Noon 20+

Once on, the strap-on looks much bigger and more intimidating. You give a light slap, and it wobbles in its place. You couldn't help yourself but smile at the pink dick. It was funny in a way. Seeing such a thing attached to your hips. Mingi, on the other hand, is looking directly at the dildo with a nervous look in his eyes. He's sitting on the edge of the bed naked with his hand in between his legs, covering himself almost embarrassingly.

"Are you sure about this?" You make sure you want to make sure he's alright with this. This is his first time, and you don't want to ruin him.

"Yes, yes," he looks up to you, "I want this. I want you," he assures you, and he is telling the truth. He did want it, but he just couldn't help but be nervous. He had thoughts about it. What it would feel like, but suddenly, being face to face with it, he now could understand how you reacted when you and he first slept together. You were nervous about his size. It's quite ironic in this moment.

You walk over to him and place your hand on his shoulders. He's tense, and you start slowly massaging his muscles. You do this for a good five minutes, taking your time to relax him, kneading at his arms, and going down to his hands. You kiss each knuckle on the one hand before going to the next. Holding his hands, you lift them above his head and push him backwards on the bed. You shuffle upwards, so you're sitting on his stomach. You bring your hands onto his chest and knead softly.

"How would you like it, Min?" You ask sweetly. His face goes red, and he hides his face behind a hand. He felt like he could explode in seconds. You giggle quickly, covering his gorgeous blushed skin with kisses. He places a hand on your face and lightly pulls you away to look at you... You stand between his legs as he no longer feels the nerves to hide from you.

"Like this, I want to be able to see you," he answers softly.

You grin widely and shuffle past the bed to grab the lube from the bedside table. You come back and position yourself on top of Mingi, his legs slightly elevated with a pillow under his waist. His ass flushed against you.

"First up, I'm going to prepare you. Because if I don't it'll hurt like a bitch," you speak to him through it, trying to sound light-hearted in order to make him more comfortable.

"Hmm," he mumbles in response. You squirt a decent amount onto your fingers and coat them well. You rub the gel between your fingers, warming it up so it isn't too cold for him. Bringing your fingers down you lightly press at his rim.

"I'm going to put a finger in," you tell him, waiting for him to give a short nod before you insert one finger. He squirms as he gets used to the feeling. It's a feeling he is unable to describe. It makes him feel warm, hot even, inside. The feeling of being full slightly. It was strange but his body yearned for more.

"Add another," he moaned wiggling his hips slightly. You do as he asks for and slips into another finger. You spread your fingers inside him, and he lets out a higher-pitched gasp. It's honey to your ears. You add a third finger and he grips the sheets under him. He brings the sheets over his face feeling embarrassment overwhelm him at the idea he is actually enjoying something so vulgar. you tsked with a small smile stopping your movements for a moment.

"Uncover your face, Mingi. You said you wanted to see me," you tried to impersonate his words prior to making a smile crack on his face. He uncovers his face and you see him panting softly. His cheeks are a lovely pink almost hot to the touch. This is a side of him you've never seen but now that you've seen it. You want more. You crave it. You want to push every sound out of him and eat it up. After a while, you pull out and Mingi whines feeling empty.

"Now for the actual thing," you chuckle, grabbing the lube. You put just enough on the strap-on, slathering it up with your hand and ensuring that Mingi watches with wide eyes.

"You like what you see?" You ask while stroking the dildo making him think about at all the times he would say that to you, but now the roles have reversed and it makes him want more.

"Just fuck me already," he groans. A chuckle escapes your lips as you line the dildo to his entrance. You enter only the head and watch the pink dildo slip in slowly. You don't go any further as you hear Mingi whine and arch his back slightly. You haven't put the whole thing in and he's acting like this. Good lord, you're turned on by this. Sliding in all the way at the slowest pace you can do, you watch as your boyfriend's face contorts in pleasure. So this is why he enjoys this position so much. You thought.

"Fuck, Fuck." He didn't know what to say. What to do. He was lost in the pleasure you gifted him. He never understood the idea of feeling full until right this moment. All his nerves felt like they were on fire in the best way possible. He could feel his cock hitting his abdomen with each thrust you do. You also seemed to take notice, leaning on your left hand you bring your right down to grab the base of his shaft, starting to move up and down in a slower motion than your hips.

"You like that baby?" You cooed, thrusting harder, gaining a little more confidence with each snap. Mingi nodded vigorously, arching his back more. His legs widened for you, making you have more room to go deeper inside him. He couldn't hold back anymore, he felt his release coming in fast, and the moment he felt your thumb rub against his slit he knew it was over.

"Shhhiittt." He moaned with a pitch you've never heard come out of your lover. It was whiny, high and desperate. You squeezed his cock as his load painted his tummy and chest. You rode his high until coming to a complete stop. He took in big breaths, panting like crazy while sweat dripped down from him onto the bed sheets. You watched him with a smile, slowly pulling out, making sure not to hurt him. He stayed there for a moment while you took the strap-on off. You grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, before coming back to clean him up. He watched you the whole time with hooded eyes.

"How was it?" You ask him, crawling onto the side of the bed so you could cuddle up to him. He engulfed you in his large arms, clinging to you with passion. He didn't think much of the idea, not even thinking he would enjoy it. But he was glad he asked, and he was also so happy you accepted. He gave your forehead a little kiss, feeling sleep begin to take hold of him.

"It was perfect.... Thank you."

©Ja3hwa. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

“We know that,” Yeri says with a chuckle and roll of her eyes. “Thinking about what, hm?” she presses, and you balk.

“She’s probably thinking about Haechan and what stunts he’s gonna pull today.” Karina supposes, and you frown, upset you’ve been caught.

In your defense, Haechan is always up to shenanigans when you’re around; he pulls at your skirt to fluster you, plays with your hair to get your attention, strokes under your chin just to watch your eyes glaze over—you name it, he’s either done it or is probably thinking about it.

You can’t honestly say his advances are unwelcome because, well, you’ve had a crush on him for the past six months. But something about him is so intense, so jarringly locked in, that it makes you hesitate, and being the object of his full and undivided attention never fails to make you the shyest version of yourself, and you manage to make a fool of yourself almost every single time you get around him, and you have no idea how you’re going to deal with his antics today. 

“Girl.” Karina’s voice cuts through the fog in your brain and you blink hard, focusing on your friend’s concerned expression. “You’re doing it again.”

“Oh. Sorry,” you mutter, rubbing your arm awkwardly. “I’m here, for real.”

As the bell dings and the doors open, the three of you file out of the elevator, walking towards the end of the hall to your destination.

“If you need help with him, let us know. We can make up a code word!” Karina suggests helpfully, and you smile, endeared by your friend’s attempt to calm your nerves.

“What should it be?” you wonder, and she screws her face up thoughtfully.

“Blinker.” Yeri answers, and you both turn to look at her. “It should be blinker. Like, if he’s getting too close and you can’t handle it, you can just say you kinda wanna try hitting a blinker or something like that.”

“The last time I hit a blinker, I coughed for ten minutes straight and it was the most painful experience of my life.” Karina recalls, grimacing at the memory. “It’s perfect.”

“Great.” Yeri says, smiling reassuringly at you before the three of you stop in front of the apartment door. Without a second thought, Yeri knocks three times on the door, stepping back to where you two are standing and waits with you for someone to open the door.

It opens a moment later to reveal Haechan standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorframe and the other holding the door, and you wonder how such a simple stance has you short of breath.

He looks at Karina and Yeri, smiling pleasantly, before he locks eyes with you. Slowly wetting his lips, his eyes slowly drag up and down your frame, taking in your outfit and appearance before he meets your gaze once more and drops one eyelid into a flirtatious wink.

“Come on in,” he invites, stepping back to let Karina and Yeri in. When it’s your turn to pass, he moves closer, deliberately blocking part of your way so you have to brush by him to enter, and you’re sure it’s also no coincidence that he’s positioned himself so your chest has to brush against his. You swallow your nerves and continue walking past him, not daring to look back in case he’s looking at you; which, if today is anything like every other day you all hang out, he most certainly is. 

Shutting the door behind you, Haechan follows after the three of you into the living room, but waits, standing, by the chair where Mark sits—for what, you don’t know. You wave hello to Mark in his favorite armchair and Jeno on one end of the couch, who greet you pleasantly and resume their tasks of packing the bong and rolling a joint, respectively. Mildly confused but saying nothing at Haechan’s behavior, you take a seat at the other end of the couch, only for Haechan to move at last, crossing the living room to sit directly next to you.

Your throat dries up at the prospect of being so close to him, and you inhale shakily, wanting desperately to roll your eyes back in your head when you catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne.

Haechan doesn’t say anything for a moment, just rests one elbow on his knee and observes you with his cheek in his palm. His expression is nothing short of desiring as he takes in your appearance, your burgundy pleated skirt and short-sleeved cream blouse apparently quite the fascinating little number to him, causing you to shift awkwardly in your seat and self-consciously tug your skirt down a bit.

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m staring at you because you look good,” Haechan compliments, eyeing you appreciatively. “You always look good, though, but today… damn.”

You blink at him, stunned by the flirtatious lilt to his voice, and mumble, “Oh.”

“Oh?” he mimics you, chuckling, and you furrow your brows, frowning at his teasing. His brows lift up as his face brightens with amusement, and he shakes his head slowly with a smile.

“Thank you.” you say softly, and he nods, smile widening. 

“You’re so cute.” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. Your eyes dart around, looking everywhere but at him, but he recaptures your attention when he snickers quietly and you meet his gaze to see he’s no longer looking at your eyes, but your lips, and there’s a distinct longing in his stare that unnerves you and, if you’re honest, piques your curiosity. “Did you make it here okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble quietly, eyes shifting back and forth from his eyes to your lap before you give into temptation and look at his lips, regretting it instantly when they quirk up into a smirk as he catches you looking. “The bus was basically empty, and it had heating today.”

“Mm, that’s good to hear,” he muses, running his fingers through his hair, and you attempt to hide the way you swallow thickly at the attractive sight. “We don’t want anyone pressing up against such a pretty girl and trying anything sleazy, right?”

“Um…” you trail off, managing to restrain the reply on the tip of your tongue that Haechan is probably the most likely candidate to press up against you and try something sleazy.

“...Right.” he finishes for you, and you nibble your bottom lip.

“...Right.” you echo, and he grins. 

“So… Do you wanna smoke?” he asks.

“I do,” you confirm shyly, and he smiles slightly, no doubt amused by your nervousness.

“Good girl. Did you wanna hit my pen? It’s pretty strong.” he offers, and you won’t lie—your brain blanks for a minute at the praise, but you’re pretty sure you manage to recover just in time for Haechan not to notice anything.  

“Okay,” you reply hesitantly, and he grins.

“Great—give me one second to get something.” he says before standing up and heading to the back of the apartment to his room. You wait fairly patiently, fingers lightly drumming on your knee as you wait for him to return.

“What’s up?” Mark asks curiously.

“Haechan’s getting something from his room.” you explain, and Mark nods slowly, lips pursed thoughtfully.

Haechan returns from the back of the apartment after a moment with a new cartridge in his hand. You watch with mild fascination as he deftly switches the cartridges in his pen, taking a test pull and holding it in for so much time, you’d swear he’s trying to show off.

When he looks over at you and winks before blowing it out, your suspicions are confirmed. 

“This strain is special,” Haechan murmurs to you, and his eyes drop to your lips as he continues, “it’s a ‘horny’ strain.”

“A horny strain?” you mumble, confused, and he nods with a grin.

“It heightens libido.” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Want some?”

“That’s not real,” Mark calls out from across the living room, and you crane your head to see him. “There’s no actual science to back that up.”

Haechan scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No one signed up for your TEDTalk on weed; save it.”

Mark grumbles something about misinformation being the death of society but remains otherwise silent.

Haechan calls your attention back to him with a simple clearing of the throat, and you look back at him to see his gaze heavy-lidded and sultry as he regards you, and you start to wonder if Mark might actually be the misinformed one.

“Want some?” he repeats his question from earlier, and you hesitate, making him roll his eyes and chuckle. “It’s not gonna bite you.” As you shift closer to take the pen from him, he holds it out of your reach with a glint in his eye. “I might, though,” he murmurs, and you swallow thickly.

He scans your frame, eyes lingering on your almost outstretched hand, and takes a slow, deep pull from the pen, not holding it in for nearly as long before he’s leaning towards you suddenly, making you yelp and draw back.

“Relax,” he mumbles, some of the smoke slipping from his mouth. He cups your chin in his hand and tugs gently to get you to open your mouth before leaning closer, so close that you fear your lips might touch, leading you to attempt to pull back; however, Haechan’s grip on your chin tightens, a clear sign to stay where you are, and he blows the smoke into your mouth slowly. You’re deeply flustered at first, but your instincts kick in as you inhale the secondhand smoke, holding it in your lungs for a couple of seconds before blowing it back out.

When you’re done exhaling, you expect to pull back, but Haechan’s grip on you hasn’t loosened, the male now studying your lips with an intensity in his gaze that gives you a twinge of anxiety and something else you don’t have it in you to identify. 

“You ever shotgunned before?” he asks softly, and you shake your head as much as his hold on you will allow. “You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” you mumble meekly. “Can you let me go now?”

He rolls his eyes slowly, lips quirking into a cocky grin as he does just that, releasing your chin and sitting back. “If you say so.”

“Thanks,” you mutter quietly, and he flicks his brows upwards in acknowledgement, gaze scanning you before lingering for a moment by the side of your face. “What is it?”

“You have something in your hair,” he says, gesturing to near your ear. When you fail to retrieve the foreign object, he tsks in dissatisfaction before leaning over and gently removing a single white feather from your hair. “Probably from the pillows.” he explains, the backs of his fingers gently grazing your ear as he pulls back. When you squirm away from his touch slightly, the contact too sensitive and ticklish, Haechan chuckles softly. “Look how nervous I make you.” His fingers return to your ear, gently stroking the shell of your ear, and your face blazes with embarrassment and something else as he hums softly. “Even your ear is hot. Do I make you hot anywhere else?” He drops his hand, fingers lightly skimming your upper thigh, and you just about jump out of your skin, cursing internally when you see the delight in his expression.

“Thanks for getting the feather out of my hair,” you say in a desperate attempt to navigate the conversation elsewhere, but it seems Haechan isn’t quite set on letting you off that easily.

“Oh, come on,” he presses, sitting closer to you and leaning so close you can smell his (delicious) cologne. “Don’t tell me your heart isn’t racing right now.”

It is, you think grimly. That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.

“Haechan, leave the poor girl alone,” Karina calls from the other end of the couch, and the momentary waver in Haechan’s attention on you as his eyes dart elsewhere is all you need to scoot further back and smooth your skirt out with a vigorous clearing of your throat.

When Haechan looks back over at you, you’ve thankfully managed to regain a semblance of your composure, your gaze politely but pointedly focused at your hands in your lap.

“Pretty girl, you want another hit of the pen?” Haechan offers, and you think back to the way Haechan clutched your chin earlier to shotgun you, finally shaking your head in refusal. “Okay,” he relents, reaching into his back pocket for something and frowning before pulling out an empty hand. “I have something for you.” he says before standing up and heading back to his room.

He emerges once more with a half of a red gummy cube sticking out of his mouth, sitting back down on the couch and draping his arm over the back so it’s ghosting just over your shoulders. “Bite,” he urges through closed teeth, and you shoot him a wary look. “Bite,” he stresses, and you falter, not sure if you should.

“Is it an edible?” you ask cautiously, and he rolls his eyes, an amused chuckle leaving him. 

“Yes. Bite.” It’s not a request, and instead of getting huffy about him bossing you around, you’re more surprised than anyone else when you lean in and carefully bite the other end of the gummy, tugging your half away from his mouth before chewing it. It’s sweet and sugary, but there’s a definite strong aftertaste, a tongue-drying, almost numbing sensation that reminds you it was more than just a little snack. “See, you don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You don’t answer, instead sitting back and pulling out your phone to fire off a quick text to your group chat consisting of the two girls sitting a little ways away from you and your fourth roommate, Yurin, who usually frequents these hangout sessions but had to pass this time to study for midterms.

you [18:11pm] SOS

you [18:11pm] he keeps being all TOUCHY TOUCHY what do i do?

You set your phone down on the couch face down and stand up, heading to the bathroom to calm your nerves. 

Little do you know, your phone buzzes while you’re gone, Haechan’s curiosity getting the better of him as he flips your phone over. 

Luckily for him, and very unluckily for you, you don’t have a privacy setting on your Messages app notifications, meaning that any incoming texts can be read by any prying eyes, no passcode necessary.

yurin big trouble mister [18:14pm] maybe tell him how you get all TOUCHY TOUCHY with yourself to the thought of him 😁

karina bo bina [18:16pm] god could you be any more crass??

yurin big trouble mister [18:17pm] LMAOOO i couldn’t help it the joke was right there

yeri berry [18:18pm] you’re laughing. our dear friend is about to get consumed by a weed smoking incubus and you’re laughing.

Haechan snorts to himself in amusement, deliberately leaving your phone face-up for your return. You enter the room shortly after, picking up your phone and scrolling through your notifications with a small frown bordering on a grimace.

“What’s got you all upset, pretty?” Haechan asks, feigning curiosity, and you flinch, locking your phone and tossing it in your lap in a panic. “And now you’re jumpy, too? What’s on that phone that’s got you so stressed out, hm?” 

“Nothing,” you answer far too quickly for your liking. 

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Haechan persists, voice lowering in pitch and volume as he moves closer to you, eyes bright with excitement and something else you can’t quite place. “I think there’s something incriminating on that phone.”

“Incriminating?” you mumble, dazed and flustered, and Haechan nods slowly, lips curling into a wolfish grin. 

“Incriminating like… nudes, maybe,” he muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully, and at the sight of your confused face, shakes his head. “That must not be it. Maybe a message of some sort… from a friend…” You freeze as you realize exactly what’s going on, and Haechan’s grin only widens now that he can tell you know that he knows. “Wonder what you look like when you… how did she put it? ‘Get all touchy touchy with yourself’ to the thought of me.” 

“Haechan,” you murmur, heart rate quickening as you try to think of any possible way out of this conversation. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“I think it’s exactly what I think it is.” he counters with a mischievous wiggle of his brows, and you whimper in panic, desire starting to blaze in his eyes at the sound. 

“What were you doing looking at my phone, anyway?” you accuse, cursing to yourself as your voice shakes slightly.

“I’m nosy,” is all he offers in response. “And, oh, please, you wanted me to see that text. You wanted me to know that late at night,” he teases, pulling your hand closest to him away as you squeal and try to cover your ears, “you touch your pretty little pussy,” he forces your hand back down between you two with a chuckle, “and think about me.”

“Could you lower your voice, please?” you mumble nervously, and he just laughs.

“You don’t want everyone to know that you’re into me, do you?” he remarks, and you swallow thickly, looking down at your lap. “I’ll keep your little secret. For a price.”

You study him out of the corner of your eye suspiciously. “What price?”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully before leaning back and draping his arm behind you on the couch. “I’ll let you know.” His voice is teasing but there’s an ominous edge to his voice that makes you gulp.

“Hey, Yeri?” you call, and her attention is on you instantly. “Remember when, um, you hit that blinker earlier? How’s your throat feeling?”

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly in understanding and she rubs her throat gingerly, frowning deeply. “It’s still sore. Wanna come get some water with me?”

“Yes,” you accept the offer gratefully and practically spring up from the couch, following after Yeri and ignoring, to the best of your ability, Haechan’s little snicker from behind you.

“You wanna switch seats?” Yeri asks in a low, concerned voice as you two enter the kitchen, and she laughs when you hesitate.

“I mean, I like it, I just… need a quick break.” you mumble, and she nods, pouring herself a glass of water. “Could you guys, um, hear him earlier?”

“No… why?” she scrutinizes you, and you blink, flustered. 

“He saw the group chat texts.” you mutter, and her eyes widen in alarm, setting her glass down a bit too harshly, the loud clink resonating throughout the room.

“I’m gonna kill Yurin.” she hisses.

“Not if I get there first.” you huff, and she snickers. Footsteps sound out from the living room, making their way to the kitchen, and Yeri pauses. “It’s not Haechan,” you assure her. “I think it’s Karina.”

Sure enough, Karina enters the kitchen, and Yeri looks at you in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“I recognize the footsteps.” you explain with a shrug. “Plus, the guys are wearing house slippers and we’re in, like, socks, so it makes a different sound.”

“Okay, little miss super spy.” Yeri teases with a laugh, and you giggle, pushing her playfully. “Have you recovered, you think?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, smiling. “I’m ready to go back out there.”

“What’d I miss?” Karina whines, and Yeri looks at you expectantly.

“Haechan saw the texts about me… at night… that Yurin sent.” you explain carefully, and Karina lets out a loud gasp, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

“I’m killing her.” she groans, and you and Yeri chuckle.

“Get in line, girl.” Yeri says, and Karina snorts in amusement.

“You’re gonna be okay if we go back out there, right?” Karina asks worriedly, and you’re briefly overcome with appreciation for your friends.

“I’ll be okay, I’m pretty sure. I’ll just say blinker again if anything goes wrong.” you confirm, nodding resolutely, and the crease between Karina’s brows fades away as she relaxes.

You three make your way back to the living room, fully preparing to sit back down, but thankfully, before Haechan can torment you further, Jeno inadvertently saves your life and whatever’s left of your dignity by standing up from the couch abruptly and clapping his hands together. “I’m hungry. Diner?”

“I would kill for waffles,” Karina agrees, and Mark and Haechan also stand and start to grab their belongings as you all make your way to the door and slip your shoes on. 

As you shuffle between Yeri and Karina for protection and wait as the elevator descends to the indoor garage of the apartment complex, a tickle starts to build in your throat, making you clear it quietly, then more insistently when the sensation persists. 

“You okay?” Haechan asks, hand poised over your back to pat it in assistance, and you nod.

“My throat is just… a little dry,” you mumble, and Haechan nods in understanding, reaching into his jacket and handing you a Blow Pop. “Thanks,” you mutter, pleasantly surprised as you unwrap the lollipop and stick it into your mouth. By the time the doors open on the garage floor, the flavored saliva produced by the sweet treat sitting in your cheek has almost entirely soothed your throat, and you’re feeling significantly better. 

The six of you make your way to where Jeno’s and Haechan’s cars are parked beside each other and stand behind the two cars, silently deliberating amongst yourselves.

“Well, I call shotgun.” Mark calls out, and Jeno unlocks his car, Mark sliding into the passenger seat.

“There’s no way all six of us are gonna cram into Jeno’s car,” Yeri remarks incredulously. 

“Yeah, definitely not, because my middle backseat’s seat belt isn’t working and the airbag sensors are fucked up, so it’s a seat belt or nothing in my car.” Jeno laments, and your skin starts to crawl as you realize where this might be heading. 

“So your car only seats four… and there are six of us…” you say slowly, pulling the lollipop from your lips with a muted wet pop that has Haechan eyeing you like a lion about to corner the slowest gazelle of the herd. Usually, there are seven of you, so even if you had to ride with Haechan, there’d be a third body present in the form of the lovably boisterous Yurin.

Curse Yurin’s midterms, and curse Yurin for sending that text, and curse yourself for leaving your phone where Haechan could see, and curse Haechan for being nosy—

“I’ll ride with Haechan,” Karina offers, noticing the way you become more and more quiet as you sink further into your worries. 

“No, you won’t.” Haechan says, leaning against his passenger door. Everyone looks over at him, and he just pushes off of the door, opening it and pointing directly at you. “Get in.”

“Oh, gosh.” you mumble, and you’re not sure if it’s the weed effect making you feel sluggish or you’re really that apprehensive, but you feel a bit like a puppet with sandbags for shoes, your feet hesitantly shuffling, dragging, scuffling towards Haechan’s passenger door.

“It’s an eight-minute drive,” Yeri calls to you sympathetically, and you nod, shooting her a feeble thumbs up that you don’t even believe. “We’ll see you soon!” 

“Yeah,” you croak, feeling very much like a lamb being led to slaughter, and Haechan smiles sweetly at you, baring all his teeth as you sit in his car. He closes the passenger door and crosses over to the driver’s side, opening the door and getting in. 

When Haechan finishes settling down into the driver’s seat, checking his mirror views and pulling up the GPS to the diner, he straps himself in and looks over at you, eyes scanning your frame for something—you don’t quite know what. Seemingly done with his inspection, he leans closer to you without warning and reaches for the seat belt buckle in your chair, pulling it out and over your body as he clicks it into place. The whole while, he’s invading your personal space, your breath catching in your throat as you realize his face is close enough to yours that you could probably count his lashes if you wanted to.

He turns his head ever so slightly, eyes locking on yours, and you blink rapidly in alarm, rendered immobile as he studies your face.

“You look so cute, all innocent and helpless like this.” he murmurs softly, and the tiniest of squeaks escapes you, his eyes flashing with glee at the sound. “Now stop looking at me like that,” he warns, “or I’ll kiss you.”

You blanch, trying immediately to make any other expression than the one you didn’t even know you were sporting, and he chuckles before sitting back in his seat and starting his car. He turns the air conditioning on—a strange choice, considering it’s a bit nippy outside—and pulls out of his spot, starting to drive towards the diner.

It doesn’t take long for you to get cold, goosebumps gradually appearing on your arms and legs, but you’re a bit too nervous to say anything, instead suffering in silence. You clasp your hands together in your lap, rubbing them together for warmth, and, as he stops at a red light, Haechan looks over at you, watching in fascination as you shift in your seat for any sort of friction that could warm you. After a moment, you notice his eyes fixated pointedly on your chest, and you spare a glance down to see, to your alarm, that your nipples are hard, starting to poke through your clothing, and you curse internally for wearing a thin, lacy bra that does nothing to conceal your stiffened buds.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, smirking in what seems like satisfaction, before refocusing his attention on the road. You cross your arms over your chest protectively, tucking your fingers into the crooks of your elbows as he drives down the road.

“We’re here,” he announces after some time, pulling into a parking spot in front of the diner and turning the car off. The cold air blowing through the vents shuts off, much to your relief, and you unbuckle your seat belt before he gets the chance, practically flinging yourself out of the car into the significantly less cold night air.

As you all file into the diner, you notice a man staring very pointedly at you and your bare legs and your chest, where your nipples have yet to go down. 

Haechan scans the room, catches sight of the man, and follows his gaze back to where you stand, his jaw clenching.

“Put this on,” Haechan murmurs, shrugging off his jacket and offering it to you. You start to take it, eager for warmth, but pause, looking at him suspiciously.

“Why?”

His gaze flicks over your shoulder at where the man from earlier sits, and understanding dawns on you. “Just—put it on for me?” 

You nod, gratefully accepting the jacket, and Haechan steps closer, draping it over your shoulders and helping you put your arms through the sleeves. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he nods.

“You look cute in my jacket.” he remarks with a small smirk, and your cheeks warm.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and he trails his tongue along his bottom lip before gesturing for you to follow after him with a jerk of his head, a quick peek past him revealing the hostess who’s arrived to take you all to your seats.

When you arrive at the booth, Haechan’s right by you, gesturing for you to go in first. You do so without complaint, preferring the inner seat anyway, but it’s when Haechan slides in next to you that you realize your mistake as he closes you into the booth corner, the main obstacle between you and freedom from, well, him.

As the hostess passes out menus and you all start to look them over, you feel the side of his hand resting against the side of your thigh, making you attempt to shift away from his hand, the touch too intimate for you to handle at the moment.

Somehow, his hand finds its way back against your leg, palm turned up slightly as he lightly grazes his fingertips along your thigh, and you suck in a sharp breath, doing your best to pass it off as a cough when Haechan looks over at you, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I think I’m gonna get the breakfast platter,” Yeri says excitedly. “It comes with pancakes, eggs prepared how you want them, homefries, and your choice of meat.” 

“That sounds so good,” you reply thoughtfully. “I think I want a burger.” 

“Yeah, a burger sounds good,” Haechan agrees, eyes slowly sliding over to study your reaction as he flattens his palm against your leg, slowly sliding it up to caress your upper thigh. Your reaction must be nothing short of rewarding, as you jolt so forcefully that you shake the table slightly, and he chuckles softly.

“You okay, girl?” Karina asks, worried, and you nod, swallowing thickly.

“I just, um…felt a tickle on my ankle. Thought it was a bug or something.” you mumble, and she nods, eyebrows still furrowed in concern.

“I know I said waffles earlier, but I kind of want these barbecue ribs,” Karina says, pointing at an entry on the menu, but you can barely make your gaze focus on where her finger touches the menu because Haechan’s hand is still very much on your thigh, and to make matters worse, you think you like it.

His hand slides up higher, the side of his thumb slipping under the hem of your skirt, and you raise your glass to your lips in an attempt to act natural, hoping and praying no one notices the way your hand is shaking slightly.

Haechan leans in closer to you, murmuring in your ear, “This must be a dream come true for you, huh?” He grips your thigh firmly, not even attempting to play it off as a casual touch anymore, and you barely manage to stifle your yelp of surprise in time. “Must have been wanting this for so long,” he breathes secretively, smiling lips grazing the shell of your ear so subtly, no one else would notice unless they were paying unnaturally close attention.

You, however, do notice. Not only do you notice, but you suck in a sharp breath of surprise, the sudden movement making the water in your cup slosh forward and spill out slightly, a few droplets dripping down your chin.

You suck your teeth in mild irritation, glaring at Haechan as you reach for your napkin, but he’s faster, his free hand coming up and wiping the liquid off of your chin.  

“Um, thanks.” you mumble, and he nods, locking eyes with you as he licks at the pad of his thumb, cleaning off the water droplets with his mouth. “Oh, dear Neptune.” you whisper to yourself, feeling more and more overwhelmed by the moment. “Where is this waitress—I need to eat something.”

“Yeah, we should let her know we’re ready to order,” Mark says, waving a hand out to flag down the waitress. As she approaches, you sneak a peek at Haechan, whose expression is surprisingly calm and neutral given the sensual, slow circles he’s drawing on your upper thigh with his thumb.

Haechan’s hand slips further in between your legs, getting dangerously close to your core, and you decide that’s enough play time for him, clamping your legs together forcefully.

“You trapped my hand, pretty girl,” he points out with a growing grin, and you ignore him even as he continues, “I didn’t know you liked it that much.”

You still don’t give him a response, staring stubbornly out the booth window, and he chuckles before withdrawing his hand from your legs with such ease that you wonder if he was ever really stuck there.

“Oh, we’re doing the silent treatment? Copy that.” he muses, nodding slowly in understanding, and you can’t help but wonder what else he has in store for you.

Today, the energy in the room is entirely different—and you don’t like it one bit.

Haechan won’t even acknowledge you today; his eyes skip over you when he scans the room like you’re not even there, or, worse, he seems to be looking completely through you at times, completely unaffected by your presence.

“Girl, did you piss Haechan off or something?” Yeri whispers to you, and your brows knit together as you shake your head. “He hasn’t made a single move on you all day.”

“I know,” you mutter bitterly.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Karina supplies in an attempt to help, but her words practically fall on deaf ears as you stare burning holes into the side of his face as he laughs at something Mark said.

“I’m about to be sick,” you mumble, your stomach twisting uncomfortably as your somewhat secret crush that used to be obsessed with you treats you like you’re nothing more than a couch cushion.

You don’t know what’s come over you, but when Haechan gets up and heads towards the kitchen. you find yourself standing to follow, mumbling that you’ll be right back to Karina.

Haechan stands with his back to you at the kitchen island, pouring a can of something—it looks like Monster—into a glass, and you take a moment to admire his slender yet lean build, the curve of his shoulders and the perfectly mussed up state of his hair—

“I know you’re there, you know.” he says calmly, and your eyes widen as you immediately attempt to look busy doing anything other than blatantly ogling him. He turns right when you’ve reached for a bag of Ruffles chips and raises an eyebrow expectantly. “You have something you want to say?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly thrown off-guard, and he blinks at you impassively.

“I noticed you staring at me,” is all he says in response, and you blanch, pursing your lips carefully.

“Haechan, are you mad at me?” you ask softly, and he smirks.

“And why do you ask that?”

You fidget with the hem of your skirt nervously, averting your gaze to look at the granite countertop. “Well, you… haven’t talked to me all night.”

Haechan doesn’t say anything for a concerningly long time, prompting you to look up at him and immediately wish you hadn’t. He looks beyond smug, and painfully attractive as he leans in slightly, not close enough to get in your space but close enough to send a thrill down your spine. 

“You were giving me the silent treatment the other day, right?” he reminds you, and you hesitate, realizing you were the cause for his radio silence. “I was just returning the favor.”

“Well, don’t.” you say with a frown, and he raises his eyebrows, amused and surprised.

“Why not? Did you miss me or something?” he teases, and you balk, losing all your nerve as quickly as you’d found it.

“No!” you answer quickly, and he arches an eyebrow skeptically, prompting you to continue, “No, I just—”

“You and I don’t really talk much, anyway,” Haechan muses, leaning his back against the island as he regards you with a cocky glint in his eyes. “So what is it you really miss, hm?”

“Well—” you struggle to find your words, and something softens in Haechan’s gaze, the cocky twinkle now accompanied with a smile bordering dangerously on fondness.

“You miss me messing with you, don’t you?” he asks, and at your lack of response, nods in confirmation. “You miss me touching you?” he questions, dragging out the syllables excruciatingly slowly. He sucks his teeth when you still don’t reply and says, “I know you do. You know you do. Now just admit it.”

“I can’t,” you protest weakly, and he shrugs, raising his hands in surrender.

“You want me to touch you again? Give me what I want.” He sounds dead serious and painfully unwavering on his stance, prompting you to whimper quietly to yourself, too wrapped up in your own nerves to notice the way his eyes darken at the sound of your desperation.

“I want you to touch me.” you mumble shamefully, and his lips quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. 

“Come here; say it again.” he urges, beckoning you closer, and you hesitate, making a challenge flash in his expression before he’s poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek and chuckling. “Don’t make me come over there.”

“I want you,” you say, “to touch me,” you repeat your words from earlier, trying desperately to look anywhere but at him.

You can see him crossing the distance between you in your peripheral vision, your insides tensing with anticipation as he gets closer and closer. To your utter disappointment, he continues to walk as if he’s going to pass you, only pausing to tilt his head to the side in a patronizing display of faux sympathy.

“Good girl. Now, was that so hard?” he chuckles, not even giving you a chance to respond before he continues his path out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What in the absolute hell did you just get yourself into?

You’re coming back from the bathroom when you quite literally almost run into Haechan in the hallway. 

“Sorry,” you say, stepping to the side to get past, but he steps to the same side. You laugh awkwardly before stepping to the other side, only for him to do the same, his movements far too calculated to be a mistake, and you come to the realization that he’s intentionally blocking your path. “Haechan?” you ask quietly, nervousness creeping into your voice, and he chuckles.

He takes a step towards you, prompting you to take a cautious one backwards, and his smile widens as he advances on you, slowly but surely herding you back towards the bathroom. When your back hits the nearby wall, your eyes widen, and he mocks you, briefly widening his eyes in faux surprise before flicking his brows up suggestively and placing one hand on the wall by your head on the side you could escape from, successfully trapping you in a makeshift corner. 

“You’re so cute, really.” Haechan sighs, smiling fondly at you, but there’s a devious twinkle in his eye as he regards you.

As he closes in on you, your body is alight with nerves and anticipation, and you decide to try again, feebly calling, “...Haechan?”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he quiets you soothingly, reaching up with his free hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Don’t act like you don’t want this, baby.” As if to prove his point, he presses his knee between your legs, thigh pressing up against your clothed core, and a poorly restrained moan bubbles up in your throat.

“Haechan—” you whine, and he shoots you a smug smile.

