses to your tits too, suckling gently against one of your nipples before he nearly can’t stand it anymore. He’s in his own world, barely recognizing that he’s not the only one experiencing this right now.

With an eager hand, Jay grabs his cock and presses it directly into you without waiting any longer. He isn’t slow or gentle with it. You can feel how desperate he is solely because of the way he can’t seem to fathom taking it slow. He doesn’t let you adjust, no. The second the head of that thick cock slips in he’s slamming in. All the way, forcing a yelp from your throat and a tight grip to his back.

He’s lost himself in the moment and you’re loving it. Loving the way his tongue picks up against your nipples, and the way there is no rhythm or rhyme to his thrusts. His size alone is enough for you, and you can admit to loving every single push and pull his body is offering.

The room is silent save for his whimpers, your gasps, and the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. You’re quick to wrap a leg around his waist so that when he presses in again, you can force him to stay in place, if just to let him genuinely feel what it’s like to have a pussy clenching around him.

“You feel it?” You groan out, feeling his teeth pinch against your nipple and sending a sharp pain down your body. 

He nods frantically, pulling your nipple with his lips as he does it. You can tell he’s drooling, wetting your chest in such an embarrassing way, but he’s so–Jay. He’s Jay. This is Jay.

You watch his face and the way he winces with each pulse of your hole quivering around the sheer size of him, and you coo out at him when his cock twitches in response. As if you can handle yourself right now, as if he can too.

Neither of you can comprehend the pleasure.

“Can’t believe I get to be your third.” You sing out. “You’re so good, so–”

“S-stop talking, fuck-” Jay calls out in a broken and choked gasp, feeling too turned on by the way you speak. He can’t help it when he forces his hips to move against the pressure of your leg trying to keep him in place. This time he fucks at a quicker pace. His mouth falls open against your breast and his hands shoot to your waist as he pulls himself up and opens his eyes. 

He watches the way your sticky cunt coats him as he slides in and out of you, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that you feel he could be bruising you. 

You’re so in awe of him losing complete control that you want nothing more than to cum with him inside of you. You quickly reach your hand down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive spot almost to the point that you could start crying out at how painful it truly is at this moment. You’ve never been this sensitive for a man, and yet, you’re coming undone beneath him and nearly losing as much control as he has. 

A mess of moans and groans is filling the room as Jay chases his high, and you are at the point that you want to say the nicest and dirtiest things to him out of sheer arousal. So you do, you talk, and you talk. Whispers of “girls would die to be fucked by you,” turn to screams of, “yeah, fuck Jongie, just like that!” 

It wasn’t until you moaned out, “Cum with me, now, Jongie, I can’t hold it–” when Jay ’s hips stuttered and his eyes closed tightly in a frustrated groan. “Stop–” He grunts, hips pressing impossibly hard against you. To the point that you scoot up on the table. “Stop, I’m–” He groans again, attempting to pull out so that he can release against your pulsing and empty pussy.

But you don’t let him.

Your legs hold him in place as you release your clit and pull yourself up on your arms just to grab against his neck and pull him down with you against the table. 

“Cum in me.” You nearly demand, holding his face so that he can’t look away from you.

You watch the way his pupils dilate more at the words and you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you. Then? His pupils are gone. He’s rolling his eyes back now, looking so fucking beautiful while doing it.

Jay’s eyebrows fall much like his mouth does when he cums. His hips are frantic but his face looks calm, and not a single sound releases from his lips. His breath is caught in his throat with each twitch, shooting ropes into you so deeply that you feel each wave of his pleasure hitting your cervix. 

  You’re very quick to rub your clit again, harsh and rough circles being amplified by the way his abdomen adds pressure to your hand with each push of his cock in you. It sends you over edge so fast, even he feels the clench, choking out each spurt of his remaining orgasm. 

You grab onto him harshly now, without a thought in your head besides kissing him. He kisses you back, realizing that despite having sex before, this may be the first time he’s ever made a girl cum. It’s certainly the first time he’s ever felt his cock being tugged by the walls of a pussy as it works itself through an orgasm, anyway.

Crazy thing is…he’s not done. Like, he can’t stop cumming. Lasting entirely far too long and far past sensitivity. Jay opens his eyes to look at you when you’re reaching the end of your own orgasm, all while he’s still filling you up, and even feeling his load bubble out from around him with each tight thrust. Your voice is beautifully raspy, and the way you hold onto him makes him feel like you should never let go. 

Upon his ears popping and finally emptied, he genuinely feels the mess between the two of you. Quickly, he pulls back and notes that the hem of his shirt is absolutely fucking soaked. In an attempt to take a small step back in order to remove himself from you, he nearly trips over his pants that had fallen to his ankles.

“Oh.” You laugh, wincing as you feel his cock leave you empty. “Probably should have undressed you.” Your eyes sparkle at the large damp spot, nearly making his shirt entirely see-through from just how soaked it really is. 

Jay steps out of his pants silently and just kind of stands there awkwardly, watching the cum spill from you. Then panic spreads across his face. 

“Um,” He croaks out, voice cracking almost immediately. “I– I couldn’t pull out…I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to.” You soothe him, noting how he’s right back to his awkward and shy persona the moment he’s finished fucking you. “It’s fine, I’m protected” You confirm for him, just to see the relief replace that panic.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So–” You comment, looking down at the wrinkled papers in front of you. “You really expect me to try and write at least 1200 words tonight?” 

Jay tilts his head at you, sitting with a blanket covering his entire body as his clothes go through the cycles of a wash. “If we hadn’t gotten off track, you could already be almost done with it.” 

“God, you are such a fucking bore.” You laugh, shivering at the cold air hitting your bare skin. “I’m literally naked right now and you’re making me do this right now?” 

“Finish your paper and we can talk about that. Besides, I kind of need to recover for more than thirty minutes from that, you know? I’m sensitive.” He shoots back, not afraid to sound as embarrassing as he truly is now. 

To his surprise, you nod with a cheeky smirk. Promising you any amount of him after what happened was enough to force your focus on your school work for now at least. Just because he did it once doesn’t mean he will always want to fuck stupid girls. If anything, Jay deserves someone who respects his work ethic and need to help others right? The huge cock is just a bonus when you think about it.

smut tags :: MONSTER COCK AGENDA. Jay is a pervert and smells ur towel lmao, mentions of food and detailed popsicle eating,  reader is very vocal and talkative, slight use of the pet name “pretty”, a lot of cum, cream pie, unprotected sex, mention of bc pills, Jay has a huge cock and he didn’t even know it, inexperienced Jay, experienced reader, finger sucking, nipple sucking, grinding, oral (f recieving), Jay gets on his knees, making out, sex on a table

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         It wasn’t shocking that you were failing but it was shocking that not a single one of your friends were failing with you. They somehow managed to keep their grades up while partying just as often as you do. You don’t know how the hell they did it and you also don’t know why the hell they refuse to help you study now that they’ve seen your failure.

         Not the greatest friends, you think. They won’t help you study because they only have time to study their own classes and to continue partying without you, apparently. You knew you had to come to terms eventually that these people aren’t your friends. They’re just people to party with, people to have fun with, and apparently, people that will watch you struggle.

         It’s frustrating to walk home from classes by the run-down houses with booming music already playing. Without fail, every time, you wish you could be attending instead of studying. It’s even more annoying when you give up on your studies because you’re just not fucking getting it, and you probably would be fucking getting it if you were at a party talking to potential boyfriends or fuckbuddies. 

         Fairness in the world is so hard to grasp. Someone else always has it, but never you. The worst part about all of this is that you’re very aware of how lucky you actually are, you wasted away in college and allowed yourself to get this low simply because you were lucky enough to be well-liked. You prioritized the pointless things over the important things, and now you’re suffering for it. Complaining that you can’t attend parties, looking like a bore to your friends who pity and are embarrassed by you for not being able to multitask like everyone else.

         That’s right. You can’t party and study like everyone else, so maybe now it’s time to focus on the task you’d pushed aside for so long.

         Studying. Ugh.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         You don’t know Jay past the fact that he is in at least three of your classes, extremely quiet, and constantly in the library when you pass by to leave the campus. You’re a little bit ashamed to admit that the majority of people you are well-liked by are the people who are ignoring you right now. The only choice you have is to find someone that can help you catch up on all of the studies you’ve blatantly abandoned. You could go through the student center and “officially” attend tutoring sessions with someone who would likely scoff at you for not getting it, or you could find someone of your own choice to help you. 

         That’s the only reason Jay comes to mind. Again, he is in three of the four of your classes. Every semester, without fail, you’ll look for your name on the dean’s list knowing that it’ll never show up, but you have seen Jay’s name on that list more times than you care to remember. 

         Jay knows of you as well. The girl who cut in front of him in the cafeteria to grab coffee with her large group of friends, making him ten minutes late to be early for his class. The girl who loudly slammed a book down in the library and nearly gave him a heart attack, the girl who came into class stumbling and giggling with one of the guys, clearly still tipsy from the night before. 

         You are everything that Jay isn’t. You are everything he avoids when accepting friends into his life, and his interest in you doesn’t really go past the point of having a stubborn, pretty girl to look at. He is a man after all. A man who is finally away from home, surrounded by hormonal women and men who can’t see past their brain fog of sexual fantasies in class. Never towards him though, he’s usually just on the outside looking in. 

         Jay has those fantasies too, but it isn’t his focus. He is dead set on being a top student, one that people recognize on the academic end rather than the partying end of it all. So, here he is, sitting with his nose in a book, glasses sliding down every few minutes as he munches on a pack of crackers. He’s been here for three hours already and finds comfort in the silence of the library. It’s such a vast place with so many corners to hide in if someone were to come and disturb his peace. Today is no different from any other Friday, where few students choose to study and instead opt for one of the various frat parties or bar hops. 

         You wish you could be one of those people, truly, but instead, you’re making your way to the library in search of Jay. The one student who you assume may actually take you up on the offer of study sessions. You imagine his shocked face when you sit in front of him, and you try your best not to imagine a look of disgust rather than approval. You need Jay now, for the first time in your life, more than ever. His knowledge of the three out of four classes you have will surely work wonders on your GPA, you will probably have to admit how much you’d be relying on him in order for him to even consider your offer too.  

God, you hate begging.

The library is so deafeningly silent when you walk in. You can’t hear even the slightest of a whisper as you walk around and peek into the many empty study rooms and cubicles. After several minutes of searching, the anxiety bubbles up inside of you. What if he decided to do something else? Of all days? The one day where he is needed to be studying? 

Just as you turn to leave, ignoring the entire second floor of the library, you nearly walk straight into him. And by nearly, you actually do  walk directly into him. 

Books clatter to the floor, Jay sighs as he looks down without making eye contact with you. It’s not the first time he’s been walked into and it probably won’t be the last. He is forever wishing that people could just watch where they’re fucking going.

“Hey, I’m sorry–” You go to say as you lean down to help him pick up the mess, he still doesn’t look at you though. Honestly, he barely even notices you there with those airpods in his ears and eyes on the floor. 

To be fair, most people who walk into him just continue walking, so…

         When he does take note of another person helping him retrieve his things, he looks up. You’re not shocked that all he does is nod at you when he takes the book from your hands and makes his way back towards his study space. 

         In an awkward way, you follow him. You feel dumb and kind of lost in this world of books and good students. Up the stairs, towards the floor you’d not even bothered to check, Jay unintentionally leads you to his little corner that already has papers and books laid out. 

         You swallow hard when he takes his seat and looks up to see that you have followed him. Jay is quick to swipe one of his AirPods from his ears and you can kind of tell that he instantly went from relaxed to nervous.

“Uh–” You look around, feeling awkward standing there. “I was looking for you.” 

“Me?” Jay questions with a soured look on his face. He doesn’t really do it intentionally, it’s just, like, what? 

 “Why?”

“Okay, just hear me out.” You start, taking a few steps forward and inviting yourself to sit at his table. There is absolutely no arm space on this side, but that doesn’t entirely matter. You begin your pitch.

“I know it’s kind of weird, but, I’m failing.”

“That’s not weird.” Jay mocks, shaking his head and moving to put his airpod back in his ear.

“Wait! Just, please–hear me out.” You plead now, a little frustrated that he’s already refusing to help you.

         He looks around and then lets out a deep sigh. Rubbing his temples, he nods.

“I know we aren’t the type to like, help each other or whatever– but I’ve asked all of my friends, and they kind of blacklisted me…you are my last resort, I swear.” You say, begging with your eyes. “Can you please just help me study for like, one day a week?”

         His body is stiff and his face is unimpressed by your pitch. 

“An hour a week?” You adjust clapping your hands together to plead even harder. You very nearly start to grovel on the ground before him. “Jay, please. I need to get my grades up.” 

“If you had just given yourself a day a week, you wouldn’t have to be asking someone you’ve never even spoken with to help you study.” He rolls his eyes, still mocking and appearing a bit cocky at the sudden power he’s been given. Of course he only gets approached when someone needs something from him. 

 “How many classes are you failing?”

“I’m failing three classes and have a C in another–” You shamefully admit. “Just an hour a day, please.”

         Jay eyes you over, shifting a bit in his seat before letting out another sigh. 

“Finals are barely a month away.”

“I know! I’ve already got extra credit lined up so I can at least get my grades up by a letter but– I,” You look down, more ashamed than before.

“You don’t know how to actually do the extra credit, do you?” Jay finishes for you and is, for some reason, shocked when you nod. 

         He can see the panic in your eyes, and he noticed for the past week that you’d been looking incredibly tired around campus. Not the hung-over type of tired either. He’s noticed you move your seat closer to the front in one of the classes and even noted that you’re actually taking notes during your time spent there. Maybe he should help you out. If not for the fact that you genuinely seem to need it, but also maybe because he’s like, incredibly aware that he is attracted to you.

 He always has been, but that’s not the fucking point. 

“Okay, you can come study with me whenever you want then. I usually study here because I have a roommate who isn’t exactly the quietest person–” He goes to explain. 

“I have an entire apartment to myself, you can come study at my place. Really, I’ll make food and everything.” You panic, still trying to sell the idea despite him already accepting your offer. 

         Jay is a little shocked and offended that you have your own apartment, and yet you’re failing your classes. No way in hell are you paying for that yourself. This only prompts him to want to help more. Because, like? An entire apartment to study in? Where a pretty girl makes his food? 

“Okay, that can work. What days and times can I be over?” He follows up with a nonchalant nod, noting the three shared classes and the one other you’ll probably need help with. He hopes he’s already taken the outlier class, otherwise he won’t be much help in that regard. 

“You can walk home with me after those classes if you want, and we can study until you’re ready to leave?” You offer. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be every day, but–”

“We can meet up after every class and decide if you want to study or not.” Jay finishes for you yet again, and you nod with a smile. 

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask, wanting to make a mental note of keeping your end of the bargain. 

         Jay thinks hard at that because being put on the spot like this makes answering any question a bit difficult. 

“Here–” You hold out your phone. “Put your number in and you can think about it. I’ll text you so you have mine.”

 You can’t wipe the smile off of your face, the anxiety is practically dissolving from your body at the very idea of someone being willing to help you in the comfort of your own apartment.

         He, on the other hand, is a bit more anxious now. He realizes that now, he’s going to be studying with you. A girl who had never even looked at him twice during the semesters you’ve shared classes. He’s putting his number into your phone, and you’re going to be texting him, and spending time with him instead of going to the parties that he’s never invited to. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?” You ask in his silence, sending a quick text to him so that he can save your number. He nods and looks down at his books. “Don’t forget to text me what you want to eat, okay?”

         He nods again as you stand to walk away. He watches intently at the way you have a little bounce in your step and can’t help but feel his cheeks flushing. God, why is he doing this to himself? 

         Slamming his head on the desk, he, much like you, cannot stop smiling now. All thoughts of studying for the remainder of the night left his head and were replaced with his new study schedule. He thinks he will try and take it easy this weekend, specifically so he is mentally prepared. He’s only talked to you for a total of fourteen minutes and he’s already lost his ability to study and think clearly. 

If he’s lucky, the two of you will pass this semester with flying colors. There’s still that tiny part of him though, that wonders if maybe you’d find interest in him, and maybe he will fail the semester with you because, honestly, you are so distracting.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         On Monday, you sat up straight in class while eyeing the back of Jay’s head most of the time. Mostly to prepare yourself for if and when he makes a break for it. He hasn’t even texted you what he wants to eat today, and part of you wonders if he went back on his promise to you. Not that it was much of a promise in the first place, anyway.

         He was a little shocked that you weren’t the first out of the room once everyone wrapped up though. Like you, he was assuming the same thing. You’d make a fucking break for it and pretend you never approached him in the first place. After all, It was common for you to leave mid-way through class or be the first one out the door. Instead though, he finds himself proud of you. You stood there awkwardly looking at him as the room emptied out, clearly unsure of what to do or say to him.

         Jay nods your way as if to beckon you towards him. 

“You’re still wanting to study today?” He asks with a brow raised in surprise. 

All weekend he had thought about it. Thought about the possibility of it just being a joke to you, or maybe that you’d change your mind and allow yourself to flunk out like you already had been doing. His heart kind of jumps a bit noticing you looking at him like this. 

“Yeah? Wasn’t that the plan?” You ask, nudging him a bit once you get up beside him. “You didn’t text me what you wanted to eat so you’re just gonna have to eat whatever I have in the fridge, by the way.”

         Jay nods, opting to stay silent at this moment. He’s going home with you. He’s going to be seen on campus walking home with you. He’s not the sort to want attention, but this situation feels dangerously attractive to him. Especially when he takes note of how you’re probably going to look all…cozy and at home in your apartment. Like, he gets to be in your space teaching you things that you should have already known. 

         It all shouldn’t be so exciting. After all, his days are filled with the typical boring sessions of reading, writing, noting, and memorizing. It is exciting for him though. Never has he studied with someone like you, or really even gotten to talk to someone that most of the men speak to, the unreachable men no less. The ones with families that own the city, and all the houses in it.

You’re one of the unreachable women on campus, he thinks. The ones with standards based on fun, attractiveness, and chaos rather than charisma, personality, and knowledge. It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Jay to be doing this right now.

“Okay, so...” Jay drones out, avoiding eye contact with you as he packs things into his ratty backpack. “I’m not super hungry right now but–we are going to your place right?”

He needs the confirmation himself if he’s being honest. Nothing would suck more than assuming and being proved wrong.

         You nod with a smile, grabbing his hand as soon as he throws his backpack on. It isn’t intimate to you, but for him, it’s…something. Holding his hand is reserved for intimate relationships with family or girlfriends. He never holds hands.

 He’s never really gotten the chance to anyway, aside from a little cousin when they were crossing the street last summer. He can’t help but buckle in on himself in a shy sort of way as you lead him from the room and out of the building. 

         You’re rambling about all of the things you need to study. All of the snacks you could offer to him. All of the hours you wish you hadn’t wasted partying, yet, all he’s thinking about is how warm your hand feels in his. You seem to be a natural at talking to people. Touching them without a single worry in the world, it’s kind of nice, he thinks. The fact that you aren’t ashamed to be seen together with him, heading towards the place you sleep. Sometimes Jay forgets that this is college. No one actually cares who is hanging out with who unless they are in the middle of a raunchy frat party, seeing their love interest getting touched against a dirty bathroom counter. 

         He smiles to himself as he finally catches up to you and allows you to stop dragging him around. He keeps pace with you now, resting his hand as if to allow you to let go, but you don't. 

“Just around that corner–” You say,  glancing over at him and noting the shade of color his face has become. “You good?” 

         Jay nods, staying quiet and trying to force himself out of his thoughts. He glances down at your hand holding his and then back up at you on instinct. 

“Ah, sorry.” You mumble, releasing his hand and trying hard to understand that maybe you truly are too clingy with most people in your life. You think his reaction was kind of cute though, and now you’re a little determined to help him relax those stiffened shoulders. Jay can’t be as boring as he seems, right?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I have peanut butter and jelly, eggs, noodles, some leftover pizza and–”

“I’m not hungry, but If I can have some water or something, that would be cool.” Jay cuts you off, slipping off his shoes in an immaculate show of how clumsy he is. You can hear the clatter of your entire coat rack falling to the floor due to his weight leaning on it through that single task. 

“Okay–” You side eye his mess with a slight smile. “Water, got it.”

 You trail off to get him the drink, keeping a small mental note of how nervous he appears to be right now. He’s panicked, frantically trying to balance your coat rack back in place as if you hadn’t walked directly into him just the Friday before. 

“Jay, it’s just a coat rack.” You laugh with water in hand, hearing him mutter a sorry as he hangs one of your empty purses back onto it.

“Thanks.” He says now, reaching out for the drink.

         Watching his eyes go from the glass of water to your apartment, you smile at the look on his face. Such a smart guy acting so incredibly stupid the moment he’s alone in an apartment with a girl. Cute.

“Is this good?” You ask as if you’re offering a change of subject so that he doesn’t have to think about the coat rack he had just knocked over. You point over to your dining table that’s placed perfectly in a little nook against a window and look at him as he stands in place. “We can start whenever you’re ready?”

“Can you show me to the bathroom first?” Jay blurts, hyper-aware of his awkward demeanor. He needs to calm himself down before even thinking about sitting down to fucking study. 

   You point to the bathroom quickly, making your way to the table and adjusting everything so there is space for the piles of books soon to be laid on it. You watch only a little bit at how Jay makes his way over to said bathroom in a show of not-so-confident body language. He seemed kind of cocky on Friday, but today he seems to be like jelly. 

         You sit at the dining table without thinking much more of the man in your bathroom, instead, you pull out some textbooks and lay them out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         Jay stares at himself in the mirror, he can practically see the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he comes to terms with the fact that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to your apartment to study. You’re attractive. That alone is a reason in his head to avoid it, but he’s here and he’s already made a fool of himself. 

         He slaps his face a bit with some cold water and tries to will himself to stop acting like such an awkward idiot. Surely you’ll pick up on his inability to talk to women if he doesn’t get it together, right? You’re going to think he’s some weirdo, a pervert maybe, before throwing him out and avoiding him forever.

         Staring harder at himself, he waits for the color to run from his face so that way he can get out there and start the study session, but then his eyes start to wander. 

         Your bathroom is immaculately clean save for some makeup stains on the counter and a few stray hairs that must have been yanked out of your head while you attempted to brush out a night of drinking. It smells fresh and your perfectly hung towels look plush hanging against the wall. Without a thought in his head, he leans towards the towel so that he can dry his face and hands, and that’s just what he does. Except, maybe he buries his face into the towel a bit longer than he needed to, and maybe the smell of it was so astronomically sweet that he nuzzled against it even more.

         He could tell the towel had been used at least once though, solely because he could smell a scent that wasn’t the soap on the counter, nor any laundry detergent he’s aware of. Then…his eyes flick to the actual hand towel that he somehow missed, right beside it? A lace bra. The flush comes back to his face, making him feel even warmer than he did when he entered the room. Which feels like a fucking nightmare if he’s being totally honest. 

         It dawns on him again. He’s in your apartment, smelling your towels, and staring at your bra. Coming to the bathroom in an attempt to calm down has done nothing more than make things worse, and the only option he has now is to stumble out of the bathroom hoping you assume he was in here doing number two rather than planting his face into a towel where you dry off your naked body. 

         Mumbling to himself, Jay prepares himself to face you. Sure, you probably see nothing out of the norm if he does well and hides the fact that he’s hyper-sensitive just for being in your space, then again, Jay has never been the best at playing pretend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You offer him a bright smile once he finally makes his way back into your living space and seats himself at the table. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with you, bashfully pulling his own books out of his bag with shaking fingers. 

“Are you okay? You sure you don’t want a snack or something?” You look at him, head tilting at him in concern. 

Jay finally looks at you and notes how comfortable you seem while he feels like he’s internally falling apart. There shouldn’t be any fucking issue in his head when it comes to this situation, but here he is, panicking because a pretty girl is in front of him. 

He feels so dumb, so obvious, so embarrassed. Yeah, maybe he should eat something, at least so he can buy some time to focus on something else before he starts stuttering through your studies. At this rate, all you’re going to learn about today is how awful Jay is around women. 

“Maybe I should eat, yeah–” He says in a small voice, still staring at the books as he places them on the table.

“Come look in my kitchen, we can eat something together?” You offer, reaching toward his hand. 

He pulls back from your touch and tries to play it off casually like he was just reaching for a pencil, but you didn’t miss the fact that his hands were cold and shaky.

Taking note, it starts to dawn on you. You’ve dealt with men like him before, and it was always an interesting situation. To check your theory, you rise from the chair and lean over the table, being sure to squish whatever cleavage you have visible to make it more visible to him. 

“Salty or sweet?” You ask, watching his eyes intently and the way they struggle to reach your face. Score one for you, Jay is definitely a man above all. Luckily for him, you have lots of experience in that field, while he appears to have very little in the field of women. 

“W-what?” He drones out, pulling his eyes away from you in an attempt to hide the way his face immediately flushed. 

“The snacks? Savory or sweet?” You laugh, propping yourself back from the table and hopping into the kitchen, checking behind you to see if he follows.

He does stand to follow, but by the time you round the corner, he isn’t behind you like you figured he would be. Peeping your head around the corner, you watch as he holds his hands in front of his groin, looks down at himself, and then lets out a deep sigh. You then watch as he adjusts himself in his pants, uncomfortably hiding a semi-hard on so that he could come into the kitchen without suspicion. 

By this point, you’ve already decided that studying will very likely not be part of today’s schedule. He wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing like this, right? You should help him, right?

“Took you long enough.” You joke as he appears in the kitchen, turning to look at him and intentionally trailing your eyes down his body just to see if you can see any sort of bulge. He’s safe though because he apparently must have skills in hiding his arousal during the worst times. 

Jay, on the other hand, can already tell that your shift in mood is intensely different compared to before he went to the bathroom. Twice now you’ve been blatant towards him and it is not helping him at all right now. Is he reading it wrong because he’s very obviously horny right now? Were you really trying to dangle your breasts in front of him like that? Are you really checking him out right now? 

“Sorry–” He looks down. “I– uh, I dropped something.” He offers as an excuse, uncomfortably trying to shift from your view and avoid eye contact. 

“Sure.” You say with a roll of your eyes, knowing full well that he was hiding his cock. “I want something sweet. Sounds good?” You change the subject, reaching out and running your fingers down his arm. 

He swallows hard, stiffening his shoulders and nodding to you. Without hesitation, you let your fingers stay against him for a few seconds longer, keeping eye contact with him before turning and opening a cupboard. 

“Peanut butter crackers, cereal, and oatmeal.” You deadpan, slamming the cupboard and stepping to the fridge. “Pudding.” Then you open the freezer. “Popsicles, and ice cream.”

Jay just stands there when you close the doors to the fridge and look at him in question. He could opt for the crackers but his throat is already dry enough. Choking right now would be even more humiliating. Cereal could work but that would be embarrassing too, for some reason. Oatmeal is an option, solely for how disgusting it looks, surely it would tame his boner. 

But, popsicles? Hell no.

“Grab whatever you want, I'm eating a popsicle.” You say, raising a brow and throwing open the freezer door again to take your pick.

Of course, it’s  intentional. It’s fun to see his eyes light up at the very idea of seeing you eat a popsicle, and even more fun to imagine how flustered he’s going to be in mere minutes.

Jay looks to the floor and heads towards your fridge, also opting for a popsicle despite his very recent internal protest. Mostly so you don’t think he’s a pervert when he inevitably sees you eat it. But also, like, just in case you really are trying to flirt with him right now, at least his lips will taste sweet too. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had expected Jay to get flustered, and boy did he. What you didn’t expect though, was to become flustered yourself by the image of Jay’s tongue darting over sweet ice, and then over his own lips to suck up the melted and sticky juice. The only image in your head right now is the idea of if he would lick his lips like that if you were to spread your legs for him. Would he lick up your mess on his face, chasing the flavor the same way he’s doing right now?

A dull ache begins to spread throughout your body as you watch him. His eyes still avoid you but you manage to catch him a few times. Each time he makes eye contact with you, your gaze shoots to his lap just to see if he’s gotten hard enough for his cock to leave its tucked position in his waistband. 

Jay is hyper-aware now too, with the way you’re staring and almost leaving your popsicle unattended as he eats his own. He feels confused, like? Are you doing what he was actively avoiding doing to you? Jesus, you really are kind of a whore, god.

By the time the popsicles are finished, your fingers are sticky from allowing it to drip down the stick. You make a point to suck each of your fingers innocently, looking under your lashes at him for split seconds as you begin to shuffle through the papers on the table. 

“So–” You say, popping one finger out of your mouth and inserting another. “Can we start here? I need to have a paper written on at least one topic on this list and have no idea how to find a good source to read from.”

Jay hears and sees you in tunnel vision right now, but he manages to catch the ass end of your sentence and begins to try and focus on the studies at hand. Still watching you suck your fingers into your mouth, he clears his throat and places his own popsicle stick onto the table, pretending he doesn’t wish your tongue would lick him like that.

“I wrote mine based on this topic, and I found a lot of good sources for it. I don’t think our professor would think too hard about us choosing the same subject–” 

“Yeah, especially because it’s me. They’d never guess you’re in my apartment right now.” You laugh, smirking over at him. 

“I would’ve never guessed either–” Jay says without thinking, barely processing how embarrassing he is before you squint at him with a wider smile. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, raising a brow and leaning forward. “Why’s that?” 

Jay tries to look around but now can’t seem to force his eyes away from you. A much different circumstance compared to before when he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. There’s a connection here, he can feel it. You’re definitely coming onto him and you have been for the past however long he’s been here.

“You’re kind of out of my league, don’t you think?” He laughs more at himself than he does the situation, and to you, he honestly looks pitiful after saying that. It’s incredibly attractive to you in the way he seems to praise you for being a failure simply because he’s attracted to you. At least, that’s the case if you’re reading him right.

“Who said someone like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two?” You have a smile in your voice, and it comforts him, but that comfort is shot down when you stand on your feet and walk over to him. “Who says I’m out of your league?” You ask again, watching him scoot back with his chair as you come closer.

You prop yourself against the table, essentially blocking him from his books and papers. You look down at him now, dipping your head in a playful way. “I don’t think I’m out of your league.” 

Jay notes how you’re between him and the table now. You look comfortable leaning in front of him like this, and when his eyes trail up to your face all his body can do is give in. He looks at you through large eyes, the overhead light is sparkling through them at you. 

In that instant, you can see his embarrassment fill his body because he’s no longer resisting the urge to be himself. He’s staring at you as if you could be a god and saying nothing in response to your words. 

“If anything, Jongie–” You soothe him, grabbing one of his hands and smiling at the way his pen immediately falls out of his grip. “You’re out of my league.” 

He blinks up at you, soaking in the words and not yet understanding in full what you’re doing until he feels warmth enveloping the entirety of his hand and wrist. 

“Do you know how lucky I am that you’re here right now?” You ask him, basking in the way you can see his breath get caught in his throat. “How lucky I am that you’re not only smart but hot too?”

He dips his head at this, a bashful show of your words having an impact on him. He hides his face briefly against his arm and then he realizes–

“Is this okay?” You ask, holding his hand in place as you begin to move your hips against his palm.

Jay watches the way you’ve managed to pull his hand out and plant it between your legs, all so you could grind against it without so much as a warning. He’s not against it though, if anything, his head is shot back to reality and he’s immediately back to glancing around the room and avoiding the scene in front of him.

His palm is against your literal, dampening panties, and all he can think to say right now is, “You could write your thesis on human connection and its effects on the brain.” 

You smile at his attempt to continue to study through this moment.

“I could,” You say with a deeper voice than before, feeling the way his hand stays relaxed in your grasp as you grind against it. “Or we could think about how your brain is being affected right now?”

Jay groans, feeling the warmth of your wet beginning to seep through the fabric, and honestly, it is happening so fast that he’s sure it would be more embarrassing if he walked out now. 

“How are you feeling?” You reword your question towards him, intentionally swiveling your hips so that you can position his fingers into your underwear. 

“You’re warm.” Jay chokes out, eyes now zoning in on your legs slightly spread in front of him. 

You let out a small laugh at this, pulling a bit on his arm to pull him closer, but he doesn’t compute it at all. 

“Do you like it?” You ask again, this time slipping his fingers into you. You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes back, fucking yourself gently against his fingers before you look at him.

He’s nodding, probably more thankful now that you’d worn a skirt today rather than pants. He didn’t allow himself to take note of your attire, because if he did, he would have made even more of a fool of himself. But he’s nodding now, watching the way you hold his arm in place and slide his fingers in and out of you. 

His silence is louder than his words could be right now, you think. You can feel him straighten his fingers inside of you, you can practically see him salivate at the very idea of how you’re using him right now. You’re not done though, no, no. He’s far too sweet like this, but you want to hear words.

Gently, you pull your hips back effectively slipping his fingers out of you. There, you lift his arm and examine your wetness against his fingers. You smile again, eyes now adjusting to his face rather than his wet fingers. 

Jay watches as you guide his fingers to his lip, and without a second thought, he opens his mouth to taste you against them. He licks circles around each of the two fingers, closing his eyes almost instantly so that he can relish the experience.

He no longer cares how awkward he must seem sitting here like this, letting you do all the work.

“Do you like the taste too?” You ask, releasing his hand and watching how he continues to suck his fingers. 

“Mhm–” Jay groans with his closed mouth around the digits, making damn sure to suck every bit off.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” You compliment him this time, tearing your eyes from him and slipping your panties down your legs. You turn yourself over so that you’re now bent over the table and you ignore the corner of one of the textbooks poking against your ribs, all in favor of what sound Jay will make when he opens his eyes. 

“You can taste more, if you want.” You offer, lifting to look behind you at the way his fingers drop from his mouth and his eyes immediately zone in on your bare pussy displayed for him under your hiked-up skirt. 

He does let out a whimper, one that seemed entirely desperate to do just that for you but–he doesn’t move. He just stares, soaking in the words you’re saying, memorizing each fold and dip in your glistening pussy.

You don’t intend to wait though. Reaching behind you, you grab the back of his head by his hair and guide his face to you. The way you can hear his chair tip over as he falls to his knees makes you quiver a bit before him, and you’re almost surprised to not just feel a face against you. It appears that Jay does know what he’s doing. 

He instantly jumps into action, loving the feeling of your hand in his hair basically telling him to do it. Giving him that green light, letting him.

You can feel his tongue exploring and his other hand reaching to lift your skirt entirely over your ass. His tongue is soft, warm, wet, and so entirely eager to lick and suck every inch of you. It’s not until he starts allowing his moans to vibrate into your flesh that you hike one of your legs up and open your cunt against his working tongue more.

Guiding him by his hair still, you press his face harshly into you with little to no fight for air from him, and you’re loving it. Loving the way he whines for more when his tongue reaches the furthest limit, loving even more when he finally reaches his hands up to your pussy and spreads it out for himself.

He isn’t even thinking at this moment, just tasting and feeling you guide his tongue as if this is what you wanted all along. The thought alone of someone like you wanting to fuck his tongue like this sets his cock on fire in so many ways. He’s so hard right now that it hurts to think about it at all. Jay doesn’t give a single fuck about how pathetic he must sound to you right now, whimpering and panting against you as if this was the only sweet thing in your apartment he wanted to eat anyway. 

You hear a clatter to the floor, knowing for a fact that he’s knocked his glasses off of his face from the angle in which he skewed his neck in order to fuck his tongue into you. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now, because goddamn he’s eating you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He’s impressively messy and loud with it too, making you feel as if you must taste like the sweetest thing on earth to him. 

For some reason, thinking back to all of the non-sexual situations you’d passively seen Jay in? It turns you on even more. The big-brained student who is constantly making straight As and never going out to parties eats pussy like this? Eats your pussy like this? Better than half of the men you’d already been with? Jay doesn’t miss a single centimeter of it,  and you can tell he’s focusing on you more than he has ever focused on his homework or studies before. 