“See, baby? I know you want it. You know I want it. That’s why you always wear these tiny fucking skirts whenever you come over,” he states, hand dropping from your face to tug at the hem of your skirt, and you gasp—both at the sudden yanking and the insistent pressing of his thigh against your core. “You like it when I do this. Bet you were waiting for me to slip my hands under your skirt to touch you.”

“Mm-mm,” you protest, but the way your hips move against him, rolling back and forth and grinding wantonly in search of relief, is telling another story, Haechan arching a brow skeptically. 

“Mm, no? You don’t like it? But, wait… what was that you said in the kitchen earlier?” he questions, a taunting lilt to his words. “‘I want you to touch me,’” he echoes your earlier request in a poor imitation of your voice. “Well, I’m touching you, baby—don’t you like it?” When your only reply is a small nod, he shakes his head disapprovingly, gaze darkening. “Words.”

“Yes,” you whimper, breath catching in your throat when he rewards you with a firm upwards press of his thigh into your core. Your movements speed up slightly as you feel that familiar tightening sensation in your abdomen, your climax not far ahead.

“Are you gonna cum just like this?” he asks, and there’s a hint of amusement to his words but it’s almost entirely overtaken by the heavy desire in his voice. 

“Mm-hm,” you whine softly, your desperation peaking as your high gets closer and closer. 

“Beg me to let you cum.” he urges, and you’re already so far gone that your shame is all but done away with.

“Please, Haechan, can I cum?” you pant urgently, a slight pleading quality to your words as you feel the beginnings of your climax, pleasure blooming between your legs in a gush of warmth. “Please?” you whimper, and something in him snaps, Haechan lurching forward and cupping your face in his hands to hold you in place as he kisses you deeply, his tongue tracing along your lower lip as you tremble and moan weakly into his mouth. 

When you move to pull away to breathe, he clutches your face more firmly, slipping his tongue into your mouth and exploring at his leisure, all the while ignoring your muffled, plaintive cries for air. 

“Haechan, I can’t breathe,” you rasp out finally, and he lets you go with a shaky inhale and an unmistakable reluctance. 

“You are so goddamn addicting.” he pants, and his hands drop to your hips, resuming the motions you weren’t aware you’d stopped. “Keep going.”

His hands keep guiding your movements, practically dragging you back and forth on his thigh as he kisses you again. This kiss is messier than the last as he sucks on your tongue and pulls back to trail his lips down your neck, stopping just above your pulse point and sucking hard, a gasp escaping you at the pleasurable sensation.

“Mine,” he grunts against your throat, sinking his teeth into a new patch of skin and sucking there, too, without a doubt leaving some form of mark behind. “All fucking mine.” he repeats, clutching your hips tighter and dragging you up his leg and closer to him, lips parting from your neck with a loud, wet pop and connecting with yours eagerly. “Gonna fucking ruin you, princess.”

“Hae—” you barely get the first syllable of his name out before he’s sealing his mouth over yours again, fingers creeping into the kiss to pry your mouth open.

“Open,” he mutters, brows furrowed in concentration. When you oblige, he taps your tongue impatiently until you let it hang out of your mouth, Haechan sucking in a deep breath as he eyes you appreciatively. Without any warning or preamble, Haechan spits directly onto your tongue, and you whimper, voice cracking slightly. “Swallow. I’m gonna do it again.” You swallow his saliva, the extra moisture in your mouth jarring but not unwelcome, and return to your previous pose of your mouth open with your tongue hanging out. 

He grins and leans in again, hovering over your waiting tongue as he drops a long, clear string of saliva from his puckered lips down to your mouth. “Don’t swallow.” He pulls back from you slightly and pushes his middle and ring finger into your mouth, the cool silver of his ring catching your taste buds as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth, gliding them against your tongue to collect as much wetness as he can. “Good girl,” he coos, pleased, and you’re embarrassed by the rush of warmth between your legs that appears at the praise. “Need them nice and wet for you.”

Not wasting a minute, he snakes his slick, spit-covered fingers past the band of your underwear and starts to stroke over your folds, digits gliding amongst your arousal with embarrassing ease. 

“You’re a mess down here,” he remarks, eyes alight with glee and something wild, primal as he teases you. “You like me that much? Hm?” He seems not to need an answer as he grins cockily at you, eyes scanning your face intently to drink in your every reaction to his touch, no matter how small. He trails his fingers up, up, up until he’s brushing the underside of your clit, and you jolt, flinching away. 

“Haechan, that’s sensitive—”

“I know, baby,” he coos. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.” With the hand not currently in your underwear, he laces his fingers with yours, the back of his hand pressed against the palm of your own, and trails your linked hands down your body to join his other hand in your underwear. “Show me,” he rasps, and you blink at him, too far gone to fully understand exactly what he means. “Show me how you do it when you’re alone—when you think of me.”

Cheeks blazing, you realize you’re in no position to refuse, so you guide his hand into massaging your clit in circles, your abdomen tensing reflexively whenever his fingers graze the sensitive underside of your clit. 

“Talk to me, baby.” he urges gently, and you whine in protest, the fire in your face increasing nearly tenfold. “Wanna hear that pretty voice tell me how you touch your little pussy.”

“I just rub it in circles like this,” you mumble, voice slightly husky with desire, and the shift doesn’t go unnoticed, if the intensifying of Haechan’s gaze means anything. 

“You don’t go inside?” he asks softly, and you shake your head.

“Doesn’t feel good when I do it,” you whimper, and he sucks in air sharply, swearing under his breath as he watches your face twist in pleasure. It’s all too much for you, having his undivided attention on you like this, and you look away, a shudder traveling through your body as another climax approaches.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, and you reluctantly oblige, pleading eyes locking on his as your peak gets closer by the second. “Only look at me.”

“Okay,” you agree, the last syllable coming out like more of a squeak, and he smiles brilliantly, the hand not pleasuring you slipping out of your underwear and lifting your shirt up to reveal your breasts in your thin, lacy light blue bra. Leaning down, he wraps his lips around one of your nipples through the fabric and starts to suck, tongue swirling around the stiffening bud so wetly that his saliva starts to darken the fabric, the warmth of his spit seeping through the fabric. 

He sucks at your nipples with an almost ferocity, alternating breasts like he can’t get enough of either, and his hand snakes around your back to unclasp your bra, Haechan pushing the garment out of the way as soon as it’s loose and latching onto your nipple with a low groan of satisfaction.

As he flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue, his fingers stroke you closer and closer to your high until you’re so close you can practically taste the sweet, heady feeling of ecstasy. “Show me what you sound like when you cum, baby.”

“Oh—shit—oh, my God,” you hiss as your eyes screw shut tight, pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm travels through your system. “Feels so good,” you whimper, and he hums in agreement.

“Say my name, baby.”

“Haechan—” you moan wantonly, and he lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl as he tugs at your nipple with his teeth.

He doesn’t stop attending to your breasts until he’s certain he’s milked every last second of bliss from your body, alternating between sucking and flicking and swirling his tongue around the buds until you go limp, your body slumping against the wall for support. 

Finally, he pulls his arousal-coated fingers from your underwear, trailing them over your bottom lip before pushing the digits into your mouth to suck. 

You do so with an embarrassing amount of eagerness, and are just as surprised as Haechan when he pulls his fingers from your mouth and you whine in protest.

His brows shoot up into his hairline and you feel heat blazing furiously in your cheeks as he regards you with a mix of surprise and an expression that looks close to impressed.

“You like to suck, yeah?” he murmurs, and you nod hesitantly. Something flashes in his dark eyes, and he grins. “Wanna suck something bigger?”

Hesitant but undoubtedly excited, you nod, and he wets his lips before setting about unbuckling his belt and opening his jeans. 

As he does, you slowly sink to your knees, and when he looks up from his pants to see you kneeling before him, he lets out a loud swear that you fear might blow your cover.

As you stare in awe at his impressive size, you realize you’re less worried about getting caught than you are about having to stop. He watches you watch him with amusement and fascination, but the undercurrent of desire runs strong as he clicks his tongue to get your attention. 

You look up at him, and he licks his lips, exhaling a small puff of air before wrapping a hand around his base.

“This is the prettiest sight I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he praises, and you smile, heat rising to your cheeks once more. Lowering himself slightly, he cups your breasts, pressing them together and grunting, “I’m gonna fuck these one day. But now?” he says, releasing them and stroking your chin affectionately. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty mouth.”

“You ever suck someone off, baby?” he asks in a low voice, and you shake your head, making his eyes slide shut in bliss as he squeezes himself harder. “Fuck, I’m your first?”

“Yes,” you mumble shyly, and he coos affectionately at you, leaning down slightly to cup your chin with his free hand. 

“Remember when you were sucking that little lollipop the other day?” he asks, and you nod. “It’s kind of like that. Use your tongue, and the wetter it is, the better.”

You nod carefully and sit forward, letting your jaw drop open. 

“Fuck, baby. Tongue out for me?” he grunts, and you oblige, letting your tongue drop out of your mouth and lie flat for him. “So good, baby, just like that,” he encourages, leaning forward and guiding the head of his cock into your mouth. 

It feels strange but not unwelcome, and you suck gently at the head of his cock, more focused on using your tongue to explore the intrusion in your mouth. Based on the way Haechan’s breathing shallows and quickens, you suspect you’re doing a pretty good job.

“Baby, you’re so good at this,” he groans, his head tipping back before it snaps back up as he seemingly realizes he’d rather watch you. “Mouth looks so pretty wrapped around my cock like that.”

You can only manage a whimper as you boldly press forward, taking more of his length into your mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath as you swirl your tongue around his length before tentatively flicking it over the slit in the head of his cock. He groans weakly and, emboldened, you do it again, Haechan letting out a delicious little grunt that spurs you to kick it up another notch.

You start to bob your head, doing your best to alternate between bobbing and licking, and Haechan shudders deeply, his hand releasing the rest of his cock and moving to cup the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair. 

“Just like that—fuck—” he hisses, biting his lip as he watches you suck him off, skill increasing with every movement. When you push forward a bit too suddenly, eager to impress him, you choke briefly on his length, throat constricting slightly as your gag reflex activates slightly. “Oh, shit—”

Despite the slight ache to the back of your throat, you keep sucking, moving forward slower this time to allow your throat time to adjust to his size. When you massage the underside of his tip with your tongue, wet muscle gliding over the ridge of skin, he moans your name and it’s one of the most rewarding sounds you think you’ve ever heard.

“So good,” he pants as you bob your head up and down, and his length twitches in your mouth, giving you a hint that he’s close. “Gonna cum, baby.”

You move your head faster, sucking his length to the best of your ability with all the tricks you just learned, and his fingers grip your hair tightly as he spills into your mouth, his hips sluggishly thrusting forward as he shallowly fucks your mouth. 

“You,” he grunts, helping you to your feet so you’re face to face and kissing you deeply, “are a fast little learner.” His tongue slips between your lips and he explores your mouth eagerly, licking at your tongue and inner cheeks as you whimper, dizzied by the fervor of his kisses. 

“Baby,” he mumbles into the kiss, the urgency in his voice waking you up slightly, “I wanna eat you out. Can I taste you, princess?” When you nod, he grins brilliantly. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

He drops to his knees and slides his hands up from your ankles, hands slipping under your skirt to caress your hips. Pulling your underwear off, he drapes one of your legs over his shoulder, warm, slender fingers spreading apart your folds to get a better look at you.

When you whine softly in embarrassment, he shushes you gently, murmuring, “I just want to admire you for a second, baby, please?” He ducks his head under your skirt and sucks in a sharp breath when he’s met with the sight of your core, folds glistening with your arousal. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he breathes in awe, and before you can reply, his mouth is on you, upper lip resting just above your clit as his tongue strokes along your folds indulgently.

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, stumbling back slightly to lean against the wall behind you. Haechan moves with you fluidly, massaging your clit with his tongue as his fingers clutch your thighs, kneading the flesh with greedy, rough movements.

Tongue moving downwards towards your entrance, he prods the tip of it against your hole, chuckling when you jolt and squirm under his actions. “Don’t be shy, baby, I just want to taste.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, and he must be able to tell, because his tongue pushes forward, slowly breaching your entrance. You suck in a loud breath as his tongue delves further into you, occasionally coming out to slurp up the arousal dripping from your hole. 

“Tastes so good, baby,” he moans, his nose rubbing against your clit as he slowly starts to move his tongue in and out inside of you. The feeling is strange but amazing, a slightly ticklish element to the pleasure you’re receiving as he tongue-fucks you. 

Slurping loudly and moaning even louder, Haechan loses himself in your core, alternating between tongue-fucking you and licking at your folds and clit, leaving sloppy wet kisses that make your mind spin.

“Yeah, you like that?” he grunts, sucking at your clit hard before slipping his tongue out to stroke the sensitive underside of the sensitive bud. “You like when I kiss your pretty pussy? Hm? Do you like it when I make out with your sweet little pussy?”

“Yes,” you whimper, fingers clutching at his head over your skirt. When you get a good grip on him, you start to pull him closer, wanting more of his touch.

“Always so good—so shy and innocent.” Haechan murmurs, words slightly muffled from his oral ministrations on your pussy. “Now look at you; look how bad you’re being.”

“Haechan, please,” you breathe, and he turns his head to suck at your inner thighs, no doubt leaving a mark or two in his wake.

“Wanna see just how bad I can make you be.” he coos before surging forward to lap at your core eagerly, losing himself once more in the taste of you. “Fucking delicious, baby, you taste so good for me.”

He sucks and licks and kisses—even nibbles a bit—until your legs are shaking and your grip on his hair is iron-clad. You briefly consider the extremely compromising position someone might find you in if one of your friends walked down the hall and are surprised to find that not only do you not care, but there’s even a smidge of excitement when you think about getting caught like this, with Haechan’s head under your skirt and your breasts exposed.

“Haechan, I’m—I think I’m gonna—” you pant out, and he nods fervently, tongue slipping out of your entrance to flick your clit back and forth rapidly, a sharp whine slipping from you.

“Cum for me, baby—cum all on my tongue.” he urges, pulling you closer as he feverishly laps at your clit and entrance, shaking his head from side to side rapidly to run his tongue along your core back and forth. “That’s it, pretty girl, just let go.” he purrs, coaxing your climax out of you, and you do just that, letting the coil wound tight in your abdomen snap and letting the pleasure flood through your body.

“Haechan—” you whimper, and he hums soothingly as his tongue massages your clit once more, thoroughly milking your orgasm for all its worth. When the trembling of your legs has calmed down slightly and you’ve started to breathe normally once more, he pops his head out from under your skirt and winks up at you, chin and lips covered in your arousal.

“You’re addicting, baby; could eat your pussy for hours.” he says as he rises to his feet. A look downwards grants you the sight of his erection, fully hard once more, and you swallow thickly before looking up at him only to see that he’s already watching you with a small grin on his face. “Think you can handle one more?”

You’re nodding before you even realize it, and Haechan beams at you, drawing closer and closer until you’re flat against the wall. 

Nudging your legs apart, he settles between them and aligns his tip with your entrance, looking up from where your bodies meet to your face.

“Ready, baby?” he asks, and you nod carefully, eyes drifting back down from his face to where the thick head of his length presses against your core. “Good girl,” he breathes before pushing into you slowly, covering your mouth with his palm as you gasp out loudly. “Baby, they’ll catch us if you keep making noise like that.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, but it’s a muffled apology given that Haechan’s hand is still firmly clasped over your mouth. “So full,” you whisper in awe, and he chuckles lowly in your ear, lips pressing to the spot just behind your lobe. 

“Feel so tight around me, baby,” he grunts, his labored breathing in your ear telling you that he’s just as affected as you are. “So fucking good—”

“Haechan, move,” you whisper urgently as he bottoms out in you, and he obliges, pulling out to the tip and pushing into you again. A loud whoosh of air escapes your lungs, and he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, making you let out a loud whimper that would have been much louder had Haechan’s hand not muffled it.

“I’m starting to think you want to get caught.” Haechan murmurs with a smile on his lips as he kisses along your jaw and moves his hand to kiss you. 

“Mm—! No, I don’t—” you insist through your cries of pleasure, and he shakes his head with a taunting grin.

“Yes, you do,” he teases. “You want all our friends to come in this hallway and see me fucking you like the perfect little fuckdoll I always knew you could be.”

“Hae–chan—” you stutter, tiny noises leaving you with every powerful thrust of his hips. He’s so good, so big and thick, and he’s filling you up just right and hitting all the right places, and it becomes too much very quickly, an overwhelming amount of pleasure rushing through your body as he fucks into you. If it couldn’t get worse for you, he reaches between you two and his fingers find your clit, rubbing it in quick circles just like you showed him earlier. “Fuck—stop—too much—”

“Doesn’t that feel good, baby?” he coos, shifting himself to angle his hips into you just right so that every snap of his hips sends his tip fucking directly into your g-spot. 

You feel warmth behind your eyes, the telltale pricking at the corners that you know all too well, and the first tear drops before you can wipe it away, another tear following after that as the pleasure all but consumes you.

“Aw, baby, don’t cry, it feels good,” he consoles you, reaching up with his free hand to wipe your tears away. 

“So good—too good—” you babble, and he laughs at that, brows furrowing at the end as you clench around him.

“It can’t be too good, baby—you’re not making sense anymore.” he says with a playful lilt, and you whimper, more tears falling as you sniffle pathetically. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.”

“Wanna cum—Haechan, please let me cum—” you beg, and his movements stutter, Haechan looking at you in surprise.

“Yeah? Baby wants to cum?” he grunts, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as your walls flex around him again. “Fuck, I love when you do that—feels so good—cum for me, baby.” 

Not needing to be told twice, you promptly fall apart around him with a messy string of swears and “please” and utterances of Haechan’s name as your nails dig into his forearm, making him wince slightly. You’re sure you look a mess, eyes wet and glossy as tears stream down your cheeks, but Haechan’s drinking in your appearance like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Baby—I’m close—fuck—” Haechan grunts. “Gonna cum—where do you want it?”

“Want it inside of me, please—” you croak weakly, and he lets out a sound that’s a mix between a smug chuckle and a moan.

“Can’t believe you were skittish as a mouse just the other day, and now you’re begging for my cum. Want me to fill you up?” he pants, hips driving into yours with reckless abandon. 

“Please—” you whimper, and he swears under his breath.

“Fuck—take it all, baby,” he urges, hips pressing into yours as he buries himself in you and empties his load. “It’s all for you,” he says breathlessly as his length twitches inside of you.

He stays inside of you for a moment, both of you attempting to catch your breath, before he slowly pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants and helping you fix your skirt back into place. To your confusion, he hooks his fingers in your underwear, pulling the thin, arousal-soaked fabric down and off your legs. 

“Um…” you start, and Haechan looks over at you, brows raised expectantly. “Those are mine,” you state, pointing at the fabric in his fist.

“And now,” he hums, bringing them to his face and inhaling deeply, eyes sliding shut in bliss just in time to miss your scandalized expression. “They’re mine. C’mon; you should use the bathroom.”

He loops his fingers around yours, other hand stuffing your underwear in his back pocket as he leads you to the bathroom.

When the door closes behind you, you sit down on the toilet with slightly shaky legs, taking a moment to think about everything that just occurred. 

You would have never in a million years thought that you’d have sex with Haechan, let alone in the hallway—let alone, with your friends in the very next room. However, as you think over the events that just transpired, your body is filled with a warm thrum of satisfaction, and you can’t seem to find an ounce of regret. 

“Girl, where the hell were you?!” Karina exclaims, fussing over you as soon as you reappear in the living room. “We’ve been texting and calling for ages!”

“Oh,” you mumble, pulling your phone from the little pocket in your skirt. “It’s been on Do Not Disturb,” you explain sheepishly, and Karina rolls her eyes hard.

“Don’t do that again. You had us worried sick. What were you even doing for so long?”

“Um… well, Haechan and I,” you start, casting a side glance to the couch where Haechan sits and hesitating slightly when you see that he’s watching you intently, not an ounce of shame in his expression. “We hooked up.” you say finally, straightening your back slightly and standing up taller.

Yeri’s jaw drops. “About damn time.” she remarks, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“Hush, you.” you huff, looking over at where Haechan sits once more. He locks eyes with you and grins, patting the empty spot next to him and wiggling his eyebrows playfully, and you smile, looking away from him to address your bewildered friends. “I’ll explain everything later—”

“Yeah, yeah, just go, girl.” Karina chuckles. “He’s waiting,” she sing-songs, and you elbow her slightly before shooting them a bright smile and a small wave and making your way to sit next to Haechan. 

When you sit down, Haechan drapes his arm around you on the back of the couch, and you can feel the heat creeping to your cheeks.

“So,” he says carefully, taking a hit of his pen and exhaling slowly before he continues, “I know this is a little backwards of me, but… do you wanna go out sometime? Like, on a date?”

“I’d like that,” you reply with a bashful smile, and he grins, relieved.

“Great. Now in the meantime,” he says, looking pointedly towards the hallway before looking back at you expectantly, “I have a nice ass TV, snacks, and a strong ass edible with your name on it in my room. You down?”

You don’t even hesitate. “I’m down.” you agree, smile widening, and he nods, satisfied. He stands from the couch and offers you his hand, which you take as he pulls you to your feet.

As you trail after him towards his room, fingers still locked with his, you can’t help but notice the familiar peek of fabric sticking out of his back pocket, and your eyes widen in alarm.

“Haechan!” you whisper loudly, and he looks back at you with raised brows. “My, um, underwear is sticking out of your pocket.”

“So?” he answers simply, and you pause, brain buffering for a moment.

“So?”

“Yeah. No one knows it’s your underwear but you and me,” he points out as you reach his bedroom door. He swings it open and gestures for you to enter first, head dipping down to your ear as you pass by. “So it’s our little secret.”

“Oh,” you mumble, thinking it over. “Okay.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says encouragingly, guiding you to his bed and gesturing for you to sit down. “Now, what do you want to watch?”

“Uh, we can watch Family Guy,” you suggest, and he looks at you, pleasant surprise written on his handsome features, before he nods and picks up the TV remote.

“Good choice,” he praises, sitting down beside you against the headboard of his bed. “Perfect show to play in the background while we make out.”

“Oh—” you stammer, blinking in surprise, and he snorts, eyes fond as he scans your bashful demeanor.

“I’m kidding.” he assures you, and you can’t help but frown slightly. Unfortunately for you, this doesn’t go unnoticed by Haechan, and he chuckles. “You wanted to make out, didn’t you?”

“A little bit,” you mumble, and he grins, leaning in closer to you.

You didn’t seem too keen on sharing a stage with any of them, your eyes raking over nimble fingers and carefully shaped nails, bulging biceps and deliciously thick thighs almost bursting through bedazzled tights. You seemingly didn’t feel anything for the people you dismissed with a wave of your pen, leaving behind a trio of men – a trio that includes him.  

And he kind of likes the way indifference floats off you. It’s like you’re just like him.  

One in blue (27), one in white (82) and one in black, him.  

Number 1. The first to arrive, early that Tuesday morning.  

“We won’t get an understudy if you’re this picky, sweetheart.”  

He can hear the injured trapezist soft laughter from behind you, something rich in it settling into his bones – he thinks his name is Infinite, he’d seen him on a poster on Canal and Mercer. You let a smirk tug at the corner of your lips as a woman next to him clears her throat, before walking backwards towards them; the tassels of your leotard swinging with your every move. You set your clipboard down on the chair you’d been sitting on when all the auditionees had filed in, before folding your hands behind your back and giving them an award-winning smile; all teeth and ruby red lipstick.  

“Welcome to the Skyline Soirée.” You speak confidently, your eyes darting to the man in blue rolling his. Your smile drops to a much gentler one, a hint of cynicism in the back of your eyes, “you can go, 27.”  

“Are you serious?”   “Out.”  

“She’s ruthless.” He hears another man speak, joining the pair behind you; the loud, unmistakable crunch of an apple sounding in the ring. You roll your eyes, setting your shoulders back before looking at him and the other man in front of you. You tilt your head at them, and it would’ve been cute if there wasn’t that emptiness filling the back of your eyes.  

It makes him a little giddy.  

“As I was saying, welcome to the Skyline Soirée. Our circus has been the longest standing trapeze-centered circus in Manhattan since 1902, and been passed down through four generations. Much like there is history to trapeze, there is history to our circus. Our first ringmaster was Park Hyoseop, who built this empire centered around trapeze. He was succeeded by Park Minhyuk, and Park Hyunjin. Finally, we’ve been handed over to our very first female ringmaster, Park Jihyo.”  

Jihyo raises her coffee cup with a small smile on her lips, and he gives her a curt nod back before returning his attention to you. You’re pacing in front of them, your hair cascading down your back before you sharply turn to a stop.  

“I will preface this audition with the fact that you will not be the star of the show. You are merely an accessory, a background character...”  

You point at a poster on one of the circus pillars, your smiling face plastered on it with a sparkly leotard in candy apple red. His eyes scan the poster, taking in the way the color really brought out your eyes – before you point to another across the room. Still you, posed perfectly in your seemingly trusty gold hoop, in a white leotard with angel wings: the face of the Skyline Soirée.  

The star of the Skyline Soirée.  

Being in your presence made his skin prickle.  

“Should you pass this audition, you will become a temporary trapeze artist with the Skyline Soirée for the next eight weeks. After eight weeks, we will revisit your contract with us, as we expect Minghao to be performance ready by then.” You set your shoulders back again, your dark green leotard twinkling in the low light as you point at the injured trapezist. “Should we like you, you could become one of eight trapeze artists and continue within our circus as a permanent member of the team. If you get that opportunity, I recommend you stay in my good graces.”  

He feels his teeth ache at your demand for respect.  

He hears the wheels that hold the sandbags start turning, and he glances over your shoulder to see the apple-eating man starting to move things around. You smile inwardly, before turning back to the men as he stares at you with wide eyes. There’s a tick in your brow as you make eye contact with him, trailing your gaze down his frame before turning on your heel.  

His cheeks feel hot as you walk away.  

“I will be performing a basic routine once, so pay attention. You’ll have to recreate this, and it’s really quite simple. Couple spins, couple suspensions...if you know what you’re doing, you’ll get it done.” You shrug, seemingly disinterested in any excuses as you walk backwards. He and No.82 clear the ring out; the sound of the spotlights being clunked on making you visibly excited. You grab the thick rope in one hand, giving it a hard yank as Middle of The Night by Elley Duhé starts to play throughout the arena. You seemingly can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips; likely habit from over a decade of performances as you’re pulled up by the rope.  

Of course, he knows you’ve been with the Skyline Soirée for twenty-one years. He knows all about you and your gold hoop. He does his research, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t?  

He watches calmly as your body contorts around the rope, wrapping your ankle in the tied noose as you’re swung around the arena. The momentum blows your hair back as you spin in tight circles, your eyes trained for what he assumes is the familiar gleam of your gold hoop as it is swung your way by the quick-footed man tossing it to you. You grab it, twisting your body into the curve of the swing, flipping in and out of it with a grace only mastered by years of dedication. He’s sure you can feel the eyes on you all around the arena, he’s sure you feel at home as you grab yet another rope being swung at you – wrapping it around your thighs with ease and fully flipping yourself upside down. You narrowly miss him, your fingertips just barely grazing the sequins of his leotard as you swing past him.  

You seem to feel free, as you grab another hoop being thrown at you, and he can practically feel the sting of the rope burning into your bare thigh as you flip yourself onto the cool metal. You fold your legs around the hoop; the metal tucked behind your knees and the curve of your ribcage almost identical to that of the hoop as you spin in tight circles to the middle of the ring. The song comes to an end as you’re suspended a few feet above the ground, your smile dropping as you position yourself to be pulled off the hoop by the same man; strong hands gingerly pulling you off the hoop.  

He’d overheard a few of the other auditionees talk about that. That you were a princess to this circus, that Jihyo once said you were too valuable to jump down from any distance. One wrong move meant metatarsal fractures, sprained ankles, even dislocated knees.  

It wasn’t worth the risk.  

You thank him softly, the gleam in his eyes making your shoulders soften as his fingers squeeze you gently before he slips away.  

He feels his stomach tighten, his body moving before his mind as he brings his hands together in a soft clap; your brows raising as you look over at him, his head nodding curtly. More clapping fills the room from your teammates, and you look flustered as you clear your throat, hearing snickering from Minghao’s general direction before he stops and tucks his hands behind his back.  

You turn to face him and the other auditionee.  

“Easy, right? Who wants to go first?” You smile brightly, resting your hands on your hips as the man in white winces.  

“I think I’ll have to forfeit. I was told this would be flying trapeze, not static. I apologize for wasting your time.” He speaks carefully, and your eyes widen slightly as he picks up his bag and gives a quick bow. You don’t even get a chance to speak before he’s out the double flaps, where a few children peer in to get a glimpse of the auditions. You wave, and they squeal lightly before sprinting away.  

“They must really like you around these parts,” he says gently, moving to fold his hands in front of him. You tilt your head, hearing the spin of metal on metal as the rope is thrown to you from behind.   

“Let’s see if we like you, huh?” You hold it out to him, and he only smiles softly; taking the rope gingerly before stepping carefully into the ring. He steps to where you started, give or take an inch – and he hears the man who helped you get down rustle around before the music starts again. With a quick thwip of his wrist, he’s in the air – and you move back to watch him glide expertly through the air.  

He catches the man’s throws with a finesse that would make anyone’s skin litter with goosebumps, curling through your trusty hoop with poise. He can feel the bated breath surrounded him as he nails each of your twists, your figure moving backwards to follow him around the arena before your thigh bumps Minghao’s arm. His hand grabs it, squeezing the plush flesh as you furrow your brows in concentration.  

He swings past you smoothly, his hand gracing your cheek ever so slightly; your eyes averting as he shoots you a wink. He notes the quick scowl in your face, the tick in your jaw as you shift your weight as he splays himself across the second hoop. He feels the heat of your gaze trail the curve of his hip, tonguing your cheek as the scattered sequins of his leotard catch the low light.  

He’s suspended above the ground just as you were, but he flips out of the hoop and faces Jihyo, Minghao, an openly impressed unnamed man, and you.  

“Thank you for the opportunity.” He speaks softly, demurely, even; bending at the waist carefully as his chest heaves up and down in steady breaths. He catches the way a smile tugs at the corner of Jihyo’s lips, Minghao’s hidden by his hand yielding a lit cigarette. You circle him like a dog does before lunging in for a bite, raking your eyes over him as you observe the elegance in his posture.  

“Good shoulders,” you murmur, clicking your tongue three times as you stand in front of him. You splay your hands on your hips, before glimpsing over your shoulder; his eyes following the soft slope of your neck. Minghao gives you a smirk, a shrug of one shoulder as you look back, your eyes catching the sliver of the thin gold chain beneath his leotard. You push his shoulder suddenly, watching his sturdy form as he hardly wobbles.  

Your lips curl into an oddly impressed frown, and you circle him again – pushing the center of his back with the tips of your fingers, humming as he doesn’t budge. You gently nudge the back of his knee with your foot, smirking inwardly as he glimpses over his shoulder at you with an amused look playing in his eyes. You shrug, folding your hands behind your back with a sly smile as you carefully slide over to Minghao.  

“You like him?” You ask, loud enough for him to hear as you lean against the chair. Minghao takes a quick drag of his cigarette, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist as he blows the smoke away from your face. He watches Minghao’s fingers dig into your hip gently, annoyance settling in the pit of his stomach.  

“Good posture, firm shoulders. Sturdy...sexy.” Minghao shrugs, making you nod as you slither over to Jihyo. The ringmaster rolls her eyes with a smile as you wrap your arms around her neck and smush your cheek to hers as he folds his hands in front of himself. The unnamed man from before bumps his hip to yours, planting a quick kiss to your hairline.  

“I second the decision.” Jihyo shrugs, “he seems...able. Great physique, we’ll do a physical to make sure he’s in good health.”  

“It’s up to you, though, babe. It’s your domain, after all.” Minghao clears his throat. You tilt your head as you meet his eyes across the ring, patting Jihyo’s shoulder as you run your tongue over your teeth.  

“You got a name, hotshot?” You ask, leaning your forearms on the back of what was originally your chair – one that now the unnamed man occupies. Your fingers brush his bare shoulders, pinching the skin playfully as he tugs his sleeves over them with a pout.  

“Junhui. Wen Junhui.”   “Where are you from, Wen Junhui?”  

“Boston, Mass.” He states clearly, and he remains stoic as he notices the way you all stiffen, a chill running through your bodies simultaneously.  

The Boston Extravaganza had been dismantled from the roots just three weeks prior – the ringleader, Kang Minseok, murdered after his first Sunday in the spot. The investigation is pending, but he’s sure it’ll close. 

Just like all the others. 

Performers had fled into the depths of Manhattan, seeking refuge from their now broken home. To his knowledge, Jihyo had been gracious enough to take in a few performers, but nothing too major. She’d made calls all over, sending people all around the Northeast with the promise of work – should they arrive safely.   

If he was anyone else, he would agree that it is painful – to see fellow performers lose their touch as they navigated the streets of your city in search of work. Performers retired the sparkling leotards for brown aprons, espresso machines and thumbing through tip jars for their share of the feed.  

He knew that Jihyo hadn’t intended to take in another trapeze artist, he’d been floating around the circus long enough to know exactly what the weaknesses were – though it seemed Jihyo ran quite a strong ship. Minghao, as if right on Junhui’s schedule, broke his foot last weekend – falling from the hoop at four feet of suspension, and you’d been left to swing through your carefully practiced routine alone. Junhui had watched every performance from the stands, hidden behind cheering families and bored teenagers; chewing on salted caramel taffy and taking notes in his phone.  

Jihyo had enough with what she called her Lucky 7...which was pioneered by you.  

The brightest star of them all: the final performance to seal the night. The one who led the ending bow and wore hand-bedazzled leotards made by Jihyo. You stood in the middle of the performers; your shoulders set back in confidence as you thanked the city of New York for joining you for yet another glorious performance.  

He’d heard Jihyo joke that her ownership of the Skyline Soirée was just for show.  

Of course, it wasn’t. He’d heard a lot about her in particular – she was kind, smart, confident. A creative businesswoman who did not let anything get between the success of her and her circus. She saw potential in everything and everyone, never once giving up in the face of adversity – even when one by one, circuses across the country were destroyed from their sturdy foundations.  

“I was part of the–”   “We know.”  

Jihyo nods carefully, and his eyes catch your hand running through your hair as you trill your lips. You nudge the unnamed man, “Mingyu, where’s my clipboard?”  

Mingyu.  

“Well, welcome to the team. Eight weeks, Wen. Then we’ll see if we keep you on board. Sounds good?” Mingyu raises a brow, pulling the clipboard from under his meaty thigh and flipping the page to the contract that would bound Junhui to the Skyline Soirée for two months.   

“We have three days of practice, and four performance nights. No breaks aside from the nine hours of sleep we’ve allotted in the schedule. It’s important that we are well rested.” You say pointedly, before grabbing the clipboard and clicking the sparkly pink pen. You wave him over with a flair of disinterest, your eyes bored as he makes his way over and takes the pen from your fingers. Jihyo stands, taking the clipboard and gesturing around.  

“Sign here, and here. Initial here, here, here and here. You’ll have to consent to a physical examination over on Canal and Mercer with Dr. Hong and Dr. Yoon, they're our primary care providers for the Skyline Soirée. They’ll take good care of you.” She nods as Junhui takes the clipboard gingerly, scribbling his life away. “You will also have to meet all the other members of our team, but you report to Y/N and Mingyu every morning. They’re your team directors. Think of it like we’re corporate and they’re your managers.”  

Mingyu disappears into the shadows of the arena, and Jihyo talks shop for what feels like an hour – but Junhui’s eyes drift to you and Minghao. You seem relatively close; Minghao’s hand nestled on your upper thigh, fingers kneading the flesh gently as you whisper amongst yourselves. You talk with your hands a lot, gesticulating at the open air and tracing shapes that Minghao understands seamlessly; your brows furrowing as you repeatedly hit the side of your hand to your palm, pointing at something Junhui can’t see at the top of the circus arena.  