You feel so deeply needed at this moment by Jay that all you can do is let out a desperate moan for him. One so that he knows he’s not the only one utterly stunned by the turn of events, but also because you’re fucking loving what he’s doing to you.

With each moan, Jay picks up his pace, using those same two fingers and spreading your cunt out impossibly wider just so he can attempt to bury his tongue deeper into the messy, wet heat you offer. He’s spreading you apart so well that it almost pains you to move without the fear of being torn open by his tongue alone. Your clit has barely even been reached but he still managed to make you feel sensitive to the point of wanting to beat your fists on the table out of sheer frustration for not approaching him sooner. 

Not only can he help you pass your classes, but he surely could make you feel like a fucking queen on top of it all, licking you open, up and down, as if he were born and trained for you and you alone? Insane.

“You’re so–” You groan out, releasing his hair from your grip but pressing your ass out more so that you can feel him slip his tongue back to your clit with impossible reach. He continues that, sliding his tongue from your clit to your entrance, dipping in and swirling the muscle before going back to your clit. All while he’s moaning, groaning, and panting against you. 

It’s too much, he’s so incredibly eager that you’re honestly too sensitive to let him keep going. You hate it when you pull your hips forward and lift from the table. Your legs are shaking when you do this, and shaking even more when you turn to face him and lean against the table again. 

“How–?” You look down at him in pleasant surprise, watching him lick his lips much like you hoped he would. “How are you so good at this?” 

Jay is stunned by your question because in all fairness, he’s only ever eaten a girl out once and like, it wasn’t that great because she made him stop within like a minute. He wasn’t really thinking about what to do with you though, or how to do it. He just…did it. That’s all. So obsessed with the taste and smell of you to the point he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He’d still be licking you right now if you didn’t move away. 

“I–don’t know.” He shamefully admits, nonchalantly moving his hands to his pants and unbuttoning them. Not to fuck you or anything, mostly just to release his cock from the chokehold of the denim rubbing against him. 

“You’re lying.” You deadpan, running your hand between your legs and quivering the moment your fingers run over your swollen clit. “There’s no way you haven’t practiced doing this.” You gasp, looking at him as if no other man exists. 

He shakes his head, looking up at you from the floor with innocent eyes. His lips are wet, his eyes are hooded, his hair sticking up from your fingers guiding him– it’s a lot to see him like this when you’ve only ever seen him as that goody-two-shoes student who doesn’t know how to have fun. Clearly, Jay knows how to have fun.

Your gaze on him makes him feel more bashful as he looks down to the floor, feeling embarrassed that you’re praising a complete amateur at this. 

Using your leg, you nudge him.

“You did all of that and didn’t even touch yourself?” You ask in curiosity, noting how he had only just now undone his pants to relieve pressure. “Let me see it.” You say again, almost demanding as you hop up on the table and spread your legs even more.

Frantic at your tone of voice, Jay stumbles to his feet and pushes his pants down to his thighs. His cock springs out and stands erect in front of you. You could stare all day, honestly. Jay, of all people? He’s the one with a cock this big? He’s the one with a size that could make you feel as if you’re being split in half? Well, fuck.

“God.” You comment, mouth falling open at the way it twitches in mid-air. “All of the girls would be fucking swooning, Jay, really.” You get a bit flustered yourself because only now do you understand who you just seduced and what he’s got to offer outside of brains. 

In all of his shyness, Jay hides his face from you again despite his cock out in all of its glory. Your mouth could honestly start watering if he hadn’t just eaten you out to the point of needing him to stop. Meaning, your throat is too dry right now to start drooling. 

Without another thought, you pull your shirt and bra off all in one go. No way in hell is he leaving without fucking you stupid with a cock like that. Absolutely no fucking way  would you let this go to waste.

“When’s the last time you’ve done anything with a girl?” You ask now, reaching for his arm and pulling his gaze back towards you, now almost completely naked save for your skirt hiked up to your waist. 

Jay stares at you again, much like he did when you spread your legs in front of him, this time zoning in on the way your nipples are erect and begging for his mouth to be put to use again. He nearly forgets that you’re talking to him because of the way you’ve presented yourself to him. The reality is right in front of his face, but he still wonders if this must be a dream.

“I–um– right out of high school before she broke up with me,” He says in a lazy voice, slightly raspy. It sounds as if it doesn’t even matter to him because he is so focused on you in front of him. “I’ve only had sex two times.”

“Aw–” You pitifully look at him. “What a waste, you’re such a pretty boy.” You coo, wiggling your hips as if to entice his cock to make its way towards you. “You’ve got the brains and the cock for it. You must feel so neglected.”

All he does is nod, because yes, he does feel fucking neglected, partly because he let it happen and mostly because he knows he doesn’t know how to talk to girls. Right now, Jay could genuinely start crying if you keep talking to him like this though. He can’t tell if you’re mocking him or being genuine, but the only thing he wants to do is bury his cock so deeply inside of you that all you can do is moan out mantras of how pretty he is again. He wants to hear you moan over how much time has been wasted without his cock inside of you, how badly you’d want him again and again after this. 

You can see his facial expressions change every few seconds and to be fair, your body yearns to be filled. With the way he is looking at you, there’s no way he doesn’t want to.

“Wanna fuck me, Jongie?” You ask, realizing that you much prefer calling him this rather than his full name because he seems to lean directly into it. 

“God,” He sighs out, hanging his head to look at the way his cock still stands painfully erect throughout the conversation. “Can I?” He asks now, making eye contact with you through pleading eyes.

You reach out for him, grabbing his waist and pressing his cock directly against your core. You lean your head back a bit to look at him and the way his eyes sear straight through your own. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks are rosy, and his lips are glistening. You lick against them, and the way he immediately starts to kiss you makes you think he’s a liar. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his mouth regardless of where it is. His tongue presses into your mouth so beautifully that you genuinely could argue that this man has only ever had sex twice. 

Maybe he’s a natural? 

Jay knows exactly when to grind his cock between your folds, knows exactly when to pull back to kiss your neck, and knows exactly how to lean you back with his hand protecting the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam against the table. 

He slips his cock so beautifully as he trails his kisses to your tits too, suckling gently against one of your nipples before he nearly can’t stand it anymore. He’s in his own world, barely recognizing that he’s not the only one experiencing this right now.

With an eager hand, Jay grabs his cock and presses it directly into you without waiting any longer. He isn’t slow or gentle with it. You can feel how desperate he is solely because of the way he can’t seem to fathom taking it slow. He doesn’t let you adjust, no. The second the head of that thick cock slips in he’s slamming in. All the way, forcing a yelp from your throat and a tight grip to his back.

He’s lost himself in the moment and you’re loving it. Loving the way his tongue picks up against your nipples, and the way there is no rhythm or rhyme to his thrusts. His size alone is enough for you, and you can admit to loving every single push and pull his body is offering.

The room is silent save for his whimpers, your gasps, and the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. You’re quick to wrap a leg around his waist so that when he presses in again, you can force him to stay in place, if just to let him genuinely feel what it’s like to have a pussy clenching around him.

“You feel it?” You groan out, feeling his teeth pinch against your nipple and sending a sharp pain down your body. 

He nods frantically, pulling your nipple with his lips as he does it. You can tell he’s drooling, wetting your chest in such an embarrassing way, but he’s so–Jay. He’s Jay. This is Jay.

You watch his face and the way he winces with each pulse of your hole quivering around the sheer size of him, and you coo out at him when his cock twitches in response. As if you can handle yourself right now, as if he can too.

Neither of you can comprehend the pleasure.

“Can’t believe I get to be your third.” You sing out. “You’re so good, so–”

“S-stop talking, fuck-” Jay calls out in a broken and choked gasp, feeling too turned on by the way you speak. He can’t help it when he forces his hips to move against the pressure of your leg trying to keep him in place. This time he fucks at a quicker pace. His mouth falls open against your breast and his hands shoot to your waist as he pulls himself up and opens his eyes. 

He watches the way your sticky cunt coats him as he slides in and out of you, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that you feel he could be bruising you. 

You’re so in awe of him losing complete control that you want nothing more than to cum with him inside of you. You quickly reach your hand down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive spot almost to the point that you could start crying out at how painful it truly is at this moment. You’ve never been this sensitive for a man, and yet, you’re coming undone beneath him and nearly losing as much control as he has. 

A mess of moans and groans is filling the room as Jay chases his high, and you are at the point that you want to say the nicest and dirtiest things to him out of sheer arousal. So you do, you talk, and you talk. Whispers of “girls would die to be fucked by you,” turn to screams of, “yeah, fuck Jongie, just like that!” 

It wasn’t until you moaned out, “Cum with me, now, Jongie, I can’t hold it–” when Jay ’s hips stuttered and his eyes closed tightly in a frustrated groan. “Stop–” He grunts, hips pressing impossibly hard against you. To the point that you scoot up on the table. “Stop, I’m–” He groans again, attempting to pull out so that he can release against your pulsing and empty pussy.

But you don’t let him.

Your legs hold him in place as you release your clit and pull yourself up on your arms just to grab against his neck and pull him down with you against the table. 

“Cum in me.” You nearly demand, holding his face so that he can’t look away from you.

You watch the way his pupils dilate more at the words and you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you. Then? His pupils are gone. He’s rolling his eyes back now, looking so fucking beautiful while doing it.

Jay’s eyebrows fall much like his mouth does when he cums. His hips are frantic but his face looks calm, and not a single sound releases from his lips. His breath is caught in his throat with each twitch, shooting ropes into you so deeply that you feel each wave of his pleasure hitting your cervix. 

  You’re very quick to rub your clit again, harsh and rough circles being amplified by the way his abdomen adds pressure to your hand with each push of his cock in you. It sends you over edge so fast, even he feels the clench, choking out each spurt of his remaining orgasm. 

You grab onto him harshly now, without a thought in your head besides kissing him. He kisses you back, realizing that despite having sex before, this may be the first time he’s ever made a girl cum. It’s certainly the first time he’s ever felt his cock being tugged by the walls of a pussy as it works itself through an orgasm, anyway.

Crazy thing is…he’s not done. Like, he can’t stop cumming. Lasting entirely far too long and far past sensitivity. Jay opens his eyes to look at you when you’re reaching the end of your own orgasm, all while he’s still filling you up, and even feeling his load bubble out from around him with each tight thrust. Your voice is beautifully raspy, and the way you hold onto him makes him feel like you should never let go. 

Upon his ears popping and finally emptied, he genuinely feels the mess between the two of you. Quickly, he pulls back and notes that the hem of his shirt is absolutely fucking soaked. In an attempt to take a small step back in order to remove himself from you, he nearly trips over his pants that had fallen to his ankles.

“Oh.” You laugh, wincing as you feel his cock leave you empty. “Probably should have undressed you.” Your eyes sparkle at the large damp spot, nearly making his shirt entirely see-through from just how soaked it really is. 

Jay steps out of his pants silently and just kind of stands there awkwardly, watching the cum spill from you. Then panic spreads across his face. 

“Um,” He croaks out, voice cracking almost immediately. “I– I couldn’t pull out…I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to.” You soothe him, noting how he’s right back to his awkward and shy persona the moment he’s finished fucking you. “It’s fine, I’m protected” You confirm for him, just to see the relief replace that panic.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So–” You comment, looking down at the wrinkled papers in front of you. “You really expect me to try and write at least 1200 words tonight?” 

Jay tilts his head at you, sitting with a blanket covering his entire body as his clothes go through the cycles of a wash. “If we hadn’t gotten off track, you could already be almost done with it.” 

“God, you are such a fucking bore.” You laugh, shivering at the cold air hitting your bare skin. “I’m literally naked right now and you’re making me do this right now?” 

“Finish your paper and we can talk about that. Besides, I kind of need to recover for more than thirty minutes from that, you know? I’m sensitive.” He shoots back, not afraid to sound as embarrassing as he truly is now. 

To his surprise, you nod with a cheeky smirk. Promising you any amount of him after what happened was enough to force your focus on your school work for now at least. Just because he did it once doesn’t mean he will always want to fuck stupid girls. If anything, Jay deserves someone who respects his work ethic and need to help others right? The huge cock is just a bonus when you think about it.

The sweat pooled between your back and Jay’s chest would’ve been disgusting in any instance other than this one. With both of your clothes discarded somewhere on the floor and his chest pressed flush against your back, you, quite frankly, didn’t give a flying fuck about anything else.

Jay hovered over you; his arms parallel to your face as he fiddled with his phone on the windowsill. You just sat there, patient as ever and admiring your boyfriend on the camera. You tried to sit still, but, fuck it, you were horny. Goddamn that gorgeous man.

This was almost routine at this point—Jay recording you. He was protective and easily provoked with fits of jealousy, so it was contradictory. Wouldn’t someone so hellbent on making sure everyone knew you were his want to keep your sex life a secret? Well, sure, in a sense. It wasn’t like he was posting these videos for the world—not at all. He was just sending them to his groupchat, obviously.

You couldn’t remember the first time this happened, but for some reason, it didn’t bother you. You weren’t stupid. You noticed Heeseung’s wandering eyes that always landed on your chest, you weren’t oblivious when it came to Sunghoon trying to show off his gym progress, and there was no way Jake wasn’t even a little bit conscious when he’d drape his body over your own at the bar. But the weirdest part? Jay never cared.

Your boyfriend would’ve pulled you possessively close and thrown a mean look over his shoulder had it been anyone other than his friends acting like this. You’d thought about it a lot—what the difference was in response, and you finally came up with your conclusion. 

Jay got off on it.

Jay simply loved knowing his friends were so enamored with you that they probably jerked off to your Instagram account. He loved knowing he was the one that got to fuck you—not them; loved knowing that he was the one splitting you open on his cock, he was the one tasting your delicious pussy, he was the one making you cum and cry and beg for more. 

And yeah, his friends talked about it. His friends mentioned how hot you were, cornered Jay into giving them details about the sex, everything. Quick comments of, “How tight is she,” and even, “How does she look when she cums—fuck, I bet she sounds so hot.” And you knew, though you pretended you didn’t.

So, when one night of disgustingly passionate sex after a night out with Jake and Heeseung eyefucking you was coming to an end, Jay asked if he could record. You said yes, he pressed the button, and after five minutes of slow, sensual strokes, you came around Jay with a loud cry and soft whimpers to accompany your clenches.

“I’m sending this to the guys,” he said as you two started drifting off.

You just laughed in response and said “Do it, I wanna see what they say.”

And after that night, it became routine. Jay didn’t always record the two of you, maybe once every few months. But the knowledge that the camera was on and his friends would be watching turned him on more than he’d like to admit. Jay liked to rub it in their faces. He liked to say I’m the one who gets to fuck her pussy, not you without actually saying it.

Tonight was different; tonight had a purpose. 

“Fuck,” you felt his muscles flex beneath you. You reached up and grabbed Jay’s bicep, a soft moan slipping past your lips; you were getting impatient. “I don’t like the angle, it’s pissing me off.”

Jay grabbed the phone from the windowsill and put it in your hands. He adjusted your arms, making sure your face and chest were visible. The only part of himself on camera was his chest and shoulders, but he got cut off at the neck. Jay pressed a few kisses on your neck, wet and open mouthed, as his hands found themselves on your waist. He stroked your skin, soft and lovingly before giving it a quick squeeze.

“Wanna press record for me, baby?” He murmured into your neck. You nodded, hands shaking as your fingers found the red button on his phone. Jay’s hands splayed themselves over your stomach, the tips of his fingers dangerously close to your pussy. You were wet—so wet—with anticipation that the mere suggestion of Jay touching you made you impossibly wetter.

“They can’t see you,” you breathed out.

Jay chuckled. His fingers found your clit as they rubbed soft circles onto the bud. Your back arched up off his chest and a moan fell from your kiss-swollen lips. “It’s okay—they know who’s fucking you.” 

Jay continued touching you, and you just stared into the camera. You made pouty faces and gave it soft winks and smiles as though you were testing out angles for a selfie or admiring your fresh makeup. Every now and again, when Jay would rub your clit just right, your mouth would fall open or your face would twist with pleasure. You’d catch it on the screen, and a soft blush would rest across your cheeks with a shy smile across your lips.

“Tell them what’s happening,” Jay whispered. His fingers picked up the pace; you internally cursed him because you knew he did it on purpose—knew he wanted to hear your voice quiver and shake while you addressed his friends.

“Uhm,” you began, a shy giggle slipping past you as you moaned. “Wha,” you squeezed your eyes shut, “Whad’you want me to tell them?”

“What you told me,” Jay’s voice was low and sensual. You could hear him fine, but the video only picked it up in the distance, although the viewer could hear him clearly. “What you want me to do.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his words. Right. That. “Oh,” you bite your lip as Jay picks up his pace again before quickly slowing down. His fingers move along your swollen bud slowly now, large circles that make you shake with want. “I told Jay that,” you hesitate a bit, staring at yourself on the screen with big eyes.

Jay comes into view now, hooking his chin over your shoulder. He admires the two of you on screen and a sly smirk paints his sharp features. Jay licks his lips and chuckles before he latches onto your neck. He nips and sucks your skin, making you jump each time he makes contact with a new area. “C’mon, use your words,” he says, “Tell ‘em what you told me—don’t get shy now.”

You swallow thickly before nodding. “I kinda want him to be,” you hesitate again, your voice growing smaller. “Like, rough with me.” 

“Like what?”

A whine slips past you as you purse your lips into a pout. Of course, he’s doing this. Jay likes to act all macho when the camera’s on, likes to humiliate you because he knows it’s what his friends get off to. 

“Like, slap me a bit, be a lil’ rough—not too much, though! I don’t wanna hurt.”

“Y’know I won’t hurt you, baby.”

You nod again. Your lip is between your teeth once more and you will yourself to keep talking. “Fuck me harder than usual—y’know? I jus’ kinda wonder what it feels like.”

“Yeah,” he’s talking to the camera now, “Figured I’d show you boys what it’s like to throw her around.” A wicked smirk takes over him once more as he removes himself from your neck and focuses on the camera. Jay grabs the phone from you and puts it on the windowsill. He fiddles with it again, obviously unhappy with the angle. Jay clicks his tongue, ultimately deciding it’ll do.