“...And Y/N will introduce you to everyone. We’ll get you a handbook and a physical appointment before Wednesday.” Jihyo nods, Mingyu walking forward with a thin book; the circus name plastered across the front with a picture of the main cast on the cover. He holds it out to Junhui, and only then does he notice the pink bookmark already sticking out from the middle of it.  

“You’ll have to go over this before Wednesday, because you have more documents to sign. Y/N will introduce you to everyone and show you to your trailer. Welcome to the Skyline Soirée, Junhui.” Jihyo holds her hand out, and Junhui smiles brightly, taking her hand gingerly and giving it a firm shake. She smiles in return, bowing slightly before dropping her hand, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to get back to. Make yourself at home.”  

“I will, thank you.”  

Mingyu watches Jihyo walk away with his arms crossed, and you and Minghao do the same. There’s a blanket of silence that falls over the four of you, before Minghao taps the ash off his cigarette, taking a final drag before putting it out on the ashtray on his thigh.   

“So,” he blows the smoke out, making you scrunch your nose as you wave it away from your face. “You’re from Boston?”  

“Not technically, but that’s where I came from.” Junhui shrugs, mindlessly rifling the pages of the handbook. “I was part of that circus the longest, so I guess I just got used to saying that.”  

“Where are you from originally?” Mingyu asks next to him, making Junhui’s lip tug up into a lopsided smile that screams pity.  

“Washington.”  

You stiffen visibly but clear your throat as Minghao glances up at you with a look of concern on his features. You give him a pained smile, before clasping your hands in front of you.  

“I think it’s time we introduce Junhui to the rest of our cast, hm? Mingyu, Minghao?” Your eyes and voice are pointed in a way that you don’t want Junhui to understand, but he rolls his eyes as he folds his hands behind his back. “Come, you’ll want to meet everyone before we take you to your trailer.”  

“Ah, ah! Jihyo said you have to introduce and take him home. There was no we in that.” Minghao retorts next to you, before flashing a mischievous smile at Junhui, “enjoy your stay, Junhui. I’m glad to see someone as skilled as you taking my place for the time being.”  

“I hope you feel better soon, Minghao.” He nods gently, before Mingyu makes his way over and helps the man up, the crutches leaning against one of the pillars being picked up in one hand as he practically throws Minghao over his back. Both men give him a quick wave and a smile, before snickering to themselves as you huff, your hands curling into fists at your side as Junhui takes long, silent strides to settle at your side.  

You seem startled as you glance over and see him next to you, your eyes flashing with a veil of disinterest before you tongue your cheek.  

“Hi.” He says softly, before holding his hand out. You glance down at it, “I don’t shake hands. You already know who I am.”  

“Do I?” He tilts his head, dropping his hand to his side before you press your red lips into a thin line. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

“Pleasure.” You cross your arms on your chest, “first things first, we are not friends.”  

“I didn’t assume we would be,” Junhui smiles, “but I get you. Strictly business.”  

You let your eyes scan him shamelessly, before turning your nose up and clicking your tongue.  

“Minghao is my long-term partner, but I’ve done trapeze with everyone on the Lucky 7. You’ll have to show that you can work well with them before we can even consider you to be a part of the team permanently.” Your voice is level, but you sound bored as you raise a brow at him, “but if you don’t get along with me, it won’t happen for you, anyway. What I say goes.”  

You don’t give him a chance to respond, opting to walk away. He follows silently, watching you carefully step over the edge of the ring and duck behind the curtains. He’s met with a mess of people prepping – some people are stretching, others are being laced up into costumes, Jihyo is carefully holding three pins in her lip as she holds a tape measure to a girl’s waist. No one cares to look up as you make your way through – their eyes glued to their own projects as you stop in front of a frosted glass door, your knuckles rapping on the frame in a memorized pattern.  

The door opens, a bright-eyed man smiling almost instantly as he sees you.  

“Y/N!” His plump cheeks almost hide his eyes entirely as he throws his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. You’re slightly stiff before your arms wrap around his waist, the man not noticing Junhui standing behind you until you clear your throat.  

“Hosh, we’ve got company.” Your voice is muffled against his shirt, and the man’s smile drops before his eyes find Junhui. He waves lightly, the man straightening and letting you go as he tilts his head.  

“Minghao’s replacement?”   “He has a name, Hoshi.”  

You roll your eyes, pushing past the man. Junhui holds his hand out instinctively, the man taking it firmly as a whistle is heard in the room.  

“Junhui. From Boston.”   “...Hoshi. Jersey City.”  

“Nice to meet you, Hoshi. Is that a stage name?” Junhui asks as Hoshi drops his hand gingerly, earning a shrug.  

“No one goes by names here, really. It’s all stage presence unless you’re Y/N. She’s who she is in and out of the ring.” He flips a sign next to the door to say In Session before moving to the side to let Junhui into the room. He ducks inside, Hoshi following and closing the door as what seems like a barre dance studio comes into view. The walls are lined with mirrors, with a trio of men scattered across the room. You’re standing at the far-right corner, aggressively moving through a rack of sparkling leotards and skirts. There is a desk covered in first aid supplies, a half-filled kit sprawled open, and a roll of dressing strewn everywhere.   

Minghao sits in the desk chair, with Mingyu carefully wrapping his foot as the smell of Tiger Balm fills the room.   

Your shoulders are tense as you thumb at the sleeve of an orange leotard, your fingers visible through a torn hole as you scowl. You turn on your heel, clearing your throat and gathering the attention of everyone. The men seemingly scramble to stand in a line; their shoulders taught and backs straight as you step in front of them; Hoshi and Mingyu joining the lineup without a second thought. Junhui watches as you settle against the bar, crossing your arms on your chest.  

“Gentlemen, we’ve got a new addition to our team.” You speak clearly, but their eyes don’t avert to Junhui as you click your tongue. “Wen Junhui from Boston. He will be taking Minghao’s place for the next eight weeks, should he pass his physical exam. You are all to remain attentive in your routines, and I will be taking someone on as an understudy should Junhui or I get injured or fail to perform up to the Skyline standards. I expect you all to be on your best behavior, and I know you won’t disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?”  

“Yes, ma’am.” The men sound off almost robotically, before your shoulders relax slightly.   

“You will all have time to introduce yourselves later, but this is just something quick to get it out of the way. I’m going to show Junhui to his trailer, and I expect you all to have picked out lunch by the time I get back.” You run a hand over your face lightly, before pointing directly at Hoshi, “no more disco fries. You’ll get sick like you did last time and then I can’t have you understudy because Jihyo will make you sit out.”  

“You’re such a party pooper.” Hoshi pouts, making you snicker inwardly before you call a break with a clap of your hands. The men huddle together; several phones being pulled out as Junhui watches you push off the barre. You don’t bother looking at him, making your way to the door with a wave of your hand for him to follow you. He does just that, opening the door for you and earning a purse of your lips as you slip out.  

“You sure run this team like the Navy.” He comments gently; that gets him a sliver of a smile as you shake your head.  

“No, I don’t. They just know what they need to do.” You reply, “they’ll introduce themselves to you during lunch. Or after, or whatever. It’s up to them; they don’t owe you anything.”  

Junhui doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes trained on the sway of your leotard tassels. Your body is fluid, no tension carried anywhere but you’ve seemed to have trained yourself to keep it together. Like you’ve got your own demons, several skeletons in your own closet – but none strong enough or big enough to show the effects of them on your face. You carry yourself with your shoulders set back, your chin tilted up; poised, confident, brave.  

Strong.  

You stop in front of a door, the blaring red sign above it reads EXIT.   

“You’ll get a keycard that lets you in and out of the building. Hansol should get it to you before sundown, but since Jihyo stuck you with me for the time being, we’ll use mine. You only get one before Hansol makes you fork over ten bucks, so most of us just leave it hanging here.” You gesture at the wall, keycards hanging from a hook on different colored lanyards. You grab the first one off the hook, flipping it over to see the name Dahyun in blue permanent marker, “if you have any technical problems, you go to Hansol. If you have any wardrobe problems, you go to Hansol.”  

“I assume I’ll meet Hansol soon, right?” He watches you nod as you push the door open, and dozens of trailers come into view. They are sectioned off behind chain fences, seemingly in teams – Lucky 7, Clown Alley, Arson Avenue, Staffing Street.  

“Arson Avenue?”   “It’s for the fire artists. They’re further back because they practice outside, and we can’t let anything catch on fire.”  

You push the gate open on the Lucky 7 set, the trailers lining the fence with four on each side, with a bigger one lining the back of the lot. You beeline for it, typing the code into the door before glancing over your shoulder.  

“Wait here. I have to get your keys.”   “Is this—”   “This is my trailer.”  

You say nothing else, slipping inside the pink door and disappearing inside. Junhui rocks on his heels, trilling his lips as he looks around. Everyone’s names are plastered on their trailers and decorated accordingly, it seemed; Hoshi, DK, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Infinite, Dino. There is one empty trailer next to yours, stark white and plain as opposed to the plethora of colors around the sector.  

“Okay, found them.” You slink back out of your trailer, holding a set of keys in your hand. “You’ll have keys for the next eight weeks, and we’ll get someone out here to give you a keypad if you end up signing on permanently. In the meantime, don’t lose these; Jihyo hates the locksmith, he’s difficult.”  

You roll your eyes but make your way over to the empty trailer. His eyes catch the gold foil stars on the sides of your white trapeze boots in the high noon sun, your leotard twinkling in the light as you yank the door to the trailer open. You feel around the side for the light switch, flicking it on before beckoning him forward.  

“I know that the Boston Extravaganza had you set up in dorms, but Jihyo really wanted us to be more like a community rather that roommates. Roommates can have tension, which can cause issues in the ring and then we’re all messed up. So, this will be yours for the time being.” You nod curtly, “you’ve got a kitchenette, closet, bathroom, shower. The couch is a futon, but if you’re here longer, you can get a bigger trailer, and we’ll switch it out with a bed. Of course, no one stays all that long, so...good luck.”   

You lack a bit of empathy as he steps inside, “we’ll arrange Seungcheol or Jaebeom to give you a lift back to your hotel room so you can get your belongings. We run a strict schedule around here, so lights out by ten. You don’t have to sleep, that’s your prerogative. We’re up by six in the morning, breakfast at seven and arena by seven-thirty. Lunch is at one, dinner is at six-thirty, and we have cast-wide dinners once a week. Any questions?”  

You’re apathetic as you blink at him, eyes tired as your arms cross against your chest. He tilts his head at you, before holding his hand out. Your brows furrow, “I don’t shake hands.”  

“My keys, sweetheart.”  

If you’re embarrassed, you’re good at masking it – shrugging your shoulders before holding his keys out to him by the ring. He takes them gently, spinning them on his fingertip before clasping his hand around them.  

“How long have you been with the circus?”   “Since I was six.”   “Do you like it?”  

“It’s everything to me.” You say plainly, “it’s all I know. Do you have any questions about this? Because I’d like to get back for lunch.”  

“You’re not very welcoming, are you?” He raises a brow, and you stiffen slightly; tonguing your lower lip before sighing.  

“I don’t warm up to newcomers. I know better, and so should you. Now, if you don’t have questions, I’d like to get a move on.” You give him a pointed look, making a show of exiting the trailer as he sets the handbook down on his counter. He watches as you inch away from the trailer, flipping the page to the pink bookmark.  

Across the top of the page, in bold Times New Roman is exactly what he thought would be there.  

ANTI-FRATERNIZATION POLICY.  

“Bingo.” He mutters to himself, running his eyes over the page quickly before tossing the entire book across the trailer onto the futon. He’d look over it later; tucking his keys into his palm before slipping back out. You’re halfway across the lot, and he moves like molasses before smirking at himself when you look over your shoulder with an annoyed expression.  

“Junhui! Move it!”   “I’m coming, I’m coming.”  

 Lunch moved fast. The team practically inhales their food, and you perched on the edge of the desk and shared chips with Minghao; shy smiles and his fingers tracing shapes into your bare thighs. He gets introduced to everyone and quickly learns that yes, while stage names were mostly used – he could quickly get used to calling everyone by their real names. DK was Seokmin, Dino was Chan and Hoshi was in fact, Soonyoung.   

He also quickly learns that not everyone on the trapeze team is from New York and New Jersey aside from Soonyoung, Minghao from Syracuse and Seungkwan, who is from Hoboken – Seokmin is from Chicago, Mingyu is from Kapolei, and Chan is from Atlanta.   

You’re from Manhattan, born and raised. You grew up here with Jihyo, Minghao and Hansol, lost everyone and won everything back almost immediately. He learns just that, no context – in hushed whispers, from Hoshi.  

“She’s sweet,” he had said, shoveling the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “She just doesn’t trust new people. Let her warm up to you, it’ll happen eventually.”  

You made no effort to do so for the remainder of the day.   

Junhui was introduced to both Jaebeom and Seungcheol right after lunch, because Jihyo had called them during lunch to inform them that Junhui had been signed on. The pair drove him to his hotel to help him gather his things before letting him know he had an appointment the next day with Dr. Yoon – before driving him back and helping him get settled in the trailer.  

“How’d you get on with Y/N? Was she nice?” Seungcheol asked gently, and Jaebeom had a seemingly knowing look in his eyes as he smirked inwardly. When Junhui answered unsurely, they shared a pointed glance before Jaebeom spoke up.  

“She’s a bit cold right off the bat, but she’ll get better. She just doesn’t know you yet.”   

It seemed as though everyone tried vouching for you to comfort him – like it wasn’t his fault that you were standoffish, but he’d certainly be subjected to your behavior because he had no choice. You were the star, and you were going to stay the star; your behavior was to be tolerated, you were to be respected and you were held in high regard no matter his opinions about your rightfully earned position, his opinions about the cast that enabled your behavior, or his opinions about you.  

He would have to tolerate it, to tolerate you – whether he liked it or not.  

Junhui can’t imagine a mystery more enticing.  

He spent the rest of the night in his trailer. He showered, the water pressure shittier than it had been in Boston but he was no one to complain. He draped himself across the futon, legs covered in black sweatpants and donning his dark green zip-up – and he cracked open the Skyline Soirée Cast Member Handbook right back to the pink bookmark.  

“Anti-fraternization policy,” he reads, rolling his eyes with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What, can’t bang the star of the show?”  

Apparently, it’s just that: he literally can’t – it’s right there in black and white.  

The Skyline Soirée prohibits the ideation, intention or execution of any romantic advances or relationships between employees. This includes staff members, ringmasters and performers; should employees engage each other in romantic or flirtatious advances, it is heavily recommended that both (if not multiple) parties keep their relationship at work strictly professional. This policy has been implemented since November 19th of 1989, during the second generation of the Skyline Soirée legacy.  

Beneath the paragraph is your name.  

LUCKY STAR CLAUSE – ANTI-FRATERNIZATION POLICY, SUBSECTION B-2.  

An edit has been made to the original 1989 anti-fraternization policy following the Midnight Menagerie murders. Whoever is considered the star of the show (‘Lucky Star’) is not to be romantically linked with anyone involved in the cast, staff or outsourced providers. If said relationships are established, Lucky Star contracts with the Skyline Soirée are to be ceased immediately. This clause has been implemented since May 26th, 2015, in order to protect the Lucky Stars of the Skyline Soirée – of whom since have only been Sidney Kim (1997-2013, b. 1982) and Y/N Lee (2013-present, b. 1997.) This clause to be updated every time a ‘Lucky Star’ is voted into rotation.  

“Midnight Menagerie murders...” he murmurs to himself, running a hand through his damp hair. “What does a romantic relationship have to do with any of that?”  

He scoffs, turning the page with a tick in his jaw – only to see an introductory journal-like page. There is a smiling portrait of you in the top right corner that looks recent; your eyes bright and your red-lipped smile wide as you looked into the camera like you were absolutely enamored. There are more photos – you in 2002, holding onto a little girl that looks a lot like Jihyo. You in 2009, sat in front of a birthday cake. You, in 2015 – your high school senior photos taken inside the circus arena, wearing your graduation cap and gown while perched on your hoop and dressed in a pink mock neck leotard with matching aerial boots that had gold glitter stars on either side.  

You in 2019, holding three silver trophies and a lopsided crown atop your mussed hair – captioned Jules Léotard Trapeze ‘19 Champion, Y/N Lee.  

LUCKY STAR – Y/N LEE.   

"If you’re reading this, you’ve joined the Skyline Soiree. I hope you’ve received a warm welcome,” Junhui reads aloud, before blowing air out of the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t say warm, but it was certainly something.”   

He trills his lips lightly, resting his cheek on his knuckles as he reads across the page. You joined the circus at six years old, with Jihyo’s family taking you in after your parents were murdered on Christmas Day in 2001; your mother a reporter for the Garden City News, your father a detective for the NYPD. You’d long loved the circus, hence probably why you got the starring role – and something about it made Junhui’s chest hurt.   

He felt a few tears sting his eyes as he kept reading your story; how you dedicated your entire life to the circus and skipped out on graduation because it was a Saturday evening, and you were set to perform with Minghao. You talked about how you learned to drive in a 1975 Vista Cruiser in Rochester one summer, and how Halloween being your favorite holiday. Summer is your favorite season, your favorite color is green, and you talk about how much Jihyo loved celebrating your birthday.  

And you never mentioned Christmas again.  

“I hope you love the Skyline Soirée as much as I do. Maybe we’ll perform together! This is from 2019 Y/N, so if you’re reading this again: maybe you’ll win another JLT! Skyline Stars, we're brighter together!”  

Junhui sighs, clicking his tongue before turning the page once more. A page full of Jihyo, followed by pages full of the rest of the cast and crew: Hoshi, Tzuyu, Mingyu...  

Minghao.  

“Boyfriend. Against the Lucky Star Clause...that’s a Lucky Star boyfriend. Cute.” He mutters, sucking his teeth before reading across the page. Nothing catches his eye much – trapeze artist since the age of sixteen and joined Skyline a year before you became the star of the show. He spent his childhood split between Syracuse and Manhattan, spending the summers in upstate. He mentions you twice – how you helped him learn, and how honored he was to be your right hand.  

The yearbook of sorts ends with Jihyo. She talks about the legacy of the Skyline Soirée and how much pressure it is to be the head of it all – but she mentions you, and how easy you make being the star look. How easily you soar through the air and how much hope it gives her – how much hope you give the entire cast.  

Junhui wonders if Jihyo really is the Ringmaster she says she is.  

He tosses the handbook to the side, his eyes catching the clock hanging above the kitchenette. 8:45 PM.  

“Lights out by ten...I have time.” He pushes himself off the futon, grabbing his cap off the dinner table – trading it for his phone, which he powers off and slides onto the hardwood. He tucks his hair under the cap, taking his keys and flicking all the lights off with the switch by the door. He cracks it open, hearing a laugh ring through the air as he slips out and locks it behind him. He sees the twinkle of your leotard in the moonlight, your face lit by Minghao holding a lighter to the end of a cigarette between your lips. Your hair is tied up, the slope of your neck speckled with glitter from your outfit.  

You’re sitting on the steps of Minghao’s trailer, and you’re both seemingly trying to ignore the ruckus coming from Mingyu’s trailer – until you glance up, your eyes bright even in the dark lot.  

“Where’re you going, hotshot?” You don’t sound very interested, but there’s a look on your face that says you’re suspicious. Minghao is sat on a folding chair, his injured leg rested across your knees with your hand holding his shin.  

“Out.” He replies, shrugging his shoulders as your brows furrow.  

“It’s almost lights out.”   “Key word, almost. Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”   

He gives you a quick smile, before shoving his hands into his pockets and making his way out of the lot. He skirts out of the back gate, spotting a neon bar sign a block away.  

“Perfect.”  

IT’S SIX IN THE MORNING WHEN YOU HEAR RUSTLING OUTSIDE.  

You’re lying in Minghao’s bed, your eyes burning as you peel them open. Minghao’s face is buried in your neck, his hand tucked under your sleep shirt as you tilt your head back to peer out his window. The sun is bleeding in as your fingers fumble with the blinds, making Minghao stir before feeling him bury his face deeper into the slope of your neck.  

You can barely make out who you assume to be Junhui – wearing a zip-up hoodie and the cap he wore last night was now backwards on his head. You squint slightly, as if it’d make it better – only to watch him flick the lights of his trailer on and slip inside.   

You tongue your cheek, dropping your hand from the blinds and wrapping your arm around Minghao’s shoulders. He presses a chaste kiss to your skin, before his voice fills your ears.   

“You worry too much.”  

You roll your eyes, feeling his hand slide higher up your back as he drums his fingers against your skin.  

“I do not worry.”   “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. He’s new, he’s not a psycho killer.”  

“You don’t know that.” You mutter, draping your leg over Minghao’s hip and feeling his lips curve into a smile. “He could be. We don’t know anything about him. He could be a Scorpio.”  

“I’m a Scorpio.”   “Yeah, and you’re evil.”   “Not psycho killer evil. And don’t forget you asked to be edged, I didn’t do that on my own.”  

“God forbid a girl try new things with her boyfriend. And shut up, we said we wouldn’t talk about that after we broke up. Keep the boundaries, man.” You roll your eyes, but your smirk gives you away as he snickers against you.   

Your relationship with Minghao was...intriguing, to say the least.  

Sure, you’d known better than to ever let anyone outside of Mingyu know that the two of you were more than friends – and he only knew because he caught the two of you at an ice cream parlor when you were eighteen. The two of you had been dating for a year at that point, and there was no point in denying it when you were very much holding hands under the table.  

Forced proximity is bound to stir up some feelings.  

You broke up after four years. Neither of you were too sure as to why, but something between you changed. You mutually ended things three months after the JLT Awards, but the two of you remained close – the best of friends, almost.  

With some benefits sprinkled in.  

Neither of you had to mourn the loss of the relationship all that much, and Minghao didn’t really extend his affections to anyone else. The casual touching, sharing a bed, comforting you when you were (rarely) feeling out of your element – it was all reserved for you, but Minghao certainly slept with other people, as did you.  

Minghao and Jihyo were truly the only ones that saw you out of work-mode. Jihyo had known you your entire lives, and they were also the only two that truly knew what happened to your parents.  

You weren’t there when it happened. You were much too young to know any of it, really – but you learned as you got older that your parents had made too many enemies and too quickly. Jihyo’s mother was your father’s partner on the force, and they both worked for the 9th Precinct. Your parents were close to the Parks, and you’d been put into her care for the night so your parents could make the trip up to your aunt’s house in Syracuse and bring her and your cousin down for the New Year.   

They never made it – your father took a wrong turn in Washington Heights and subsequently sent the 34th Precinct into a frenzy. You found out through the nightly news that your parents were stopped at a red light on W. 170th Street after having missed their turn on W. 165th Street on their way to the NY-9A. Pitch black at 11pm on a Tuesday was perfect for an ambush – and you try not to think about the holidays all that much anymore.  

Truth be told, you found solace in the Park family. You felt good knowing that Jihyo was your best friend, to know that her family legacy continued through her for being the first-born niece and that she considered you, at this point, her sister. You felt good finding a sense of belonging, and you ignored the sinking feeling in your chest every time Christmas fell on a Tuesday – 2007, 2012, 2018...  

It would be a while before another in 2029.  

It wasn’t like the holidays were all that easy for you, anyway. You hated the way that everyone walked on eggshells around you, as if you were going to snap at any moment. As if it wasn’t already twenty-two years ago, and you were fine. Everything was fine, and you were moving on. You had to move on.  

“Do you think he’ll be good? Actually?” You murmur as Minghao rests his forehead against your clavicle. He hums, before leaning back slightly, “why? You don’t?”  

You purse your lips, letting out a defeated sigh.  

“I’m just worried about the entire ordeal of onboarding someone new. Jihyo wants a chemistry run before the end of the day, but he has to get his physical with Jeonghan this morning. I need to get Hansol to call Orbit Studio so they can get his headshots so we can print him onto the weekend posters, there’s just so much to do that I can’t worry about whether he’s good.” You bury your nose in his soft hair, “and then you’ve got that checkup today, right? To see if you need surgery?”  

“Will you stop worrying? Everything will be okay. Jeonghan and Joshua have Junhui at nine, so we’ll run a routine with Soonyoung until he gets back at eleven. We’ll run the routine with him until lunch, then I’ll be out from two-thirty onward. I’ll keep you updated, and we both know that if I get surgery, I’m going to be just down at the clinic for rehabilitation. I’m not going to disappear, and you can’t let this situation get you out of sorts.”  

Minghao’s voice is stern as he speaks, and you jut your lip out as he rolls his eyes.  

“Don’t pout at me.”   “I can do whatever I want.”  

He mimics you, his hand beneath your shirt squeezing your hip as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.  

“What time is it?” He sighs, rolling onto his back with a pained groan that makes you scramble up. You fix the pillow that goes under his ankle, feeling his hand trailing your thigh soothingly before his fingers squeeze the back of your knee. “Babe.”  

“Uh...six-fifteen. I’ve gotta get ready,” you mutter, swinging your leg over his hips and pressing a quick kiss to his nose. “I’ll see you out there, right? Mingyu should be barging in here soon.”  

He peers up at you through tired eyes, his hands sliding up your thighs before his fingers dig into the soft flesh.   

“I miss you.”   “I’m right here, Hao.”   “That’s not what I mean, and you know that.”  

You sigh, “I’ve just been busy. Things are so crazy right now, and you know I have to help plan the Horror Nights with Jihyo and Hansol. I’m still here.”  

“It’s like I can still hear her...” Minghao feigns distress, snickering to himself as you scoff, shoving his shoulder lightly. He sticks his tongue out at you, his fingers toying with the hem of your underwear as you lean down slightly.   

“What if the new guy—”   “We’re not playing this game. You won’t like it.”  

His tone is warning, making your skin prickle under his hands as you smirk. You press a kiss to his lips, nipping at his lower lip before patting his shoulder.  

“We’ll see. I’ll leave the door unlocked for Mingyu, and I’ll make your plate if I get there first.” You say softly, earning another kiss from your ex-boyfriend as you slide off his lap and slip your house shoes. You don’t bother grabbing the robe that you left on his couch last night, simply pulling his door open and sliding out with a mischievous grin.  

You cross your arms on your chest, shivering slightly at the cool autumn air as you hop off the trailer steps. Mingyu is stretching in front of his trailer as you make your way to yours, only to hear a wolf whistle from the direction of Soonyoung’s trailer, the unsoiled hinges of his door making you scowl.  

“Shut up!” You yell, hearing a giggle as you climb the steps to your trailer. You punch in your code, stretching an arm over your head as you pull the door open and step inside. Your rack of leotards comes into view, and you make your way over.  

It doesn’t take you long to get ready – and you can hear the ruckus of the boys horsing around in the lot as you swipe on your second layer of lipstick. You chose your candy apple red leotard, the matching aerial boots laying unlaced across the foot of your bed – your stomach churning slightly as hunger begins to set in, mixed with an unsettling feeling.  

You hated this feeling.   

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You mutter to yourself, pushing yourself away from the vanity and grabbing your boots and keycard off your bed, beelining for the door. You push it open, sitting on the edge of the steps as Mingyu manages to pin Soonyoung to the concrete.   

“I said I fucking yield!” Soonyoung’s voice is slightly choked as you smile inwardly, tucking your chin to your chest as Mingyu lets go of Soonyoung’s arm that he was holding against his back. “God, you’re such a fucking tool! It’s not like Tzuyu’s ever gonna look your way.”  

“She did once, and she’ll do it again. Ye of little faith, my man.” Mingyu huffs, nudging Soonyoung’s rib with his foot and earning a scowl. “Plus, it’s not like she’d look at you instead of me. She loved me once.”  

“Key word, loved. Past tense, dipshit.” Chan calls from the door of his trailer, stretching his arms over his head. You tongue your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, lacing the back of your boot up before Seokmin and Seungkwan duck out of their trailers with sweatpants low on their hips and mussed hair. They don’t bother greeting each other as they meet in the middle of the lot, linking pinkies and making their way out of the lot to the tent for breakfast.  

Mingyu flashes you a quick smile as he makes his way to Minghao’s trailer, punching the code into the keypad as you give him one back. You stand up, instinctively wiping your backside of any dust or rubble before Chan and Soonyoung start making their way to the tent with their arms linked.  

“You go ahead, superstar. I’ll get him there.” Mingyu calls over his shoulder, likely feeling the tension radiating off your muscles. “Don’t forget to check in with Jihyo.”  

“Yes, Dad. I got it, Dad. Anything else, Dad?” You scoff, smiling as he sticks his tongue out at you. You clasp your hands behind your back, forcing a skip in your step as your bare toes touch the cool concrete. You make it halfway across the lot before hearing the creak of Junhui’s trailer door opening, making your body come to an abrupt halt as you spin on your heel.   

He’s dressed in a black long sleeve, scrunched where the hem meets the waistband of his sweatpants. He’s wrapping his wrists in oxide tape, catching your eye as he tears the edge of the tape off with his teeth and smooths it over. He raises a brow, maintaining eye contact as he rolls out another piece.  

“Good morning.”  

His voice is gravelly, and you purse your lips as he stops next to you. You glance at his hands as he wraps his other wrist, before you clear your throat. He smiles softly as you tilt your head, clicking your tongue with feigned disinterest as you turn back to face the lot.  

“Good morning, Junhui.”  

He chuckles as you start moving forward again, following behind you in silence. Your shoulders grow rigid as you feel the heat of his gaze settle on them, and you clasp your hands behind your back to have an excuse to roll them back. You hear the sharp tear of the tape as he finishes the wrap, and you merely glance over your shoulder as you reach the gate.  

“How was your first night?”  

He smiles inwardly, tucking the tape into his pocket as he unlocks the gate and holds it open for you.  

“You and I both know I got back an hour ago, don’t play coy.”  

You feel a heat grow in your chest, the skin of your arms prickling as you raise a brow, “where were you?”  

“Are you my keeper, Y/N?”   “In a sense.”   “Cute. I went out. Easy.”  

You crinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms on your chest, “first of all, don’t call me cute.”  

“I’m not calling you cute,” he says pointedly, shrugging. “I’m calling the fact that you think you can boss me around cute. You might run this show, but I’m just visiting. Act like it.”  

Your eyes widen slightly, his eyes running over you as he gives another shrug of his shoulders. He slides past you, a scoff falling from your lips as he waits for you to step out of the lot. He shoves his hands into his pockets as you fall into lockstep with him, before turning to you just as you both reach the back door of the arena.   

“I won’t be here from nine to eleven. I’ve got my physical, and Jihyo told me to let you know?” His voice holds curiosity as you roll your eyes, nodding as you hold your keycard in between your fingers.  

“We’ll be running a chemistry read when you get back. Do you know if you’re getting blood drawn? We’ll have to run it tomorrow if you are, and that could set us back for the Thursday show.”   

“I figured I was, so I was wondering if you’d run a routine with me now instead?” He asks gently, your shoulders stiff as you look up at him, “just before I leave. It’ll probably only get two runs, because I have to leave by eight-thirty.”  

You trill your lips, “I think we’d have to get Hoshi in on it, he’s usually the one who choreographs our routines. Unless you have something prepared, you’ll have to wait until after breakfast. Is that cool?”  

He nods, and you press your lips into a thin line as you nod; your hand holding the keycard to the door and hearing the buzz of it unlocking. He pulls it open, letting you walk inside first. The gaggle of cast members comes into view – and everyone is comfortably serving themselves breakfast off the table, their hair in all sorts of disarray and half of them still in their pajamas. You look across the fruit tray to see Nayeon chewing with her eyes closed as Dahyun limply gels her hair back, making you smile inwardly as you see Soonyoung and Chan sitting on one of the bigger beanbags with their backs pressed to one another.  

“You guys really are like a family.” You hear Junhui murmur behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see him trailing everyone around the room. His eyes stop at Tzuyu, watching the way she’s taping her ankles as Seungkwan holds a piece of melon to her lips. “You even feed each other.”  

“If you consider that family,” you shrug, grabbing three plates to serve yourself, Mingyu and Minghao. You let Junhui look around, feeling the heat of the cast members’ gazes on your back. You quickly shovel food across plates and balance the three of them on your arms before beelining for the usual table you occupied with your ex-boyfriend and your second longest friend. Junhui gets waved over by Soonyoung, so you part ways without feeling any sort of guilt.  

Breakfast goes by rather quickly. Mingyu and Minghao are the last ones to trail in after Jackson and Jinyoung, apologetic looks on their faces as they near your table. The three of you eat in mumbled whispers, with Minghao asking what Junhui stopped you about. You don’t bother responding, gesticulating to the air as you chewed around a piece of bread.  

The show gets on the road soon after breakfast – you offer to help clean up, gathering plates and cups when Hansol gives you a deadpan look. He takes the items from your hands, pointing to the arena behind you as you huff.  

“I was just trying to help.”   “I know, doll. But this isn’t your job. Go be our neighborhood friendly Spider-Man.”  

Junhui is already talking shop with Soonyoung by the time you, Minghao and Mingyu make it to the ring. Everyone else has scattered to their respective practice areas, and Junhui is spinning one of Nayeon’s balls on his fingertip as he gestures at the air. He’s saying things you can’t quite make out, but his eyes are bright and cheery as you set out a chair for Minghao to sit in.  

“Wipe that look off your face. Everyone is going to think you don’t want to be here, and you’re the one who sets the mood. Lighten up.” Minghao’s voice is warning as Mingyu helps him into the seat, making you scowl as you cross your arms on your chest. You lean against the side of Minghao’s chair, watching the way Soonyoung and Junhui get on.  

“They’re friendly for having just met.” You mutter, only to hear Mingyu snort next to you before he talks over his shoulder as he makes his way up the steps.  

“You’re the only one who doesn’t warm up to strangers. We’re running a business here; we have to be nice to each other.”  

“Nice to each other doesn’t mean being buddy-buddy.” Your nose is scrunched as Minghao gently pinches your thigh, your hand moving back to swat at it. “Stop it.”  

“You look nice.” He murmurs, “I like the red.”  

“I know you like the red, Hao.”   “You’re a tease.”   “You know it, babe.”  

“Y/N, can you get over here? I think we’ve figured something out!” Soonyoung calls, and you quickly plaster a smile on your face before turning to walk backwards. You point at Minghao, “don’t leave for your check-up without telling me, alright?”  

“Yeah, yeah. Go be a superstar without me.” He fakes a pout, making you shake your head as you step into the ring. Junhui tosses the ball towards the bleachers set up around the sides, stretching his arms over his head.  

“I thought of this with Chan last night, so we’re going to have to work out the tweaks as we go. Mingyu already knows most of it, so don’t worry about hoop cues. Cool?” Soonyoung looks eager to get started as Chan fiddles around with the stereo, his fingers typing rapidly into his phone before calling over his shoulder.  

“You want Iris or No Ordinary Love?”   

Your eyes widen, and you turn to look at Soonyoung, “Hosh, those are love songs.”  

“Hardly,” he brushes you off, but you see Junhui’s eyes as wide as yours as he opens his mouth to speak – only to get cut off by Soonyoung replying to Chan with Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls. He calls out to Mingyu to toss one of the ropes, before looking at you and Junhui with a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat, “you ready? Let’s go.”  

“Time check, seven-fifty!” Minghao announces from his seat, crossing his legs at the knee as he clicks his pen. Junhui nods, grabbing the rope as Mingyu throws it and holding it out to Soonyoung, who glances at the phone Minghao holds up.  

"Okay, we have to move fast.”  

“We can just learn it tomorrow,” you try, and Soonyoung gives you an odd look.  

“No,” he shakes his head slowly, “if you learn it tomorrow, he won’t be in the Thursday show. We’ve already started advertising a new face, Y/N.”  

“I’m worried about the time crunch.” You’re making excuses, and Soonyoung can tell as he scoffs, “Y/N, it’s one run. You’ll never get comfortable if you dig your heels in every time we have a new cast member.”  

You feel your cheeks hot as Junhui gives you a pitying look, but he clears his throat and taps Soonyoung’s shoulder.  

“If she wants to run it alone first, we can do that. I learn fast, it’s not a big deal.”   “No, Junhui. This is a duo routine, not a single. I’m going to run it with Chan once, and then you’ll get as far into it as you can before you have to leave.”  

You feel a bit of annoyance settle in the back of your throat as Soonyoung shakes his head at you. He takes the rope from Junhui, tugging at it with a quick flick of his wrist as Chan runs into the arena, handing his phone to Minghao before stepping into the ring. He flashes you an understanding smile as a hoop is tossed down from Mingyu, and he grabs it gingerly.  

“Don’t worry, Y/N. It’s not super romantic or anything, but we’ll have to run it by Jihyo tomorrow so she can give her input. You have to focus on me, though, because I’m doing the part you would take over. Soonyoung is doing Junhui’s.” He nods, before perching into the metal of the hoop as Soonyoung yells a start cue.  

You and Junhui share a quick glance before grimacing, and you cross your arms on your chest as you back out of the ring and sit on one of the bleachers. Junhui follows, albeit standing off to the side of you instead of sitting. Iris starts pouring through the arena, and you fix your eyes on Chan as he’s swung around the arena.  

The men are fluid as they spin around in tune with one another, curling their bodies around the metal of the hoops Mingyu is expertly gliding into their hands. Soonyoung is holding onto Chan tightly with every twist of their bodies – Chan is flipping through hoops and Soonyoung is catching him by the hips, at one point, his ankle as Chan glides through the air. It’s almost like a dance of will they, won’t they; the routine ending with Chan’s back curved around the inside edge of the hoop, his legs crossed at the knee as he suspends Soonyoung with one hand. The older man lets go of Chan’s hand and falling to his knees into the sand-filled ring with a soft thud as the song ends.  

“And we’d cut the lights all dramatic like the moment Junhui lets go of your hand!” Chan calls from the swinging hoop, making you press your lips into a thin line at his bright smile. He flips out of the hoop the way Jihyo always scolds you for, dusting his hands of sand as he helps Soonyoung up. “What do you think? Anything you want to tweak?”   

“You want me to perform a love lost with a man I just met?” You raise a brow, a scoff bubbling past your lips as you shake your head. “Sure. Why not?”  

“Don’t make me hurt your feelings.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes, “be what you are. A star, but above all, professional. Knock it off.”  

Something you’ve never liked about Soonyoung is how little wiggle room he gives you to be a brat. He’s stern and serious, hardworking even when the situation begets a bit of silliness – but you can’t say it hasn’t kept you in line. He’s been witness to many breakdowns, snot-faced sobbing, and his is the loving hand that swipes arnica on your bruises before making you run the routine again.  

No star without the sky, they say.  

“Tape your wrists, let’s get this show on the road.” Junhui gently tosses a roll of tape at you, and you barely catch it as he moves to talk to Soonyoung. Chan gives you a soft frown, resting his chin on your shoulder as you grit your teeth.  

“You won’t always be able to work with people you know,” Chan’s voice is soft, and you feel a squeeze of his fingers on your shoulder as you turn slightly to look at him. You sigh as he bores his eyes into your face, “you look pretty, by the way.”  

“Thanks.” You close your eyes, pressing a quick kiss to his sweaty forehead. “You’ll spot us, right? Mingyu didn’t put the net out this morning.”   

“Junhui is good, he won’t drop you or anything. He was in here this morning, Jihyo told us.”   

Your brow furrows – you were sure Junhui arrived at the lot right as the sun rose. Tonguing your cheek, you nod anyway; quickly wrapping your wrists and handing the tape to Chan gingerly.  

“Well, let’s get it started.”  

Chan had been right about Junhui.  

He didn’t drop you, not once – much less did you have a moment where he wasn’t touching you. Professionally, of course, but something about the way his fingers were warm around your hips made your face hot. He moved you gracefully – catching you with every flip, every twist, maintaining a searing eye contact that makes your skin prickle. He glanced once at your lips – even leaning forward slightly in a way that made your stomach flutter, but you knew it was all for show. You caught glimpses of Minghao filming the routine before Jihyo came to collect Junhui after the third time you ran through it – and you didn’t bother thanking him before moving out of his way.  

He didn’t seem peeved in the slightest.  

And you don’t like how it bothers you.  

Minghao left shortly after lunchtime, giving the back of your head a quick kiss when Jaebeom came to get him. You swallowed your worry, along with the lunch that was threatening to come back up – but you told yourself you were worrying over nothing. Minghao would be back in his trailer tonight and you’d be nestled into his side just like old times.  

You don’t explain to Chan why your hands are shaking as you retape them for the second time, and you don’t say anything when Junhui makes his return from the clinic with his arm bandaged and a sucker in his mouth. You simply grab the rope as Mingyu throws it to you, chewing on your cheek before letting an annoyed breath out and tugging on the rope.  

Soonyoung’s voice is like the buzz of a dying fly in your ear – and you actively ignore it by swinging around with Chan like he’s not even there. You feel Chan’s fingers dig into your waist, into your legs as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary happens until you miss a hoop cue – and you meet the ground faster than a New York Minute.  

You don’t hear anything for a moment, your ears ringing – your body limp against the sand in the ring. You’re crowded almost immediately, your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you push yourself to your feet quickly. Your eyes meet Mingyu’s concerned ones, but you can’t hear what he’s saying as you wipe yourself of the sand sticking to your skin.  

“Y/N.” Seungkwan's hands grab your shoulders, and you feel your nose burn as humiliated tears fill your eyes. His face immediately softens, “does anything hurt?”  

“No.” Your voice is thick as you push his hands off your shoulders, holding them to his chest. You take a wobbly step back from the group of men huddled around you, Seokmin’s face full of misplaced guilt as you clear your throat. “I’m good. Really. Just...missed the hoop.”  

“Y/N, are you –”   

You cut Mingyu off with a wave of your hand, “let’s run it again. I’m just going to get a drink of water. Uh, break.”   

You give them a thumbs up, pushing past them as the first tears trickle down your face. You hear them talking within themselves as you make your way out of the tent, grateful to be met with an empty room backstage as you run a hand over your face. Your shoulders hurt from the impact, but you’d know if something was wrong. You always know.  

“So fucking embarrassing.” You mutter inwardly, running your hands over your bare arms in an attempt to self-soothe. Your hip hurts as you pace like a caged animal, before you force yourself to stand in front of the fountain and hold the push bars to let the water come out of the spout. You can hardly bring yourself to drink any more than to soothe the burn of humiliation in your throat, your fingers gripping the sides of the basin to ground yourself.  

You’ve fallen before. It’s not a big deal.  

“She’s just distracted. So many things are happening around her, I’d be distracted too. Give her a minute, she’ll get back on her feet. Y/N always gets back up; there’s a reason she’s the star.” You can hear Seokmin's voice from your spot in the backroom, your eyes squeezing shut at the sound of your name.  

Y/N always gets back up; there’s a reason she’s the star.  

You’ve always loved the spotlight. You worked hard for it; you’d rightfully earned it.  

But it feels like a burden at times.  

Shaking yourself off, you nibble on your lip as you pull the tape off and reach for a new roll off one of the carts. You wrap your wrists carefully, tearing the end of the tape off with your teeth before tossing the roll back onto the cart. You wipe at your eyes carefully, sniffling inwardly before rolling your shoulders back and making your way back into the tent. Soonyoung looks at you first, rushing out of the ring towards you but you just give him a pointed look as you move past him.  

“Don’t baby me,” you call over your shoulder, stretching your arms over your head as the rest of the men disperse to the bleachers. Junhui gives you a soft glance that makes your brow furrow, but you keep walking as Mingyu makes his way back up the stairs and Chan timidly stands in the middle of the ring.  

“Any updates from Minghao?” You say in Seungkwan’s direction, only to be met with a thumbs down as he picks up the hoops he’s polishing. You nod grimly, your eyes catching a bruise forming on the skin of your left arm where you’d landed. “Thanks.”  

The rest of your allotted practice goes horribly – everyone is walking on eggshells as they correct your moves, as Chan makes it a point to hold you even tighter than necessary, so you don’t have another slip. It bothers you down to the bones, even if you know they’re doing the best they can with what you’d allow.  

You don’t get hurt. You’re the star. It’s not allowed.  

You run the routine so many times you’ve lost count and you’re almost certain you could do it in your sleep – but Soonyoung still looks dissatisfied as Chan helps you off the hoop. He opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Mingyu’s hand covering his face as the taller man smiles brightly.  

“It’s dinner time, and I think we should call it a night. I’ll see you and Junhui here tomorrow morning, before breakfast. Think you can stomach that?” Mingyu uncaps his pen with his teeth, scribbling across Soonyoung’s clipboard as the lot of you huddle around them. You pat Chan’s back gently as he pants, sweat dripping off his face as he crouches. “Y/N, ice that shoulder, will you? I don’t want to hear any complaints.”  

“My shoulder is fine, Gyu,” you roll your eyes, only to feel Soonyoung’s fingers tug at the sleeve of your leotard to show the bruise bloomed across your skin. You swat his hand away, sticking your tongue out as you reach for a water bottle off the cart Seokmin had wheeled in after your fall. “That’s a wrap, team. Eat up, we’ve got a busy weekend ahead of us.”  

You excuse yourself without another word, beelining for your trailer. You avoid interactions with anyone else, grabbing a random keycard off the hook by the door and feeling your skin prickle at the cold air. You grimace, crossing your arms on your chest as you jog into the lot and punch your code into the trailer door.  

You tug your clothes off without much thought, fiddling with the showerhead annoyedly. The water is scalding against your back but soothing to your muscles. Your hair feels heavy on your head as the water soaks it, and you wrap your arms around yourself to feel a warmth that not even the hottest of water could bring.  

You feel your chest fill with worry as you think of Minghao. He would’ve called by now or come back if it was nothing. He would’ve at least sent a text, but you’d left your phone in the trailer so you wouldn’t be distracted by the incessant need to check on him.  

You finish in the shower quickly; haphazardly drying your hair before grabbing your phone off the dresser while still in your towel. You scroll through the notifications before seeing three missed calls from Minghao — timestamped four hours ago each.  

You immediately press the button to call him back. The line rings once, twice – before Jihyo picks up.  

“Hey, Y/N.” She sighs on the other side, and your chest tightens as you sit up quickly.   

“Hey, Jihyo. Is he –”   “He’s in surgery. They said they had to do it today or he’d risk permanent damage. Though, I don’t know how this isn’t medically permanent damage, too.”  

“Fuck,” you squeeze your eyes shut, running your hand over your face as they prick with tears. “Is he almost out? Can I go see him? Have you eaten anything?”  

“He just went under twenty minutes ago. He’ll be out soon, they said it only takes two hours. You can come see him tomorrow, because he’s gonna have to stay in the recovery ward for the next six weeks. And yes, I’ve eaten, so you can’t use that as an excuse to come up here. I’ll tell them not to let you in, so don’t try it.” Jihyo says sternly, your eyes rolling as tears spill out. You sniffle lightly, hearing her sigh on the other end.   

“He’ll be alright. You know Hao, he’s a trooper.” She shifts, likely uncomfortable in the hard plastic chairs at the hospital. “How was practice? Junhui got blood drawn, so I hope you guys didn’t tag him in.”  

“I fell,” you admit quietly, tears rolling down the side of your face as you lean your head back, “missed a hoop cue.”  

“Level one to ten?” Jihyo is tired, and you let out a limp chuckle, “just a few bruises. My ego took the brunt of it; I was so embarrassed.”  

“Y/N, people fall all the time.”   “Not me, Jihyo. I don’t fall, ever.”   “Bullshit, you fell three times last year.”  

“You get what I mean,” you mutter. You pick at your nails, “Soonyoung’s been hard on me today. Says I need to be professional and not treat Junhui like a stranger.”  

“He’s right, babe.” Jihyo laughs, clicking her tongue. “Junhui’s nice. He and I chatted a bit on the way to his physical, he’s very sweet. It’d do you well to get to know him.”  

You scoff, “no way. Who’s to say that he even stays with Skyline? I know better than to get attached.”  

Jihyo snorts on the other end of the line, “eat dinner, crazy girl. Get an ice cream cone, if you want. You need one for that bruised ego.”   

“You’re supposed to comfort me! My best friend is in surgery, I fell during practice and you’re laughing at me!” You whine like a child, only to hear her laugh slightly harder.  

“Babe, you’ll be alright. Go get some ice cream with the guys, take the card. It’s in your wallet. I’ve gotta go, I’m halfway through the episode where Ted gets dumped at the altar. Be good.”   

Jihyo hangs up before you get a chance to say anything else, and you let out a frustrated sigh as you get a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The bruise spanning your shoulder isn’t very big but it’s painful to look at as you reach for your moisturizer. You run through your night routine, slathering cream down the slope of your neck and rubbing deodorant on before tugging on a sweatshirt and sleep shorts. You pull on a pair of thick socks, shoving your phone and wallet into the pocket of your sweatshirt before tugging on a pair of sneakers.   

You don’t bother entertaining the prickle of your skin in the cold air as you step outside of your trailer – only to see Junhui ducking out of his with his cap pulled over his head.  

You don’t say anything as he clambers down his steps, pulling the bill of his cap lower before he glances up and locks eyes with you. He stops, making you raise a brow as you trail your eyes over his attire. Sweatpants and the same sweatshirt he was wearing the night before.  

“Going somewhere, hotshot?”   “Out.”  

He shrugs casually, tucking his hands into his pockets as he tilts his head at you. You slowly take the steps down, “where?”  

“What’s it to you, princess?”   “Maybe I wanna tag along.”   “Not an invitation.”  

You tilt your head at him before shrugging your shoulders, “well, I’m looking for company, anyway. What says you ditch your plans and join me?”  

He tongues his cheek, clearly fighting back a smile as he pulls his hand from his pocket, swinging his keys around his finger.   

“Depends on what you’re doing.”   “Going out, hotshot.”   “You’re cute.”  

“I know,” you roll your eyes, before turning on your heel. “Feel free to follow along or go about your own plans. Just know you’re missing out on a sick ice cream run if it’s the latter.”  

You get a few feet ahead before hearing him chuckle lightly, almost in defeat as he moves forward. He falls into lockstep with you, reaching up to flip his cap backwards as he opens the lot gate for you to slide through. You shake your head as you do so, walking through the darker alley that leads to the trailers, sealed off by yet another gate. You push it open, holding it wider for him as he tucks his hands into his pockets.  

“How’s Minghao?” He asks gently, and you sigh.  

“He’s in surgery.” You nod slowly, pursing your lips as you feel him move you to the inner part of the sidewalk as he takes the street-facing side. Your hips bump with every step, “he’ll be out for the next six weeks. I’m going to go see him tomorrow during breakfast.”  

He hums in response, “and ice cream makes you feel better?”  

“I always get ice cream when I have a weird day.” You admit, and it feels like driving a knife into your chest as you do so. “Things just feel weird. I’ll get over it.”  

“Being vulnerable isn’t supposed to be scary, you know. I’m not going to hurt you.”   “I don’t know that.”  

Your response is quick and quipped, earning a raise of his brow as he presses the button to cross the street. You stuff your hands in your pocket, the wind biting at your legs keeping you grounded.  

“Sorry.”   “No, don’t be. I get it.”   “Do you?”  

“You’re not the only one who’s been hurt by the things they love.” His voice is gentle, and he instinctively takes your elbow in his hand as you both cross the street. “In this case, by those you’re supposed to trust. I don’t blame you, because we’re just coworkers. But if you knew me, even a little bit...you’d know I’m just as loyal as everyone else on your team. I just won’t let you treat me like an option, especially when I was onboarded specifically for you.”  

You don’t respond, opting to glance at his hand on your elbow as you reach the other side of the street. He drops his hand, tucking it into the pocket of his sweatpants as you keep your gaze on the ground. You don’t say anything for the next two blocks, silently kicking gravel and giving strangers a curt nod – and Junhui keeps his hands tucked in his pockets unless he’s pressing the crosswalk buttons.  

“You said you’re from Washington, right?” You mumble as you spot the ice cream parlor a block and a half away, the pink neon light that says Momo’s flickering in your line of vision. He hums, nodding before looking at you with a raised brow.  

“What of it?”   “What made you move to Boston?”  

He sighs, clicking his tongue as he shrugs, “just like you have your secrets, I have mine.”  

“Oh, come on.”  

He chuckles inwardly as you both stop in front of the parlor, and he reaches for the door handle with a one-shouldered shrug, “eye for an eye.”  

You roll your eyes as you duck inside the warm shop, your eyes meeting the owner’s as she aggressively wipes at the counter with a damp rag. She smiles brightly, dropping the rag and wiping her hands on her pink apron before shoving open the ice cream case.  

“Y/N! Chocolate almond, yes?” She grabs the scoop out of the warm water, her eyes sparkling as she glances over your shoulder at Junhui. Her smile turns into a smirk, and she expertly flips the scoop in her hand before glancing back at you, “you brought company. He’s cute.”   

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t gas him up about it, it’ll get to his head.” You wave her off teasingly, before pointing your thumb at him, “Junhui, this is Momo. Momo, this is Junhui. He’s my partner while Hao’s out.”  

“Nice to meet you,” Momo reaches her hand over the ice cream case, “Momo Hirai. I own this parlor and another in Newark, if you’re ever in the area.”  

“Wen Junhui, it’s a pleasure. I’ve been to your place in Newark; I was part of a circus there before I moved to Boston. And then, well, here.” He shakes her hand politely, and her eyes flash with something you don’t quite recognize before she smiles again.  

“Boston, you say? Were you part of the Extravaganza?” She asks, grabbing a cup from the stack to her left and dipping her scoop in the warm water again before she pushes the case open. Her hand dips into the chocolate almond tub as Junhui nods, “yeah. I can’t believe that things got so insane. I lost a few friends to the...incident.”  

Junhui’s voice turns a bit bitter as he glances at his shoes, and Momo frowns as she drops the perfect scoop of ice cream into the cup for you. She slides it over the case and sticks a spoon into the cup, “I’m sorry to hear that. Have they got any updates?”  

“Nothing that I’ve heard of, but the detectives made it a point to keep us out of the loop. They questioned us for a few weeks and now it seems like they’ve just dropped the case. It feels like a load of bullshit, pardon my French.” Junhui rolls his eyes, digging the toe of his sneakers into the brilliant white tile. Momo’s eyes soften, “I hope you hear something soon, Junhui. Can I interest you in a scoop? On the house.”  

“Nah, I’m alright.” He shakes his head, and you clear your throat softly, digging in your pocket and pulling out your wallet. You take out a ticket that you keep for emergencies, holding it out to Momo.  

“You should come see us tomorrow. It’ll be his first performance with Skyline; I’m sure some support would be great.” You smile softly as she takes the ticket between her fingers and pins it on the corkboard next to her register.  

“I’ll do my best to get out there. Shop’s been slow anyway, what with the weather. You’re the only one crazy enough to get here and in those shorts, Y/N. God, what have I told you about wearing shorts when it’s cold!?” She scolds you, only for you to elbow Junhui lightly as you spin on your heel.  

“I’ll listen about my shorts when you listen about your skirts. And your tops, and your shoes—”   “I’m a business owner, I have to match the aesthetic of my shop. Even if it means a pink miniskirt in October!”  

“Love you, Momo.” There’s a lilt to your voice as you wink at her, pushing the door open with your body as she rolls her eyes and waves. Junhui mirrors her with an amused smile as you skip out, holding the spoon with a nibble of ice cream flat against your tongue. He chuckles as he falls into lockstep with you, fixing his cap before pressing the crosswalk button.  

“It’s nice to see you relaxed.” He hints, “you’re so...professional.”  

“Consider that Momo is my friend of many years.”   “Consider that maybe I need a friend, have mercy. I’ve lost mine along the way.”  

You can tell the joke feels cynical to him as he scrunches his nose, and you look over your shoulder at him, “did you, actually?”  

“Of course, I did. I was there for a year. You’re bound to make some friends.” He shrugs, leaning against the pole as he looks at you with a pointed look. “I’m not saying we have to be friends. We don’t. I’m just saying that you don’t have to warm up to me, because it’s unlikely I’ll warm up to you. I’m a man scorned, and too many times at that.”  

“Then why are you so nice?”   “Why would I be mean to you, when the entire point of our relationship is to build trust? We can’t work together if you don’t trust me, it’ll affect the performance and the chemistry we have in the ring. It’d be a slap in the face to Skyline for me to be a douche to you after you’ve all given me a chance to start anew, even if my heart isn’t ready to be here.”  

Your mouth opens to say something, but you’re cut off by the light changing. He gives you a quick smile before pushing off the pole and beckoning you forward as he starts to cross the street. You follow along, your hip bumping his before his hand on your shoulder moves you in front of him just as the light turns green again.  

“Gotta move faster, princess. Can’t replace the star of the show that quickly.”   “You’re sick and twisted.”  

He snickers as you gape, “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry and then I’m really fucked. Perspective.”  

You’re both silent for the next block, Junhui’s eyes roaming the buildings and shops lining the neighborhood around you.   

“You grew up here?” He asks, and you nod as you spoon your ice cream into your mouth. “Your whole life?”  

“Yep. Born in Kips Bay and moved to East Harlem when I was six. Been in the circus ever since.” You nod slowly, before glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “You read the handbook, right? You know why.”   

“Knowing why versus wanting to get to know you outside of that are two different things. I’m sure you’re tired of people walking on eggshells around you because of that. You won’t get that with me.” He shrugs, clicking his tongue. “Not that I don’t care, I do. I just...don’t want to be babied about my loss, so I assume you don’t, either.”  

“Agreed.” You mumble, running your teeth over your tongue before tossing the rest of the ice cream in a nearby trashcan.   

You pull your hood over your head, shoving your hands in your pockets before sighing, “can I ask what your plans were for tonight?”  

“Same thing they were yesterday.”   “Which was?”  

He smiles inwardly, tonguing his cheek, “I mustn't say, it’s not appropriate to share my moonlight activities with a lady of your...stature.”  

“Oh, come on! You act like you’re so mysterious, but I know, deep down, you wanna tell me.” You turn your nose up at him as he laughs inwardly, shaking his head as you huff. “Junhui!”  

“I’m doing what any guy does when he’s single and coping,” he sucks his teeth, “I get a drink and take a cute girl back to her apartment, maybe freak it. Maybe not.”  

“You get laid?” Your voice is incredulous, and it makes his brows raise in surprise, a laugh of disbelief falling from his lips as he looks at you.  

“Why is that so surprising? You think you’re the only person I have chemistry with?”   “This is not about me.”   “Trust me, one of us gets laid enough and it’s certainly not you.”  

“How presumptuous of you, Mr. Wen.” You scoff, your cheeks hot as he bumps your arm. “And how inappropriate! I am your coworker! One could even say I’m your boss!”  

“Mmh, I love a woman in power.”   “Ew!”  

He bites back his smile as you scrunch your nose, “don’t flirt with me.”  

“You think that’s flirting?” He raises a brow, but you’ve both reached the alley gate as you put your hands on your hips. He punches the code into the pad, giving you a quick glance as he speaks, “you’ve never lived if you think that’s flirting.”  

“Okay, virgin.”   “We both know that’s not true.”  

You make a face of disgust, only earning another laugh from him as he opens the gate to let you in. He doesn’t follow, instead leaning against it and tilting his head at you. You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest as he sighs.  

“Earlier, when you fell,” he starts, your shoulders going rigid as he clicks his tongue, “you’re not hurt, are you? Genuinely?”  

“No. I’m fine.” You mutter, “plus, I don’t get hurt. That doesn’t happen to me.”   

“You’re not indestructible.”   “And you’re not my dad, so don’t act like you care.”  

You swallow the immediate regret that lays flat on your tongue as he looks slightly taken aback. He brushes it off quickly with a nod, sucking his teeth as he pushes off the gate.  

“Well,” his voice is level, “just thought I’d check. Forgive me for caring, princess.”  

“Stop calling me that.”   “I will, when you stop acting like the world revolves around you.”  

He smiles gently, drumming against the gate with his fingers, “now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got somewhere to be.”  

The gate shuts in your face before you can reply, and you can hear his shoes against the graveled pavement walking away. You scoff, tonguing your cheek as you turn on your heel and make your way back to the lot.  

You ignore the twist in your stomach, focusing instead on the warm glow of the fire artists still practicing in their section. You follow it to your own lot, seeing the majority of your team filing into it for the night. A sigh falls from your lips as you tuck your hands into your pockets, calling out to them.  

“Guys! Wait up!”  

JUNHUI NOTICES THE ROCKING OF YOUR TRAILER AS HE STOPS AT THE LOT GATE.  

It’s been two weeks since he arrived at the circus. Your practices together have been rigid, but the chemistry is still there and Jihyo commends it. Soonyoung has repeatedly told you to let loose, to relax, but you’re stiff in Junhui’s presence and you blame it on Minghao’s absence – but Junhui sees right through you.  

And something about the way you act around him – distant but like you’re searching for something...it makes his chest warm. Not in a way he’d ever expected, either – and it’s distracting him from the whole reason he even joined Skyline.  

Your first performance together, however, was a huge success. You hid your insecurities behind the bright smile you wore, the sparkle of your custom leotards, the bounce of your hair. You touched him enough to sell it, enough to make everyone believe there was something there – but only he felt the tremble of your fingers and the way your breath hitched with every movement against one another.   

You were the star everyone talked about, and the star everyone loved. You spoke loud and clear, your voice never wavering even as your hands trembled behind you. You entertained families who wanted pictures, posing cutely and answering questions about Minghao’s absence vaguely. Your body was rigid at the mention of him, but you quickly played it off and invited the families to return next week for more performances and whatever special treat the concessions stand would have that weekend. You spent your time smiling until your cheeks hurt and Junhui saw the way Jihyo massaged the back of your neck after every performance despite you telling her you didn’t need it.   

Junhui, on the other hand – spent his time studying you and the way you acted around everyone, sans Lucky Star Boyfriend (formerly known as Xu Minghao.) You were more reserved with the fire artists, but you got along swell with the clowns. Tzuyu, the tightrope walker, often enjoyed conversations with you – only for her eyes to travel to Mingyu, who would already be looking at her.  

That was another person of interest for Junhui – Kim Mingyu. Tall, smart, sweet. Flirty.  

Too close to you for his comfort. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, but not of coworkers – one of past lovers. One of people who have seen each other bare it all, one of people who have smelled the sweat off each other’s bodies and instead of turning away, licked it off.  

One of people who have sealed wounds with their tongues, instead of leaving the other to die.  

Despite that very visible chemistry, you had no interest in Mingyu, and he had none in you. You worked together well; you egged him on when you caught him watching Tzuyu practice her routine. He teased you back, he talked about her excitedly and you were just as excited to entertain his rants about her. The two of you were glued at the hip, and it was clearly something that happened once – perhaps to get it out of your systems, or just to get the curiosity of it out.  

However, your chemistry with Soonyoung was palpable. The two of you bickered and bitched at each other like lovers in a quarrel only for Soonyoung to pull you into a hug at the end of practice and kiss your cheek. He’d ask if you’re alright, if you need anything; he’d sweep your hair off your sweaty face while holding you close to him with an arm around your waist. He’d squeeze your hip, your lips planting on his cheek before swatting him away.  

Almost like the moment Minghao turns his back, you’ve got someone to take care of you.  

None of the other men have this chemistry with you. Seokmin and Seungkwan are very respectful, but in the same way best friends are. They tease you and make fun of you, but they take their role in your life and on your team very seriously. They practice with you diligently and prove time and time again (over the last weeks, at least) that they are not replaceable.   

Chan...has a bit of yearn to him. He watches you with puppy eyes that say he’s absolutely enamored with you, that say he’s waiting for his turn in your arms, in your mind...  

In your bed.  

Chan looks at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, like he’ll never know anything better. He does trapeze with you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to know he should be the next person that wins your heart. He holds you tenderly, and Junhui notices the way he blushes beet red every time a routine has his face close to yours and the way he can’t even hold eye contact when you smile.   

Junhui notices the way that no one else has managed to spot this. The way that Chan immediately looks away if Junhui catches him staring at you, or how he rubs his neck awkwardly when you’re stretching in the barre room. Junhui notices the way Chan saves the blueberry yoghurt cups in case they’re running low because they’re your favorite and the way that Chan cannot stand his spot next to you at the trapeze table being taken by Soonyoung.  

He’s a tortured soul, Lee Chan.  

A part of Junhui hopes that the reason behind your trailer rocking is that you’ve finally given the poor guy a chance – but instead, the door slams open to you kicking Soonyoung, Seungkwan and Seokmin out with drenched hair and pajamas.  

“Don’t you ever wake me up like that again! I was just starting to fall asleep!” You throw a grey bucket out with them, the plastic thunking against the back of Soonyoung’s head as he scowls. You’re fuming on the steps, looking at your soaked pajamas that are clinging to your body as Seungkwan and Seokmin bolt for the lot gate. Junhui barely manages to move out of the way before they skirt past him, and you’re still yelling at Soonyoung – who is yelling back that he wasn’t even there when they dumped the bucket on you.  

“What’re they yelling about?” Mingyu’s voice makes Junhui jump, the younger man’s canines peeking through his bitten smile. Junhui scowls, holding a hand to his chest as Mingyu brings a cup to his lips, World’s Best Dad worn across the ceramic.  

“Someone threw water on Y/N while she was asleep. She threw the bucket at Hoshi’s head.” Junhui’s voice is almost bored as he explains, crossing his arms on his chest as Mingyu snickers.  

“Yeah, that sounds about right. We saw Minghao last night and he said he wants us to keep her on her toes, but I don’t think he meant like this. Especially when Y/N has trouble sleeping at night.” Mingyu shrugs, and Junhui peers over his shoulder at him. “What?”  

“Since when?”   “Since when, what?”   “Since when does Y/N have issues sleeping?”  

“Oh, pft. As long as I’ve known her.” He shrugs, “even longer, most likely. She’s always shared a bed with Jihyo or Minghao, so I just assume it was a difficult transition. We shared a bed once when we went up to Rochester two summers ago, she went to bed early and tossed and turned for ages until I turned in. Fell asleep the moment I got under the covers.”  

“Huh,” Junhui clicks his tongue, and Mingyu only shrugs again as you and Soonyoung keep yelling at each other. You’re in his face now, and Soonyoung is eagerly feeding the fire when Junhui looks at Mingyu, “should we stop them?”  

“We could, or we could let Y/N tire herself out.”   “...I’m kind of fearing for Hoshi’s safety.”   “If she beats his ass, it’s been long coming. You’ve only been here a week, but he pisses her off like no other. Not even I get on her nerves that bad.”  

Junhui lets a snicker fall from his lips as you pull your wet shirt off your body and throw it in Soonyoung’s face, the cloth landing on his chest with a wet plop. Your own is covered by an equally soaked tank top, the peaks of your nipples prominent as Junhui shields his eyes.  

“And you can re-choreograph today’s routine by yourself!” You screech, before the slam of the metal door to your trailer is heard. Mingyu sucks his teeth, and Junhui peeks through his fingers to see Soonyoung clutching your wet shirt in his hand as he runs the other over his face. He bends at the waist, grabbing the bucket and tossing the shirt into it.  

“You walk in to ask if she wants to get ice cream and are met with a wet shirt to the face.” He grumbles as he walks past Junhui and Mingyu. Mingyu sighs before turning on his heel, following behind Soonyoung as Junhui stares at your trailer.   

The lot is empty now, and the moonlight is bright against the tops of the trailers.  

He can see you moving around the trailer through the windows, and he keeps his head down as he crosses the lot to gently knock on your door. Any rustling inside stops, a low muttering heard as you throw the door open. It hits his shoulder, your scowl immediately dropping as you put your hands up. You’ve already changed into another set of pajamas, but your hair is sectioned off and still damp.  

“Shit, I’m sorry. I thought you were Hoshi, are you alright?” You wince like you’re the one in pain, but Junhui just brushes it off and glances at you with concern.  

“Are you? You looked like you were about to pop a blood vessel when you were yelling at him.” Junhui crosses his arms, but your brows are furrowed.  

“I’m fine. Go to bed.” You move to close the door, but still momentarily. “Why do you care?”  

He only smiles, tucking his hands into his pockets as he shrugs.  

“See you.”   “Junhui.”   “Be sure to stretch for me, princess. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”  

“Ugh!” You make a face as he clambers down the steps, “what is with all of you today?! Why do you all hate me?!”  

You almost manage to slam the door, but Junhui’s faster – he grabs the door before it closes, gently pulling it open as he leans against the frame. Your eyes are riddled with fatigue, and you open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off.  

“You must be so tired, hm?”  

“Yes, I am,” you mutter pointedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to get to bed.”  

“Why, so you can toss and turn for a few hours and give us hell when you get up tomorrow?” Junhui raises a brow, “why don’t you just admit you’re having trouble? Did no one ever teach you how to ask for help?”  

For the first time, Junhui sees defeat cross your features. You nibble on your lip, sighing before your shoulders lose their tension and you turn into the trailer. Junhui takes the chance to poke his head into it – the walls powder blue and everything organized in an almost torturous way. Your leotards are set in rainbow order, all your boots clipped to the hangers. A black couch that looks almost cloud-like lines the back wall, facing a heavily stocked vanity with hot hair tools and makeup neatly slotted away aside from one fuchsia blow dryer sitting on the table.  

You slump in the black vanity chair, crossing your arms on your chest before your head lolls to the side. You blink at him, gesturing at the blow dryer.  

“Do you know how to work this? My shoulders hurt.” You admit quietly, and Junhui nods silently, toeing his shoes off and leaving them outside before stepping into the trailer. You move forward to plug it in, but he taps the back of your chair to stop you as he does it himself. “Lowest setting, please. Too much heat will make my head hurt.”  

Junhui stands behind you, watching the way your eyelids grow heavy as he silently dries your hair. You make eye contact several times through the mirror, only for them to fall shut at the feeling of Junhui’s fingers against your scalp.   

“How’s Minghao? You got a chance to check on him yesterday, right?”  

“He was too tired to talk to me. I just sat with him until he fell asleep,” your voice is almost tender, but you click your tongue. “Mingyu and Hosh got him in the morning, and I got stuck rehearsing with you for Jihyo.”  

“Hey, I said you could leave.”   “I didn’t want to. I don’t need to let anyone down. Work first, feel later.”  

Your admission is whispered, barely audible over the sound of the dryer. Something in Junhui’s chest sinks as he peers at your tired face, the way your body is slumped against the cozy chair and he sighs.  

“You’d never let me down.” He rakes his fingers through your hair, before turning off the dryer and unplugging it. He wraps the cable around it, sliding it into the empty slot on your vanity before looking over his shoulder at you.  

“It’s not just about you.”   “I know, but I am part of the ‘everyone’ you speak of. At least, for now.”  

“Are you going out tonight?” You ask, blinking up at him slowly as he lies on instinct – shaking his head before thinking. You tilt your head back, the slope of your neck visible to his eyes as you sigh, “can you keep me company until I fall asleep?”  

He only nods, pushing down his subtle annoyance as he takes off his cap and hangs it on the hook by your door. He shrugs off his sweatshirt, “how long?”  

“You don’t have to.”   “I want to, but I need to sleep too, you know.”   “Bullshit, you’re out until four in the morning.”  

“I love that you keep tabs on me, princess. Makes me feel wanted.” He teases, watching you roll your eyes as you slide off the chair, stretching your arms over your head as you let out a soft groan. You roll your shoulders before gesturing at the light switch, “turn it off and come with me.”  