The camera shows more now. It shows your completely naked body and how you’re sitting on the bed, back against Jay’s chest and legs open for them to see you dripping. The angle also shows Jay’s fingers back on your pussy. They rub slow circles on your clit once more, and with your hands free you take the opportunity to grab onto Jay’s biceps. Your eyes are screwed shut, mouth hung open as soft pants slip out. Jay kisses your shoulder once, twice, before he removes his hands and brings them to your waist.

Jay scooches back from you and hooks his arms under your armpits. He hoists you up until you’re sitting on your knees before he places his hand on the small of your back. “Bend over for me,” he commands, and of course, you comply.

You let Jay’s hand guide you down - face first into the sheets. Your cheek is pressed into the cloth when you feel Jay grab your hands. He binds the two with the fingers of just one of his hands while the other lands a sharp smack across your ass. Immediately, you feel the sting from his hand, yet you still moan. The sound surprises you, but not Jay. No, Jay expected you to like it—he knows you too well. 

He holds your wrists behind your back and soothes the red print with his hand. Your thighs clench together, and he notices. 

“C’mon, don’t hide from me,” he coos. Your pussy oozes arousal and you feel Jay drag his finger up your slit. Your hips move on their own, pushing back towards him for some kind of relief. Jay clicks his tongue, gathering the wetness onto his fingers before pulling away.

He leans towards the camera and spreads his fingers apart. The scene is grotesque; your slick strings together as his fingers spread, wetness visibly dripping down their slender form all for the phone to see. Jay makes eye contact with the camera, smirking while he brings his fingers into his mouth. The man laps at them—starved. He moans and sighs in pleasure, eyes screwed shut as he relishes in your taste.

He pulls away, examining your position. Jay leans forward, licks a thick stripe up your pussy, and lands another sharp slap, this time on your pussy. You twitch and cry out, tears prickling into your eyes.

Jay chuckles before shoving two of his fingers inside of you—rough and unapologetic with no warning. He pumps his digits in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. There’s no intention of slowing down or showing you any signs of mercy. The squelchy sounds of your pussy are obscene—the sound bouncing off the walls all around the two of you.

“Yeah, look at that—fuck. You’re sucking them in, baby,” Jay leans forward and kisses your pussy, lips attaching to your clit as he suckles the swollen bud. Your whines join the rest of the absurd sounds, putting on a show for the camera.

Jay curls his fingers perfectly, right at the spot he knows drives you mad. You let out a particularly loud moan, and that seemed to be Jay’s cue. He picks up the pace, slamming his fingers in and out of you, abusing the spongy spot inside of your pussy. The palm of his hand smacks against your ass with every thrust, the sound of skin on skin now loud and obscene.

You clench around him, the whines of his name now accompanied with soft pants. Jay knows you’re getting close, and so without a second thought, he pulls his fingers away. Whimpers fall from your lips, tears coming to your eyes once more at the loss of contact.

“Jay,” you cry.

Jay coos at you, sucking his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean. He chuckles at you, almost mocking your state. “It’s okay, baby. Ion’ want you to cum too fast.”

You whine again, pushing your ass back in hopes he’ll give you something. Jay responds to your action with a smack, his hand rubbing the red skin as he presses a kiss to it. Jay cups himself through his boxers, palming his erection as he lets out a groan of relief. His cock is already hard and leaking precum, a wet patch on the front of his underwear signaling he can’t wait much longer.

He pulls his cock out, pumping himself as he stares at your position. Your hole clenches around nothing, oozing arousal. Jay screws his eyes shut, mouth hung open as he fucks himself with his hand. 

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses when he ceases his motions. Jay scoots closer to you, lining his tip with your hole. You whine at the sudden contact, pushing back against him in hopes of getting him inside you faster. Jay doesn’t think twice before spanking you again, this time not offering any comfort.

“Fuck, you guys are missing out,” he speaks to the camera, his smirk coming back. “Tip’s barely in and she’s already tight as fuck.” Jay pushes into you about two inches before settling. You’re tighter than ever. His chest rises and falls as he tries to steady his breathing, but fuck, you feel so good. It’s all overwhelming, even to him.

Jay settles his hands on your hips, snapping his hips forward as he buries another couple inches into you. You feel so full, and he’s still not even done. That’s what you love about your boyfriend’s dick - he’s so big that even half feels like you’re going to fucking die. He hardly ever uses his whole length, but when he does - it’s heaven.

You begin to rock back onto him, a silent signal that you’re ready for him to start. Jay clicks his tongue before letting out a sigh, “Patience, baby.”

You whine at his words, pouting against the sheets. Jay doesn’t wait long before giving you what you want, however. Quickly, he starts his thrusts. Rough and fast, not letting up. He brings your hips back to meet his thrusts, your whole body limp and pliable under his magnificent hands. 

You’re being fucked like a stupid doll. Back and forth, back and forth, it doesn’t stop. The smacks that ring out through the room as your ass bounces off his pelvis are loud, but it only eggs him on. Jay hit the spot that makes you see stars, and you cry out louder than you have tonight. 

Your hands find purchase in the sheets around you, desperately trying to anchor your body from the damn near abusing pace Jay has set. Soft breaths are punched out of you with every thrust; Jay’s own grunts and groans are raw and full of need. 

Jay slows his movements down when he fists a handful of your hair. He pulls on it and drags your body up; back flush against his chest as you’re pulled onto your knees. You stare at yourself on camera; nose red and raw, eye makeup smudged with tears, drool collecting around the corners of your mouth. Jay keeps his hold on your hair with one hand and grabs your breast with his other, manhandling the mound of flesh.

“Look at them,” he says to you. You nod at him, eyes remaining focused on his phone. “Tell ‘em how you feel.”

Your lips quiver as you try to find your words, but you simply can’t. Your eyes drift down to your pussy visible on the screen - split open on Jay’s cock and dripping in an insane manner. Jay notices, removing his hand from your chest and bringing it to your pussy. He spreads your lips open, showcasing your pretty pussy to his friends.

A possessive smile spreads across his face, “Her pussy looks so good split open like this, huh?” You moan at his touch and words, which just gives him the confidence to keep going. “She wouldn’t look nearly as good on any of you guys, though.”

His fingers find your clit, giving it slow, languid rubs while Jay leans towards your neck. His lips find your sweaty skin, latching on and leaving open mouthed kisses all over. His tongue darts out, licking up a bead of sweat as he enjoys the salty taste. 

“She only likes to fuck guys with big dicks, right, babe?”

You let out a laugh of disbelief that quickly morphs into a moan. 

“Answer me,” he whispers into your neck.

You nod, “Mhm.”

“Mhm? C’mon, be a big girl and use your words. I know they’re in there, somewhere.”

“Ye,” you’re interrupted by a moan, “yeah - yes.”

Jay smirks. He releases his grip on your hair, letting you crash down onto the mattress beneath him. Jay resumes his pace. His cock is splitting you open—you barely had time to adjust before he set the speed. 

His tip hits the right spot; the place that has your eyes rolling back and toes curling, the place that makes you see stars and has you reaching back to your boyfriend for comfort. Jay notices. Jay keeps fucking you like a stupid doll.

Harder.

Faster.

Messier.

Your ass meets his pelvis time and time again. Loud smacks bounce off the walls, the raw sound of skin on skin colliding is obvious to anyone who dares to hear what the two of you are doing. Jay loves it. Jay gets off on it. 

You feel his ego growing by the second; every clench of your pussy and twitch of his cock a signal that he’s coming close to letting go. You are too.

You feel the familiar feeling deep inside your gut. The heat is rising; your stomach is suddenly heavy and you’re way too aware of everything happening. You’re aware of every drag of Jay’s cock—aware of every vein caressing your gummy walls. 

Your moans increase in volume, Jay’s name spilling out of your lips. The entire scene looks and sounds like some kind of cheap porno performance, and you’d think so too if you weren’t actively living it.

“Fuck, baby,” Jay moans above you. His jaw is slack, eyes screwed shut. 

“J,” you can barely finish his name at the pace he’s fucking you. “Jay—I’m gonna,”

“Fuck, me too baby.”

Something inside you snaps at that moment. Immediately, your body goes slack, brain goes numb, vision gets foggy. You cum more intensely than you ever have. Your juices squirt out of you, arousal coating Jay’s cock and thighs and pelvis. He’s simply dripping with you—all for his friends to see on the other end.

Jay doesn’t stop when you cum - he keeps fucking you with that raw, brutal pace he’s had set for the night. A low groan comes from deep within Jay’s chest. He feels your walls clench around him from the overstimulation.

“Shit—you’re so hot. I’m gonna—fuck,”

Jay pulls out of you in one swift motion. He angles himself above your ass, shooting ropes of his milky cum all over your red ass cheeks. Jay continues to pump his cock, milking himself until he’s emptied his entire load onto you.

You sit there, cheek still pressed into the mattress with tears running down your face, panting and desperately trying to catch your breath. You feel Jay press himself against you as he grabs the camera from the windowsill. He flips it, showing your cum-covered ass off to his friends.

“Look at her,” he says, fingers collecting his cum. He briefly shows the wetness of his thighs, laughing as he coos at your fucked out state. Jay presses his palm to your back, pressuring you to lay flat down onto your stomach. You comply, simply because you don’t have enough strength in your entire body to resist your boyfriend. 

Jay hovers over you, camera shoved in your face as he shows you off to the audience. He brings his fingers to your lips, beckoning you to open them before he shoves his fingers into your mouth. You lap at them wildly, sucking the cum off his fingers until they’re clean.

Jay just laughs at you, “Yeah, show ‘em how needy you are for daddy’s cum.”

You moan around his fingers, eyes rolling back at his words. You pull off his fingers with a loud pop. Jay grabs your jaw, forcing you to face the camera. A cheeky smile spreads across your face; your tongue poking out with remnants of his cum before you pull it back into your mouth and swallow the rest of it.

You’re a mess—a beautiful fucking mess. Your hair’s all tousled and in your face, sticking to the damp skin adorned with tears and smudged mascara.

“Mm,” you moan, "tastes good, daddy. I wan’ more.”

Jay kisses the top of your head. “How was that, babygirl?”

You nod, nuzzling into Jay’s harsh grip on your jaw. “Good.”

“Don’t tell me—tell them.”

You open your hooded eyes wider, watching yourself on screen. “Sunghoon—it was really good,” you swallow your breaths for a moment, “you wanna join us next time?”

Jay lets out a low whistle, speaking up off camera, “You’re gonna leave Jake and Heeseung out?”

You laugh and bite your lip, “I didn’t say that. Jakey and Heeseung can join, jus’ thought Sunghoon would want to the most.”

Jay clicks the red button, ending the recording before he tosses his phone onto the comforter. He smoothes his hands over your body, a sudden sense of gentleness following his movements. You feel his weight leave the bed and you lay there, waiting for Jay to return.

When he does, he has a bottle of water and a wet washcloth. Jay doesn’t even let you attempt to move, just shushes you as he carefully wipes you down and finds your long-forgotten clothes on the floor. 

“Are you okay—for real?”

You nod and giggle at his sudden soft disposition, “Yes, Jay. I’m fine,” you reach out for your boyfriend, “c’mere.”

He accepts your spent invitation, settling directly on top of you as you huff out a dramatic breath and mumble something about him being heavy. Jay just mocks you, reaching for his phone. He spends some time on it, splitting the video into chunks small enough to send to his friends. Jay kisses your head and your cheek and anywhere else accessible to him; he simply refuses to leave you without affection.

Jay sends the clips to his groupchat, one by one until almost the whole encounter is in the hands of Jake, Sunghoon, and Heeseung. He tosses his phone onto the bed, settling on top of you while he continues peppering you with kisses.

Barely two minutes later, Jay’s phone buzzes—five, six, seven times. It keeps buzzing, but Jay just laughs into your hair.

“Sounds like they like it,” he mumbles into you, “I hope you weren’t lying about letting them join.”

୨ৎ

Now this was a special case. You were assigned to a patient who’d fainted from exhaustion, the only other information you received being “He’s a special patient. Treat him well,” which isn’t threatening at all. It felt absurd– how special could a patient be that you have to specifically be told to be hospitable? “Who am I treating, the damn president?” You mumbled to yourself, a puzzled frown on your face.

You wondered who exactly your patient was that demanded such high maintenance, who required the best of the best for something as simple as a fainting spell. It didn’t make sense to you at first, but when you walked into the room, it all became clear. 

You weren’t treating the president. No, even better. 

You were treating fucking Park Jongseong. You gasped, nearly tripping over your own feet as you observed the man in front of you– awake, sat up, and drinking a plastic cup of water. He turned to you, and flinched himself, eyes widening. 

Being trained as an idol, Jay knew how to keep his composure, how to stay calm in any situation, but PR training doesn’t prepare idols for pretty girls, so he began to completely freak out. 

He was nearly frozen in place, and so were you. His eyes were stuck on you– the ponytail updo on your head, the way your blue scrubs complimented your figure, the red spread across your face as you made eye contact with him.

Realizing the tension, you cleared your throat awkwardly, stammering, “Jay– uh, Park Jongseong?” You clicked your teeth, embarrassment completely taking over. Just unprofessional, you could already imagine the disappointment on your senior’s face if she saw this. Jay, too, had realized his current state, shaking his head panickedly. “Oh– yes! Sorry!”

“No, no I’m sorry–”

“No, please don’t apol–” Jay suddenly stopped, you following suit as the two of you realized what you were doing. The both of you burst out into quiet laughter, a comfortable rhythm despite the bustling energy of the hospital. You calmed down, grabbing the clipboard that sat on the stand besides Jay’s bed and reading through its contents. “Suspected overexertion, the papers say,” You looked down at him, who’d already been stuck staring at his hands.

You noticed the sudden self-consciousness that surrounded Jay, in the way he couldn’t find it in himself to look up or do anything but nod when his condition was repeated back to him. See, you knew Jay well– not personally or anything, but you had a big enough ENHYPEN obsession that you knew exactly how persistent the members are. They are known to work through their pain, put their everything into each and every performance they did– paying no mind to the consequences that followed as long as they made their fans happy. 

A gentle smile made its way to your lips, and you put the clipboard aside, walking closer to Jay. “It’s really cool– you know, what you do for your fans.” He popped his head up at that, eyes widened once more.

“You’re a fan?”

“More than I’d like to admit.” Jay chuckled, and you mirrored his actions. He softened almost immediately, slightly sliding himself on the hospital bed as he made himself comfortable. “I was rehearsing for MAMA,” he replied, “and I think I went too hard.” He scratched the nape of his neck, and his nervousness made you snicker to yourself. Jay caught your expression, and quickly went to defend himself. “Okay, in my defense, MAMA is a really special stage!” His hands went up, and you nodded in understanding.

“Your MAMA performances are always very well done,” you spoke hesitantly, hands rubbing against your scrubs. “I’m sure you can do amazing without getting yourself hospitalized.” Jay giggled, his gaze dreamy as he looked at you, “I’ll keep it in mind.” And for a moment, there was silence. Nothing had to be said, for your eyes did all the talking.

They spoke a language that neither of you could repeat aloud, a conversation of emotions that were too complicated to put into words. It hadn’t been much time since you walked in, but the palpable tension in the room was enough to give witness to the blossoming of something new. This was different for the both of you– meeting someone despite your busy schedule, seeing someone who could make your hearts flutter in a way that you believed only happened in movies. 

You eyed each other down, putting professionalism aside for a just second long enough to admire one another. Jay had never admitted something like this in his entire life, but he’d never seen beauty like yours in person. Of course, he worked around beautiful women daily, but none of them compared to you in this moment– your tired, yet charming demeanor as you looked attentively at him. There was a spark in his chest that he’d never felt before, something so freeing and euphoric that it nearly frightened him. Was this what attraction felt like? Weird, inexplicable things were happening inside of him, and you were at the center. What kind of witch were you, and what spells had you cast on his heart?

Surely strong ones, since Jay’s heart monitor had begun to go out of control, the erratic– and loud– beats of his heart pulling both of you out of your eye contact.

As if a switch flipped inside of you, you snapped out of your trance, looking around frantically for a moment before picking up the clipboard once more. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

“Doctor, it’s okay–”

“Uh, ok–well, I have to run some tests on you, if that’s okay?” And when you did that, he saw it. 

Jay caught it immediately, the mutual panic that he’d felt just mere seconds ago. He knew it, he knew that you felt it too– the spark. He smiled as you fumbled with testing supplies, his heartbeat slowing into a stable rate as he watched you once more. Suddenly, a thought came to mind, materializing itself into words before Jay could stop his mouth.

“Do you have a name, or am I just supposed to call you Doctor for the rest of my time here?” 

Your neck snapped back, looking at Jay. Silence passed for one beat, two beats, and then–

“Y/N. Doctor Y/N L/N.” And Jay was deceased, as if you couldn’t get even more perfect– perfection was inferior to you. You were the standard of perfection, he was sure of it. A deep red flushed his face unbeknownst to him, and he hummed.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor Y/N L/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue smooth and low, and you swore that you’d be on a hospital bed of your own if he didn’t calm down. A quiet yelp left your lips, but Jay’d caught it, and chuckled to himself. Cute, so unbelievably cute. 

[ 3:17 AM ] [ stream title: final transmission ] [ viewers: 1.1M]

user218: FINAL TRANSMISSION????? user903: why does this feel serious user771: evan don’t scare us at 3 am user044: there are two silhouettes??? user650: wait who’s with him user389: chat behave for once user112: impossible

The stream starts as it usually does, but this time with “A Little Death” by The Neighbourhood playing softly in the background. The screen shows a dimly blue-lit room with Evan sitting in his gaming chair, there was another silhouette near him. The mic positioned in front of their faces, though their features aren’t actually visible due to the lighting.

Then Evan’s voice comes through.

Evan: Good morning, night people.

A pause.

Evan: It is currently 3:17 AM.

Another pause.

A small breath.