He does as you ask, his eyes catching the tension in your calves as you make your way to the door that separates your bedroom from the living area. He follows behind quickly, watching the way you gather the sheets you’d taken off the bed and stuff them into the hamper at the end of your bed.  

“They’re such jerks,” you mumble inwardly, “they know I can’t sleep well without Minghao.”  

“Just Minghao?”   “I don’t remember the last time I slept in here alone.”  

“Where do you want me?” He ignores the drop in his stomach as he watches you pull the duvet back, hearing you let out an exhausted laugh that makes your shoulders shake.  

“Are we fucking or something? Just lie down, man.”   “We cou—”   “Shut up.”  

Junhui bites back his laugh as he approaches the side of the bed, before you flop onto your back on the left side, “don’t worry about any water patches, it mostly soaked into the mattress topper. So just lay wherever.”  

You look pained as you stretch your legs, and Junhui perches on the edge of your bed before reaching over gently and squeezing your calf, “do you not stretch before bed?”  

“I’m too tired to stretch right now.” You sigh, your shoulders sinking into the mattress, “and Minghao usually helps me before I go to bed, anyway.”  

“Minghao not being here is not a reason to neglect your muscles. You’ll get hurt and then we’re all screwed.” Junhui says pointedly, and you raise a brow, sitting up on your elbows.   

“Minghao usually–”   “Minghao isn’t here, princess. So just let me help you.”  

You huff, but Junhui’s gaze is pointed and you roll your eyes as you lay back down again. Stretching isn’t intimate, perse – but you can’t make eye contact as Junhui’s fingers dig into your thighs and calves as he moves your body around. You wince here and there, murmured apologies spilling from Junhui’s lips before he eventually stops, kneading the muscle of your calf before sighing.  

“What’s your deal?” He asks, and you peel an eye open to look down at him. He squeezes your leg, making you lazily swat at him before resting your hand on your stomach. He lays on his beside you, holding himself up on his elbows as he peers at your face. You close your eye again, “elaborate.”  

“Why are you so uptight?”   “That’s certainly one way to ask me why I’m so hardworking and dedicated.”   “Well, no.”  

You snort, your lips curling into a soft smile as you shrug, “I have a lot of weight on my shoulders, but it’s nothing I don’t love. Ice cream with the team or alone is usually the only way I get out of here. I don’t have hobbies or vices because I don’t have time, but I love trapeze so much that sometimes, I think it doesn’t matter.”  

You grimace as you turn on your side, tucking your arm under your pillow and bringing it lower against your chest. Your cheek smushes against the pillow, but you open your eyes to look at him, “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”  

“You work too hard.”   “It’s all I have, don’t take it from me.”  

Your voice is soft, almost pitiful as you look at him through your lashes.  

“It’s not all you have. You’re someone outside of the circus, too.” Junhui tries, but you shake your head, letting your eyes fall closed. He takes the opportunity to take you in – soft lips, pouted from the way your cheek is squished by the pillow. Full lashes lining your eyes, your hair in disarray and your earrings twinkling in the low light of your bedroom. He sighs, clicking his tongue before reaching over your head and turning the lights off. You tense slightly at the proximity, your skin prickling as he rolls his eyes, opening his mouth but you mumble before he can say anything.  

“Lie down.”   “Don’t rush me.”   

He pulls the duvet over you, before letting his head hit the pillow as he turns onto his back. He stares at the ceiling – seeing an array of rock music posters, several Polaroids of you holding trophies and posing provocatively in Halloween costumes before shows, and glow-in-the-dark stars scattered about.   

“You’ve lived a whole life with Skyline, haven’t you?” He murmurs, but you don’t reply – your lashes kissing your cheeks as you breathe softly, sound asleep. His chest warms oddly, but he allows it to seep into him as he rakes his eyes over your sleeping face. “Goodnight, princess.”  

You’ve been awake for exactly seven minutes, just staring at the alarm clock on your windowsill. The red numbers mock you; the hard shell covered in faded stickers from years past. You don’t dare move, feeling Junhui’s steady breathing against the back of your neck – his arm wrapped warmly around your waist, pulling you into his chest and keeping you there against your better judgment.  

You can feel your skin prickling at the proximity, but your cheeks are hot at the feeling of his hips pressing into yours unknowingly. Nothing is happening, he’s not sporting a boner or anything – you just feel...warm. Too warm, and worry sinks into your bones as you feel him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck.  

Your voice is caught in your throat as you open and close your mouth, but the hitch in your breath is enough that you feel his arm tighten around you. He stirs behind you, and you quickly squeeze your eyes shut before feeling him lean over to look at you.  

“Stop pretending you’re asleep.”   “I’m not pretending. I’m asleep. Shut up.”  

Your scowl is useless as he half-laughs, pressing you into the mattress as he reaches over and tilts the clock to look at it – three-fifty-six in the morning glares back at him. He grunts, shoving the clock away before falling back into place behind you. He doesn’t put his arm back around you, instead laying on his back with a groan.   

“I should go back to my trailer.” He mumbles, “why is your bed so soft? That’s so unfair...”  

He trails off with a puff of air from his lips, wiggling around behind you as you lamely clear your throat.  

“If you want.”   “Do you?”   “Doesn’t matter what I want.”  

He scoffs, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning over you. His chest is warm against your back, and you make the mistake of turning your head to look at him, the quirk in your brow faltering as you realize how close he is. His eyes purposely scan your face, stopping at your lips for what feels like forever before they flicker back up to your eyes.  

“May I speak freely?” He cocks his head slightly, and you find the courage to roll your eyes as you move back to your original position, snuggling your face into your pillow, “no, Junhui. Go back to sleep.”  

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?”   “I’d certainly kill you; I don’t know about being nice.”   “...Oh, I get it.”  

You still, your hand gripping the hem of the duvet to pull it over your shoulder, “get what, Junhui? You’re gonna get your ass handed to you if you don’t shut your ass up.”  

“You don’t want to get close to me or treat me decently because you’re worried that you’ll fall for my charm.”  

You choke on your spit, your fist hitting your chest quickly as you sit up – only to see Junhui sporting a shit-eating grin as he looks up at you. You inhale deeply, coughing lightly before lying back down with a huff. He peers down at you smugly, “I’m right, aren’t I?”  

“You’re annoying, is what you are.” You mutter, turning back on your side to face away from him. “It’d do you well to shut the fuck up sometimes.”  

“You’re kind of catty, you know that?”   “It’s part of my charm, and unless you want me to get really catty...shut up.”  

He doesn’t dignify you with a response – instead giving a soft snort before laying back down. He keeps a safe distance between you and him. The loss of warmth is palpable, but you only pull the duvet higher on your body as you close your eyes.  

It feels like an hour passes by – your eyes burning with fatigue as you peel them back open to see only ten minutes have passed. You groan internally, moving to turn around when you’re met with the expanse of Junhui’s back in your face as he’s turned away from you. He's relaxed; the fit of his shirt stretched against the broad expanse of his shoulders but looser at his slim waist. You allow yourself to ogle him, a sigh falling from your lips as you close your eyes again.  

“Can’t fall asleep?” His voice is low, but there’s a hint of teasing in it. You roll your eyes even though he can’t see them, making a noise of affirmation soft enough to be confused with another sigh – your pride not able to handle confirming your troubles to him. “How can I help?”  

“Just...lay there.” You mutter back, and he lets out a defeated sound before turning around again to face you. You don’t bother opening your eyes, but you can feel his arms brush yours as he crosses them in front of him and adjusts into the mattress. A moment passes, the words slipping from your lips like an admission of sin – full of guilt and you regret them almost immediately.  

“Minghao usually holds me.”   “Does he kiss your forehead goodnight, too, princess?”  

You scoff, burying your chin into your chest, “you fucking asked.”   

He says nothing, only extending his arm under your head and shuffling closer. You stiffen at the contact, before feeling him pull your leg over his hip. His hand is cool against your thigh, barely breaching your pajama shorts before he quickly pulls it away. He rests it around your waist, his fingertips tracing patterns into your back as his other hand brings the extra pillow behind you  

“Just relax.”   “I’m relaxed.”   “You’re stiff as a board.”  

You feel your cheeks hot as you attempt to loosen up, every hair on your body standing up at the proximity. You peel an eye open to look at him, his own closed as he speaks again, “you won’t fall asleep looking at me.”  

“Do you really think I’m uptight?” You whisper, and he raises a brow before opening his eyes.  

“You’re worried about that at...four-twelve in the morning?”   “I’m always worried about how I'm perceived.”  

You nibble on your lip, earning a soft sigh from him as he pats your back gently. Almost awkwardly, before he gives you a pointed look.  

“My first impression of you still stands, if that’s of any comfort.” He says carefully, and you must look confused because he shrugs as much as he can before clicking his tongue. “After everything happened in Boston, I came to Manhattan because I was hoping Jihyo would take a chance on me. Everywhere I walked in this neighborhood, I saw posters of you and followed them here. I thought, if a trapezist is the face of this circus, the routines must be out of this world. And I was right, because I watched everyone perform for an entire weekend two weeks before Minghao got hurt and I saw just how much chemistry the two of you had in the ring...but you were absolutely captivating. The leotards, the expressions, the movements. You really, truly are a star out there. You’re a great performer, and you’re beautiful...in and out of your element.”  

You can’t look at him as he sighs, clicking his tongue.  

“But you prove time and time again that you have no idea who you are if you’re not performing. You have no idea who you are without Minghao, or Jihyo, or the circus. That’s why you think this is all you have, that’s why you have certain types of chemistry with different people on the team that you don’t have with others. Just like you don’t shy away from anyone the way you do with me, and it’s not because you’re not used to new people, either.”  

“I know who I am,” you whisper, staring at his chest. Your voice is small, but his hand squeezes your hip gently before he shakes his head, “no, you don’t. Your whole life is this place...you said it yourself.”  

“What kind of chemistry do I have with the others?” You ask, wanting to change the subject quickly. You can tell he catches on as he drums his fingers against your hip, humming slightly.  

“You and Minghao have an undeniable connection, but it’s definitely waned over the years and went from one type of connection to another. You and Soonyoung are like a constant lover’s quarrel, and you and Mingyu are like a divorced couple that mutually agreed it was time to end things.” He shrugs, “which is why I'm not surprised that all of you have history in some way or another. It’s not hard to realize when two people have slept together, you know. It just takes a little observation.”  

“You’re presumptuous.”  “And I’m right.” 

“What makes you think that I’ve slept with them?” You mutter, your tone almost bitter as he pats your hip.  

“The fact that you’re not refuting it, but also that Minghao is so comfortable touching you and you allow it. I had to hold you for practice yesterday and you almost bit my head off.” He says plainly, “do you just not trust me?”  

“I do.” You pick at your nails, holding your hands between your bodies as he lets out a weak laugh, “I do, Junhui. I swear. I just...I’m not used to you.”  

“I’ve known you for fifteen days and I’m already in your bed. I’d say you’re pretty used to me.”   “Did you just call me easy?”   “You’re a lot of things, but easy isn’t one of them. Trust me, I know easy.”  

“That makes you sound like you’re easy.” Your voice is annoyed, only for him to chuckle as he shrugs.  

“Why would I play hard to get when I want it just as much? Seems like a waste.”  

You suck your teeth, peering up at him through your lashes, “what else have you observed about me?”  

He shifts, “not much.”  

“Bullshit.”   “Yeah.”  

He smiles cheekily as you roll your eyes, limply hitting your fist against his shoulder, “Junhui, come on.”  

“Mmh, I don’t know. You get goosebumps when we’re too close to each other. You bumped into me the other day during the team meeting and didn’t apologize, but you didn’t look like you could speak, either.” He purses his lips, letting out a low whistle, “you don’t hold eye contact with me, so I avoid making it because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”  

“Do you really sleep with a new girl every time you go out?” You blurt, earning a lopsided smirk as he shakes his head.  

“No. Sometimes I just want a drink, or I go out to clear my head.”   “Then why are you out until four in the morning?”   “Clearing my head of you takes time, princess.”  

He closes his eyes, seemingly closing the floor for conversation – but you ask anyway.  

“Me?”   “Yes. You. Go to sleep.”   “But I–”  

He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before resting his chin lightly on your head, “go to sleep, pretty girl. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”  

The room falls silent as he pulls you closer, and you hate how the heat of his body against yours makes you feel fuzzy. You hate how you can feel his lips against your skin and how you don’t mind it, how you wouldn’t mind him kissing you again – but with intent, and preferably, lower.  

“Goodnight, princess.”   “...Goodnight, Junhui.”  

There is a shift between you and Junhui the next morning, and he can tell. 

You’re quiet – you hand him things off the breakfast table without asking, things he likes. The peach yoghurt, the string cheese, you move quickly and with purpose as you make your plate and Mingyu’s, who is actively trying to fight you for it. Your hands hover over Minghao’s favorites, only to pull them away and grab utensils before moving away. Mingyu manages to take both plates from you at the end of the breakfast table, and you follow him without a word. 

You keep the wall up throughout the morning. Mingyu asks you on several occasions if you’re alright, even Soonyoung presses his hand to your forehead before you swat him away and insist that you’re fine. Chan’s eyes are focused as he watches the two of you run a routine he’d choreographed to Feel Something by Jaymes Young a few months back – admittedly, with you and Minghao in mind. 

Junhui wonders if he’ll ever measure up. 

He stops wondering just as fast – holding you close to him while you’re both suspended in the air, your fingernails digging into his shoulders in a way that feels sinful. Your breathing is ragged against him as you move through the routine, ending with your knees wrapped around the upper part of the hoop and him curved on the inside of the hoop – your faces millimeters away from each other, so close he can feel your breath on his lips. 

Soonyoung taunts you both for a kiss – only for Junhui to feel an odd twist in his stomach when you seem to consider it as the song ends. Your eyes trail his face, but you roll them just as quickly; opting to stare at the ring below you. 

You don’t look at him as you both reach the ground, only muttering a soft thank you when he pulls you off the hoop carefully. You rub at your knees vigorously, the tape peeling back from your hand as you do so. 

“That’s lunch.” Mingyu calls over his shoulder, but Junhui watches as you ignore him and plop down on the bleachers. Your chest heaves with deep breaths as you peel the ripped tape off your hands, eyes watching everyone file out. Junhui lingers at the end of the line, letting the door close in front of him and leaning against the frame as you reach for the tape left behind by Seungkwan on the bleachers. You rip the end up, wrapping your wrists quickly and tearing the end off with your teeth – stretching your arms over your head with a pained grunt and rolling your shoulders back twice.  

He’s not sure you can see him – the edges of the arena dim and he’s dressed in all black. He uses the shadows to his advantage as he leans into them, the frustration radiating off your body practically tangible as you grab one of the ropes and tug on it harshly. You let it pull you into the air, your hand grabbing a hoop and flipping through it – curling your knees around the metal and letting it glide you around the arena, your eyes closed as you swung upside down. The creak of the hoop hinges at the top of the arena are the only sound aside from the thwip of your movements – and Junhui finds himself biting back a smile as you flip back into the hoop, wrapping your arms and gripping the metal tightly as you spun like a top on your descend. 

You let out a loud sigh as you slowed to a stop, almost a sound of relief to Junhui’s ears. You lolled your head back, crossing your ankles before carefully unwrapping yourself from the hoop and hopping down. You run a hand through your hair, dropping it to settle both on your hips as you walk back to the bleachers, a sway in your hips reeking of subtle satisfaction. 

“Sidney Kim, right?” 

You jump, your eyes wide as a hand flies to your chest – looking around when Junhui decides to step back into the light. Huffing, your hand drops and you sit on the bleachers with furrowed brows. You bring your hand to your mouth, tearing the tape with your teeth and peeling it off. 

“Or is it Nina Jeanine? 1992 Cirque du Lune, right?”  “What are you doing here?”  “Wondering why you’re not eating lunch.” 

“Stop worrying about me, it’d do you well.” You reply, tossing the scraps of tape into the garbage back at the end of the bleachers. You roll your wrists, and Junhui only steps closer, leaning against the opposite railing of the bleachers when you look up at him, “why aren’t you eating lunch?” 

“Practice what you preach.”  “It’s my job to worry about you.” 

He smiles, “no it isn’t.” 

Silence settles in the arena as you stare at each other – almost like two cats sizing each other up. You falter first, opting to look away as you grab for the tape again, “Nina Jeanine.” 

“Figured.”  “What are you really doing here?” 

“What I said I was, princess. Wondering why you’re beating yourself up in here instead of eating lunch, of which we now have only forty minutes left of.” He points at the clock on the wall. Your shoulders stiffen, “I’m just blowing off some steam. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” 

“Blowing off steam...for what? We’re on track with everything. Ticket sales are at an all-time high. We could practically do the routine in our sleep...what is there to blow off steam for?” Junhui raises a brow as you seemingly bristle, your fingernail picking at the roll of tape before you set it down and stand up. You cross your arms on your chest as you plaster on a smile, “let’s go. Lunch awaits us.” 

Junhui sucks his teeth as you walk past him, his hand darting out and grabbing your elbow gently. You don’t stiffen, limply allowing him to pull you back and sit you down on the bleachers. He moves to kneel in front of you, his hands settling on either side of you as he looks at your face. Stress is weaved between your brows, the pad of his thumb coming to rub between them. 

“I’m fine.”  “You’re a shit liar. Add that to my list of impressions about you.” 

You tongue your cheek, swatting his hand away from your face. Your hands are clasped in your lap, but you pick at your fingernails as Junhui drums his fingers against your knees. He takes his time to look at you, gingerly placing his hands over yours to stop your fidgeting – and you meet his eyes, your own full of stress. 

“Is it because Soonyo—”  “He’s so fucking annoying. I don’t have to kiss everyone I do a routine with. Then I’m just the Lucky Star with an emphasis on lucky.” 

Junhui bites back his smile, the pout on your lips full of frustration as you huff, “he wants to act like he knows something, when he doesn’t. I don’t need the entire city of Manhattan to see me kiss someone, just for ratings and applause. It feels fake, and I’m no phony.” 

“We could kiss now.” 

You roll your eyes, “shut the fuck up.” 

“We could, though.” Junhui shrugs, gesturing to the room around you both. “It’s just you and me. No lights, no audience...no pressure. And no one has to know, just us.” 

Your lips are pressed into a thin line, raking your eyes over his face, “that’s not fair to Minghao.” 

“You’re not dating Minghao.”  “You don’t know that.” 

“I know a lot of things, princess. You and Minghao broke up years ago.” Junhui speaks pointedly, his hands cupping your knees with a soft pat, “think about it, because it doesn’t sound like you’re all that against actually kissing me.” 

He leans forward a bit, watching the way you furrow your brows deeper as his nose brushes yours, “I’d kiss you, if you wanted. Just like this.” 

The air is thick around the two of you, his eyes scanning your face and the way you’re considering it. The way you’re thinking about it – before you shake your head. 

“I can’t do that to Minghao.”  “Of course, princess. Just putting it out there.” 

He smiles, patting your knees again, “lunch. Now.” 

He stands up, dusting his knees as you do the same, folding your hands behind your back. You walk in front of him, your pace slow and deliberate as you glance over your shoulder – looking directly at the hoop hanging in the middle of the ring. 

“It’s too intimate.” You say suddenly, facing him with a quick turn of your heel. “It’s too intimate, to kiss someone I work with and know that I have a hard time separating business and pleasure.” 

“It doesn’t have to be more.” 

“That’s the problem,” you click your tongue, shaking your head before turning back on your heel. “You’re right about a lot of things, Wen Junhui. I’ve never thought I’d admit to that.” 

“Like?” 

“I don’t know who I am when I’m not performing.” You reach the door, shaking your head as he stands behind you. Almost too close, it seems – and you confirm it when you turn around as you cross your arms on your chest. He can barely see your face in the dimness, but there’s a sparkle in your eye that wasn’t there earlier, and something about it makes him giddy. 

“I can fix that.” He leans slightly closer, before feeling your hands ghost over his chest. He tilts his head at you, the warmth of your breath hitting his throat as he looks down. “What else?” 

“I’m not here to feed your ego.”  “Mmh, but you wanna.”  “Shut up.”  

He thinks you roll your eyes, turning around and moving to push the door when he snakes his arm around your waist. You easily give, letting him pull your back into his chest – the smell of your perfume, warm and citrusy, filling his nose as he pins you against the door. You lean your head back, the gloss of your eyes visible in the dim lighting. 

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for me, princess.” His voice is low in your ear, his fingers lightly digging into your hip as you huff out a humorless laugh. You splay your hand over his, “no, I don’t swoon easily. Took Minghao a year to even get in my good graces, and another to be my boyfriend.” 

“So, you did date him.”  “Don’t give up hope, hotshot.” 

“Just say you want me. It won’t kill you.” Junhui whispers as you twist out of his hold, your hands pushing against the door but not enough to open it as you peer up at him. 

“I do.” You seemingly shrug, a stream of light bleeding in from the way you crack the door open, “but I love my job more than I’ll ever want you...so let’s stay out of each other’s way. Cool?” 

You don’t give him a chance to respond – but it’s a challenge. You mean it as one; he can tell as you smile brightly at everyone, leaving Junhui in the shadows as the door closes in front of him. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, peering over his shoulder at the barely swinging hoop. “Cool.” 

Your friends set you on blind dates, you tried dating apps, your family try to set you up with random guys, but it was clear you had no intention or interest to date, it's not just the idea of communicating, your friends been bringing their own toxic relationships, the women of the family listing off reasons their husbands are incompetent pieces of shit when you were a kid, the ‘he just likes you’ when a boy was mean to you, you practically learned from other women relationships that men are emotionally incapable, useless husbands, shit in bed, it was clear as a day, that you were gonna be the crazy cat lady everyone will avoid when you reach your fifties but that was way better than having to look after kids and a man that does nothing around the house, technically being more of a servant than a wife–a partner. While you are against the idea of dating, you don't really mind going on dates, it's fun when your friends are once again trying to tell you to be nicer or better with treating these men, but why should you? You have a stable career, warm food, nice house, the kind of cars people stare at, you don't consider yourself upper class but you're not exactly middle class either, you've worked hard to get your position in the company you're working at as an executive, technically the boss, since everyone depends on you, you control the company, the ceo trusts you and does everything you ask him, you had him under your fingers. Getting paid a very good amount of money, to buy all you want and still have some extra money to save up in case times get intense.

This time your friend sends you an app for rich people to spoil their matches which is usually a lower class in exchange of good time

“You can use this” She sends with a wink emoji making you roll your eyes.

“I don't need a sugar daddy” you send.

“Who said you'll be the sugar baby?” She sends. Is she serious? You raise an eyebrow at the message

“Then why send me this?” You send, silence for a moment

“Well, you can be the sugar mommy, you know” you scoff at this text. But enter the website anyway, it's just like any dating app, you'll text for a bit then forget about each other after a while.

The website looked basic asking about name,age, email, phone number, all the basic information.

Then it starts getting a bit weird.

Sugar daddy/mommy or sugar baby?

Dom/sub/ switch?

Is this some sort of kink…? You raise an eyebrow as you click switch, then it asks you to set your account, putting photos, interests and some information about yourself. You exit the site completely forgetting about it the next day.

A week passes when your friend asks you about how it went , face palming when you confess you haven't checked it since you signed in.

When you go back home you decide to check on it, revealing hundreds of notifications and matches, you sigh , going through some of them, some of them straight up sending dick pics, others asking to see how you look– since your photos are all faceless, I mean why bother sharing your face in a site filled with such creeps? You scoff as you keep scrolling, noticing one user

‘Hyuckie’ is that seriously his name? You chuckle slightly, checking his account to see that he likes video games, food and music.

His photos also faceless, so you decide to check his message.

“Hi?”

“Hello” you send back, a few minutes pass before he answers.

“Sorry I was just playing I didn't see the message” he sends

“That's fine” you send

“Is your name really hyuckie?” You send as you chuckle slightly behind the camera.

“Oh it's just a nickname” he sends

“Alright hyuckie, how old are you exactly?your age wasn't there” You send

“Oh I'm 25” he sends

“Oh you're quite young” you send.

You two keep talking for a while before going to bed for work tomorrow.

You walk into your office, drinking your morning coffee and go through documents, after a while a knock rings your ear.

“Come in” you hum, the door opens and walks in the new intern, well not really new, he's been here for a month.

“Oh haechan? What is it?” You raise an eyebrow

“I- Well I deleted the new presentation by mista-”

“What?” You ask

“Did you just say it's a mistake? Is your head empty? Fucking hell haechan!”

“I'm sorry miss I swear, I'll do it again by time”

“Shut up, just get the hell out.” you yell, you glance at his teary eyes before he leaves and closes the door

“Fucking stupid intern” you whisper and continue working, trying to focus instead of ruining your damn day over some intern.

After work you go home and run to bed feeling the labour of the day finally getting to you.

You open your phone to find a message from hyuckie

“Hey y/n!” He sends

“Oh hello hyuckie, how was your day?”

“It was good I guess”

“What do you mean?” You frown a bit

“well, my boss yelled at me” he sends

“Oh you poor thing, that's horrible” you send

The conversation continues he complains a bit about work and how hard it is.

Haechan walks into your office after you give him permission with a small smile on his face

“The presentation is done” you raise an eyebrow

“Already?” You ask, he nods

“I'll just have to transfer it to your email so you proof read it” you nod dismissively

As you walk to your car a notification pops up making a vibrating noise in your bag, it was ‘hyuckie’

“Can we meet up?” You raise an eyebrow, you've known him for what? Three days?

“You're so eager to meet me?” You tease

“Send me your address?” He sends

You stare at the message a bit scared but after a few moments you send him your address before driving home.

After you arrive home after a half hour or so the door bell rings. You go open the door

“Hello-” you look at the face revealed to you–haechan?

“Oh?” He looks at the home number and looks back at you

“This must be a mistake sorry” he mumbles, now it does make sense of course hyuckie donghyuck

“Hyuckie?” You speak out suddenly, he turns around to face you again

“Y-yes?” He says and swallows nervously

“Come in haechan” you say, your voice smooth

“So what were you doing on that site?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Well..I could ask you the same thing” he says.

“Well I was bored, it was for fun” you shrug

“I- well I need money.” He says.

“Don't you get paid enough?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No, not really, you don't get paid so well as an intern” he says mockingly.

“Well I'm here now, you need money?” You ask and he nods

“And the money is for..?” You say

“I need to pay my rent” he says looking at the floor

“Okay but we need to set rules first okay?” You say and he nods

“First rule : no one at work knows about this , and if a soul knows about it, I'll have you fired” you threaten

“Second rule : you obey me okay? It's not like I'd make you do vile shit, just listen to me and don't be a brat”

“Third rule : feel free to back out whenever you want” you shrug

“Can I say something too..?” He asks, his fingers fiddling with his sleeves and you hum

“Can you like..be less strict at work?” He asks and you nod.

You pour him a glass of wine and look him up and down, he was wearing black shorts that reached mid thigh revealing his tanned skin and a white shirt. His hair was a bit messy but he looked adorable anyways.

“So what do we do now?” He asks

“Well we can't do anything you're not comfortable with” you shrug and sit next to him and notice him squirming slightly.

“Well we can start now” you say and grip his chin, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

“Oh come on look at me, isn't it enough you fucked up at work?” You scoff, his cheek felt on fire , turning light pink, making him look cuter, his eyes finally meeting yours, biting his plump bottom lip, you lean in your breath ghosting on his face as your lips lean in to meet his, he leans into the kiss, your rest your hands on his hips as you guide him to lay on the couch and get on top of him, his breath hitches quietly as you lean in and kiss him again, his lips warm and plump, his arms snake around your waist and holds you onto him to feel his hardness, and it earns a whimper from him, and oh boy wasn't it the best thing you've heard in your life, you move your hips over him so your core grinds over his cock, making him spill a pretty series of whimpers and moans.

“P-please touch me” he looks up at you with big shiny eyes, looking at you so innocently.

You unzip his pants and remove it with his boxers getting rid of them revealing his hard length already spilling from the pink tip , you spread the precum over his tip and he moans weakly and it makes your knees buckle, you start stroking him your hand going up and down his length and his words became incoherent his voice slurring as he tries to come, reaching his high, he finally comes all in your hand as he breathes heavily sweat dripping down his neck, you lean down and kiss him again.

Your relationship improves, you take him out in expensive restaurants sometimes, buying him expensive clothes by big brands? You spoiled him badly, sometimes he'd act like a brat and that would end up with him getting a few spanks from you until he decides to apologise sincerely and properly. But your relationship in work remains very professional, you do treat him better than before, but it was subtle so no one really tells. In meetings he's attentive and takes notes and you obviously have to praise him for it later when you're alone.

Back at your house you pull him into the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and help him remove his clothes and then remove your own, getting on top of him placing kisses along his neck and collarbone as he whimpers prettily.

“Please please mommy please let me be inside you” he says desperately and you hum giving him permission to make his dick inside you, feeling your warm walls around him, you roll your eyes and moan slightly at the moment of pleasure that surged over you, he moans se softly looking so pretty, you lean down and kiss him gently but it turns firm, both your tongues fighting for dominance , you pull away , his hands gripping your hips as he bucks his hips upwards , hitting the sweet spot that makes you on the verge of release, he closes his eyes as tears fill his eyes, making desperate noises as he reaches his high , but he couldn't dare to come first , he feels your walls clench around his cock as you come all over him and he doesn't last much longer before his own release , both of you were sweating and panting like crazy, he pulls out and you slide off him laying next to him.

“I'll send you money later” you hum

you were in your early twenties now, and you still saw him as that kid.

how could you not?

riki had perfected the art of the dramatic sigh, the pout that threatened to take over his entire face, the way he’d flop onto your couch as if his bones had been removed.

he was also, you noted with amused affection, that he was spectacularly bad at hiding his crush on you. it was so big, so blatant, it had looped back around to being endearing instead of serious.

you figured it was a leftover hero-worship thing, mixed with the fleeting intensity of being a teenager.

it’s okay. he’d grow out of it.

“you’re late,” you said without looking up from your book as your apartment door clicked open.

you’d given him a key years ago, for emergencies. he’d interpreted it as a blanket invitation for all hours.

“traffic was a spiritual trial,” riki declared, his voice still holding that unique timbre — a low rumble that could, mid-sentence, crack into something brighter.

you heard the shuffle of him toeing off his shoes, the familiar thump of his bag hitting the floor.

“my suffering is immense.”

“your suffering is because you take the bus two stops instead of walking for ten minutes,” you said, finally glancing over.

riki was leaning against the doorframe, pretending to be nonchalant.

he’d done something to his hair, you noticed. it was artfully messy, falling in soft waves over his forehead. he was wearing a nice sweater, one that clung to his shoulders — broadening shoulders, a traitorous part of your brain supplied — and dark jeans.

he looked good. really good.

which was exactly why you had to double down on the babying. acknowledging the 'really good' would open doors you’d firmly welded shut.

“come here, you big baby,” you said, putting your book aside and opening your arms in a clear invitation for a hug. it was your standard greeting. “tell me about this spiritual trauma.”

he didn’t need to be asked twice.

riki crossed the room in a few quick strides, but instead of the full-bodied tackle-hug he’d given you at sixteen, he sort of folded himself into you. he was taller now, so he had to bend down, his chin hooking over your shoulder. you wrapped your arms around his torso, giving him a solid, warm squeeze, patting his back firmly three times — a brotherly there, there.

he melted instantly.

you could feel it, the way his whole frame went pliant against you, the way he inhaled deeply, as if trying to steal the very air from your lungs. his own arms wrapped around you, tight, almost too tight, and riki held on for a beat longer than what was normal for friends.

you just chuckled and ruffled the hair at the back of his head before pulling away.

“okay, okay, let me breathe, kiddo,” you grinned, swatting his arm lightly.

the familiar endearment made riki’s smile flicker slightly, just for a nanosecond. but he recovered, following you to the couch.

he didn’t sit next to you. he sat into you, collapsing sideways so his head was in your lap and his long legs dangled over the arm of the couch in a ridiculous, ungraceful sprawl.

“you’re a human sloth,” you laughed, but your hand went automatically to his hair.

it was so soft, just as you’d imagined.

riki let out a shuddering sigh that was only half-performative, his eyes fluttering shut. this was the routine. this was the dance. he would seek physical contact with the desperation of a man in a desert, and you would provide it, framed firmly in the context of platonic, almost brotherly affection.

you slowly traced the shell of his ear with your thumb, a mindless, comforting gesture you’d already done a thousand times.

“i’m not a baby,” riki mumbled into your thigh, the words muffled by the fabric of your sweatpants.

he turned his face slightly, nuzzling against you. it was a move that screamed affectionate puppy, and it solidified your worldview perfectly.

“could’ve fooled me,” you said, your fingers now carding gently through the strands at his temple. “you still pout when the convenience store runs out of your favorite strawberry milk. and your ears go all red when you’re embarrassed. it’s cute.”

riki groaned, but it was a sound of pure pleasure at your touch masquerading as annoyance.

“stop. i’m not cute.”

“you’re the cutest,” you said absently, your attention half on the TV you’d just turned on.

you pinched his cheek lightly, making him swat at your hand without any real force.

riki caught your wrist, holding it for a moment, his long fingers warm against your skin. he didn’t let go immediately, just turned his head to press his lips, quick and soft, against your palm before releasing it.

you blinked, but wrote it off as another one of his quirky, affectionate gestures — riki was always tactile with you. you knew this. it didn’t mean anything.

but it did to him.

every single point of contact with you was a lit match thrown onto the dry tinder of his feelings. the hug, the hair ruffling, the lap-pillow, the casual caresses — they were heaven and hell. riki craved them with a physical ache, memorizing the feeling of your hand in his hair, the solid warmth of your body under his cheek, the sound of your heartbeat so close.

at the same time, each touch was a brand that marked him as 'just a kid', 'just a friend', 'harmless'.

he hated it. he loved it. he was addicted to it.

riki had been trying to win you over for years. it wasn’t just the gifts or the memorized facts. it was in the way he looked at you when you weren’t watching — a gaze so full of naked adoration it should have set off alarms. it was in the way he’d subtly shift his posture when you were around, trying to appear broader, more solid. it was in the way he’d laugh a little too hard at your jokes, hang on your every word about spreadsheets or grocery shopping as if it were profound poetry.

he’d study the types of people you dated (never for long, a fact that gave him a dangerous amount of hope) and try to morph himself into some hybrid of them, while still being the riki you knew. he’d practice conversations in the mirror, imagining scenarios where he’d finally say the right thing and you’d see him — really see him.

and you’d just smile, ruffle his hair, and say, “you’re too sweet, kiddo.”

the 'kiddo' was the cruelest knife twist every single time. he’d go home and scream into his pillow, equal parts frustrated and lovesick.

“i was thinking,” riki said now, his voice quiet but strained.

he’d opened his eyes and was staring at the ceiling, his body tense despite your petting.

“a dangerous pastime.”

he nudged your leg with his head.

“shut up. i was thinking… we should go to that new izakaya downtown. this weekend. like, a dinner thing. just the two of us,” riki emphasized the last part, his heart hammering against his ribs.

there it was again. the carefully casual invitation that was a battlefield flag. you sighed, a fond, exasperated sound.

you shifted, sliding out from under him so you could sit up and look at him properly. riki made a small, bereft noise at the loss of contact. you reached over and squeezed his knee.

“riki,” you said, your voice gentle, placating. “you know i love hanging out with you. but an izakaya? that’s like… a date spot. you should save that for someone special, not your old buddy.”

you gave his knee another pat.

riki stared at your hand on his leg, then up at your face. the hope that had been flickering in his eyes guttered out, replaced by a deep, weary hurt.

“you are someone special,” he said, his voice flat.

“aw, you know what i mean.”

you leaned forward and pulled him into a sideways hug, his head against your chest. you rocked him slightly, like you were comforting a child who’d scraped his knee.

“you’ll meet some amazing person at college who’ll sweep you off your feet, and you’ll forget all about dragging your boring old friend to fancy dinners.”

riki was rigid in your arms.

the words weren’t just a rejection; they were a complete erasure of his reality. four years of love, dismissed as a childish phase waiting to be outgrown.

he pulled back from the hug, your arms falling away. the movement was slow, deliberate. riki didn’t look at you. he ran a hand through his perfectly messy hair, ruining it. the air in the room felt charged, thick.

“riki?” you asked, the unease turning into a cold trickle.

“i don’t need you to set me up with some imaginary amazing person,” he said, his voice low and terrifyingly calm. “and i don’t need you to rock me like a baby when i’m trying to tell you how i feel.”

“hey, come on, don’t be like that,” you said, trying for a light tone but missing badly. “i’m just saying—”

“you’re just not listening!”

riki exploded, surging to his feet. he loomed over you, his height suddenly intimidating.

“you never listen! you just pat and hug and ruffle and smother me in this… this affectionate concrete so you don’t have to actually see what’s right in front of you!”

you stood up too, instinct pushing you to meet his energy. “see what? that you have a crush? yeah, riki, i’m not blind! it’s cute! it’s flattering! but it’s not serious!”

the word hung between you like a physical blow.

riki flinched as if you’d just slapped him. his breathing hitched, and for a second you thought he might cry. but his eyes, glassy with unshed tears, burned with a fury you’d never seen.

“not serious,” he repeated, the words a whisper.

then, a dam broke.

“i have rearranged my entire life around you. i chose my college based on its proximity to you. i learned to cook the dishes you like. i know your coffee order, your blood type, your stupid, irrational fear of garden gnomes. i have loved you when i was a pimply teenager and i love you now, when i’m taller than you and my voice is deep and i could probably lift you over my head if i wanted to. i love you when you’re happy and when you’re a grumpy mess in the morning. i love you so much it feels like my ribs are too small to contain it. and you call it not serious?”

each sentence was a hammer blow, shattering your carefully constructed perception. the college choice. the cooking. the damn garden gnomes.

oh, my god.

the absolute, all-consuming scale of it.

you were speechless. you just stared at him, your mouth slightly open, your mind reeling.

riki saw your stunned silence. the fury bled out of him, leaving only a vast, empty vulnerability. he had nothing left. no more strategies, no more hints, no more patient waiting. he was laid bare, and you were just staring.

so he did the only thing he had left — the only one thing he knew could never be interpreted as brotherly, or cute, or childish.

riki stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. his hands came up, not for a hug, but to frame your face. his touch was so gentle, but there was also a slight tremble in his fingers. his eyes searched yours, seeing the shock, the confusion, but — crucially — no disgust. no immediate push away.

“this,” he whispered, his voice raw with conviction. “this is serious.”

and just like that, riki kissed you.

it wasn’t aggressive. the first press of his soft lips against yours was timid, questioning, achingly soft. a please. a see? a this is my whole heart, right here.

your brain completely short-circuited.

the sensory input was overwhelming: the softness of his lips, slightly chapped; the faint, clean scent of his skin this close; the warmth of his palms on your cheeks; the absolute stillness of his body, waiting for your reaction.

riki pulled back a millimeter, his breath fanning over your mouth. his eyes were wide, terrified, pleading.

and something in you, some deep, instinctual part that had maybe known all along but had been too afraid to acknowledge, surged forward. your hands came up, one gripping his wrist where he held your face, the other fisting in the soft wool of his sweater at his hip.

it was all the answer he needed.

riki made a broken, grateful sound against your mouth and kissed you again.

this time, it was not timid — it was deep, intoxicating, and utterly devastating in its sincerity. there was no technique, just pure, unfiltered feeling. riki’s lips moved over yours with a kind of frantic wonder, then slowed as he felt you begin to move yours in tentative response. it was messy, a little off-center, and so profoundly real it made your knees weak.

this was riki. not the kid you babysat, but the young man who carried a torch for you so bright it had lit up his entire being for years.

you could taste it on him — the years of longing, of yearning, the sweetness of his hope, the sharp tang of his fear. his tongue shyly traced your bottom lip, and you opened for him, the intimacy of it sparking through your entire nervous system.

one of riki’s hands slid from your face into your hair, fingers tangling at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as if you might vanish. the other arm wrapped around your back, pulling your body flush against his. you could feel the solid, unyielding plane of his chest, the rapid thundering of his heart echoing your own. riki was taller, and he was leaning down, bending to you, but there was nothing submissive about it.

it was possessive, reverent, and fiercely tender.

the world dissolved into sensation: the slick heat of his mouth, the slight scratch of his sweater against your chin, the quiet, desperate sounds he was making in the back of his throat. you were kissing him back now, fully, your own hands sliding up his back, learning the new, mature geography of him.

this wasn’t babying. this was meeting him, finally, on level ground.

when you finally broke apart for air, it was a ragged, mutual gasp. your foreheads rested together, noses brushing. his eyes were closed, his long lashes wet with the tears that had finally escaped. riki was breathing as if he’d just surfaced from deep water.

you were the first to speak, your voice a hoarse, awed whisper. “okay.”

riki’s eyes flew open. they were red-rimmed but blazing with a light you’d never seen before.

“okay?” he breathed, the word fragile.

“okay,” you confirmed, your grip on his sweater tightening. “i see you. i… i believe you.”

you brushed your thumb over his kiss-swollen bottom lip, a gesture entirely new in its intimacy.

“no more babying.”

a sob escaped riki, but it was followed by the most brilliant, unguarded, heart-stopping smile you’d ever seen in your entire life. it was pure, undiluted joy, and it was all for you.

“good,” he choked out, before surging forward to capture your lips again, this kiss softer, sweeter, laced with overwhelming relief.

he broke it to bury his face deep in your neck, his arms locking around you in a hug that was different from any before. it wasn’t a kid seeking comfort anymore. it was a man claiming his place.

“because i meant it. every word. i’m not letting go.”

you held him just as tightly, your face pressed into his soft hair, the truth settling over you, warm and terrifying and right. the puppy love was a lie. this was the real thing, and it had been waiting for you all along.

you’d just been too busy patting its head to notice it had grown up.

🪭 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 <𝟯 !!

"Son of a bitch," you grumbled, taking out your phone. You dialed your mate and it predictably rang a few times before he answered with a curt, "The fuck you want?"

The mere sound of his voice had your knees weak. You bit your lip, your rage spiking at his tone before quickly diffusing, because you were hyper aware that you needed him to soothe the ache in your body. "Um, where are you?"

"Don't worry about it."

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pressed, "Do you feel... okay?"

"Aside from being pissed the fuck off, yeah, I'm fan-fucking-tastic."

You smirked. He was raging and hadn't yet realized it was the rising hormones. "If I apologize, will you come home?"

"Doesn't that kill the point of apologizing? You're just doing it because you want something."

He had you there. The boy could dance circles around you if he wanted. There was really only one thing you had that he couldn't defeat, and you weren't afraid to use it.

"Maki," you started in your softest, sweetest tone. "I need you to come home to me."

There was a tiny pause, followed by Maki asking suspiciously, "Why are you talking like that?"

You shifted your weight, trying to offset the tugging in your core. "Please, baby. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I promise... I'll be good."

Another pause. This one was much heavier.

You waited, hearing every breath that passed in and out of his mouth and wishing they were passing in and out of yours while he was on top of you, splitting you open with his...

"I'm on my way," Maki finally said, snapping you out of your dirty thoughts.

"Okay," you replied happily. "I may or may not be naked in the kitchen when you get here."

"Wait - what?" Maki exclaimed just as you hung up.

He'd never driven so fast in his entire life, the car roaring into the parking space. Maki tried to have some dignity, but all you had to say was "naked" and he was gone. Dignity never mattered where pussy was concerned. She always won.

Maki opened the front door, trying to look like he hadn't just sprinted up, and was disappointed to find you weren't actually in your birthday suit. It was worse. You were wearing one of his white tees with clearly nothing underneath, given he could see the peaks of your nipples through the material.

"Hi, baby," you said coyly, tucking some hair behind your ear.

Maki scowled. "You wanna explain why you picked a stupid ass fight with me earlier?"

Again, you had no clue what you fought about. Now you knew it was just churning hormones making you crabby. "I like when you get mad," you told him smoothly. "Turns me on."

Maki's lips parted, but no sound came out. He couldn't argue with that.

His eyes raked up and down your body. He loved your bare legs and he was imagining them spread as he buried his cock inside you. He lingered his gaze near the hem of the shirt, at the tops of your thighs, thinking about your warm, wet pussy underneath. He thought about his cum slipping out between your glistening folds.

By the look in his eyes, you knew you had Maki exactly where you wanted him. You began stalking toward your mate, predator closing in on unsuspecting prey, and ran your hand down his chest and then his abs, stopping your fingers at his belt.

Maki's breaths were coming faster and harder, much like his pulse. His cock twitched in his pants from your simple touch. "Are you trying to seduce me right now?" Maki asked shakily.

"As if I need to try."

Maki gulped. Heat was rushing up his neck and into his head. Fuck, why did you look so good and smell so good? The scent of you was so overwhelming. He just wanted to pump you full of his cum until you swelled up with his baby and... uh-oh, he thought.

"Goddammit," he groaned. "We're in heat!"

You giggled and nodded. "Yep."

Maki came in fast, about to stop your heart with a kiss, but you turned at the last second, putting your back to him and stepping away.

"You really think I'm that easy?" You brushed your hand over the counter and drummed your nails on it. "After the way you spoke to me...," you said, tsking your tongue.

Maki gawked in disbelief. "You started the fight!"

"So put me in my place then," you retorted, poking the wolf.

Maki's eyes burned into yours and you watched his whole body tense, a viper coiling to strike. The moment you saw the slightest movement, you bolted, sprinting across the room. Being a werewolf had its advantages, but none of them mattered when your mate was much stronger and faster than you.

You didn't get far, just shy of the bedroom door when Maki's arms wrapped around your waist and hoisted you into the air. He tossed you onto the bed none too gently and you bounced on the mattress, quickly getting your hands and feet under you to scurry away.

Maki chased you around the room until the two of you landed in a heap on the floor. You giggled through a very brief wrestling match, one you knew you would lose but enjoyed anyway, and your laughter shifted into a moan when a broad hand cupped your sex.

"Maki," you sighed, rubbing your ass against his crotch. "I need you so bad."

"I haven't even started with you yet."

"I don't care. I need it."

Maki rolled you onto your back and propped himself over you, getting comfortable between your legs. You hooked your thighs on his hips and tried to draw him closer with your ankles crossed behind his back, but he was busy searching your face, his eyes narrowed.

You groaned with impatience, "What are you waiting for?"

"You look like a wild animal," Maki replied with a little smile.

"I am," you practically growled, dragging your nails down his back. You arched into him, desperate for him to touch you already.

Maki's voice dropped to the lowest you'd ever heard when he said, "I'm gonna breed you."

You peered up at him, your pulse racing uncontrollably. You didn't think the vicious pulsing in your core could get any worse, but it did.

Maki nodded. "Yeah, baby. I think this is the one."

"Fuck," you rasped, swallowing to wet your throat, realizing you'd been panting. "I want it so bad, Maki. Please."

"Shh," Maki shushed you, stroking your cheek with a gentle finger to soothe you. "Look me in the eye."

You did.

"Take a deep breath. Get some of your mind back for a second."

"I can't. I'm burning alive."

Maki raked his eyes up and down your body. He could sense that. Hell, he could fucking smell it. His instincts were off the charts. You were radiating heat and arousal, dragging him toward madness. He knew he was on the cusp and time was of the essence.

"Are you ready?" Maki asked seriously. "You need to tell me now if this is what you want."

You grabbed his arms like you needed him to steady you to reality and said, "You know I want this. I've been thinking about it every day. You and me, and... our baby. I want that with you more than anything."

Fire lit in Maki's eyes and he slotted his lips to yours, somehow kissing you hard but tenderly at the same time. It snatched all the air out of your lungs and you kissed him back hungrily. Your mate broke from the kiss to say, "We're still young. We can wait a little longer if you want."

You shook your head vehemently, tangling your fingers in his hair. "No. I can feel it. It's time."

"I feel it too. But once we start, there's no stopping."

Good, because you didn't want him to stop. You were a heartbeat away from shoving him to the ground, impaling yourself on his dick, and riding a load out of him. But your body told that wasn't what you wanted, so instead, you flipped onto your hands and knees beneath him, immediately rocking back until your ass connected with his clothed dick, rock hard.

"Don't make me beg," you grumbled under your breath.

Maki looked down at you in position underneath him and his cock twitched, eager to be inside you. He roamed his hands under your shirt and over your ass, exposing your folds which were glistening. "You're wet already."

"I started getting wet during the fight," you confessed with a tiny laugh.

Maki grinned. "So that's what it was for."

"I didn't realize until you left."

Maki pushed your shirt all of the way until it was over your head, kissing down your spine as he went to work on his own clothes. You arched your back, spreading your arms out in front of you, remembering the bed was right next to you, but you liked the idea of Maki taking you on the floor.

You were shivering with impatience, wiggling underneath him. His kisses were loud on your neck and you purred submissively though you were anything but. Maki grabbed your hip and began raking his dick against your folds, getting a few desperate sounds out of you.

"Maki, I swear," you snapped, hormones agitating you again. "If you don't put it in, I'm gonna..."

Maki pressed the head of his cock into your entrance and pushed forward, cutting off your threat. The moment he bottomed out in your heat, he released the breath he'd been holding and taunted, "What was that?"

"Fuck you," you groaned, dropping your head to the floor and gripping handfuls of the carpet in your fists, because he felt bigger than ever in your pussy, stretching you out so good.

Maki grabbed your hips in his big hands and wasted no time pounding into you. It was primal in its rawest form. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room along with your endless whimpers and the occasional grunt or groan from Maki.

You wrapped around him so tight and hot that Maki winched his eyes closed, his jaw going slack, and moaned, sucking in a breath through his teeth when he snapped his cock inside you again, as deep as he could go. You took every stroke he had to give, throwing yourself back against him.

"You're so fucking tight," Maki said, his voice weak. "I'm gonna come."

His pace threw you off balance. It was all you could do to keep yourself in place to take his thrusts, gripping the carpet until your knuckles ached. You cried out when the head of his cock kissed your cervix, spreading your thighs farther apart and whimpering his name for mercy.

Maki bottomed out and suddenly stopped, his hands heavy on your waist.

You were panting uncontrollably and asked, "Why did you stop?"

"I don't want to put my baby in you like this."

Your eyes flickered with confusion, but in the next second, Maki pulled out of you and scooped you up into his arms. He set you down on your back in the bed and opened your thighs with his rough hands, guiding his cock back into your cunt and settling into a hard, but drawn out pace.

"Maki," you stammered, meeting his eyes and grabbing onto his arms. You gasped as his body collided into yours, dragging his dick against your sweet spot.

Maki stole a kiss, wet and hot and perfect, and whispered darkly, "Come for me. I'm not filling you up until you do."

You bit your lip, out of your mind with heat and lust. All you could think about was how perfectly he fit inside you, how you felt completely consumed by him. "I wanna have your baby," you said in a soft voice, like you were taking a vow.

"You will," Maki told you without missing a beat, his pace never falling out of sync, burying himself inside you.

Your eyes were burning. The pleasure was too much. It was building, made worse by Maki's hands on your body, kneading and caressing you as he pushed you to the edge. There was a dull pounding in your ears and your vision went out of focus. Heat was wrapping around your throat and smothering your heart until it skipped a beat and then another.

Had you not been in Maki's arms you would have been terrified that your body was giving out. Maki could sense and smell everything about you in the moment. Your scent peaked and he coaxed, "Give it to me, baby."

You dug your nails into Maki's back as you came, clamping your thighs on his hips and arching into the bed, your face contorting with ecstasy. You cried out his name and swore, your walls pulsing as your vision went white.

Maki's voice sounded like it was underwater, like you both were drowning together. He thrust his thick cock into you a few more times and then stilled, his body shaking on top of you while he filled you with his seed.

Coming down from the high, you could feel him swelling inside you, his groans and whimpers becoming clearer as the haze cleared. Both of you panted for breath, your bodies slick with sweat.

"Don't move," Maki said, his voice weak. "We're stuck."

You swallowed, rubbing your hands over his skin where you knew you'd left red crescents from your nails. You could feel him locked inside you where he belonged and hormones sent a rush of satisfaction through you, probably to keep you calm.

Maki shook his head, flipping his damp hair out of his eyes, and finally searched your face. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

You sighed, "I'm okay."

He looked down where your bodies connected and said, "Sorry. I don't know how long we'll be like this."

"I'm in no hurry."

Maki smiled bashfully, his cheeks rosy.

You met his eyes again and whispered, "Kiss me."

So what were a few parties if he could make a new friend? He could do this much.

That's what he thought until he came face to face with Yeonjun's friends and the constant teasing about him not drinking enough.

Waving his hand in the air, he refused yet another drink, staying with his can of coke. He had a few shots with them already, but their tolerance and speed was too much for him to handle. He needed those breaks. No matter how much everyone begged him to do another one with them.

"Come on, Soob," you encourage him, your eyes playful as you nudge him with your feet under the table. His eyes flicker to you immediately, hesitance written all over his face. "You owe me for the last one I took for you."

Drinking more is the last thing he wants to do. And despite how well he's been doing refusing all other Yeonjun's friends sitting at the table, you're the only one he can't say no to.

Reaching for the drink Taehyun poured a moment ago, he watches as your grin widens when you bring your own glass to his, everyone else following right after. But even though everyone is shouting "Cheers" over each other, you're the only one he sees.

He isn't sure why you have so much power of him. He's seen you a few times around the campus, but he's never spoke to you before today. There was no reason to. You didn't have any classes together and he had no idea you had a mutual friend either. Logically, there should be no reason as to why he'd listen to you when he's saying no to everyone else.

But as soon as you sat across from him and he locked eyes with you, he knew he was in trouble.

Seeing you up close for the first time, he couldn't deny how beautiful you are. Your clothes hugging your figure in a perfect way, your makeup making your eyes pop out and your hair styled in possibly the prettiest way he's ever seen. He was gone as soon as your eyes met his and you offered him one of your smiles.

Deep down he knows it sounds insane. That's how he feels as well. But how else other than love at first sight is he supposed to explain the way he sees everything but you blurry? How is he supposed to explain that he can no longer hear the music blasting all throughout Yeonjun's house or the loud cheers of his other friends? How is he supposed to explain his whole body aches to have you close to him every time he sees you brush hands with anyone else?

The alcohol is no good for him. He can't recall how many shots he'd had already, but it sure as hell is more than he's normally used to. He can't remember much from what happened in the past half an hour if he's honest. He knows he's been drinking with you, and that he's seen you laugh a lot, but he could not tell you anything that was said if his life depended on it.

He sees Yeonjun doing a body shot off another girl, licking her skin after. He sees Taehyun and Beomgyu do a love shot. He sees two girls Yeonjun introduced to him when he came in — but whose names he doesn't remember — kissing on the other side of the table. He sees you walking to him with a shot glass in one hand and an incredibly beautiful smile on you face.

Wait, what?

He blinks. What's happening? And since when are you not wearing any jacket over your little top?

"Soobie, it's your turn." The nickname makes his head spin more than the alcohol has already been doing, his eyes flickering all over your body as you stop beside his seat.

"Turn for?" He asks, unable to avert his eyes.

"Your dare. Have you not been listening?" You giggle quietly and the sound echoes in his ears. "Yeonjun picked yours."

He forces his eyes off you to look at his friend, finding him with a smug smirk on his lips and arms leaned on the table for support as he stands. He can't tell if he should hate or love this just yet.

"Come get on your knees."

There is at least three different scenarios in which he imagined you saying those exact words throughout the night, but in none of them were you doing it in front of the entire group. Despite the obvious fact that he's in no place to be like this, he feels his cock twitching in his pants. God dammit.

It's as if he was in trance, his feet moving on their own and standing up so he could step away from the table. You nod your head towards the floor in front of you and he drops down, on his knees just like you told him to. Closing the space between you, you glance to the rest of your friends before locking eyes with Soobin, the sight of him on the floor in front of you getting tattooed inside your head.

"Open," you command and he does, tilting his head back a little with his mouth wide open. He still has no idea what's coming, but for some reason he feels like it'll be okay since it's you with him. "Good boy," you grin, bringing the shot glass to his lips and pouring the soju down. The liquor slides down his throat, his eyes closing and his hands moving on their own to grab your thighs.

You don't say anything to stop him, simply watching him swallow the alcohol. Someone at the table whistles at the sight but all you can focus on is the way he groans while gripping the flesh of your thighs. His face is all red, the sound nothing if not desperate. Have you just unlocked a new version of him?

It seems like it. With the way he doesn't know what to do with himself as he opens his eyes again and finds you still standing in front of him, it only leads you to believe this is new for him. Your eyes trail down his body for the nth time tonight, his face and neck flushed, his shirt and tie messy from how much he's been tugging on it while drinking, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling of being suffocated, and the boner in his pants that makes you wonder if he's been like this all night.

Glancing to the side, you find your friends already occupied with someone else again, cheering on for Beomgyu to do whatever dare they came up with. Looks like it's just you and Soobin now.

You lean down to make sure he hears you even if you whisper. "Want to get out of here?" You feel him shiver under you, his fingers digging into your skin as a broken plead leaves his lips. Your smile grows at the sound.

You take his hand in yours, forcing him to stand on his feet again as you tug him towards the table, grabbing an almost empty bottle of soju. "I'll see you guys later!" It's only Yeonjun who looks at the two of you, giving you an encouraging nod before moving on. You didn't expect anything else from him. After all, he's the one who practically begged you to give a chance to his friend.

It was probably an hour in when you found yourself alone in the kitchen with Yeonjun and listened to him go on about how he is certain Soobin likes you, claiming something about a sixth sense. You didn't believe him at first. Why should you? You knew Soobin for like thirty minutes then, and even that was an exaggeration. You practically brushed him off and went back to the group, only to spend the rest of the night looking at Soobin and trying to figure out if any of it could be true.

You needed some sort of evidence to convince you it wasn't just you who found him attractive, and the boner in his pants while holding onto you like you're his savior certainly was one.

"Where are we going?" He questions confusedly but doesn't stop following you, going up the stairs with you and forcing his way around everyone that is in front of him. He keeps holding your hand not to get lost, but you also think it's because holding you reminds him this isn't just a figment of his imagination.

"Yeonjun's room," you flash your smile to him over your shoulder, falling into the first door you come across after stepping upstairs.

As soon as the door closes behind him and he finds himself all alone with you, the music stops completely, the loudness of people outside passing by him. He only sees you standing in the middle of the room, one hand holding his and the other carrying a bottle of soju. "Come closer," you smile, stepping back until you hit the bed. He follows you, only stopping once his body is flush against yours. "Have you ever done this, Binnie?"

"What exactly?" He asks, his eyes flickering to your lips.

You shrug lightly, "Hook ups? This."

"I've had sex," is all he says, keeping to himself the fact he's only ever slept with girls he's been dating. He's never been a fan of these no attachment situations or casual hook ups. Lucky for you, the only thing he sees when he looks at you is the want for a future.

"Good," you whisper, dropping his hand to grab his tie and pull him down to your height, pressing your lips to his. He tastes like alcohol, but you know you taste the same.

Except, when he kisses you, it's not alcohol that he tastes. It's cherries and all the good parts of summer, the sweetness of it all doing all sorts of things to him. Bringing his hands to your waist, he pulls you onto him, needing to feel at least something on his cock. Groaning into the kiss, he throws his head back at the wave of pleasure he feels. He's fucked. He's absolutely coming untouched tonight.

"Sit down." He doesn't need to be told twice, sitting on the edge of the bed and spinning you around with ease so that you'd face him. Climbing onto the bed right after him, you sit on his lap, running your empty hand through his hair. It's unfortunate he hasn't been going out with the rest of you before this. You would have loved to have him at your hang outs earlier. "Want a sip?"

He nods, opening his mouth a little. He's obsessed. Looking up at you, his body burning and every little part of him feeling drunk on you, he's as screwed as he thought he'd be when he first saw you. You pour the liquor down his tongue again before bringing the bottle to your own lips, taking a much longer sip. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Another groan. "More than anything."

"Am I?"

"Absolutely," he chases after your lips again, desperately trying to thrust his hips up. The feeling has you moaning against him. Rolling your hips forward on top of him, you don't stop kissing him. His hands shake as he grabs any flesh he can, trying to steady himself. You can tell that it's a lot for him, but you don't think you can stop, needing that release.

Your name leaves past his lips in a quiet whimper, your panties getting wetter at the sound. "Yes?" You moan, taking another sip of the soju to finish the bottle so you could throw it away on the bed and finally get both of your hands on him as well.

"Slow— Slow down. I'm going to—" Knowing how close he is only makes you do the opposite of what he's asking for, your humps getting faster as you chase your own release. "I want to— Fuck, can I get these off, please?" You prompt yourself up to your knees to give him what he wants, biting back a whine at the sudden lost of contact.

The sounds he makes are a song to your ears, his large hands taking off all the fabric covering your body in a swift second. Another curse — this one much more broken than the previous one — leaves his lips and your eyes drop down to him, finding his pants all messed up. Did he just come at the sight of your naked body?

Oh good god. To think you'd find someone like this here of all places. Yeonjun's house has always been one made for parties that were supposed to lead to drunk mistakes and occasional pregnancy scares, not one where you'd find boys so obsessed and pathetic like he is. And while the way he looks at you — as if you were a star in the sky — would have scared you a few months ago, you don't think you'll be able to let go of this one.

Holding onto his shoulders, you sit back down on him, watching as his eyes move down along with your body, staying locked on your bare pussy. "I could—"

"You could?" You raise an eyebrow teasingly, loving the way he gets nervous.

"—eat you out. If you like that, I mean," he adds, panicked. He couldn't get any better, could he?

"Think you're any good at it?"

"See for yourself?" He offers, hopeful.

You'd be a fool not to let him have a taste. If he's bad, you can always just ask him to let you use his dick to make yourself come. You don't think he'd refuse you.

You move your hand down to his chest, pushing him down so that he's lying under you. He happily obliges, gripping your waist and pulling you to himself until you're hovering over his face. Another groan. You look down at him, unable to hide your smile as you run your fingers through his hair once more. "Please," he whispers as you tug on his strands. "Sit down on me."

You give him what he so desperately asks for, dropping your weight down. He keeps his hands on your waist while his tongue slides between your folds. Your eyes close shut as you let yourself focus on just the pleasure you feel when he wraps his lips around your clit. You grab onto the headboard in front of you to help him breathe a bit more by holding your weight, only for him to force you down fully. As messy as he's been all night, he has great strength — you have to give him that.

Rocking your hips forward on top of him, your little whines fill the room. You had nothing to worry about. He is anything but bad. You're not worried at all about not being able to come. If anything, you're worried how big of a mess he'll turn you in. Your head spins at the pleasure, your orgasm approaching quickly.

His name slips past your lips as you reach your finish, the sounds he makes against your pussy sending a shiver down your spine. He doesn't let go off you until he's certain you're cleaned properly, making sure he's got even the last bit. You move away to sit on his chest instead, definitely wetting his shirt in the process. He doesn't seem to care though.

All he cares about is you and how pretty you look all naked on top of him. He could come again.

"Let me pay it back," you lean down sweetly, moving your hips down his body so your lips could reach his. "And then have you inside of me."

He moans at the idea. "Wouldn't— Wouldn't Yeonjun be mad we did it here?"

"You're worried about that now?" You chuckle, running your hand down his length as you drop to your knees in front of the bed, motioning for him to sit up properly. He does without any questions. "And anyways, he's hoped for this so he can't complain."

Soobin isn't in the right mind to question your words, only able to think about you with your lips inches away from his cock as you pull his pants down.

He is in for a long night.

You do. You’ll never deny that. God, you’d be a fool to say Bang Chan didn’t have ownership over you in ways no man has ever before.

There’s a laugh that escapes him and you try to pull your attention from his touch to the conversation at hand but it’s so damn hard when his thumb lightly runs back and forth over your thigh, fingers inching closer to your core. Your damp, clothed core that aches for him. The moment Chan picked you up, standing at your door with a dozen roses, wearing a tailored black suit with his hair pushed off his forehead – you were ready for him. There’s something about him that triggers the little ‘whore’ button in your brain, causing your body to prepare for his fingers, tongue, co–

“What do you think, love?” His voice catches you by surprise, eyes blinking rapidly, brain trying to catch up with the conversation you were not listening to.

Licking your lips, you open your mouth to speak when a deep voice on your right speaks and causes you to look over at him in surprise. “I don’t think she’s doing much thinking, brother” he chuckles as his dark, hungry eyes drag slowly from your seated ass up towards your wide eyes. “With you nearly finger fucking her under the table, I’m surprised she’s not drooling in want.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips as if you’re shocked by his crude words but it seems like you’re the only one who reacted to Chris. As usual.

If Chan owns you then Chris is the challenger that loves to show he has power over you, as well. Even if it’s only temporarily.

Or, that’s what you like to tell yourself.

You’ve been caught in a triangle with your neighbour and his twin brother ever since you met the both of them. The pair slowly broke you down until you were defenseless against them and when you dropped to your knees that first night, Chan’s fingers lifting your chin while his thumb dragged along your bottom lip, they knew. They knew that you were theirs even if you like to play this fun, little game of cat and mouse.

If the mouse lived for being caught and toyed with.

You know that you should run away, keep your distance from them because they couldn’t be good for you. No, they aren’t good for you. They are dangerous, more than your friends or anyone could ever know, but how can you escape them when they have you wrapped so tightly around their fingers? How far could you get when Chris would find it utterly thrilling pulling you back to him by your hair?

Would you even be able to take a step away from him when Chan would cause you to crumble with such ease that it should be illegal?

Other than their faces and similar body types, the twins seem like they would be vastly different. Chan sports medium-long blonde hair, preferring to wear suits and button ups and slacks, always wearing a watch and keeping up appearances. While Chris’ hair is the same length, it’s black and usually messy like he can’t stop running his fingers through it, he wears streetwear and favours combat boots over polished and shined shoes. Their personalities are almost worlds apart. Ever the gentleman, Chan charms those around him, his aura is commanding and present even as he’s just sitting there, not saying a word. A little rougher around the edges, Chris wears an almost permanent smirk on his lips and uses sex appeal to get what he wants. If that doesn’t work – he’s not afraid to use cruelty and force.

Everyone would think that they are so different and while they aren’t wrong, there’s more to them than meets the eye. There’s a side of them that only you’ve seen, that only you know, and it’s the side of them that makes it so damn obvious they were cut from the same cloth.

Their pure enjoyment for corrupting what was once innocent until it no longer knows how to live outside of the darkness of their love – their desire.

Their unrivalled greed.

A calloused hand wraps around the back of your neck, massaging the tense muscles as his oh-so-sinfully-soft lips graze against the shell of your ear. You shiver, lips parting slightly as you let out a shaky exhale, when Chris speaks lowly so that only you, and Chan, can hear the words that he speaks with such confidence that your core clenches.

“Careful, pet, your arousal is showing.” He chuckles when you try to clench your thighs together but Chan prevents you from succeeding. “Maybe I should have you for dessert instead, hm?” His hand threads through your hair, nails scratching against your scalp in a way that has you instinctively tilting your head back. His tongue trails along your pulse and all you can think about is the pleasant pain from his grip in your hair and how Chan’s pinky teases along your soaked panties.

Why did you wear them again?

A clearing of a throat barely catches your attention but the voice speaking afterwards definitely catches his. Chris’ eyes move from the pulse in your neck to the man sitting on the opposite side of you; his dark eyes narrow slightly as they clash with the grey-blue eyes that adds to Chan’s charm. “How about you wait until we aren’t surrounded by witnesses, Christopher.” It’s not a question, it’s certainly not a suggestion – it’s a command, showing who’s the eldest with ease.

Clicking his tongue, Chris pulls away and that strange spell he always has over you when he’s close, breaks. Your body straightens slightly, desperately willing yourself to keep in check even though it barely takes them any effort to have you crumble for them – especially when Chan’s hand is still resting on your thigh. Sure, his hand has stilled, no longer teasing and tempting you, but it’s that warmth that has you still attempting to clench your thighs together in need.

You can tell that he’s keeping himself in check, that Chan is keeping up appearances even if he’s ready for a taste of you. That’s the biggest difference between the twins; Chris will rarely hold himself back but Chan will always delay that sweet gratification until he’s able to be in complete control of the situation. He wants to be able to have control of your body, mind and every sensation that you feel. No distractions and certainly nobody involved who shouldn’t be.

Chris would lay you on the table and feast upon you if he had the chance… and then he’d kill anyone who dared to watch.

It’s always a head-spin being with them. One slowly works you up until he has you under his spell while the other takes what he wants because it’s his for the taking. It’s a headspin and yet, you find yourself letting them win instead of running away.

Not that you’d get far if you did.

The door isn’t even closed by the time Chris is on you, pushing you roughly against the wall as his fangs pierce into your neck. There’s the sound of your panties being ripped off your body before the vampire throws the scraps to the side like it offended him. He groans deeply as he begins to drink from you, fingers immediately plunging into your dripping cunt to get you ready for his throbbing cock.

Not that you need the extra stimulation. You’ve been ready ever since Chan started teasing you in the restaurant but there’s no harm in making sure you’ve made a mess all over your inner thighs for him to lick up later.

Nails dig into Chris’ back, gripping him to you tightly as your head tilts back, eyes fluttering closed, with a heavenly sigh. Fuck, it shouldn’t feel this good to be the prey but you love it. You’ve always loved it. From the moment that Chris hunted you through the park to the moment Chan caught you, claimed you, you realised that being their prey was far more rewarding than anything else in your life. Your degree, your career, your accolades, nothing matters as much as this twisted game that you’re caught up in.

A game that very well may cost you your life and yet, you let them toy with your mortality anyway.

“Princess.” While there’s no verbal command following the pet name that Chan loves to call you, there is one in his tone and your eyes slowly open so that you can meet his burning gaze. Chan’s fangs peak out from that pillowy top lip as he holds out his hand for you to take.

It’s a show of control. Chris may be feeding and fucking you with his fingers but you’ll go against that want throbbing between your legs just to give in simply to obey him.

You wince when the vampire buried into your neck growls, fingers still and curling to press against your g-spot as if to keep you in place. A soft whimper leaves your lips because even if he’s no longer feeding, Chris is still keeping you to him like a dog refusing to let go of his favourite toy.

The blonde responds with a low growl of his own that sends a shiver of fear rushing up your spine. Chan’s hand reaches for his tie, tugging roughly to loosen it, head moving side to side, before he pulls it from around his neck and tosses it to the side. “Let her go, Christopher.” He says in a deep, commanding voice that has your cunt clenching around Chris’ fingers. It’s not uncommon for them to fight over you, for Chris to push the boundaries and see how far he can get, but it’s rare for Chan to exert control over his brother like this.

He’s hungry and Chris is preventing him from finishing what he started at the restaurant.

It takes a couple of heartbeats before Chris retracts his fangs from your neck and his fingers from your soaked core, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. “She’s sweet tonight.”

“She’s sweet every night.” Chan corrects and Chris chuckles before giving your ass a soft pat as you take a shaky step towards the blonde, who is wearing a pleased smile at how you didn’t delay in approaching him. Even with blood dripping down your neck, ruining your white dress, Chan smiles at you and you feel elated by the attention. Your hand rests daintily in his before he brings it to his lips, dark eyes never leaving yours as he kisses your knuckles. “Aren’t you, my dear?” You nod your head slowly, unable to look away from his eyes, so alluring that you could drown in their depths.