Evan: And this is MidnightFM.

The chat moves quickly, but he doesn’t read it yet.

Evan: Tonight is a little different.

A second voice speaks, quieter, close enough to the mic that the chat catches it instantly.

Y/N: That’s one way to put it.

The chat starts moving faster.

user044: WHO WAS THAT user650: FEMALE VOICE????? user903: EVAN HAS A GUEST??? user771: who is the other silhouette user218: wait wait wait

Evan laughs softly.

Evan: Yeah. I’m not alone tonight.

Y/N: Unfortunately for both of us.

Evan: You agreed to be here.

Y/N: I was emotionally manipulated by the phrase “final transmission.”

Evan: That’s fair.

Y/N: Thank you.

Evan: For everyone asking, yes, there’s someone else here. No, I’m not going to be mysterious about it all night.

Y/N: Growth.

Evan: I’m trying.

Y/N: Barely, but yeah.

A quiet laugh from him.

Evan: This is Y/N.

The chat stutters for a second, then explodes.

user112: Y/N????? user650: WHO ISS YNNNN user389: wait he said that so casually user218: WHY IS THIS IMPORTANT I CAN FEEL IT user771: chat shut up i’m listening user8790: IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND?????

A pause.

Y/N: Hi.

Evan: That’s all?

Y/N: What do you want me to say?

Evan: I don’t know. Something for the listeners.

Y/N: Hi, listeners. He is nervous.

Evan: Okay.

Y/N: That was for the listeners.

Evan: Helpful.

Y/N: I try.

Evan: I usually start these by reading submissions.

He pauses.

Evan: Tonight, I’m not doing that.

The music lowers slightly.

Evan: Tonight I think I should probably answer some things instead.

Y/N: Probably.

Evan: Definitely.

Y/N: Better.

He breathes out a laugh, then goes quiet for a moment.

Evan: Most of this podcast has been about strangers sending things they couldn’t say out loud. Things they missed. Things they regretted. Things they were still holding onto even when they pretended they weren’t.

A pause.

Evan: I think I understood that because I was doing the same thing.

The chat slows.

user903: oh user771: wait user218: this feels personal user044: everyone shut up

He looks at the screen.

Evan: I started MidnightFM because there were things I didn’t know how to say as myself.

Y/N is quiet beside him.

Evan: There was someone I missed. Someone I hurt. Someone I didn’t know how to talk to anymore because every time I tried, I felt like I had already waited too long.

He pauses.

Evan: We met during her freshman year and my junior year

Y/N: You’re really starting from the beginning?

Evan: You told me to explain the story.

Y/N: I said explain, not narrate like an indie film.

Evan: Do you want to do it?

Y/N: No. I want to judge.

Evan: Right.

Another small laugh.

Evan: We met because her best friend dragged her to a music department thing. She didn’t want to be there.

Y/N: I really didn’t.

Evan: She looked annoyed the entire time.

Y/N: Because I was.

Evan: And then she laughed at something stupid.

Y/N: Probably something my loser bestfriend said.

Evan: Probably.

A pause.

Evan: I remember wanting to hear it again.

The chat moves quickly.

user650: oh my god user218: EVAN????? user771: “wanted to hear it again” okay i’m done user389: this man is not surviving his own live

Y/N smacked his shoulder lightly

Y/N: That was unnecessary.

Evan: It’s true.

Y/N: Still unnecessary.

Evan: You told me to be honest.

Y/N: I’m regretting it.

Evan: Too late.

The music keeps playing softly under them.

Evan: We were together for a while. And it was good.

His voice changes slightly.

Less playful now.

Evan: Then we got bad at talking.

Y/N doesn’t interrupt.

Evan: I got quiet when I should’ve said something. She tried to guess what I meant instead of asking. I thought waiting would make it easier to find the right words. It didn’t.

A pause.

Evan: Eventually, we broke up.

Chat slows again.

user044: oh user903: this is so quiet suddenly user771: i feel like i shouldn’t be here but i’m staying

A little quietness.

Evan: After that, there was just a lot of silence.

Y/N: Very productive silence.

Evan: Terrible silence.

Y/N: Yeah.

Evan: So I started this.

Another pause.

Evan: Not because I thought she would hear it. Not because I had some plan. I just needed somewhere to put all the things I wasn’t saying.

Y/N: And then I found it.

The chat jumps.

user218: SHE FOUND IT??? user650: WAIT user389: found the podcast??? user771: oh this is getting insane

He took a breath

Evan: Yeah.

Y/N: I found it randomly. Someone on campus was talking about this anonymous late-night podcast that went live at 3:17 AM, and I clicked because I was bored.

Evan: Bored?

Y/N: Fine. I was sad and bored.

Evan: Better.

Y/N: Don’t look so pleased.

Evan: No one can see me.

Y/N: I can.

Evan: Right.

Y/N: Anyway. I clicked on the stream, and then I heard his voice.

She pauses.

Y/N: and I knew immediately.

Chat floods again.

user044: KNEW WHAT user903: his voice??? user112: FROM HIS VOICE?

Y/N cleared her throat.

Y/N: He thought he was doing a mysterious radio man voice.

Evan: I did not.

Y/N: You did.

Evan: I was trying to sound normal.

Y/N: You sounded like you were trying to sound normal, which is worse.

Evan: We’ve discussed this.

Y/N: And I stand by it.

He laughs, quieter this time.

Y/N: So yeah. I knew it was him from the first night I listened.

Evan: And you didn’t say anything.

Y/N: Neither did you.

Evan: Fair.

Y/N: I kept listening because it was easier than missing him alone.

For a few seconds, neither of them says anything.

The chat slows.

user771: oh user218: that hurt user903: “easier than missing him alone” i need a minute user044: chat went silent damn

Another pause.

Evan: And the submission.

Y/N exhales softly.

Y/N: Yeah.

Evan: The one about “A Little Death.”

Chat starts moving faster again.

user650: WAIT user112: THAT SUBMISSION??? user389: THE LEFT SIDE OF BED ONE? user218: NO WAY

Y/N slowly spoke.

Y/N: That was mine.

Evan: She sent it knowing it was me.

Y/N: I didn’t think you’d actually read it.

Evan: I did.

Y/N: Clearly.

Evan: I thought it sounded like you.

Y/N: Yeah. I figured.

Evan: And then you tweeted the song under the University post.

Y/N: From main. Unfortunately.

Evan: That was a hint.

Y/N: It was stress.

Evan: It was both.

Y/N pauses.

Y/N: Fine. It was both.

The chat goes fast again.

user903: IT WAS A HINT user044: from main is crazy user771: she wanted him to know without saying it i’m sick

Evan: There’s another thing.

Y/N: The coincidences?

Evan: Yeah.

The chat catches on quickly.

user389: HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING??? user650: how many coincidences? user112: that submission?

Evan: That one wasn’t a submission.

The chat floods.

user218: WHAT user044: EVAN LIED??? user903: I KNEW ITTTT

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

🢘ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ɴᴇxᴛ🢚

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ᴘᴛ.1 ɪꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ <3 ɪ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴡᴇ’ʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ??? ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ 😭 ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʏᴇᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ-ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪʟʟʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴛɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴡ.

Y/N — 2020, november 22nd, monday.

it began when you were paired as partners. to teachers and lecturers, it made sense– two of the department's most competent students working together would yield an outstanding project. they were right. you were the perfect team, finishing each other's sentences, sharing the same thought process and goals.

during one late night study session in your apartment— while you were working on the said project, which involved solving and discussing a multi-layered, well-concealed murder case set up by the teachers– you discovered that he wanted to be a detective, and he learnt of your passion to become a criminal intelligence analyst.

“we’d be perfect working together; every detective needs their criminal analyst,” he said, smirking and wriggling his eyebrows. you only giggled in response.

months of growing closer over study sessions, shared interests, and definitely not dates led up to that fateful night. over some pasta in the restaurant across from his apartment-- which you believed had the best pasta, he popped the question.

“y/n, you've only grown alongside me these past few months, laughing with me, stressing with me, going out with me, and you have become a constant i can't bear to be without. my dependence on you is growing slowly but surely. would you honour me by letting me be your boyfriend?”

of course, you had said yes without hesitation. both of you were glowing. the dinner went smoothly as you continued to argue over trivial matters, basking in each other's presence late into the night.

park jongseong and sim jaeyun— better known as jay and jake, who often had to deal with your constant underlying tension, enthusiastically congratulated the two of you, “about time. if you hadn't done it by next week, I would have gone and told y/n myself,” jay joked.

your best friends, lee soojin and kim joomi, were also ecstatic, knowing he made you happy and was genuine in his actions towards you. they said it was worth all the time you had waited for him to ask you out.

word spread around campus, and you became known as the “it” couple. the kind of couple that screamed “this is a movie scene” to everyone who happened to be in their presence. he always waited for you outside the classes you didn't share, took your bag, and brought you coffee. when you shared classes, he always made sure to sit next to you.

he was your everything, and you were his. your similar thoughts and behavior made you extremely easy to read for each other.

everything was going well; you were always replacing each other as rank one in the department, then playfully bickering about it in the café outside the university.

it all changed in your senior year, when every grade mattered most, and every lost top spot meant a significant setback to achieving that picture perfect step into success. it didn’t help that both of you were extremely career-driven, “emotionally constipated,” as jake would say, determined, and maybe slightly egoistic (even though neither of you admitted it). it also didn’t help that both of you were stressed and soon began to take it out on each other.

soon the study sessions became a hellhole of arguments, a battlefield. over time, with pride and stubbornness, when neither of you yielded or apologised, the cracks in the relationship began to run too deep to ignore.

people whispered, watching the “it couple” drift apart. they watched every time sunghoon sat away from you in your shared lectures, every time he let you carry your own bag, every time he pointed out your mistakes in class and vice versa.

every party, instead of drifting towards each other, you gravitated towards opposite corners.

then came the jealousy and the control. you’d purposely speak to guys you knew he didn’t get along with, and he would talk to the girls who had a thing for him. 

obviously, you’d fight it out, drunk out of your minds, back at home. it would always begin with one of you screaming at the other, then it would dim down to a cold, detached voice to mask the hurt. then you would always end up in bed the next morning.

this was the new routine. get piss ass drunk, scream, fuck and pretend nothing happened when you woke up.

you knew this was toxic, and so did he. but on the days when you were fine, albeit rare, you would cuddle, go café hopping, eat a bunch of ice cream, and laugh and bicker with each other as if your lives weren’t falling apart and you weren't tearing each other down.

his friends and yours begged you both to fix your relationship, do anything, take a break, heal, and then go back to each other. they even sat you down and lectured you for an hour, trying to make you understand– not that you both didn’t know, you just chose to ignore it– that yelling at each other while drunk and then fucking out the tension wasn't healthy and was really toxic. 

you and sunghoon humoured them, promising you would take a break and come back once you had healed.

neither of you realised how difficult it would be, though. the both of you managed to last three days before you always ended up at his place, crying because you were stressed, crying because you missed him, crying over your fucked up mental state or he ended up at yours, venting his stress, or just looking for comfort or solace that he only seemed to find in your arms. 

yet, the past two week of the “break” had been healthier than before, reminding you of how your relationship with hoon was before everything went south.

maybe you should thank your friends. you’re slowly starting to believe that a break was all you needed. so you were planning to tell hoon that maybe you both could get “back” together, or at least bring up the idea of getting “back” together soon.

but, of course, the universe had other ideas. 

Y/N — 2021, october 19th, monday 20:13.

you go to his apartment and knock as you always did, and he usually opens it immediately. you usually went around this time of night. but the door didn’t swing open. you call him, thinking he might be in the washroom or something. 

you watched the phone ring until it went to voicemail. “maybe he went out,” you whispered, turning to walk back home.

you babe i went to your house and it was locked, wya? i miss you

you pressed send, then shove your phone back into the pocket of your jacket. you couldn’t help but wonder where he was. you missed him. you wanted to hug him, lie on his couch, sitting in between his legs, your head on his chest while you watch some drama you found.

when you reached home, you were still left on delivered. “maybe he’s just busy,” you whisper. you decide it wasn’t worth worrying about too much and head to bed.

you woke up the next morning, and still there was no reply from sunghoon. now you were starting to worry. you send another text.

you babe? are you coming to class?

whatever, he will probably come to class. you could talk about it there, so you grabbd your bag and your keys and walked to campus.

you walked into class and sat in your usual spot. you watched as people walked in. your face brightened as your eyes met sunghoon’s dark brown ones. you make a motion to clear the seat next to you, only for him to walk past and take a seat away from you.

“what the fuck,” you mumbled under your breath. you turn and see him chatting with haeun, who very obviously had a crush on him.

jealousy began to fill your veins. and apparently your tear ducts as well, because you felt your eyes sting. you were upset, heartbroken, angry and jealous. 

you ran out of class as soon as the teacher left, rushing to your dorm. you cried for hours, or so it felt, until you could not cry any more. you were upset, you thought things were getting better. you promised to choose each other, you promised and he had promised. 

why was he doing this now? why could he not let you, let you both, be happy? all you wanted back was the old you, the old sunghoon, when everything was simple. what happened to you both? what was wrong with you?

you were just exhausted and fell asleep without meaning to. you woke to banging on your door and shouts from your friends, joomi and soojin. you made your way to the door and unlocked it.

“you look a mess, are you okay?” was the first thing they asked when you let them in.

“no, my head hurts, i feel dehydrated, i think my eyes are all puffed up and sunghoon’s being a bitch. he hasn’t replied to my messages, sat next to haeun, even though he knows she likes him. he hasn’t been replying to my texts, and we were healing! we were going back to our non-toxic and healthy relationship ways.” you paused, wiping your eyes before continuing.

“i’m sorry but neither of us really followed your ‘stay away from each other’ rule. it lasted only three days before we were going back to each other. but this time, it was normal, it was like how we were before– cuddles on the sofa, watching dramas, and barely any sex, okay? i don’t know what went wrong. he’s suddenly ignoring me again. we were fine the day before yesterday but he’s been weird to me all yesterday and has been ignoring me.”

“oh, my poor baby, he’s a bitch who does,'t get to decide your worth. did you check if he replied?” soojin asked. you shook your head and went to get your phone. you unlocked it to find a message from him. you opened it, without much hope, praying he had at least apologised. 

your friends grew concerned when you dropped your phone in shock, their eyes widening as they saw your eyes fill with tears.

“what’s wrong?” joomi asked, concerned, but you couldn’t reply, so you simply motioned to your phone. they picked it up to read the texts from him.

hoonie <3 stop texting me what i do is none of your business we’re done

they hugged you, comforting you as you cried, telling you he wasn’t worth it, that he didn’t deserve you. the three of you sat in your lounge, the only sounds that filled the house were your cries and their soft words of comfort.

they stayed with you until you stopped crying, then ordered take out, telling you that you needed a “girls’ night” to take your mind off things. they ordered chinese food from the place you liked, turned on the tv, and watched some sitcoms. 

by the time they left, your heart felt a little lighter. but as the night wore on, you couldn’t escape your thoughts. you weren’t able to sleep, the way he had cut you off so easily made you uneasy and so fucking angry. 

there was no explanation– he just left you, and had probably blocked you as well. you decided to throw out all evidence of him in your life, at least physically – emotionally, it would still take a while. you started by deleting his number. you then gathered all the gifts he had given you and put them in a bag to throw away.

when the clock showed 03:00, you had a bag filled with everything you needed to throw out. you dragged it near the door and left it there so you could dispose of it out at a more acceptable time of day. the last thing left for you to do was to delete the pictures of the two of you. and lord, there were so many.

another half an hour and 351 pictures later, you had successfully removed all physical traces of sunghoon from your life. the thought gave you a small sense of satisfaction, a small twisted kind of revenge, especially because you had thrown out the hoodies and clothes that belonged to him. exhausted, you fell asleep with your phone still in hand, your heart trying to heal.

you woke up to your alarm, deciding to go to class because he was not worth messing up your grades for. you waddled to your mirror, only to gape at the bags under your eyes and how puffy they had become. you did your best to cover them with some makeup, threw on an outfit that made you look more confident than you felt, and walked to class – not before tossing the bag of gifts he had given you into the bin. 

thankfully, your shared lecture with sunghoon was the last class of the day. you managed to get through the whole day without seeing his face, and you were glad. it gave you time to prepare yourself, at least mentally, to see him.

Y/N — 2021, october 20th, tuesday 14:29.

when the fateful class arrived, you were– hopefully– prepared for what was to come. you had walked in with only a minute to spare, as you had been talking to your professor from the previous class, and took note of how sunghoon, once again, was seated next to kim haeun.

taking a deep breath, you settled into your seat just in time before the teacher entered and began the class.

“okay everybody, today we will be looking at a case. i want everyone to take note of possible evidence or leads that may be required to solve this case. i want a detailed note of the possible suspects, their motives, and when they could have committed the crime. the videotape will include an interview with albis and their statements. you have forty five minutes,” the woman instructed, before turning to play the video on the screen.

the video featured a murder case in a highly rated massage clinic. it began by showing the profile of a renowned fitness and wellness influencer and instructor, who was known to frequently spend her weekends at the clinic. it was revealed that she was receiving large amounts of hate from people hiding behind “bot” accounts.

the entire class fell silent, everyone focusing on trying to catch the details. by the end of forty minutes, you were pleased with your analysis and decided that these were possible answers to solving the case.

the teacher announced for everyone to stop the analysis at the end of the forty five minute time frame. “mr park, please come to the front and explain your analysis.”

he stood, made his way to the front of the class, and began to speak. he gave a pretty detailed analysis of the scene, his deep voice smooth and confident. 

“...then the people who send her hate under ‘bot accounts’ are our first targets, finding information through sourcing the mail ids and verification methods set up. about ten of these bot accounts shown in the material have similar texting styles, the same way they punctuate their sentences and the same way they put forward their message with the language and tone conveyed–”

“wrong. the bot accounts aren’t the only ‘biggest suspect’. there is a more concerning one tied to the case, hidden in plain sight– and all the more dangerous, and is most likely the key to the case.”

sunghoon only rolled his eyes and huffed at the interruption, knowing that voice all too well. "of course, she could only make this a competition,” he muttered faintly, displeased at his work being criticised.