“You belong to me.”

Your eyes widen as the words are spoken but Chan’s lips don’t move – except to pull into a wider grin. He’s been wanting to do that for a while, a test to know whether you are completely under his control, and now that he knows that you can hear him – the blonde is ready to share you.

Only because you are “such a good girl.”

Vampires, as you’ve learned, are territorial creatures, they don’t inherently like to share and you’ve noticed this whenever Chris steals you away from the older twin; the way Chan’s jaw clenches, the muscles tensing as he tries to keep himself under control. Chris is more territorial when he’s either feeding or fucking, or when Chan isn’t around and someone is trying ‘take’ what is theirs. His impulse control is severely lacking in comparison to his brother – as you’ve found out the hard way.

While they have shared you a couple of times, barely a handful and only ever on special occasions – this is the first time Chan would have offered it. Usually it’s you begging, which Chan loves, or Chris just joining in because he can.

“Tell me, Princess, what are you thinking about?” Chan’s pulling you close, an arm wrapped securely around your waist until your hands rest on his firm chest. At some point his top two buttons had come undone. Do you remember him unbuttoning his shirt? No, you remember the way he tugged his tie off and- “Princess.” You look up at him, realising too late that you had been stroking the soft, fair skin that was cool beneath your fingertips. “There we go,” his free hand comes to brush your hair out of your eyes before gently gripping your chin and holding you in place. “What did I ask you just now?”

Chris chuckles, amused by how easy it is to distract you. You never used to be like this, you used to have laser focus and could switch where your attention was rather easily but ever since meeting the Bang twins, you find it so hard to keep your mind on anything but them. 

The younger’s hot hand rests on your hip, searing your skin even if he’s not touching you directly, before those sinful lips attach to your neck, sucking harshly to leave a deep hickey against your flesh. A mark, a claim, physical. Chan has your mind, your heart but Chris greedily steals your body and soul. “You know what she wants, brother. Are you going to deny her simply because her cunt is working faster than her brain?”

It might have offended you if it was anyone else, if it wasn’t him… them saying such things about you but why deny the truth? Why deny what they can sense even when you desperately try to hide it from them?

You are their plaything. Chris’ pet to play with however he wishes, to deny and fuck until you can’t remember anything but the feeling of his thick cock stretching the velvet walls of your cunt. You are their treasure. Chan’s Princess to worship as he lays your pliant body down on his silk sheets, kissing his way down your body before showing you that even sinners like them know how to open the gates of heaven for the night.

You belong to them. Forever. There’s no end to this and honestly, you don’t want it to.

“Deny her?” Chan’s chuckle sounds from his chest as he holds your gaze, reading the need in your expression like it’s his favourite story. “That’s your job, Christopher. I’ve never denied her, have I?”

“No~,” You whine, lifting your head up to look down at the dark-haired man settled between your legs, licking his lips of your juices. His tongue swipes along his bottom lip before he smirks up at you. You don’t voice what is running through your head because he knows, oh, that smug grin on his glistening lips shows you that Chris knows exactly what’s running through your mind. 

You are so close. 

A shaky sigh leaves you as your head falls back to the pillow, pouting softly as the orgasm that he had built up slowly fades, though, your throbbing clit reminds you about how close Chris had driven you. Chris thrives on your desperation, on your need, but he lives for denying you because to him – it makes you taste even sweeter.

A hand moves down your throat, fingers flexing slightly before reaching for one of your full breasts, nipples erect from the cool air and arousal. You’re laid bare, body on display, for the twins to admire and admire you, they do. Chan’s fingers pinch your erect nipple, electing a soft gasp from your parted lips, as he sits beside you and watches you with such affection in his eyes that you’re unable to look away. “So beautiful,” he says in a tone that causes your body to flush, butterflies to flutter in your stomach, and core to clench around nothing. “You always look most beautiful giving yourself to us.”

“I am yours,” You have to lick your lips to speak, voice barely above a whisper but both of them hear it.

Chris responds by thrusting his fingers into you, fucking you while his lips wrap around your clit. The suddenness has your body jolting up but Chan guides you back down, moving to replace the pillow. “Don’t fight it, Princess. Let him bring you to the edge.” The contrast between the way Chris is devouring your pussy like it’s his last meal and Chan stroking your hair and speaking to you so sweetly causes you to short-circuit a little.

You can’t focus, his words and the other’s actions constantly hitting that button in your brain that shuts you down. You can’t form a sentence, a desperate plea, for Chris to keep going as the coil low in your stomach tightens. You can’t keep your eyes open as that high builds and your lips move with a silent prayer as the crescendo crashes into you.

You can’t do anything but allow them to play with you like the toy that you are.

“She tastes so fucking good,” the younger vampire pulls away when he’s finally done lapping at your core, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth before moving off the bed. “The perfect dessert after a heavy meal.” There’s a low chuckle that mixes with the sound of a belt being undone and that almost brings you back from that mindless brink.

Almost.

Fingers glide down your cheek and you glance up at the handsome face watching you with that devilish smile that caught you from the moment you met him. “Do you think you can handle us, Princess?” Your head is moving on its own, nodding as you slowly blink has Chan chuckling softly before you’re moved off his lap so that the blonde can stand up and undress himself while you lay as pretty as a sated doll.

This is one of the reasons why you can’t run away from them. In the beginning, you would tell yourself that it’s because they are the monsters that won’t let you leave, that they would hunt you down and tear you apart. A lie that you told yourself to make it easier to accept that you want this, want them. The sex and depravity that comes with them. The danger and sin rolled into two devastatingly handsome men who alone can satisfy you but together – they make you forget yourself.

Your worries, your fears, your name.

While you watch Chan remove his clothes in an unhurried fashion, your fingers slowly trail down over your stomach and through your trimmed bush. Tidy and neat, just how Chris likes it. The warm hand that was buried inside you wraps around your wrist and pulls your touch away from where you crave it, clicking his tongue like he’s just caught you stealing from the cookie jar. “Such a little slut, aren’t you?” Chris shakes his head, disappointed in how greedy you are but really, he loves how you can’t help yourself. “Don’t you think it’s a little pathetic how desperate you are to be fucked?”

“My sweet Princess, are you unable to wait for me?” Chan’s voice sounds in your head, his tone directly contrasting Chris’ and you wiggle in place, wrist still gripped tightly by the dark-haired vampire leaning over you.

“Is he talking to you inside that dumb little mind of yours, pet?” You’re roughly pulled up by a naked Chris, made to sit and stare up at him with wide eyes as he coolly looks down at you. “Controlling as fucking always.” Those lips that were wrapped around your clit are now flat, harsh, before they come crashing down to meet your own. The kiss is rough, hungry, dominating, and you struggle to keep up. Your tongue rolls with his, trying to follow him but all he’s doing is leaving you breathless, panting, when he pulls away and you’re caught by Chan. At a completely different pace to his brother, Chan’s kiss is slow, sensual and his tongue strokes along yours, sending tingles to rush down to your already dripping core.

They are trying to drive you insane with this back and forth, rough and tender, soft and harsh. They are trying to break you into little, beautiful pieces so that when they build you back up – you’ll be their perfect little doll that they can play with as they please.

They want you crazy for them like they are crazy for you and if you’re being honest – you’ve been that way since you stopped denying the desire they bring out of you.

When Chan pulls away, your eyes taking a moment to open and look at him, he holds your chin up so that your attention is on his face. He wants you to be present, aware, able to know what is about to happen, just in case it gets too much. “We are going to try something that we haven’t done before, love. If you can’t handle it, all you need to do is say your safe word, do you understand?” You hum a little, head moving up and down in a nod, but it’s not enough. “I need words, beautiful.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my good girl,” Chan hums, pleased at your response before letting your chin go and moving to lay on the bed. “We are both going to fuck you, Chris is going to take–” The other man smacks your ass roughly before Chan can finish. “He’s going to take you from behind while you’re riding my cock. Do you think you can handle that?” He’s guiding you towards him before you can even answer because he already knows what you’re going to say.

Of course you can.

Your face is buried in Chan’s neck, the man whispering sweet words directly into your ear as Chris slides in home, causing you to feel extremely full. You’ve been prepped for this, the two men taking turns to make sure you were relaxed and stretched to accommodate Chris’ length. Neither of them are small by any means, above average and they both know it, but while Chan’s has the girth – Chris has the length, almost an inch longer and an expert on how to use it. You let out a soft whimper since it still hurts a little and Chris’ finger presses to your clit, slick with the lube he used, to help ease the tension he can feel building.

“You keep clenching around me like that, pet, and I might not be able to pull out.” He grins, enjoying how your tight rim clenches as he plays with your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Chan strokes your hair for a moment, listening to your breathing settle before he pulls you away from his neck to look at you. There’s a tenderness in his eyes, care as he makes sure that you’re okay before rolling his hips. “Remember, Princess. If it gets too much, just use your safe word.”

You’ve watched enough porn to know how double penetration works, thought about how overstimulating it must be to have two men fucking you at the same time but something you didn’t think about was how intense they could be. Chris’ fingers dip into your hips as he moves, fucking in when Chan’s pulling back, never allowing you to be empty. Chan’s hand runs over your back while he kisses along your shoulder towards the curve of your neck, causing shivers to run down your spine. The vampires work in tandem to overstimulate your senses and cause you to be highly sensitive to even the slightest change.

You may have come down from the edge earlier, having been teetering so close before stepping back and keeping your wits about you – but now, you are diving head first into the depths below.

Giving yourself over to them.

Completely theirs to control.

There’s a soft grunt as Chan thrusts into you, his breath against that sensitive spot on your neck has you shivering in his hold and that’s when you realise that Chan is still holding himself back. He’s keeping himself in check because he doesn’t want to push you to the point of no return. Chan has wanted to taste you on his tongue since he could smell your arousal at the restaurant but he’s the ‘good’ brother, the one who knows how to exercise self control, the one who doesn’t give into his urges despite the fact that “you smell so fucking delicious like this.”

It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? Your pulse is racing right against his lips and it would be so easy to just take. Take what is his. Take what you are offering to him when you tilt your head to the side and give him better access to the side that Chris hasn’t marked yet.

“Fuck, Princess,” he groans against your skin, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. Not stopping his rhythm, keeping in time with Chris’ brutal thrusts, Chan brushes your hair out of his way and kisses your neck before biting down. Slowly, almost lovingly, as he makes sure it doesn’t hurt but instead heightens your pleasure – that intoxicating concoction of the pleasure, pain and the eroticism of the feeding.

Your sigh is a mix of an exhale and moan. Closing your eyes in bliss as tingles rush through your entire being all the way to your clenching holes, you feel yourself falling deeper into that space sitting in the back of your mind. You don’t want the feeling to stop, the fullness, the way Chris’ fingers are bruising your waist and Chan’s tongue cleans the remnants of his meal off your skin. You could die in this moment and you’d be on heaven’s door with how good it feels but you know they’d never allow that – they’ll never let you go.

Not even death will do you part.

Your body begins to prepare for the climax, unable to hold on any longer, when Chris roughly grabs your hair and forces you onto your hands, lifting you off Chan’s firm body. “I’m fucking that cunt later, pet, don’t pass out on me now~.” He growls into your ear before his hips snap harshly against your ass, fucking harder, faster than before while Chan quickens his pace as well.

As much as they want to drag this out, as much as they want to claim you until your mind has broken and you’re a drooling mess – you feel so fucking perfect knowing they can’t hold back any longer.

Wet digits, you don’t know whose, press against your engorged clit, the ministrations increasing with the intensity of the movement and before you can even process what is happening, your body shudders uncontrollably. A scream echoes around the room but you’re so high that you barely register that it came from your own lips, the sound tampering off into a whine as the overstimulation completely takes over and everything begins to feel too much.

Your bodies are covered in sweat, your hair is messy, you’re feeling far too hot to be comfortable but you can’t move because you’re sated. You’re full. You may feel like everything is too much right now but you also don’t want it to stop.

You want more.

A soft chuckle vibrates under your breasts when you collapse before a kiss is placed against your temple, “don’t worry Princess, you’ll get round two when you’re able to move again.” Chan speaks softly, not wanting to disturb the tender moment of you pressed against his chest, his arms stroking up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.

“S’good,” you mumble, unable to lift your head. You make a small, displeased sound when Chris pulls out, “going?” It’s useless to try and move to look at the dark-haired man making his way off the bed but he does make the effort to come into your line of sight, blessing you with that muscular, chiseled body that you love to submit to.

His dark eyes watch you for a moment, looking as if he’s about to say something but soon changes his mind. With his signature grin, Chris stands back up and all you see is his glorious ass moving towards the ensuite. “I’m going to run the bath so we can clean you up and take care of you.” He calls out, making it sound like you asked a dumb question, before leaving the room.

Once Chan hears the water running, he hums in thought before maneuvering your bodies so that he can sit up and you are able to rest for a short while. “Ah, don’t worry Princess,” he speaks before a word can leave your parted lips, “We aren’t going anywhere. We are just as much yours as you are ours.”

With those words, those reassuring words, you drift off to sleep in a vampire’s bed, trusting, safe and completely in love.

Today is Tuesday, which makes it three days since you’d both attended a party in the dorms up the hill. Three days since you’d burst out of the party and into the quiet night, the music fading to nothing behind you. Although the day had been mild, that late at night your breath had been visible, white puffs that thinned and dissipated as your laughter settled down during the walk back to your building.

Your dorm building was at the bottom of campus, down a lengthy concrete staircase that you’d unlovingly named The Death Stairs. You’d been heading down the steps, a bit uncoordinated from the dark night, the late hour, and, yes, a few drinks. You’d miss a step. You’d stumbled - and Vernon had grabbed you by the waist, his reflexes quick as always.

Now, on Tuesday, warmth pools in your belly as you remember his hands firm on your waist, each finger burning a resting place to return to later. You’d both frozen, his hands tight on you, the night still and silent around you. 

“You good?” he’d murmured, voice low and quiet. But he didn’t take his hands away, not even when you turned in his hold to face him.

You’d stood there, a third of the way down The Death Stairs, his hands still settled just below your ribcage. Your heart beat wildly, but you barely noticed. Everything felt still as you looked at him, his brown eyes nearly black in the darkness. You barely dared to breathe as he held you steady, wondering if this was it - the moment you’d lose the balance of being friends, tip and fall for good.

You were ready. He was the mystery.

“I’m good,” you’d breathed, and it had been the wrong answer, because he’d taken his hands off your waist and guided you by the elbow to the next stair instead. 

“Let’s get you home, then,” he’d said, as if the moment had never happened - as if you hadn’t just stood together close enough to kiss, tension pulling between you so pervasively you almost felt it physically move you close to him. 

Vernon, your best friend. Vernon, unknowable. 

Balance. 

Now, Tuesday, he’s starting to walk with you away from the university’s cafeteria after telling you he’d be busy tonight. This is where, normally, you’d part ways for the night, him to his dorm across the quad, and yours at the bottom of the stairs from hell. 

Unless you decide fuck the balance and just do what you want instead.

“Vernon,” you call, and he pauses, turning back to you slowly, a question on his face. When you don’t speak, he ambles back to you, even and unbothered. His eyes trace your face as if he might find the answer to his unvoiced question there. 

He won’t.

“What are your plans later?” you ask, trying to be bold, trying to be unafraid. 

Emotions wander across his face with leisure, landing on a tiny, knowing smile. “Studying with my math group,” he says, that smile so small but telling you so much. “Why? You want in?”

He’s teasing. You hear it clear as day - were you jealous? He tosses one of his airpods from hand to hand mindlessly as he waits for you to answer.

“Yuck,” you say, but inside you’re bouncing a little. You’d thought busy meant, perhaps, a girl, a date, something where you didn’t belong. You’re pleased and relieved that you were wrong. “I do not want in. I’m more allergic to numbers than you are to peanuts.” 

“Ha.” Then, he gives you a softer look. “I’ll text you when we’re done.”

Maybe he’s not unknowable. Maybe you know him pretty well, actually. 

“Maybe I’ll be busy,” you tease. 

His smile is killer, slow and clever, climbing up the side. “Tell your study buddies you’re taken,” he instructs, and then he disappears into the glare of the sunset, golden and blinding. 

You wait until you’re back in your dorm to scream about it.

It’s starting - it’s starting, it’s starting. The maybe of it thrills you, the possibility is intoxicating. You try to study, too - alone, no study buddies - but your eyes keep finding your phone screen, waiting to see his name light it up the way his presence lights you up from inside.

You try not to be disappointed when it doesn’t come, even when it grows so late that you have no choice but to sleep.

In the morning, you see that he texted you so late it almost blurs into early - “sweet dreams”.

You stare at this text the whole time you brush your teeth the next morning, eyes narrowed. What did it mean that he didn’t text you until after three in the morning on a weeknight? Conversely, what did it mean that he thought to tell you sweet dreams at three in the morning? Was this a setback or was it progress? 

You rinse your mouth and chuckle darkly to yourself. Perhaps it’s both. Just more push-and-pull. Balance.

When your morning class ends and Vernon isn’t waiting for you outside, you text him - “lunch?”

No answer has come by the time you reach the student center, so you resign yourself to eating lunch alone. He was still up at three a.m., you rationalize to yourself. He’s probably still sleeping. You eat at a small table near the door, text him, “you alive?” 

When no answer comes, you trudge off to your afternoon class sporting a frown and a sour mood.

Two hours of research writing pass at a snail’s pace. Then dinner - alone, again. You go to bed feeling grumpy about his silence; you wake up worried about it. 

You two don’t normally call - texting is more than enough - but you break the rule on your way to Thursday’s first class. The phone rings tinny against your ear as leaves crunch under your feet. The day is flat and grey - clouds hanging heavy, a cool breeze sending leaves skittering down walkways. 

His voicemail picks up, his voice saying “Vernon Chwe” as emotionlessly as possible. You don’t leave a message, but you text him again - “the silence is kind of freaking me out!”

You skip lunch after class. Instead of heading upstairs to the cafeteria, you head into the basement - where the mailroom is. Vernon’s part-time job. Where he should be every Thursday at 11am.

Something inside you knows he won’t be there, even before you confirm it by showing up.

The mailroom has a half-door, the bottom shut and the top open, creating a tiny little countertop for students to sign out packages or whatever else they need to do here. Through the open top half, you can see that Vernon isn’t in his usual place.

There’s another guy there, instead. You squint at him for a minute, trying to place him; he’s friends with Vernon, you’ve met him at parties before. It takes you a moment to remember his name. Which friend of Vernon is this - pink underwear friend, or puked down the staircase friend? 

Oh, yeah. The latter.

“Chan.”

The guy turns to you, letters in one hand and a package in the other. 

“Yeah?” he asks, clearly baffled by this stranger who knows his name.

“No Vernon today?” you ask, leaning on the little counter made by the open half-door.

Chan shrugs, eyes already back on the letters in his hand. “He didn’t show. I covered for him, said he was sick. If you find him, tell him he owes me.”

“If you find him,” you reply, straightening up and tapping the counter in goodbye, “tell him I’ve spent the last two days thinking he was dead in a ditch, and he owes me ice cream.”

Chan salutes you in reply, and you head to the next possible Vernon location: his dorm.

You have to wait for someone to come out so you can slip through the door, but that’s normal. The inside hallway is deserted and silent - that’s not normal. Normally doors are ajar, music spilling into the hall. Normally, other students are coming and going, conversation drifting around them. Ill at ease in the echoing silence, you climb the creaky stairs to Vernon’s third-floor room, the handrail slightly sticky beneath your palm. 

Your stomach twists with anxiety when you knock; something inside you expects no one to answer. Something inside you expects the door to swing open on its own, slowly exposing an empty set of rooms. 

You’re relieved when the doorknob turns, and Seungkwan blinks at you. 

“Vernon’s not here,” he informs you, already knowing why you’re there. 

“Have you, like, seen him?” you ask, peering around his shoulders like maybe Vernon is there after all, and he just didn’t notice. “I haven’t heard from him since Tuesday.”

Seungkwan seems to ponder this. “Yeah, he’s been in and out since then,” he decides. You’re not sure you believe him. 

With a defeated sigh, you try your last resort, the only other place on campus you might find your friend: the bowels of the library.

You weave through the large first room, dodging tables surrounded by backpacks and heaped with notebooks and laptops. You take the stairs down to the lesser-traveled lower level, pausing at each aisle of the stacks and peering around for your wayward friend.

It’s cooler down here, and the lights are dimmer. You pull your thick cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you travel deeper into the library’s dank basement. Disappointment and worry simmer beneath your skin as you check the second-to-last aisle. No Vernon - no anybody. One more aisle to go. 

Come on, Vernon, you think. Be where you’re supposed to be. 

But the last aisle is empty, the air around you stuffy and unmoving. The ancient fluorescent light flickers, dims visibly, and then rights itself with a hum.

You rub your forehead, anxiety rising behind your ribs, and turn to head back upstairs. 

A body blocks your path, so close that it startles a gasp out of you. No one else had been down here. You hadn’t heard anything behind you - no footsteps, no breath, no clothing rustling.

Vernon says your name, tinged with surprise. 

You slap his chest feebly, your whole body suddenly jelly-like with relief. “Where have you been?” you demand.

He smiles ruefully. “I went a little AWOL, huh?”

“I haven’t heard back from you since Tuesday!” you hiss. “I thought you were dead! I thought - after we - I don’t know, Vernon, you scared me!”

His brows furrow and his hands come up to your arms, soothing. “Hey,” he says softly, regret laced up in his voice, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to worry. I’ve just been… swamped. I’m… honestly, I’m having trouble juggling everything I have going on right now.”

Including you. He doesn’t say it, but you hear it anyway. 

“I don’t need, like, hours of your time or anything,” you say, looking down. You can’t meet his eyes while referencing an “us” you’re not sure he’s really invested in. “I just need to know you’re okay.”

Vernon’s gaze drops; he looks almost ashamed. “If anything is worth hours of my time, it’s you,” he says quietly, and though he says it earnestly, with conviction, you can see the tips of his ears redden with the admission. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

That teetering, again; your friendship losing its center of gravity and wobbling towards something else. 

You meet his eyes. They’re warm, beautiful, gorgeous golden-brown. “Are you really okay?” you ask, tentative. Because something in his shoulders, his voice, his eyes, seems to indicate that maybe he’s not. Something is off.

“I just have so much to balance right now,” he says, his voice very quiet. “I’m going to stay and work on this project for a few more hours. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod. He pulls you in and presses his lips to the top of your head in goodbye - somehow, this does not seem to qualify as a Kiss. 

How can he have no idea what he does to you? You’re crazy about him, wild about him - throw it all away for him, make a fool of yourself kind of crazy. The spot where his lips touched your head buzzes and buzzes.

It doesn’t occur to you until you’re back in the safety of your dorm that he didn’t actually answer the question. Your are you okay was left wide open.

–

Friday bursts with color. The morning sun shines like it has an agenda, bleeding through tree branches and your dormroom’s blinds. Outside, the leaves adorn the trees in fire - reds, oranges, yellows, browns. The air bites at your exposed places - your face, your neck, your fingertips - as you hurry to class. 

You don’t hear from Vernon all day - again - but you try not to let it consume your day, like it had yesterday. Something stubborn in you refuses to chase him down two days in a row. If he’s busy, like he said yesterday, then he’ll show up again when he can. 

Still, you muse, instead of listening to your lecture, it sucks that he’s suddenly drowning in responsibilities immediately after saying something as forward as tell them you’re taken, as complicated as if anything is worth hours of my time, it’s you. What did that mean? 

You go back to your dorm after class, wanting to stash your heavy bag and put on comfier shoes before heading to the student center for dinner. Your roommate, a loud red-head from one of the land-locked American states (you cannot ever remember which one), is practically waiting for you, shoving her phone in your face as soon as you’re through the door.

It should annoy you, but Sylvie is one of the only people on campus that you consider a friend besides Vernon. 

“Check out this post,” she says, and as your eyes take in the screen you can see she’s showing you a video on social media. 

You let your bag slide off your shoulder and down your arm to rest on the floor, your eyes on her screen. The video is dark and heavy with jewel tones. Either Sylvie’s sound is off or the video is silent. It seems to be filmed nighttime scenes from a circus or festival - entertainers in deep purple and black harlequin diamonds drift in and out of view, a golden lion shakes his mane. A ferris wheel lit in white and red drifts lazily past a waning moon. A tightrope walker in royal blue sequins teeters precariously, a clown smiles through narrowed eyes, too close to the camera. The last shot seems to be the circus tent from afar, the night dark around it, the warm light from the open tent-flap glowing and inviting. Then, a graphic: a series of dates, a location, and the words “dusk to dawn”.

“Is that near here?” you ask. “It’s only open at night? That’s bizarre.”

You look at the account’s handle - it’s midnight_menagerie. 

“Click it,” Sylvie says from over your shoulder, where she’s been watching along with you. You tap the account name, but nothing comes up. The video disappears, taking you to Sylvie’s home screen instead. 

Your brows furrow. 

“The account doesn’t exist,” Sylvie informs you, a tint of excited hush in her voice. 

“You mean, it’s private?” you ask, moving further into the room now that you’ve looked at what she wanted you to. 

“Nope,” she says, following you as you scoot your bag closer to your desk and toe your shoes off. “If it was private, you would get their page but the posts would be hidden. I’ve been talking to everybody about it today - it’s the same for all of us. The video comes up on our feed, but the account goes nowhere. Can’t search for it either. Isn’t that weird?”

She asks this in a way that implies that “weird” means wonderful, exciting, interesting. 

“It’s something,” you reply, though you think it’s probably very clever marketing. Halloween looms - advertising a circus or carnival right now would certainly benefit from leaning into the spooky factor. It’s a smart tactic, actually. 

“It’s tonight,” she says, her fox-like smile growing. 

You consider this, knowing what she’s asking. “I don’t know, Syl.”

“Rana’s whole suite is going, we could ride with them. It’s in the parking lot of that old, closed-up mall? The one by that good Mexican place?”

You laugh. “I had a birthday party in there when I was a kid. The mall, not the restaurant.”

“Pleaaaase go with me?”

You make a noncommittal noise, like you’re considering it. But you already know you’ll go - what else are you going to do tonight, with Vernon not answering again? Sit around and moon over him? Absolutely not.

“Probably,” you tell her finally, and she lets out a tiny squeal. “But I really need to eat first.”

“Dinner,” she agrees. “Then, creepy mysterious circus!”

–

The night is overcast, affording views of neither stars nor moon. You shiver slightly as you stand in line to purchase tickets, Sylvie resting her chin on your shoulder and trying to huddle for warmth.

“I told you to wear a jacket,” you grumble at her, but you’re all bark and no bite. The breeze is just cool enough to be unpleasant, even with the jacket you wore, and the branches and leaves rustle in the distance, barely louder than the distant circus music that must be emanating from inside the tent. 

“Can’t believe we have to buy paper tickets,” Rana complains. She lives down the hall from you and Sylvie, and you share a math class. Aside from those factors, you don’t have much in common.

“I think it’s part of their whole schtick,” you muse. “Virtual tickets are too… modern. Normal. They’re trying to make it feel old-timey, I think.”

“It’s not a schtick,” Sylvie complains. “You suck the fun out of everything.”

“Mean,” you say, though your feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest. Sylvie lives with her head in the clouds; you’re much more grounded. It’s another balance in your life.

When you reach the ticket booth, the woman who stares back at you looks like she’s styled head-to-toe like an old-Hollywood version of someone else’s culture.

“Come on,” you complain under your breath. “What’s next, she’ll pull out a crystal ball?” 

“Cash only,” Rana scoffs, just as quietly. “Haven’t these people heard of Venmo?”

You send her an amused smile as the woman behind the glass slides four paper tickets through the slot. They’re the tiny blue raffle tickets of your youth, attached to each other by perforated edges. Sylvie rips them and hands you each a slip.

“Show starts at midnight,” the woman tells you, her voice lilting with an accent that you find hard to place. “We recommend being seated at least ten minutes before.”

You glance at your phone. Your service has gone out - you only have SOS mode. But the time informs you that you have about fifteen minutes to find seats. 

“Come on,” you say, mostly to Sylvie, but everyone files in behind you as you start to push through the crowd.

“Does anyone else have cell service?” Rana’s roommate asks from behind you. 

“Only SOS,” you reply, and the others agree. 

“Must be a dead zone,” Rana muses.

“Or maybe it’s from the magic,” Sylvie says. She’s teasing, but you know her well enough that you’d bet a tiny part of her is hoping she’s right. 

The crowd is heavy, and you struggle to stick together with the other girls as you pass all the typical carnival booths - games that are rigged to be impossible to win, a tent to the left with a sign that reads only “Curiosities”, a tent to the right reading “Menagerie. Caution: DANGEROUS ANIMALS”. 

Now that you’re inside, the noise is overwhelming - people calling conversations, booth-runners hawking for customers, ragtime piano tinkling from speakers high above you. Lights blinks and flash around you and people scream from the rides just around the corner - a funhouse, the ferris wheel, a teacup spinner, and a flying viking ship all have long lines, and you’d bet there are more further in. 

Your stomach growls as you wade through the viscous scent of fried dough and chocolate sauce.

“We’ll spend some time out here after the show, right?” you ask Sylvie, and she nods excitedly.

“I wanna do the ferris wheel,” she says. 

You eye it suspiciously as you pass, still leading your little band towards the circus tent looming further in. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“I’m not sure any of this is,” Rana admits with a little laugh. 

Inside, a man dressed as a jester points to which steps you should take into the audience. You lead the way up the rickety bleachers, sliding in as the other girls fill in the space next to you. 

“I should’ve gotten popcorn,” murmurs Sylvie, to your left, but the lights are already starting to dim and the chatter of the crowd begins to hush. 

The ringmaster takes the center of the floor, illuminated by a moving spotlight that chases him from place to place. His voice booms through the crowd, which fills the stands all the way around the edges of the gigantic tent. Every seat seems filled as you glance around. 

When he’s done greeting the crowd - welcoming you to the Midnight Menagerie, his voice echoing strangely, like the sound system has a lag - the lights go out completely, plunging the crowd into sudden black. Beside you, Sylvie sucks in a sharp breath, her hand finding your knee in panic. 

When a spotlight comes back on, illuminating a man in a red, sequined top, you exchange a look with her, laughing at yourselves a little. Still, it takes some time for your heart to calm, for your systems to agree that you are not currently in danger. 

You watch in nervous anticipation through several acts - a lion tamer, a tightrope walker, a magician whose partner vanishes through what appears to be a completely normal hula-hoop and reappears on the back of an elephant. 

Between each act, the lights go off like they did at first. As your eyes adjust, each time, you feel certain you see movement along the sides of the ring and in the crowd, vaguely glowy - but once your eyes adjust fully everything is as it should be - performers in the ring’s center, audience seated and enthralled. 

At one point, you’re certain you see a skeletal face in the audience, straight across from you. But, of course, when the lights come up, there’s nothing amiss. You roll your eyes at yourself and try to focus on the show. 

Below you, in the ring, a trio of jugglers wander the perimeter. There’s clearly a main juggler - the crowd gasps in delight and fear as he switches out colored balls for more interesting and dangerous items, including what you think is a chainsaw. 

But your attention isn’t on him.

You lean forward in your seat, squinting across the ring. One of the other jugglers has caught your eye - you know that slender build, the sharp jaw, the slice of unsmiling mouth. 

Your hand shoots sideways, to Sylvie. 

“Is that Vernon?” you ask, though you’re sure it is. 

“What?” she asks, leaning sideways to hear you better.

You lift a hand to point. “Is that Vernon?” you repeat, more emphatically, and she looks that way, but the juggler has turned his back to your section of the crowd, entertaining the stands on the far side of the ring. So far away and through the dim lighting, it’s impossible to tell. 

“I don’t think so,” she says, a bit of a laugh in her voice. “You’ve got Chwe on the brain? I knew you had a thing for him.”

You don’t let your eyes leave the juggler, but for the rest of his portion of the show, he doesn’t show his face. When he exits the tent, a line of coffee-black horses trotting in to replace the jugglers, you sink back, disappointed. 

Doubt plays with your memory, but you’d been sure it was him. It eats at you. You’re not even sure what the horses do, you’re so distracted. 

When the lights come back up, Rana leads you all back out of the tent. The night’s grown even colder, but the other girls are noisy and excited, unbothered as they discuss if they want to do rides or games first. 

“I have to pee,” Sylvie announces. “I bet the line is insane.”

“We’re starving,” Rana says. “Why don’t we just all meet at the ferris wheel in like twenty minutes?”

“That’s fine,” you agree. You don’t say what your plan is - to zigzag through the crowd and look for a certain familiar razor-sharp smirk.

You scan the crowd obsessively as you walk - there are jesters, clowns, acrobats, jugglers weaving through the civilizations, performing for tips. 

If that was Vernon you spotted - and you’re sure it was - then he’s here somewhere. And you have questions. Is this why he’s been so hard to reach, even missing work? Why didn’t he just tell you he got a new job? When did he learn to juggle? Why the secrecy? 

It takes you only minutes to spot him, stepping behind a funhouse. Your heart gallops as you register that it was him, adrenaline flooding your system.

“Vernon!” you call. A few guests turn, but you ignore them, hurrying to follow your friend around the side of the ride, behind the noisy generator it’s hooked up to. “Hey! Vernon Chwe!”

He has to hear you. He has to hear you - there’s no logical way he doesn’t. You’re too close to him, your voice loud and clear. But he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even slow his step. You watch his shoulders dip between two staff tents, and then you’re jostled sideways by some rowdy frat guys, and you lose him again. 

You make for the tents where Vernon vanished, but find yourself back on the main strip of booths, next to a darts game. You pause, frowning. You hadn’t turned back to this area - had in fact been moving away from it. 

Flummoxed and annoyed, you head back towards the funhouse. If you go around its side, you should be back where you spotted those staff tents. 

But when you turn the funhouse’s corner, right behind the generator like before, the tents aren’t there - instead there seems to be a small beer garden, roped off, the tables all slammed with bodies.

You stand there, staring at it. Are there two funhouses? Did you get turned completely around? Something crawls under your skin, up your spine - some kind of intuition starting to pay attention. 

You head back around for the main line of booths, hoping to catch sight of the top of the tent. From there, you can orient yourself again, follow the path from the tent that your friends had just taken minutes ago. But you can’t spot the top of the tent, in any direction. It’s like it’s not even there. 

Giving up on finding the staff tents, you go back to your original plan - aimless wandering, watching for Vernon. As you navigate the thick crowd, squeezing past elbows and pressing through small gaps, you can’t help but notice how tense you feel. Your heart races, your palms sweat. 

The DANGEROUS ANIMALS tent catches your eye, and you step sideways out of the flow of foot-traffic to take a breath, to take stock of what’s happening. You pull out your phone and check it, but you still have no service. 

That ragtime piano music tinkles from hidden speakers above you, mixing with the noise of conversation. Your ears prick. The music’s in a minor key - it wasn’t before, it shouldn’t be. 

And then the strangest thing happens - as soon as you’ve noted it, it continues on merrily, the minor key abandoned.

Get a grip, you tell yourself firmly. It’s supposed to be spooky here. It’s part of the brand. 

But that intuition is crackling, telling you that maybe you should find Sylvie and head for the doors. 

Decision made, your feet lead you towards the ferris wheel looming in the distance, its lights blinking white and purple. 

You bump into someone, your eyes on the ferris wheel instead of the crowd, and you’re quick to apologize. The man looks at you over his shoulder as he squeezes through the crowd, his face gaunt and skeletal, eyes hollow, black holes.

It’s a costume, you remind yourself, even as your heart gallops. It has to be. But you’re vaguely queasy as you continue on towards your destination. 