“if you think so, miss y/n, please continue,” her teacher stated, inviting her to the front as well. you stood, walked to the front of the class, and spoke. 

“mrs. han was the top wellness influencer, yes, but she also had someone she had surpassed mrs jang, who has a daughter who idolises mrs. han. the pair are best friends.”

“exactly. there is no mention or indication of bad blood between them, so why does this information matter whatsoever?” sunghoon stated firmly.

“yes, but if you observe the texts that mrs jang’s daughter, jang seorin, sent mrs han, you’ll see the subtle irritation towards her mother. it's evident when she texted, 'when are you coming home again? mom plans on sending me away, she thinks i shouldn’t focus on your wellness plans, she said she would even draft her own for me, just stop using yours. i think she’s just mad because everyone is obsessed with you. my school friends love you too’” y/n quotes, stressing on a few words to draw the class’ attention. 

“this could mean her mother may harbor not so friendly feelings towards mrs han. moreover, the clinic is owned by kim’s wellness and co., a company known for its affiliation with and close regard for mrs jang. furthermore, she herself owns a significant portion of the stakes of the company ‘kim’s wellness and co.’ and is one of the largest investors in the company. it doesn’t help that she is very influential, and so is her husband, which makes it easy to provide information and hush the company’s workers and managers.” you explained, earning a satisfied nod from the teacher.

“yes, that’s exactly what i was looking for. the case requires reading between the lines. yes, what miss y/n said is not the only lead we can find in this case, as identified by mr park, but it might be a crucial lead whose involvement in the company is hidden in plain sight. the bot accounts also have similar patterns, as identified by mr park, and need closer examination.” she praised them, nodding in approval at their analysis, before continuing, “we shall continue this case study in the next class. good work everybody.”

sunghoon pushed past you as he made his way to his desk and to kim haeun, who wore an obviously fake pout on her face. he flashed a quick smile at her, one which made your heart burn because that smile was the one he used to reserve for you.

“they probably might get together soon,” you muttered quietly while packing your things. they left together, her hand holding his elbow and his jacket draped around her shoulders, giggling at something shared between them. 

you never thought your shattered heart could break even more, but you felt the shards splinter further. you didn’t want to break down in the classroom, you shouldered your bag and rushed out as well.

the tears were threatening to fall when you heard a muffled groan. you turned, only to see sunghoon pushing his tongue down haeun’s throat, and her body pressed against his. haeun noticed your stare, gave you a wink, and pressed herself closer onto him, deepening the kiss. 

a devastated gasp escaped your lips before you slapped your hand over your mouth and sprinted out of sight.

Y/N — 2021, october 20th, tuesday 16:13

you slammed the door the moment you entered, so hard that it rattled in its frame. you dropped to your knees and cried. cursing him, you were so loud, the neighbours could probably hear you but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

you spent a long time crying, draining yourself of all the energy you had. your cries softened into hiccups, your chest heaving as you struggled to regain your breath, your heart racing with anger and sadness. 

you sat in silence for about five minutes; the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing and your heart beating in your ears, and the only thing to accompany you was the swirl of thoughts in your head. the quiet air buzzed with tension, broken only when there was a knock at your door.

you made your way to the door, wiping your eyes and trying to look at least somewhat presentable. outside your door stood a tall man with the most gorgeous blonde hair and sharp features. 

his eyes were filled with concern as he looked down at you. “hey, i’m your neighbour, nishimura riki, or as many call me, ni-ki. i don’t think we have formally met, but are you okay? i may or may not have heard your, uh—” he trailed off.

“oh shit– im sorry you heard that– and yes, i’m fine,” you replied, your cheeks and neck flushing a deep shade of red. he raised an eyebrow, placed his hands on his hips, and gave you a look that made you feel like a child cornered by her mother. 

“okay, maybe i’m not fine but i will be—” you began, before being interrupted by a soft tut.

“then i’m coming in and helping you feel better. think of it as a friend helping a heartbroken twin,” ni-ki said, inviting himself in. you shut the door and guided him to your couch, picking up your bag, which you had left at the entrance when you had originally thrown it there upon entering the house.

“nice place,” he said, humming in approval as he dropped himself onto your couch. he pulled out two chocolate bars and a bag of m&ms and handed them to you. “to make you feel better,” he said. 

you tried to refuse, but the look he gave you made you close your mouth and simply accept it. you tore open the wrapper and took a small bite of the chocolate bar.

you sat in a silence that, surprisingly, wasn’t awkward. then when you had fully calmed down and regained some energy, he asked, “are you all right? you can talk to me about it, you know? i don’t go to your university, and i’m not going to spread anything you tell me. full confidentiality,” he said, his face straight, though his lips twitched as a smile threatened to break through. ni-ki’s childish demeanour made you giggle.

“but for real, you can tell me, you know. i’m your homeboy now, and you aren’t getting rid of me,” he said, sinking further into your couch to prove his point. the sight made your heart feel a little warmer. 

“okay, you’re going to regret saying that now. you make me feel like an older sister– you're so fucked now, i don't do takebacks.” you replied, patting his head, only for him to swat your hand away. 

“HEY! i did my hair so beautifully., you might be grieving, but that doesn’t mean you can ruin my hair,” he said sternly, causing a small smile to appear on your tear-stained face.

“speaking of grieving, want to talk about it?” he asked softly. you nodded slowly and began to speak. 

you told him how the relationship began to blossom, how people talked about it, how amazing and beautiful it was, and how the teachers viewed the both of you. then you spoke about how the changes became more and more evident, how you both of you became toxic for each other, how the both of you fought constantly, and how you would make up. 

you then told him about jay, jake, joomi and how soojin told you both to take a break, explaining why and how it went. then finally reached the part where he suddenly cut you off. you also spoke about how he had been making out with haeun, probably an hour earlier.

you spoke for what felt like hours, just taking the weight of the break-up off your chest. ni-ki for the most part, ni-ki did not say anything; he just hummed, nodded, and occasionally shifted to face you properly. his expression conveyed what he did not say. when you finished, he let the silence fill the room, noticing that you needed a moment to collect yourself.

“that’s a lot, and he sounds like a piece of shit. he sounds like an immature fuck who cannot respect women. he doesn’t deserve you, and he’s not worth fucking up your dreams for. show him that he left behind a better and amazing woman for a campus rich hoe,” ni-ki said.

“okay, that's it. you need a special ni-ki care package, filled with ramen– i know this amazing place, all right? has the best ramen ever. AND ITS CHEAP. like, sir or ma’am, i’m a broke college student; thank you for making me feel included in getting five-star michelin level ramen,” he continued, pulling out his phone and starting to add all sorts of food to the menu. 

“do you want me to call my other friends over– also my roommates, by the way– they are, uh, more emotionally intelligent when it comes to relationship problems. also, they can fund all this–” he huffed, breaking into a smile when he saw you laugh and agree.

“OKAY, stay put. DON’T move. i will be right back. if you plan on moving, i will tape you to the sofa– dont play with me bro. what if you get lost when i go and call them, dude? what am i supposed to tell the police? like, 'sir, i do not know where the pocket-sized woman went, please forgive me,'” he said as he got up and ran towards the door, a slight smirk– successfully getting under your skin. 

when he left the apartment, the previously sombre and agitated atmosphere was replaced by a light-hearted ambience, lifted by the younger boy’s attitude and attempts to cheer you up.

nishimura riki returned in under two minutes with two boys, both slightly shorter than him. the first had an air of confidence, broad shoulders, and a simple boyish style, with slightly sagged sweatpants and sharp, cat-like eyes. 

the second guy looked as if he had just stepped out of high school, with full, round cheeks and had a distinctly foxy appearance. his bubbly personality instantly seemed to infect the atmosphere of the room.

he sauntered over and collapsed on your couch, waving his hand for his two friends to introduce themselves. “hii, i’m kim sunoo! and he’s jungwon!" the cat-eyed man, now identified as jungown, waved when mentioned. 

“it’s nice to finally meet you. i’ve seen you in the hallways. i’ve always thought you were so cool," the fox-like man, sunoo, said. you thanked him and beckoned both of them to sit.

the four of you ate and talked about random things. by the end of the night, you learnt that ni-ki was a dance major and the youngest amongst the three, sunoo was a fashion major, and jungwon was a business major, aiming to start his own company. 

you discovered that you were the oldest of the group, being a year older than the eldest– sunoo. you found out they were all childhood friends, and you heard about their dreams and about their horrible love lives, to make you feel slightly better.

they helped you tidy up before closing the door and wishing you goodnight. their boyish charm and liveliness filled the whole flat with joy. it made you forget about your broken heart and sunghoon. you went to sleep that night, your heart happy and doing its best to heal.

Y/N — 2022, january 12th, wednesday.

the days flew by, and slowly you were healing. you spent the following months, moving on– gathering the pieces of your heart and gluing them back together. you spent your days in classes, internships, events. the nights clubbing, movie nights, eating out, partying or going to dinner with your friends– joomi, soojin and ofcourse your noisy, and nosey, neighbours– jungwon, sunoo and ni-ki. 

it hadn’t taken you long to grow closer to the three boys, doting over the boys like an older sister. it had become a common sight to see them huddled on your couch, eating take out or eating something homemade that someone had prepared.

you still saw sunghoon with haeun. the only difference now was that they had announced their relationship publicly. people talked, speaking of how he had “downgraded” from you to the rich hoe, which always made you smirk, despite your attempts of trying to maintain civility. the biggest problem being your heart was still unforgiving. 

the mere sight of him made your blood boil and your mood turn sour. fortunately, the feeling looked mutual. though, his reasons for his hatred was absolute bullshit, because he was the one who ended everything without giving you an explanation. the audacity, honestly.

shocking how a person can go from your comfort and your everything, to the one person you cannot stand to be in the same room with.

Y/N — 2022, may 20th, friday.

graduation day arrived faster than you could have imagined. you were matching dresses with joomi and soojin. it was honestly one of the happiest days of your life. you were thriving, and your dress was a gorgeous, floor length dress. the satin dress, in a beautiful deep blue, was simple yet elegant, paired together with a shiny, simple pearl choker and white heels. 

you graduated as one of the top students in the university's department. you couldn’t help but shed a few tears here and there, happy to have completed the journey and upset that you were now moving on to a much more serious part of your life.

Y/N — 2025, november 22nd, saturday 16:35 [the present]

you drove to the office after being called in for an emergency meeting by none other than your boss and friend, lee heeseung. the red haired man took you under his wing when you first joined the company. your friendship with him bloomed as a result of your late night convenience store runs, your love for ramen and– obviously– your work which often led you to stay late into the night. 

a sibling-like relationship began to bloom between the two of you. hence why you met his girlfriend at the time and now wife– abby, a sweet, cheeky woman who also adored you and treated you as if you were her sister too.

of course, he would not call you in for an unimportant case, so you knew it was serious. it had been a few years since you graduated, and you had worked your way up the ranks within your company. 

you landed an excellent opportunity to work for korea’s largest private firm and rose through the ranks quite quickly. you had also been given the chance to help solve a couple of cases for other countries as well.

you had become something of a sensation, also came to be known as a popular bachelorette whose instagram following had grown significantly, despite not being an influencer, thanks to your sleek, modern, and aesthetic content accessible to the general public on your account. your lifestyle and dedication made you quite the role model for the younger generation aspiring to pursue careers in challenging fields filled with crime and often gruesome scenes.

upon arriving, you settled into your usual seat in the meeting room. you nodded in greeting towards heeseung, who flashed a quick smile in response before turning to the room, which was beginning to fill. 

“thank you for coming. i know today was supposed to be a day off, but urgent matters must be brought to attention. we shall begin shortly; i am waiting for—” he stopped as he heard the meeting room door push open.

the man who entered was none other than park sunghoon. although only 25, sunghoon had already gained a reputation as arguably being korea's finest detective – a cold professional whose personal life remains the country's greatest enigma. 

it wasn’t uncommon to see comments such as “the modelling industry is lucky he chose a different path” or “korea’s finest man and we don’t even know if he’s off the market” under any post on his instagram, in articles about him, or in related news related to his latest case.

the knowledge of your mutual hatred wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t public knowledge either. only those who had witnessed it personally, or heard of it through others or yourself, knew about it. he did not acknowledge you in any way and neither did you.

“sorry, traffic was bad,” was the only explanation he gave before sitting down on the empty chair opposite to you. you had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. you shot heeseung a look, and he gave you a helpless, tight lipped smile. 

“okay, since everybody is here, let us begin. as you can see, mr park has joined us today,” he paused before continuing to introduce your team– those who filled the meeting room. “and of course, ms kang,” he fniished.

“the reason we have called you here is because of a case the korean authorities themselves have placed upon us,” he began as he walked towards his laptop. he gestured towards the slides displayed on the screen. 

there were pictures of five well respected socialites who are a part of korea’s elite. everyone in the room recognised the individuals.

“four of these five socialites– jang harin, choi eunwoo, yoon taeyang and kim donghyun– have been found dead in the last seven months, and the fifth– cho dasom– has been reported missing by her 29 year old son, cho doyun. she has been missing since attending the gala in gangnam-gu on thursday, 20th november, which was two days ago. now, the government is unable to solve the case. they have identified possible suspects but have made no progress without any proof or viable leads. we have received a case file, including detailed descriptions and photographs of the scenes, which we will examine later.” heeseung paused.

“are the cases connected? why are they all in one case file? last we heard, there was no connection. we know of the murders of the four and have been trying to figure it out. and to my knowledge, mr park has been working on jang harin’s case, where as miss kang was supposed to help the authorities with the cases of kim donghyun and choi eunwoo,” a man in the room said.

“yes, the entire case has been given to us by the authorities. and the pattern involves victims going missing from events they were attending, bouquets being left at their doors exactly a week prior, and each victim receiving calls from an unknown number in the nights before their disappearance. the number of calls from the unknown number coincided with the order in which they were murdered. in addition, the manner in which they were killed– no bloodshed, tactfully and cleanly done– suggests a particular method. 

the styles seem similar yet different. of course, we may be wrong, but it is a possibility we cannot rule out. mr park, as for why you are here, the authorities have decided it is appropriate for you to work with miss kang. 

they believe this is a case best solved by the most capable. you have one of the highest clearance rates, and so does she. you will have everything you need; meeting rooms and studies will be provided. you can work in either of your private studies– miss kang’s is in this building. but remember, you are in this together.” heeseung spoke, placing a subtle emphasis on the “work together,” warning you to maintain civility.

“that is all for today’s meeting. mr park and miss kang, you are welcome to stay. my office is on the top floor, room 18. If you require anything, call me. miss kang the case files have been placed in your study; you are welcome to go there. mr park, the rough details have been emailed to you. if you would like a copy of the case there is a printer opposite to miss kang’s study in the conference room.” he said before grabbing his files and laptop and walking out.

the room was quiet, an underlying tension began to fill the room. “miss kang, long time no see,” he spoke, voice calm, but a hint of venom laced his voice. “like-wise mr park.” you said, shooting him a glare.

 “let’s not make this difficult shall we? i don’t have time for your bullshit. let’s get this straight, we need to work on this case, mr park. It’s dragging korea’s reputation down. don’t make everything harder than it needs to.”

he smirks, “of course not. i’ll be on my best behavior” his voice dripping with sarcasm. “well darling, lead the way. we’ve got a case on our hands. time is ticking.” he says, gesturing towards the door. 

you scoffed and couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the nickname and walk towards the door. “keep up park, the case won’t wait for anyone.” 

his smirk didn’t fade, only grew as he matched your stride, “oh i intend to, make sure you don’t give me a reason to slow down.” his voice low, amused but a hint of something sharper threaded through it. 

“the case isn’t just about you darling,” a beat passed. “my reputation’s on the line and possibly the lives of the remaining elites. “and i’m not letting anyone ruin what i worked to build, hm?” he said as he entered the lift alongside you.

“wouldn’t dream of it, park.” you said, as the doors of the lift shut.

SUNGHOON — 2025, november 22nd, saturday 17:00

sunghoon walked behind y/n into her study, and was hit with a wave of warm air causing the stiffness in his shoulders to leave his body. the study was exactly like her, the y/n he knew. he lost the privilege of calling her his years ago, when he fucked it up by telling her to leave him alone. 

he took a deep breath in, he didn’t want her guessing what he was thinking, she always could before, she knew what he wanted before he said it. she hated him now. of course she would. after everything he did. the click of her heels brought him out of his thoughts.

the study was clean and minimalistic, just how you– the both of you– liked things. dark colours, chic and minimal. black, tinted windows and black shutters for privacy– much needed for jobs like yours– and a large tv screen. bookshelves filled with books and files, and occasionally picture frames and potted plants were placed against the walls. 

a large desk with a glass table top was placed in the center of the room, the black board you used to map out your thoughts– he assumed– was placed right behind it. a black file was placed right in the center.

sunghoon watched as you sat on your chair, watching as the wheels of the chair push y/n slightly further away from him as he dragged the chair opposite to her. she opened the file which contained the information about the case– a stack of papers lying inside. 

she looks up, into his eyes with her eyes sharp and said, “you have the file of jang harin right? i have the files for kim donghyun and choi eunwoo,” as she got up and walked to one of the cabinets before picking up two files. 

sunghoon hummed in response, pulling out a file from his prada handbag, along with the lab reports that were delivered to his office the morning before he reached the building. he placed the file down, and pulled out the file containing the details of the other victims towards him. 

he flipped through the details before pushing his chair back and standing up with a heavy sigh, “i’m going to go get these printed out,” he said, “i want a copy of this. it’ll be helpful.”

swiftly turning on his heels, his shoes clicked against y/n’s wooden floor as he pulled the door open to exit her study.

Y/N — 2025, november 22nd, saturday 17:30

unghoon had been oddly quiet from the time he entered your study. you couldn’t place a finger on why. he looked deep in thought, but it most probably would have been the case. because what other matters could he be worried about. from what you heard, he’s single and has been for the past two years after he and haeun broke up in the summer of 2023. 

you were curious, of course, because you did want to know why they broke up but you didn’t want to ask– not wanting to give sunghoon that satisfaction of having “kept up” with his life. you knew heeseung and sunghoon were friends, but you didn’t want to ask. you knew he wouldn’t tell you.

you brushed it off, and flipped through the cases. you picked up the file sunghoon had placed on the table, flipping it open. jang harin, cause of death was overdose. authorities first assumed it to be a suicide, but her daughter said she wouldn’t– and so did the general public believe– because jang harin, was a well know psychologist. 

she was known for helping her patients. she was a very kind woman in the public’s eyes. she was very open about seeking help, if one had any mental concerns. so why would she take those pills? especially, at such high dosage? something wasn’t right. 

you set her case file aside, and take a look at yoon taeyang’s file. a travel influencer, son of yoon boem-seok. still young, only thirty-three years old. his family were one of those with new money, but still powerful enough to have quite a few enemies. 

he had quite a few haters, but it’s normal for any influencer and it wasn’t anything that caught the eye. maybe it was related to his fathers enemies? you made sure to note down all your suspicions, assumptions and thoughts. 

“always one to write down everything, aren’t we y/n?” sunghoon’s voice comes from behind you in a low drawl. he was close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. how had you not realized when he re-entered the room? 

“miss y/n, i understand that i am a good-looking man, but it doesn’t mean you stare. it’s rude and unprofessional” he smirked mockingly, his voice filled with a cocky arrogance that made your fists clench.  

“professionality? quite rich coming from you isn’t it, hm?” you replied, trying your best to not let the man he successfully got under your skin.

“did you get the printouts?” you asked as he pulled a chair to sit beside you. without waiting for his response, “i was looking at the file of jang harin. there is something more to it. i didn’t thoroughly examine everything, but she has no medical records of anxiety or depression so it doesn’t make sense why she would be taking it.” you said. 

“yes, i’ve already sent an email to her husband asking for any medical history and i have scheduled an interview with him.” sunghoon spoke. he pulled out his laptop and opened the email, to show you. alongside it, he opened another folder beside the email and gestured for you to look into it.

pulling the device closer to you, you began to read the emails and files he had presented to you– making a mental note of things you would need to check-in on later. beside you, sunghoon opens kim dasom’s file and begins to flip through it. occasionally pausing at certain pages– as if mentally making a note of something– clicking his tongue before moving on. he pulled out a flash drive. 

he turned to you, “where can i plug this in? it is the footage from the gala in gangnam-gu.” 

you pointed at the desktop on you table, before muttering “it’s connected to the tv,” and continuing to look at the files on his laptop. he plugs it in, and plays the video. you turn your attention from the files to the video playing on the screen.

the video played footage of cho dasom’s last appearance. the video didn’t bring anything out of the ordinary. paparazzi, other people, her son surrounded her. she had a drink in her hand. that looked like wine. she walked around, spoke with many other influential people. her hands and neck were adorned with pearls. weird. 

“wait, park, pause it.” you spoke as you moved to stand beside him, playing the clip back. 

“one of her bracelets is missing here. after her m.i.a moment and her drink looks a little bit off, or is it just me?” 

sunghoon put them side by side for comparison and zoomed in. “yeah, her bracelet is missing. i don’t think any brand miss cha wears would be so easily removable either so she might have removed it herself?” he spoke, “and as for the drink, i think it is a new one, but i’m we should try looking for pictures and videos of the night for closer evidence.”

you hum in approval. the two of you research and make notes and points of possible leads, those to question, who to search, what to look for and everything possible. you bring out the other case files, trying to look for something to connect them, you knew they were connected, a gut feeling as one would say. but a “gut feeling” means nothing without proof.

Y/N — 2025, november 22nd, saturday 18:15

the sky began to darken as the two of you worked. the quiet noise of the a/c in your study, pages of the case files flipping, the soft clicks of the laptop keyboard and mouse as the two of you worked were the sounds heard for hours, the silence only occasionally being interrupted by either of you to bring something to the others attention or the clearing your throats. 

the quiet was interrupted by a call on sunghoon’s phone. he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller id, and his face hardened. he answered the call with a quiet urgency– pushing his chair back and making his way to the door, his shoes clicking against the wooden floor as he pulled open the door of your study and let it slam shut behind him. 

“the fuck?” you mumbled under your breath before deciding he wasn’t worth your time and continued looking over your work. you got five minutes of alone time before the door burst open and sunghoon walked in. “what–” you began to say in shock, slightly jumping and the loud sound. 

“i’m leaving,” was all the man offered, his brows furrowed, and the tips of his ears red as he packed his. 

“okay. when and where are you meeting me tomorrow, and–” you tried telling him, much to vain as he sighed, “god, always such a pushover y/n. stop being so fucking irritating. i’ll email you.” he spat out, his eyes filled with anger, as he turned on his heel and walked out.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the man’s attitude. he hadn’t even helped put away anything and just stormed out with a “i’ll email you” and how dare he call you a fucking pushover. you were seething. you were civil, all you did was fucking ask him a simple, simple, question and he had the audacity to call you a pushover. 

you packed your bags, cleaned the study and made your way to mr lee, your boss and friend’s, office.

you knock on the door of his office, twisting the handle and pushing the door open with his approval to come in. 

heeseung was on the phone when you entered and sank into his couch, dropping your bag beside your feet. you kicked off your heels and folded your legs beneath your body, opting to open your phone to keep yourself entertained. 

“yes, mr kim, i understand. i shall call you back when i have more updates,” heeseung said, replying mr kim. 

placing his phone down, he turned his chair to face you, “so? how was it?”

“bro, do not get me started. he is such a fucking prick. i still don’t understand how he is your best-fucking-friend. he makes my blood boil so fucking much.” you huffed out.

a smile threatened to form on the older man’s face, as he asked “that bad huh? and i thought you would get along fine”

“that’s rich. i think you overestimated him. he’s so fucking annoying bro. i’m genuinely going to beat his ass one day. if he’s dead, you know who it was. and don’t report me to the government.” you spoke in one continuous breath. 

“woah, there tiger. slow down, now. deep breaths, yeah? don’t want you bursting a nerve in my office. it’ll be fine y/n, don’t stress it. you’ll warm up to each other soon enough.” he snickers. 

tiger was something heeseung began to call you when the two of you started to become close. when you asked why, he just shrugged, tilted his head and said, “you’re like a tiger. brave, fierce, independent, and efficient.”

you were about to retort back when heeseung’s phone rang, he smiled, motuhing “abby” before answering. 

you resort to using your phone, not wanting to listen into their conversations because you respected their privacy, you open a message from the groupchats with your friends.

you smiled, skating your head in slight disapproval. you could never really say no to them, they always had a soft spot in your heart. 

“what’s the smile for, tiger?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“the kids convinced me to go out for dinner” you said, trying to sound annoyed but the shine in your eyes gave you away.

“you do know those three have you wrapped around their finger right?”

“oh shut up hee, you’re equally as compliant for your wife.”

the man only smirked, raising his hands up, “that’s my wife, bro. what did you even expect? what time do you have to go meet them”

you check the watch on your wrist, before saying “shit, i gotta leave now if i want to make it there by 7 30”

grabbing your bags, you wave a quick goodbye to your boss, texting your friends that you would be leaving now and would be slightly late.

Y/N — 2025, november 22nd, saturday 19:35

the door swung open to reveal a woman dressed in all black. she smiles, pulling you in for a hug. “y/n! it’s been so long, how are you? i can’t stay long though, sorry i have plans with the girls.” 

you smiled. “navi, don’t worry about it. we’ll get coffee together sometime. busy schedules, i get it. don’t stress about it, yeah?” 

jungwon got up from his spot on the couch, a can of beer in hand, walked over and greeted you, then turned towards his girlfriend. not wanting to third wheel, again, you decided to walk towards the couch, where your other two friends were. 

shrugging off your coat, you draped it over the arm of the chair, placed your bag near the leg, and made yourself comfortable. “what’s on the menu, sun? ki? i'm absolutely fucking starving,” you asked, reaching forawrd to grab a can of beer for yourself as well.

“ramen, some chicken, corn, sushi and beer obviously,” sunoo replied, grabbing a piece of chicken from the plate ni-ki had just set down. 

jungwon came and took the seat opposite you. “how come you were at work today? i thought you had the day off?”

“i did, but heeseung called us in for an important meeting, a new case. a large one” you said, sighing.

“and? what’s the problem? normally you’re really excited about this kind of thing– like bouncing off the walls kind of excited,” jungwon asked.

“they merged the case i was originally working with a few others. yeah, they are similar and there are chances they are connected, but we aren’t sure because it hasn’t been touched upon. and god, i’m cursed! they assigned me to work with park sunghoon out of all people, park sunghoon!” you spat out, as if the name was distasteful to you.

you rant a while to them, before finally calming down.

“maybe it’ll be good. you might sort things out, you know. it wouldn’t hurt? you’re really close with his best friend too,” jungwon, always one for peace, said.

you scoff, opting to finish off your drink instead of replying. a heaviness began to settle over the room.

“uhh, is this a good time to say that i accidentally followed my crush while stalking her—” ni-ki blurted out. and just like that, the heaviness disappeared, and made room for a more electrified atmosphere.

groans and a very noisy bunch of teasing filled the air. 

“dude, how did you manage to do that?” sunoo asked, exasperation evident in his voice.

the younger man goes on a huge rant,with his hands flying everywhere, ears turning red defending himself and insisting on how it was a “slip of a thumb”.

and just like that, the topic of sunghoon was forgotten. the “kids” always made you feel at home. it reminded you of your university days, except now you were older, had stable careers. sunoo and jungwon had girlfriends, and ni-ki was flying out of the country every now and then for performances, creating choreographies that make you feel like a proud mom who’s watching.

SUNGHOON — 2025, november 22nd, saturday 21:04

he sat alone under the dim lights as he watched the woman move further away, after she excused herself to the restroom. the argument still replaying in his head. he grabs the glass of wine, and finishes the last bit.

why does she always have to appear at the worst times? he knew they had a deal, but it was beginning to interrupt him every time he started to feel better, happier, freer. 

and it wasn’t just her, it was also the memories she dragged along with her. the money. the manipulation. and of course the obsession she always had with him.

god, even a second in her presence made him regret everything. made him remember and made the guilt he’s so carefully tried to hide come clawing back up. 

but he couldn’t let slip, he wouldn't. he had to keep his word. 

for her. 

because it’ll always be her. even when she doesn’t know it. especially because she couldn't know it. 

a notification from his pocket pulls him out of his daze. 

it was heeseung, reminding him to text y/n about the details and making a snide comment about his abrupt leave from the office.

how does he know about that? he thought. the answer came almost immediately. y/n. they were friends, of course she would tell him.

how professional. complaining about him to her and– now technically– his superior.

he set his phone face down after replying with a quick thumbs up, as he saw the woman approach. he cursed slightly under his breath, before taking a deep breath to compose himself. he plastered on a smile, before refilling both the glasses of wine.

Y/N — 2025, november 24th, monday 09:27

your head was pounding. the lack of sleep from the night before was getting to you, your eyes burning as you tried to focus on the road ahead. you regretted letting joomi convince you to go clubbing with her. you had soup before leaving but, right now, all you so badly needed coffee.

the drive to sunghoon’s office wasn’t too bad. it was only an extra ten minutes or so. he had an appointment scheduled with jang kangdae, jang harin’s husband and then later her daughter. 

parking your car, you rush towards the lift, knowing you’d get an earful from sunghoon if you were more than a minute late.

fiddling with the cuffs of your shirt, you’re greeted by the door of the lift sliding open. inside was none other than park sunghoon himself.

you step inside in silence, moving to stand beside him. silence filled the space, but it wasn’t awkward. neither of you made an effort to greet each other. your eyes scan his figure, a bag from a cafe in his hands. it smells good. like comfort and calming.

the door slides open, interrupting you. he walks out first, without sparing you a glance and you follow, because you don’t have a choice. it’s his office and you’ve never been. “talk about zero hospitality manners,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. he stops in front of a door, and pauses for a second before moving in.

he was waiting for you, you could tell, a hand in the pocket of his pants, shoulders wide. how he always waits. 

when he sensed you beside him, he spoke without looking at you, busying himself in setting up his things. “this is my office, we’re going to interview mr jang there,” he gestured behind him without turning. “he shall be here in 15 minutes.”

he pulled out a coffee and placed it near your bag, before grabbing another one and walking outside.

you grab the coffee, a small smile spreading across your face without your consent.

taking a sip, you relish the feeling of warmth and comfort it brought you, the sleep in your eyes slowly fading. you move to unpack your bags, and remove your headphones.

on the fifth sip, you realised this was your regular order. the one you’ve drank since you were eighteen, fresh in college.

with five minutes to spare, you head out. a tiny notebook and pen in your coat pocket, coffee still in hand. you join sunghoon in the room, taking a seat beside him. you don’t thank him for the coffee and he doesn’t expect one. 

instead, you ask “do you think he has any involvement in the case? it’s common knowledge they were never on the best of terms.”

“always a possibility, can’t put it past people. he should be here soon,” he spoke as he checked his watch.

a sharp knock interrupted the both of you. a woman, the receptionist– you recalled– peeps through, “mr. jang is here,” pushing the door in and moving away so the man could walk in.

mr jang, was a tall man with broad shoulders and a stern face dressed in a well-tailored black suit. from the looks of it, he looked like a man who knew no fun.

sunghoon stood, gesturing to him to take a seat across the table. meanwhile, you moved to take a seat slightly behind sunghoon, still present but not in the spotlight. after all, interviews were his speciality, you were here to listen and observe.

“i do not wish to take too much of your time, mr jang. i’d appreciate your cooperation. this is my partner, ms kang, she shall join us today,” you nod in greeting as sunghoon began, there was no warmth or hospitality in his voice– just cold and straightforward. ‘so this was how he earned his reputation’, you thought.

jang kangdae gave a short nod in your direction as he clasped his hands on the table, waiting for sunghoon to continue.

sunghoon folded his hands on the table, his gaze fixed on the man across from him. “this conversation will be recorded, and with your consent i’d like to begin with some basic questions.” jang kangdae gave a curt nod.

“how would you describe your relationship with your wife?” 

kangdae paused, swallowed. “fine.” 

you almost rolled your eyes, men and their lack of explanations pissed you off. sunghoon leaned slightly backwards, “fine?”

“we argued, then we made up. as one does.”

“what kind of arguments?” he pressed further.

he cracked his knuckles, “family matters and work,” kangdae replied, though it seemed like he wanted to add on, he remained silent. 

sunghoon took a breath, “the public believes ms jang and yourself were not on good terms, why is that?”

“why do people talk the way they do?” he replied, though you noticed his fist clenched, ever so slightly– for a split second before they went back to its “relaxed position”. sunghoon noticed too.

he chose to not comment on it and instead moved ahead, “did you know your wife was receiving calls from an unknown number?”

“we do everyday, it’s not a shocking occurrence.” the silence stretched.

mr jang checked his watch, and shifted slightly.

“how would you describe your wife’s behavior the week before her death?”

“i was out of town when she was found dead, before i left she was fine.” he tapped his his foot on the ground. odd, you thought– not his statement. the reactions, the responses.

“did she seem anxious in any ways?”

“no.” sunghoon tilted his head slightly. studying the man across from him, he tapped his thumb once against his finger. 

“no changes in sleeping habits? eating habits? stress levels?” his voice remained level.

“no.” he stopped.

“mr jang,” sunghoon repeated, leaning forwards clasping his hands again, “your wife was receiving repeated calls from an unknown number, and according to people, her co-workers, friends and your daughter, she had been acting differently in the days leading up to her death.”

kangdae's eyebrows furrowed. “i wasn’t home enough to recognise.”

“so you knew nothing of your wife’s behavior?”

a flash of irritation passed through mr jang’s face, before smoothening it over again. “i've already answered your questions.” 

from beside sunghoon, you noticed it again– his fingers pressed into his palm. too hard.

“you have been answering your own questions mr jang, not mine.” sunghoon said, his voice dropping slightly.

for the first time since entering the room, kangdae shifted uncomfortably. “i've answered everything you've asked.”

“have you?” sunghoon asked calmly before continuing, “you say your relationship with your wife was fine, yet the public believed otherwise. you say she behaved normally, but you weren't home enough to notice changes. you say you knew nothing about the calls.” kangdae looked at him, eyes narrowing, foot tapping silently against the floor once before stopping abruptly.

“you seem to know very little about your wife, mr jang.” sunghoon spoke.

kangdae's expression hardened. “you don’t know what you’re talking about.” and from beside sunghoon, you sat a little straighter. because there it was again. fingers pressing into his palm, but this time, his shoulders tightened too.

he took a breath, unclenching his hand. “what do you want me to say,”

“i need you to answer my questions honestly. so i’ll repeat myself once more. was your wife anxious? or showing signs of depression? ”

he clenched his jaw, “i don’t think so, she was smiling at my daughter. i wouldn’t know why she was taking pills. hell, i don’t even know how they got there.” a slight pause. “she never even tol—” he paused, eyes widening a fraction, before he cleared his throat.

sunghoon’s eyes narrowed. you looked up from your notes. mr jang, shifted slightly and checked his watch, “i have a meeting to attend. let’s continue this later.”

“alright, i’ll be in touch with your secretary.” sunghoon said, pushing his chair back. you stand beside him as you watch mr jang walk out of the room.

the tension in the room does not ease. you turn on your heels and walk out, moving to sunghoon’s office.

you pull your laptop open. not bothering to sit, you start pulling files and the notes from her case. you do not turn as you hear the door open.

“i’ve asked mrs kim to send a request for the interview of ms jang to be pushed earlier.” he says, walking in front of you, taking a seat at his desk, loosening his tie. 

you look up, your eyes locking with his. “we need to find out what he was going to say.” sunghoon leaned back in his chair, watching you for a moment. “you noticed it too, right?”

“i noticed a lot of things, park. be specific.” you say before moving your gaze back to your laptop. “his hand.” he said. “yeah, i did. he kept tensing whenever we mentioned mrs jang.”

humming, he loosened his watch and placed it on his desk. you could feel his gaze on you. “and?” he asked.

“and?” you ask. looking up to meet his gaze. 

“people do strange things when they're nervous.” but he doesn’t sound confident. narrowing  your eyes, you ask “you don't believe that?” the corner of his mouth twitched, he replied “no. not when they have things to hide.” 

“what, so you’re saying he did it?” 

the reply came quickly. “no,” you breathe in, rolling your eyes slightly. was he allergic to replying properly?

“do you think he had something to do with it?” you pressed further. “maybe. can’t be sure yet.” he replied. he was doing this on purpose. clipped responses when he knows you hate them.

“i emailed about the permit to look at her office.” he said, switching the topic.

“good. let me know when they get back.” you replied. a comfortable silence filled the room as the two of you worked.

SUNGHOON — 2025, november 24th, monday 11:33

sunghoon grabbed his watch from the table, staring at the arms move. he placed it down beside his laptop. running his hand through his hair, he watched the woman in front of him. she was working, reading the case files and statements from everyone who provided them and comparing them to the transcript of the interview with kangdae.

he didn’t like working with a partner, but this case forced him to work with her. she worked hard, he couldn’t deny that. y/n always worked till she was exhausted to her bones, she’d work no matter what condition she was in. she’d do anything to get the answers she thought she needed. and was very, very fucking infuriating. 

his attention was drawn to his work by a ping on his laptop. it was his secretary forwarding an email of ms jang agreeing to meet at one instead of three. 

“ms jang agreed to meet with us at one.”

y/n hummed, not sparing him a glance. he resisted the urge to scoff. “we should probably head for lunch.”

“you can go,” she replied, without really listening to him.

he rolled his eyes, “suit yourself,” he spoke. wearing his watch, he grabbed his wallet and phone, and walked out.

stubborn woman, he muttered under his breath. i hope she starves, he thought.

his phone buzzes in his pocket as he enters the lift. it’s a call. he answers without looking at the contact. only one person would call him at this time. 

he brought the phone to his ear, and a sweet, sultry, “hey love,” greeted him.

Y/N— 2025, november 24th, monday 12:09

pushing your chair back, your stomach grumbled. you hadn’t eaten anything since– shit, you hadn’t had any real food since her pre-clubbing. that was like more than twelve hours ago.

you shut your laptop, and walked out of sunghoon’s office, shutting the door behind her. the queue wasn't too long. thankfully.

you stared up at the menu absentmindedly, still half focused on the case. jang kangdae's expression and, of course, the slip up. 

“you've been standing here for two minutes.” you turned. park sunghoon, obviously. who else would it be? and why the fuck was he everywhere?

“i was thinking.” he smirks, “didn’t know you had it in you”

you narrowed your eyes and scoffed, you ask “aren't you supposed to be eating?”

“i am.” he replied. only then did you notice the tray in his hand. you blinked. then stared at it. placing the menu down, you turn towards him entirely.

“is that my order?” you asked, eyebrows raised. “no,” he replied immediately, casually. “one of them is.”

he turned around, walking to a table and setting the tray down. your feet followed before you willed them to.

“you've got twenty minutes before we leave,” he said flatly, as you took the chair in front of him

“i didn't ask you to buy me food.” you said, annoyed, but grateful nonetheless. he couldn’t know that though. 

the reply didn’t come fast. he opened the ramen container, took a bite, chewed, then decided you were worth a reply. “i didn't ask you to starve.”

“you're acting weird.” you said as you pulled the pasta plate towards you, blowing on the steamy dish before taking a bite. 

without looking at you, he replied, “eat.”

Y/N— 2025, november 24th, monday 12:32

the rest of lunch passed in a comfortable silence. comfortable enough that it irritated you. sunghoon scrolled through something on his phone between bites of ramen while you finished the pasta in front of you.

every now and then, you'd catch him glancing at his watch. exactly twenty minutes later, he stood.

“let's go.” you stared up at him. “wow. ever the gentleman, aren’t we?”

he grabbed his phone from the table and just walked away. you rolled your eyes, making your way out of the restaurant behind him. he was waiting for you at the lift. you narrowed your eyes. “you're so fucking irritating.”

“eat faster next time.” he said, smirking, not even sparing you a glance.

“how do girls even think you’re worth their time. if they met you they’d hate you”

“mhm.”

by the time the two of you returned to the office, mrs kim had already informed you that ms jang had arrived earlier than expected. you adjusted your blazer as you stepped out of the lift, eyes moving towards the waiting area.

she looked beautiful, despite her puffy eyes and anxious demeanor. she sat with both hands wrapped around a glass mug of coffee, leg bouncing slightly against the floor. dark circles sat beneath her eyes and despite being dressed neatly, she looked exhausted.

when she heard footsteps, she looked up immediately. hope. people always looked like that. and it pained you. she reminded you of you.

sunghoon stopped beside you, following your line of sight towards the woman. “ms jang?” he called.

she stood almost immediately, gripping the mug tighter before smiling slightly. “yes.” up close, she looked really exhausted. her eyes were drooping, as if sleep had abandoned her days ago.

“i’m detective park sunghoon, and this is kang y/n, a criminal analyst.” he introduced, gesturing briefly towards you. you offered her a small smile. “thank you for coming.”

“no, thank you,” she replied quickly, almost cutting you off. “i just– i want to know what happened to my mother.” there it was again. the hope. you hated it, made you feel responsible.

sunghoon opened the door to the interview room, letting her walk in first. she paused for a second, hesitating, before entering. you followed behind, taking your usual seat slightly behind sunghoon. 

jang jisoo’s eyes landed on you. “you'll be here too, right?” the question caught you off gaurd, you gave her a small smile. “of course.”

sunghoon waited until she settled into her seat before speaking. “thank you again for coming, ms jang. i understand this isn't easy.” you could tell this was going to be different from the previous interview. he was gentler, not obviously, never obviously. his gaze became a little softer, his tone lost the coldness, instead developed a brotherly tone.

jisoo shook her head slightly, wrapping both hands around the paper cup in front of her. “it's okay.” it wasn't and you could tell.

sunghoon opened the file in front of him. “i'd like to ask a few questions regarding your mother and the week leading up to her death.” she only nodded. he let the silence fill before he spoke again.

“how would you describe your mother?”

for the first time, her expression softened. relaxed, as if she was recollecting happy memories.

jisoo’s eyes dropped to the table. “she was busy,” you looked up. busy wasn't the answer you had expected. “but she was kind,” she continued quietly. “really kind, you know? she always made time for people who needed her.” another pause. “sometimes too much of her time.”

sunghoon glanced up briefly. “too much?”

“she cared a lot about others.” she said simply. but her eyes, they implied something else. something heavier.

sunghoon didn't say anything immediately, he let her breathe, process and recollect. “can you explain what you mean by that?”

“my mother— she always wanted to help people. sometimes she'd come home really late because a patient needed her, or she'd answer calls during dinner because she thought it was important.” she smiled, but it wasn’t happy. “i used to complain about it when i was younger.”

the smile faded almost immediately. “but i guess i got used to it.”

your heart ached for her, both her parents being busy meant she got little to no time with them. you snuck a glance at sunghoon, his face remained impassive.

“did anything change during the week before her death?”

her fingers tightened around the mug, her jaw tightened. “yeah,” a simple answer. but very different from her husband’s. 

“did she seem distracted?” sunghoon asked, lighty. jisoo nodded mutely.

“distracted how?” he asked.

jisoo frowned. “she'd look at her phone a lot,” she started, then hesitated. sunghoon waited for her to continue. “and, i don’t think she was sleeping properly either.”

sunghoon leaned back slightly in his chair. “was she worried about something?” she didn’t reply immediately. she shifted, her hand trembled slightly. “i thought it was work at first.” you looked up from your notes, watching her again.  

“at first?” sunghoon asked, his tone shifting to something close to softness.

her eyes lifted breifly. “my mother was always busy, so stress wasn't really unusual.” she rubbed her thumb against the handle of the mug absentmindedly. “but she'd keep checking her phone, and whenever she did, she'd look–” she frowned slightly, breathing in.

silence filled the room. sunghoon gave her space, letting her compose herself before she continued.

“she looked scared. my mother is a lot of things. but she wasn’t scared. she is the bravest woman i know.” silence filled the room once more. jisoo sat straight, but she seemed to shrink into the chair. her eyes were staring into the now empty mug, her fingers lightly tapping against the cup.

you glanced at sunghoon, but he was already looking at you. his expression remained unreadable, but his fingers had begun to unclasp from its hold. “did your mother ever mention the calls?” he asked eventually.

jisoo looked up, “calls?” she asked, as if the concept was new, unheard of.

he continued, “from an unknown number.” she thought for a few moments before slowly shaking her head. 

she tilted her head. “my mother never spoke of such things to me. but–” she stopped, setting her cup down. “but?” sunghoon pressed lightly.

“i remember hearing her phone ring a lot.” she shifted slightly in her seat, her shoulders dropping slightly.

“usually very late into the night. i don’t think i was supposed to have heard it. but i did. i think she’d think the whole house was asleep. she never realised i was awake.”

“how did she react to those calls?”

“at first she’d silence it. to not wake anyone. especially my father, if he was home. she’d go outside– to the balcony i mean– and she’d stare at her phone. watch it ring. sometimes she’d pick it up, bring it to her ear. it barely lasted for a minute. she’d end the call and walk to the wine cabinet, pour herself a glass and drink it. alone, in the dark.”

your pen had stopped moving long ago. sunghoon's expression didn't change, but you noticed the slight tightening of his jaw. “did your father know about this?” he asked.

jisoo blinked. “i'm not sure. they weren't exactly the type to tell each other everything.”

the room fell quiet. you glanced down at your notes. busy. phone. late night calls. fear. wine.

none of it matched what kangdae had said earlier. because according to him— his wife had been perfectly fine. was she “fine” according to him? or was he lying? or were they never close enough to realise. but that couldn’t be possible, you can’t be married to someone for twenty-three years and not know their regular behavior, not know when they were anxious. 

you looked at sunghoon, silently asking him if you could speak. he nodded slightly. “would you say she was anxious?”

jisoo's brows furrowed slightly. “anxious?” she repeated quietly. you nodded. she stared down at the table for a few moments, her fingers flexing slightly.

“i don't know.” her fingers tapped once against the cup. “my mother always carried stress well.” she paused, but it was tense, and tired. tired in a way that it felt she had been carrying something heavy for a while. her eyes lifted again. “she started locking her study.” sunghoon looked up.

“locking it?” he repeated. jisoo nodded slowly. “she never used to. she—”

her phone began to ring. she looked at the caller id, confusion flickered across her face . “it’s my professor. it’s probably urgent. i should probably take this. is that okay with you?” 

sunghoon nodded, “yes, we’ll take a fifteen minute break. miss kang and i will be in my office, you’re free to take the room,” he said, as he gathered the files and his notes as he walked out without sparing you a glance.

you shot her a quick glance, watching as she swiped her thumb against the screen, bringing the phone to her ear, you walked out behind the man. you followed him into his office, where he had already settled into his chair.

you shut the office door behind you. and for a moment, neither of you spoke. sunghoon dropped the files onto his desk before leaning back in his chair, stretching slightly. “thoughts?” he asked. the fire in his eyes had returned, the slight softness in them had disappeared in jisoo’s absence.

you stared at him, without replying. his eyebrow lifted slightly. “what? do you have nothing else to say? or did you forget it all looking at me. because—”

“stop.” you said, your eyes turning to steel. the corner of his mouth twitched. 

“go on, then. speak.” he said, his voice dropping a little lower. if this was in another scenario and a different man, you might have considered it hot. the effortless dominance and cockiness he always managed to slip into his voice, it irritated you to no end.

“i think she’s telling the truth. but that means kangdae lied, because he said his wife was fine. or maybe he never realised for whatever reason. but then he was a shitty husband because you can’t be married to someone for over twenty years and not how they act. pathetic i tell you.”

“you couldn’t know that. people only see what they want to see. and kangdae is clearly that type of man. he saw her as a guest at his house. why would he want to know more? it was clear he never wanted her, and it was clear she never wanted him.” he countered, his posture stiffening. the sharpness in his eyes took you aback. why was he so sure?

sunghoon leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes fixed on you. “or,” he said slowly, “you're assuming people tell each other everything.” you frowned. 

“that's not what i'm saying.”

“isn't it?” you looked up from the files. “i'm saying you notice things.” he tilted his head slightly.

“do you?” he asked. his eyes, sharp and cold.

you stared at him. “what's that supposed to mean?”

his fingers tapped once against the arm of his chair. “people hide things all the time.” he said. like it was unimportant. like it was meaningless.

“not from people they love.” the words left your mouth before you could stop them. he blinked, clenching his fists. silence followed. sunghoon didn't move. nothing. and then his jaw tightened. “you'd be surprised.” his voice was quieter now, but it’s sharpness hadn’t disappeared. it only became bolder.

you stared at him for a moment. the argument had taken a personal turn, and you knew it. you balled your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palm.

“you can’t love someone and not realise. you can’t marry someone, live with them for years and not know the basics of their personality or behavior. hell—” you paused abruptly. sunghoon’s eyes bore into you, his head slightly tilted as if he was questioning your statement entirely.

“go on, darling. what was that?” he said, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes.. you shook your head, “nothing. we have better things to worry about. what else do we need to know?” you looked away first, still feeling his sharp eyes boring into your skull.

the tension sat heavily in the room, neither of you spoke. you busied yourself with rearranging the files in front of you despite them already being organised. a sharp knock cut through the silence. mrs kim peeked through the door. “ms jang is ready.”

you stood almost immediately. anything was better than sitting in that room any longer. you walked ahead, not bothering to check if sunghoon was following. but you were very conscious of the way his footsteps trailed behind you. 

when the two of you entered the interview room again, jisoo had already placed her phone back into her bag. her eyes shot up as she heard the two of you enter. “sorry,” she said quietly, looking towards him. “my professor needed something.” sunghoon took his seat again. moving to sit beside him, you couldn’t help but notice how entirely different kangade and his daughter were.

“it's alright, may i pick up from where we left off?” he asked, opening the file once more. the softness was back in his eyes, his tone losing its sharp edge. he began to speak with her nod. her hands gripping the mug, that was now refilled with fresh coffee that was still steaming.

“you mentioned your mother started locking her study.” jisoo nodded slowly. 

“she started around two weeks before,” she spoke, pausing as she glanced at the ceiling before her eyes flickered back to sunghoon again. “before everything.” sunghoon glanced down briefly at his notes. “did anyone go inside?”

she shook her head. “not me. and certainly not my father either.” sunghoon looked up slowly. “certainly? you’re sure?”

jisoo frowned slightly. “yeah.” her brows pulled together. “father hated going into her study. he never said why. he just didn’t.”

sunghoon hummed faintly, tilting his head tot he side. “not the maids? the housekeepers? no one?” sunghoon pressed further.

she didn’t reply immediately. she blew the coffee, and took a sip. “i believe they weren’t allowed to. i myself haven’t been there much.”

sunghoon glanced briefly at you before looking back at jisoo. “sometimes the smallest things matter,” he said. “even if they seem unimportant.” jisoo stared down at the coffee in her hands. you thought she'd shake her head, say nothing. but instead she started.

“she forgot things.”

“forgot?”

jisoo nodded slowly. “small things. my mom never forgets things. she has amazing memory.” she let out a quiet breath, something that could have been a laugh.

“she forgot to remind me to bring my umbrella one morning.” she smiled faintly. “it sounds stupid.” nobody interrupted her.  “she forgot where she left her glasses once. and she burnt breakfast.”

you blinked. burning breakfast? jisoo looked up briefly, her eyes shifting between you and sunghoon.

“my mom didn't cook much, but whenever she did. she did it properly. like someone was grading her.” her eyes dropped again. she paused, breathing in. clenching her fists.

“i remember thinking she looked distracted. like she was somewhere else.” her grip tightened around the mug.

“i thought she was tired. now i don't know if she was.”

sunghoon tapped his pen lightly against the table. he was beginning to get a little frustrated. always the impatient man. “did your mother ever keep anything important there?”

“important? in what sense?”

“documents. files. letters.”

she thought for a few moments. “i wouldn’t know, i assume so. her job forced her to maintain patient confidentiality. she never really spoke about her clients or anything.”

sunghoon tapped his foot, opening his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by jisoo.

“but, um.” you looked up from your notes and sunghoon had shut his mouth again, waiting for her to continue.

“she did spend more time there.” his foot tapped once more, as if to say “bingo!”

“more time?” jisoo nodded slowly. “sometimes— sometimes when i'd wake up in the middle of the night and see the light under the door.” she looked down at the coffee in her hands. “and i thought she was working.”

“you think?” sunghoon asked.

“i do not know what i think anymore. but i know she was a little scared.”

nobody spoke, the low hum of the a/c filled the room. sunghoon lowered his pen onto the table. “one last thing.” jisoo looked up.

“the day your mother was found,” her fingers tightened around the mug. “did anything unusual happen?” she frowned, thinking.

“not really.” a pause. “father had left early for work, as usual. and i had left for my classes. i hadn’t seen my mother that morning. and i don’t know if father did.”

you looked down at your notes. “for work?” you asked absentmindedly. “yeah.”  

sunghoon glanced down at the notes in front of him. “did he mention where he was going that day?”

jisoo shook her head. “no, father usually doesn't tell me those things.” you nodded absentmindedly, scribbling down the last few points from the interview. phone calls. fear. Study. late nights.

you looked up slightly. “mr jang mentioned he had a meeting today too.”

“yeah, it’s like that he’s always busy.” jisoo replied automatically. then her brows slowly pulled together, she straightened. setting her mug down. “meeting?” she asked.

“today?” she repeated, sounding confused now. the room went still. sunghoon shot a quick glance towards you. “my dad doesn't have meetings today.”

a pause. sunghoon looked up. and you stopped writing.

“it's his day off.”