Your ears ring loud, as suddenly as being dunked under water, drowning out the crowd and the music. For a second, you’re sure you hear a single, horrified scream through the ringing. But when the ringing begins to fade, your hearing returning to normal, no one in the crowd around you seems fazed. You press on, unnerved even further, legs a little shaky. 

You’re coming up to the end of the ferris wheel’s line when Sylvie appears at your elbow.

“I got you a beer because I love you,” she says in greeting, pressing a sweating plastic cup into your hand. 

“Thank you,” you say, but your eyes are behind her. Your heart leaps as you spot Vernon again, on the far side of the square, colored balls leaving his hands and arching over his head as he walks. 

“Can we go this way?” you ask Sylvie quickly.

Her eyes go wide and she glances at the long line of people behind you. “I thought we were going to ride the ferris wheel?”

“I want to leave,” you tell her honestly. “I’ve felt weird since we left the show. My ears keep ringing and…” 

You trail off. You don’t want to say and I keep getting lost. You don’t want to say I thought I saw a skeletal man. You don’t want to say the music is playing jokes on me, or I think I heard someone scream.

And you really don’t want to say I’m trying to find Vernon.

Rana and her friend appear behind Sylvie.

“Ferris wheel?” Rana asks. 

Sylvie looks at you pleadingly.

“I just want to see something over here,” you say. “Why don’t you guys get in line and I’ll come meet you in a second?”

Sylvie twists her lips; she’s not happy about it, but she doesn’t argue as Rana starts to head to the end of the ferris wheel line. You start to inch in the opposite direction. Somewhere behind you the music flows into the minor key again, chilling and wrong.

You meet Sylvie’s eyes to see if she hears it, but it’s already righted itself again.

Your ears ring again, and as you pass the darts game you’d seen before you notice with some alarm that it is now next to a dunking booth - not the basketball game, like before. Like they switched places.

Or like there’s more than one, you tell yourself firmly. 

You wander clear to the entrance without any luck, where you have no choice but to double back. Your stomach squirms itself into and out of knots; the desire to just leave from here wars with the desire to demand answers from Vernon, here where he’d have to admit that something weird is going on. The decision to stay wins out only because your friends are still inside.

The booths have moved again. Your throat tightens and your stomach lurches as you realize it. There’s no logical argument this time, no maybe there are two - you just walked down this path only moments ago, and now it’s different.

I want to leave. 

The message is strong and clear, enough so that you actually stop walking. Maybe you can meet your friends outside, at the door. You hover, unbalanced, feet unsure which way you’ll walk next.

You’ve just decided to leave, to wait at the entry for Sylvie and the others, when someone steps into your path. You see the overhead arch of blue - then red, then yellow - before you register that Vernon stands before you. He juggles flawlessly, his eyes never following his tools - all blind faith that they’ll follow directions.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” you blurt out, recognizing the words as the same you’d said to him in the library. “Vernon, what the fuck is going on? Do you work here now? Why is it so weird here?”

He tilts his head, considering you. His hands work mindlessly, tossing and catching simultaneously, even as he puzzles you out. 

“Perhaps the hardest thing a juggler must learn to do,” he says calmly, instead of answering you, “is see things without looking at them.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “What the fuck, Vernon!”

His eyes look at you, but they don’t seem to see you. “Those are the words of Paul Cinquevalli, in his article How to Succeed as a Juggler.”

“I don’t care what Paul Cincanelli has to say about juggling!” you tell him hotly, but your anger is covering fear. Something in his dead eyes is screaming at you - this is not your Vernon. “I need you to explain to me what’s going on!”

“Juggling is more than muscle memory - it’s balance. Balance of your body against the sphere of gravity around you, balance of your muscle memory against the wandering of your mind. Balance is something you maintain, not something you achieve. It needs constant -”

“Vernon,” you interrupt him fiercely. You watch his eyes carefully. They’re flat, the brown not even his brown - and you know his brown by heart. 

You look at each other in silence. Vernon’s flat gaze feels somehow pensive, like he’s confused by your presence.

You’ve been arguing with yourself all night, finding logical excuses for every strange happening, but the sense that you are losing Vernon - your best friend, your person - drives you to admit what you didn’t want to: something supernatural is happening here, whether you believe in it or not. 

“Vernon,” you say, quieter this time, tentative. “Do you know who I am? Do you know me?”

His brows furrow now, the first sign of an emotion on his face, and his mouth opens just slightly like he’s weighing his answer. Then, a hand closes around your upper arm and tugs you sideways.

“We stood in line and did the ferris wheel without your stupid ass!” Sylvie informs you, cranky. You look back up at Vernon - but of course, he’s gone, as if he were nothing but an apparition.

You close your eyes and inhale shakily. Do you go after him again? For how many hours can you chase him around the grounds - just to get nonsense juggling philosophy spouted at you?

Maybe you need to sleep. Maybe you need to get away from here and let your mind recover. 

“Can we go home?” you hear yourself whisper, and Sylvie softens.

“Are you okay?” she asks, peering at you. Rana and her friend stroll up behind her, phones in hand.

“Oh, good, my service works here,” Rana says, her eyes on her screen. “I guess since we’re so close to the entrance. Should I order a ride home, or are we doing another lap?”

Sylvie’s eyes find yours - she’s going to let you make the call.

“I want to go home,” you say, as steadily as you can. But even as you step outside, even as you enter your rideshare, even as you leave the circus lights behind in the night, the feeling clings to you that something has altered in your world that can’t be fixed, can’t be put right.

–

It doesn’t surprise you at all when Vernon doesn’t reappear on campus over the weekend. Your texts don’t even go through to his, anymore, instead showing up with a red exclamation point. 

On Monday, you consider doing another lap of campus - to his dorm, to his classes, to his job. It’d be a waste of time and energy. You know where he is. You just don’t know why - can he not leave? Is whatever strange force made him so blank and empty also keeping him physically there? 

Part of you thinks about asking for help - from the police, from the university, from his parents. Surely an adult could walk into the Midnight Menagerie and just drag him by an elbow back to reality, back to being himself?

You know there’s no way you’ll ever say to an authority figure that you think a creepy circus has taken over your friend. 

You ask Sylvie to let you know if she sees any more posts from the Midnight Menagerie, since searching for the account finds nothing.

“Why?” she asks, suspicious.

“Just trying to see something,” you mumble.

In the end, you find a post yourself, scrolling before going to sleep on Wednesday night - five whole nights since you saw Vernon there.

Final Show, the caption reads, with Friday’s date. 

You don’t weigh options, you don’t consider different choices. You’ll go. You’ll find him. And you’ll bring him home.

You go alone this time, and maybe that’s why it feels colder, seems darker. 

The night feels like a thing alive, pressing in around you as you navigate the crowded main strip of booths. You don’t buy a ticket for the show this time. Instead, when midnight rolls around, you circle the outside of the giant tent, looking for the performers’ exits. 

It takes two entire laps of the humongous tent before you find it, as if it had hidden from you the first time. Maybe it did. Apparently that’s a thing that can happen here.

You tuck yourself away, out of sight of the performers who come in and out of the entry, carefully waiting. When the main juggler - who is carrying something resembling a chainsaw - exits the tent, wiping sweat from his brow, you spring forward, knowing Vernon will be right behind him. You manage to catch your prey by the elbow and pull him hard, tugging him clear around the tent, out of view of the other performers.

It’s the element of surprise that allows you to succeed in this minor kidnapping, and nothing else. 

He blinks at you, his hands holding the colored balls at his sides - red and blue in one hand, green and yellow in the other. 

He stares at you in empty confusion, mouth scrunched just slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

“I’m taking you home,” you tell him shortly, suddenly very over this whole thing. 

His eyes are still the wrong color, and they blink at you slowly. “This is my home,” he says finally.

“No,” you say hotly, “your home is on campus, with me. And, somewhere in the countryside, at your parents’ house. Your parents? Remember them? They’re nice people. Your sister, too. I get it if you’ve decided that I don’t matter, but them?”

“I am home now,” he says, a tiny bit insistently, like he’s forgotten to be blank. 

“Vernon,” you plead. “Come with me.”

He shakes his head; it’s the first time he’s reacted in any physical way. “I belong here.”

“That’s bullshit,” you say, halfway hoping you’ll provoke him if you get angry enough. You belong with me, you want to say. 

Vernon - not really Vernon, somehow - doesn’t answer this, just blinks at you again. His right hand twitches, like he’s fighting to keep it still.

“Fuck it,” you mutter to youself. You meet his gaze firmly, determined and angry and confused and ready to tackle this. “Why not say it? The worst that can happen isn’t you reject me. The worst that can happen is this isn’t enough to get you out of here. So, I’ll say it. You don’t belong here. You belong with me. You’re mine, Vernon Chwe, not… not this.” It’s hard to argue against something when you don’t know who your opponent is - a magical force? A spirit? Is there a magic ringleader?

Vernon blinks again, but you swear something ripples in his face, some change to the edges of his expression, like the mask has cracked enough to let some air in, and now the seal isn’t tight. 

“I don’t want you to stay here,” you tell him firmly. “I don’t want to lose you to this… this place. This thing.”

Your ears ring suddenly, your sense of balance going wobbly for just a few quick seconds before normalcy trickles back in. Your heartbeat is loud - almost louder than his answer.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Vernon says, and there’s something in his voice that makes your eyes snap back to his - some musicality, some glimmer of Vernon in his tone. 

His eyes are beautiful, golden brown. His brown.

You feel sure that somehow, you’re speaking to your Vernon again.

“So… you’ll just go?” you ask, your voice thin and quiet, a stark opposite to the fire you’d leveled at him a second ago, when he wasn’t him. “What about school? Your family - your music?”

He doesn’t address any of this. “You could come too,” he says, instead, and you stagger back a step, eyes wide, trying to understand him.

“Come where?” you ask, breathless, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. 

He shrugs, nonplussed, suddenly so extremely Vernon after the lack of Vernon-ness that it seems overdone. “Wherever we go next.”

You do laugh, now, once and without humor. As if you could just walk away from your family, from your future, from your friends, from your life. To do what, exactly - be Vernon’s little circus girlfriend as the unnatural operation goes to the next town to claim its newest victims?

Vernon’s looking at you intensely, gauging your expression. “What do you think?” he asks, and there’s something suddenly vulnerable in his tone. Your heart cracks, begs you to reach for him. “Do you think you could? Learn to juggle or balance or - or something?”

Your breath leaves you, your pulse skittering, your head going woozy. 

You’re very sure that, for whatever reason, this is your Vernon pushing through whatever supernatural shit has him - and saying what he wants to say in the only way he can, the casual words hiding what he really means. He’s admitting that he’s scared, alone. He’s begging for you to be with him. 

And at any moment his face might go too tight again, his expression blank, and then he’ll be gone again. You’re sure of it, in the same way you’re sure you’re running out of air when you’re underwater for too long, in the same way you’re sure that something is too hot when your skin stings. 

He holds your gaze. As the ferris wheel begins to cycle behind you, his face comes in and out of light and shadow - he’s him, then he’s gone, then yours again. 

You think of him, golden in the sunlight, an arm over your shoulders, his lips against the top of your head. You think of him laughing at one of your stupid jokes, you think of the way his voice goes low when he’s not being careful. 

Could you - walk away from everything, follow him into uncertainty, just to know that he won’t be alone, won’t be scared anymore?

Light passes over his face, leaves it in shadow, lights it again. His eyes are brown, but you can’t tell which brown. 

You think of his hands on your waist, keeping you steady. You think of his smile, razor-sharp and clever. You think of the way your pulse dances and your stomach flutters and your mood buoys when he’s around. You think of how empty your life felt during the few days that he was trapped here.

He slowly lifts his hand, palm up and fingers open. His eyes stay steady on yours as he holds his hand out. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to persuade you any more. He simply watches you, and he waits.

Your answer hangs in the balance.

--

“I’m proud of you!” he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his heart. “It only took, what, six months and undeniable proof of him messaging his ex from your bed? Growth, babe.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already reaching into his coat pocket for his phone, thumb tapping away with theatrical flair. A few seconds later, yours buzzed.”Wooyoung…”

“I’m just saying,” he said, all innocent like as he straightened up and began backing toward the door, “sometimes a girl needs a little visual aid to move on.” You looked at your screen and saw a link.

wooyoung: For when you’re lonely 😌 You’re welcome

He winked, hand already on the doorknob. “Trust me. Watch it alone. Preferably with a glass of wine. And maybe a towel.”

“You are so…”

“Helpful?” he interrupted, grinning like the devil. “Exactly. Byeee!” The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled in again. You stared at the link for a long moment, smirking to yourself as you shoved your phone in your bag. Whatever weird video Wooyoung had sent could wait. Right now, you still had papers to grade… and a very peaceful, boring night ahead.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time you got home, the sky had turned the color of smudged charcoal, the chill of the late evening settling into your bones. You barely managed to kick your shoes off before the familiar smell of spice and soy sauce hit you like a comforting wave. Your apartment was warm. Lived in. The scent of your favorite dish from Yunho’s parents’ restaurant drifted from the coffee table, where three opened takeout boxes were already being attacked with chopsticks. Steam curled up lazily in the lamplight.

“Hey,” came his voice from the couch, low and distracted. “I didn’t know if you were staying late again, so I brought you dinner just in case.” You rounded the corner to the living room and found your best friend exactly where you expected, half lying, half slouched across the couch in the way only Yunho could manage, PS5 controller in hand, socked feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table like a menace.

He didn’t even look away from the TV. “There’s galbi, kimchi fried rice, and that soup you like. I left the radish out this time, cause I’m nice like that.” You dropped your bag with a grateful sigh and toed off your other shoe. “You’re disgustingly good to me sometimes.”

“I know,” he said smugly, tongue peeking out slightly between his lips as he focused on a combo in his game. “I’m the best fake husband in Seoul. Honestly, someone should marry me just for my food sense.” You snorted. “Someone should marry you just to keep you from dying of snack related malnutrition. When I moved in, you were living on ramen and banana milk.”

“That was a delicate nutritional balance,” he countered, eyes still locked on the screen as you wandered toward the food, nudging his leg with your knee. “Pause and eat, or I swear I’m changing the WiFi password.”

“Power move,” he muttered, pausing the game with a sigh and finally looking up at you. His hair was still a little damp from his earlier shower, falling into his eyes, and his hoodie was slightly too big. He stretched, arms high over his head, hoodie rising just enough to reveal a flash of toned abs before settling again.

You blinked and immediately looked away. No big deal. He was always like this. You dropped onto the other end of the couch and grabbed the container closest to you, stealing a bite of the rice before he could reclaim it. Yunho just leaned back, watching you with that lazy grin of his. “Rough day?”

You hummed. “Kids were wild. Wooyoung was worse.” His grin widened. “What did he do now?” You hesitated. “He… sent me something. Called it a gift.”

“Oh god.”

“Exactly.”

“Please tell me it’s not another playlist of breakup anthems titled, men ain’t shit vol. 5.’”

“Nope.” You reached for your bag, pulling your phone out. “It was a link this time. Said I needed something visual to help me get over my ex.”

Yunho looked vaguely horrified. “Please tell me you didn’t open it in front of students.”

“Of course not,” you scoffed. “I haven’t even looked at it yet.”You laughed around your spoon, already unlocking your phone without thinking. “You know what? I’m gonna go to my room and suffer in private.” He waved you off. “Enjoy whatever weird shit that man’s into.” You stood, phone in hand, and started walking toward your room.

You ate in bed, legs tucked under you, laptop open with some old comfort show playing in the background. Chopsticks in one hand, your phone in the other, screen still lit up with that message from Wooyoung, unopened. It stared at you like a dare. But you weren’t biting. Not yet. Not when galbi and rice were calling. Not when your muscles still ached from standing all day trying to get a room full of fourth graders to not weaponize glitter glue.

You set your empty food containers aside with a satisfied sigh and padded barefoot to the bathroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards under your feet a lullaby you’d gotten used to since moving in. The shower steamed up fast, warm, clean, and quiet. Your shoulders dropped, tension melting as the water poured over you. You didn’t even bother closing the door all the way. No need. Yunho had seen you in your bathrobe more times than you could count. He never cared. Never looked twice. Not like that.

Still, you didn’t hum or play music like usual tonight. Maybe it was the weird mood lingering from Wooyoung’s cryptic message. Maybe it was something else. Just as you rinsed the last of the conditioner from your hair, you heard the unmistakable creak of the bathroom door opening and wiped the water from your face, unfazed. “Yunho?”

“Yeah, it’s just me,” he called casually over the sound of the water. “Sorry. I really gotta pee.” You snorted. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock,” he said, the sound of him flipping the toilet lid up following immediately. “You didn’t hear me over your shampoo commercial.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother covering up. “Not like this is new. Pretty sure we stopped pretending about bathroom boundaries when we both got food poisoning that one weekend.” Yunho laughed, voice a little groggy like he’d just been dozing. “Dark times. I still can’t look at chicken katsu the same.”

He flushed, and you stepped away from the running water of the shower a moment as it got hot, and you heard the water run briefly. Then the soft sound of his socked feet shuffling across the tile. “You want me to warm you some tea?” he asked, hand on the doorknob now. “I’m good,” you called back.

“Alright. Night.”

“Night.”

The door clicked shut again. And you were left with the water running, your heart suddenly ticking a little too loud in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d come in while you were showering.

But for some reason… it felt different tonight.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Steam followed you out of the bathroom like a lazy fog, warm skin prickling as the cooler air of your room kissed it. You shut the door behind you, towel twisted on top of your head, still drying off with a quiet hum in your throat as you moved on autopilot, body lotion, oversized sleep shirt, a pair of old cotton shorts. It was muscle memory at this point, the same nighttime rhythm every night since you’d moved in with Yunho last year. He always teased you for being chronically cozy.

You turned off the main light, crawled into bed, and let the soft yellow glow of your nightstand lamp cast a halo across your sheets. Your phone blinked with a notification, the tiny preview of Wooyoung’s last message still hovering there like a neon temptation. You stared at it for a second, then another. You weren’t actually planning to open it. You should just close your eyes, throw on your sleep playlist, and pass out like a responsible adult with children to educate in the morning.

But then again, Wooyoung had a way of being… shockingly on point with his chaos. With a sigh, you unlocked your phone, tapped the link, and set it on your chest, screen tilted just enough to catch the full view without having to hold it. The page loaded slowly. Too slowly. It started with dim lighting. Soft, almost amber hued. You could hear faint music in the background, lofi, moody, something you might play when grading papers or when pretending you weren’t lonely in bed.

The camera was angled low. Just enough to show the lower half of a man’s torso. Sweatpants clung low to his hips, the waistband dipped just enough to tease something dark and intimate beneath. A hand dragged slowly across bare skin, fingers long and languid, dragging along his own abs in a way that made you squirm. His face wasn’t visible. But his voice was. Low. Smooth. A little husky and playful. “Missed me?” Something in your stomach flipped. That voice was…..

The man’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, slow and deliberate, and your breath caught because that voice was familiar. Too familiar. And then he laughed, just a breathy chuckle under his breath. Quiet. Confident. Not loud enough to be staged, just real.

You propped your phone up a little higher against your chest, shifting beneath the covers like you were settling in for just another typical mindless scroll. Nothing to see here. Just a random hot guy on a random site that your menace of a coworker sent you. Totally normal post shower behavior. Except your pulse had started to pick up, and it wasn’t just from the visual.

He was talking again now, soft, coaxing things. “Bet you’ve been thinking about me… haven’t you?” His voice was rich, smooth, just the slightest rasp at the edges. You exhaled slowly, fingers curled at your stomach, chewing the inside of your cheek. Okay. It wasn’t exactly Yunho’s voice. It was deeper, maybe, lower, like he was trying to keep it quiet. And he was probably using a filter or something. Right? Lots of camboys did that.

Lots of them also had long, veiny hands and fingers that looked suspiciously like they were made for both cooking and ruining lives. You swallowed as the camera panned in tighter. The man, no, the camboy, was palming himself now, slow and teasing through the thin cotton of his gray sweats. His hand flexed once, and your eyes tracked the way his muscles tensed in his stomach. Long lines of definition. A dusting of hair low on his abdomen. You couldn’t look away.

And then, he slid his hand under the waistband. No showy pull down, no dramatic striptease. Just slow fingers wrapping around himself, already hard, thick and big and perfect. Your lips parted slightly, not even aware of the way your thighs shifted under the blankets and your breath caught as he stroked himself with lazy precision, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly how to keep your attention.

And god, it was working.

“Just like that,” he murmured. “You’re watching me, aren’t you?”

Your thighs clenched. But then he shifted back, and the camera caught just a little more of the background. Not much. Just a small portion of a bed. Plain navy comforter. A soft corner of a valorant poster on the wall. Some LED lights above the headboard glowing a faint blue….

Your stomach dropped. Your blood ran cold, and yet heat still licked down your spine. Because now that you were looking, not just watching, but looking, you saw the subtle things. The way his wrist wore that stupid woven bracelet Yunho refused to take off since junior year of college. The exact cut of his jaw in the shadowed corner of the frame as he leaned forward.

The voice hadn’t been a coincidence. The room wasn’t a coincidence. You were watching your best friend. Your roommate. Yunho.

You shot upright like you’d just touched a live wire, the blankets falling from your shoulders as your finger slammed the side of your phone and killed the screen. Your heart thundered in your ears. No fucking way. You sat frozen in your bed, blinking at your reflection in the dark window across from you. Mouth parted. Chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.

It couldn’t be him. You were tired. You were horny. You were spiraling because Wooyoung had sent you some anonymous dick video and your brain had decided to latch onto your hot, too perfect best friend as the scapegoat. That was it. It had to be.

You waited a few seconds. Then another few. Then you turned your phone back on. Just to check. You tapped the screen, heart pounding in your throat as the video paused exactly where you’d left it, his hand still wrapped around himself, the camera angled just low enough to tease, but not enough to prove.

You didn’t hit play again. Instead, your thumb hovered over the profile icon, finally clicking it. The screen blinked as his homepage loaded. “RADIANTYU.” Not exactly subtle considering radiant was Yunho’s rank in valorant and Yu was half of his name.

The profile image was a cropped body shot, shirtless, faceless, in a low slung towel that showed off defined abs and a V line that should’ve come with a warning. A couple of rings on his fingers. A silver chain at his neck with a cross pendant you knew too well….

The bio was short: “Not here for small talk. Just say please.”

You felt your throat tighten. No name. No voice samples on the page. A couple of likes from users named things like missnasty91 and devon4licks. But then you started scrolling. And gods help you, you tapped another video. This one opened differently. He was lying on his side, hand already between his legs, voice thick and lazy. “I know what you came for,” he said lowly. “Why don’t you sit back and let me take care of it?” Your toes curled, and you immediately clicked out and opened another one. He was in the same room, same soft lighting, but shirtless this time. The camera caught just enough of his mouth when he sucked on his fingers before reaching between his legs again.

You paused that one too. Then clicked another. And another. Your brain was screaming This isn’t him while your gut whispered it is! And you kept watching. You told yourself it was for confirmation. Not because you wanted to hear him say “good girl” again. Not because your thighs were clenched tight beneath the covers. Not because you were one breath away from slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your own shorts.

You clicked back to the original video. And this time, you didn’t look away when he moaned. You didn’t even realize your hand had moved. Somewhere between the second moan and the way his head dropped back out of frame with a breathy, broken “fuck,” your fingers had slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, absently brushing over the heat pooling between your thighs.

It wasn’t intentional at first, just instinct. Just that helpless kind of ache you couldn’t smother anymore. Not with the way he touched himself like that. Not with that voice. That pace. That slow, deliberate stroke of his hand down his dick like he was thinking about you. Like he could see you watching. And fuck, he knew how to move. Lazy and confident, like he had every viewer begging to fill in the blanks, to imagine what it would feel like to kneel between those thighs, to taste the soft curse slipping from his mouth when he was close.

You didn’t want to believe it was him. You couldn’t let yourself believe it was Yunho, your Yunho, splayed out like that in his bedroom, right down the hall, completely unaware that you were now part of his secret world. But you couldn’t not believe it anymore either. Not with the very clear evidence. Because the longer you watched, the more you tuned in to the rhythm of his breath, the occasional muttered praise, the way he grunted low in his throat and spread his legs wider, the more you knew.

You knew that voice. You knew the shape of his hands. You knew the flex of his abs when he tensed. You knew his room. And now, god help you, you knew the sound he made when he was about to come. Your fingers slipped inside yourself without conscious thought, two of them, curling up the way you knew drove you crazy, your hips already moving in slow, needy rolls against your palm. You buried your face in your pillow, the screen balanced on the mattress beside you, the soft sound of his moans washing over you like they were meant for you alone. His voice dropped lower, raspier. “So fucking good for me… that’s it, baby. Keep watching.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper. The pressure inside you was building fast, coiling tight with every pump of his fist on screen. Your fingers matched the rhythm of his, hips moving faster, chasing that edge with every gasped breath, every low curse that fell from his lips like a goddamn prayer. “Come for me,” he growled, voice rough now. “You’ve been so patient.” Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, hot and dizzying, stealing the air from your lungs. “Yunho…” you gasped into your pillow, the name ripping from your throat in a strangled, broken moan as your body clenched hard around your own fingers. You trembled through it, thighs trembling, breath catching on every stuttered sound he made on the screen as he came moments later.

You lay there in the aftershocks, panting. Sweaty. Wrecked. The room was quiet again. Your phone screen faded slowly to black beside you. And it hit you all at once. You had just gotten yourself off, completely, shamelessly, desperately, to a video of your best friend.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Your alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. You hadn’t slept. At least not well. Not with images from last night playing on a loop behind your eyes like a cursed projector. Yunho’s voice, that voice, rasping praise through your earbuds. The way he gripped himself. The soft grunt he let out right before he came. You’d watched the whole damn thing again at 3:00 a.m. Just to “make sure.” Which was a lie. And you knew it.

You pulled on your work clothes in a daze, something soft and professional, but your brain wasn’t even registering fabric or color. Just flashes of gray. Gray. Fucking. Sweatpants. You padded out into the kitchen, hair half up, mug in hand, still telling yourself you were just going to grab coffee and ignore the chaos that lived in your frontal lobe. And then he walked in. Barefoot. Shirtless. Still rubbing sleep from his eyes. And wearing the same goddamn sweatpants from the video. You almost dropped your mug.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, deep and a little hoarse. You froze. You could hear it now. That same exact rasp. “M… Morning,” you replied, way too fast. You tried to look anywhere else, at the fridge, the window, the cat calendar on the wall, but your gaze dragged back to him like it had a mind of its own. And it was bad. The waistband of those pants was low. Dangerously low. The kind of low that made you wonder if he had anything on underneath, and the worst part was, you knew the answer to that now.

His hair was tousled. His eyes still half lidded. And he stretched. Full stretch. Arms up, abs flexing, gray sweatpants tugging lower, and you felt your soul leave your body as he yawned and you clenched your thighs together so hard you thought your bones might snap. “You okay?” he asked, finally blinking at you like a normal human being instead of the devil in disguise. You nodded a little too hard. “Fine! Just… running late.” He glanced at the clock. “You’re early.”

“Nope. Late. Super late.” You grabbed your travel mug like it was a life preserver and started backing toward the door making Yunho tilt his head, brows furrowing. “Did I forget something? Are you mad at me?”

“No! God, no…. why would I be mad?” You let out the world’s most awkward laugh. “You brought me food last night. You’re perfect.” Perfect?! Yunho blinked. “…Okay. You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Well, I’m not!”

“You’re blushing.”

You groaned internally and turned toward the door. “See you later, roommate!”

“Love you, too, psycho,” he called after you.

You paused. Because that wasn’t weird. You two said that all the time. Only now, your brain said it differently. Love you, but moaning. Love you, but breathless and wrapped around him. Love you, but saying his name with a broken gasp as you came so hard you saw stars. You shut the door behind you and leaned back against it, eyes wide. “Oh my fucking god,” you whispered to yourself. “I came to Yunho. I came to my best friend.” And he was in the kitchen right now. Drinking oat milk. In those sweatpants.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The minute your car rolled into the school parking lot, you spotted him. Wooyoung. Leaning against the hood of his little black coupe like it was a throne, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, already dressed like a walking HR violation in joggers that were just tight enough and a windbreaker zipped halfway down his chest. You barely had your keys out of the ignition before you were storming across the lot, lips pressed into a thin line, heart pounding out a staccato of, what the fuck what the fuck what the FUCK.

He saw you coming and immediately grinned. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the queen of delayed gratification. How was your gift, hmm?”

“You!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “Did you know?” Wooyoung blinked behind his sunglasses. “Uh… did I know what?”

“That video,” you hissed, voice low but sharp. “The link you sent me. That man. That fucking…” Wooyoung’s grin widened. “Oh, so you did open it.” You grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the side of the car like you were about to shake him down for answers. “That’s not just some random camboy, Woo. That’s Yunho.” He blinked. “Who?” You blinked right back. “My Yunho. My roommate. My best friend Yunho.” There was a moment. A very brief, very stupid moment of silence. And then Wooyoung lost his goddamn mind. He doubled over, cackling so hard he nearly dropped his coffee. “NO… NO FUCKING WAY! You’re lying. No. That’s…” He wheezed. “That’s the guy in the video? Your Yunho? With the arms and the voice and the hands…”

“Yes!” you hissed, smacking his arm. “I recognized his bedroom, Woo!” Wooyoung had to brace himself on the car. “Oh my god…. holy shit… I didn’t even know his name! I got the link from Yeji’s Discord server, I thought the guy just looked hot… you watched your best friend jerk off?”

“Shut up!”

He snorted. “Did you finish?”

“I hate you.”

He was fully wheezing now. “You watched it all the way through, didn’t you? You nasty bitch!” You covered your face with both hands, groaning into your palms. “I said shut up, Wooyoung.”

“I literally sent it as a joke,” he said, wheezing, “and you unlocked a whole new level of horny best friend trauma… this is the best day of my life.” You peeked through your fingers. “I can never look him in the eye again.” Wooyoung grinned and sipped his coffee like this was a rom com. “Or you could look him in the eye while he’s doing it next time.”

“JUNG WOOYOUNG!”

The bell rang and you both stood frozen for a beat, your voice echoing across the lot and Wooyoung smirked. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” You turned around and walked away before you could commit an actual crime.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The bar wasn’t exactly packed, it was one of those cozy Friday night after work spots, dimly lit with just enough music to fill the space without making you shout. You and Wooyoung had claimed a small booth in the corner, two empty cocktail glasses already on the table and a third round on the way. He was halfway through his usual. something fruity, something neon, something completely ridiculous, and you were nursing a gin and tonic like it might somehow sober your life decisions. “So let me get this straight,” Wooyoung said, swirling the little umbrella in his drink like it held magical gossip powers, “you recognized him by his voice, didn’t believe it, then confirmed it by his bedroom in the background?”

You glared. “It was the sweatpants.”

He laughed so hard he snorted. “Of course it was the sweatpants. Why is it always the sweatpants?” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “I cannot go home tonight.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, smug. “You just have to act normal. Easy.”

“Easy? I accidentally moaned his name while coming to a video of him jerking off in the same pants he woke up in this morning. You think I can look him in the eye?”

“Babe,” Wooyoung said sweetly, leaning forward over the table, “you looked him in the dick last night.”

“JUNG WOOYOUNG.”

He cackled, completely unfazed. “Look, all I’m saying is…. if you go home acting all stiff and weird and guilty, he’s gonna figure it out.” You stilled. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He took a sip of his drink, then pointed at you. “Yunho is not dumb. He’s like a golden retriever with a 4.0 GPA and emotional intuition. If you so much as blink too hard in his direction, he’s gonna be like, Are you mad at me? Did I forget your birthday? Did I eat your leftovers? Did I say something? Is it my flannel? Should I wear the blue one instead?”

You blinked. “That’s disturbingly accurate.”

He shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”

You leaned back against the booth, sipping your drink, staring off into the middle distance like a woman on the brink. “He was so… confident, Woo. Like…. talking dirty, praising. It was so… intentional.”

“And you loved it,” Wooyoung said proudly. “I raised you well.”

“I hate you.”

“You came.”

“Still hate you.”

He giggled and lifted his glass. “To best friend thirst. May your future be filled with awkward glances and unresolved tension.”

You clinked your glass with his out of pure spite.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You managed to unlock the apartment door without dropping your keys, barely. The lights were dim inside. Cozy. Quiet. No sign of Yunho. You exhaled through your nose, nerves tingling with a weird mix of relief and disappointment. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see him or hide from him forever, or worse, see him and melt into a puddle of, “Sorry I accidentally got myself off to your secret porn career please pass the remote.”

“Act normal,” you muttered to yourself, heading straight for the fridge. “Be cool. He doesn’t know. You’re cool. You’re so cool.” You grabbed a drink, sparkling water, because the alcohol was already fogging your brain, and padded barefoot into the living room. The couch welcomed you like an old friend, and you dropped down onto it with a heavy sigh. TV on. Streaming menu open. You picked some random crime docuseries and let the flickering light wash over the room. You sipped, breathed, and kept repeating Wooyoung’s advice in your head like a mantra, Act normal. Or he’ll know.

You could do this. Just chill. Just watch some Netflix and act like you didn’t spend last night coming with his name in your mouth. Twenty minutes passed. The documentary had just reached a dramatic police interrogation scene when your bladder gave the first warning nudge. You groaned, dragging yourself off the couch. You were halfway down the hall, passing Yunho’s closed bedroom door, when you heard it. A voice. His voice. That voice. Low. Deep. Familiar in a way it absolutely shouldn’t be now. “yeah, just like that… don’t stop. You’ve been so patient for me, haven’t you?”

You froze. You weren’t imagining it. Your ears knew that cadence now. The way he dragged his vowels out like he was savoring every syllable. The way his voice dipped when he got cocky. The way it broke when he got close. The same voice that ruined you the night before. You didn’t think. You just moved. Straight into the bathroom. Door shut. Locked. And then you just stood there. Palms flat on the counter. Eyes wide in the mirror. Breathing like you’d just run a damn marathon.

Your brain was short circuiting. Yunho was filming right now. He was literally down the hall, in his room, probably shirtless, probably already sweating, probably doing all the same things you’d seen him do in those videos. Only this time you weren’t behind a screen. You were in the same apartment. You were within hearing distance of your best friend moaning for strangers online. And you were going to die. Or worse… listen. You shook your head and turned the shower on.

The mirror fogged over quickly. Your clothes hit a pile on the floor soon after, and the tile was cool beneath your feet as you stepped into the shower, dragging the curtain closed behind you like it could seal in your sanity. But it couldn’t. Not when you could still hear him. Barely audible through the pipes and plaster, his voice filtered through like static on the edge of your thoughts. You couldn’t make out words anymore, but the tone was unmistakable. That low, focused rhythm. That quiet breathlessness when he lost himself. That little hitch when he got close. The sound of it wrapped around your spine like heat.

You braced one hand against the tile, letting the water cascade down your back. It didn’t help. Nothing cooled the fire in your skin. Not when your mind was a reel of everything you’d seen him do, everything you’d heard him say. And now you were hearing it live. Real. You bit your lip, water slipping down your jaw as you lowered your forehead to the wall. Your other hand drifted south, slow, trembling, unsure, and you let yourself feel it. That gnawing ache he’d carved into you since that first click on his profile.

You hadn’t even known you could want him like this. Not until last night. Not until he said “Good girl” in that voice and made your whole world tilt. Your breaths came faster. Fingers moving now, slower, deeper, chasing something you couldn’t name. Outside the shower, he was probably on camera right now, eyes half lidded and teasing the screen with words that made strangers fall apart for him. Praise dripping from his lips. Filthy promises and soft curses spilling out in the same voice he used to ask you if you wanted tea at night. It was too much. Too hot. Too intimate. Like a secret you’d swallowed and couldn’t unhear.

You moaned into the crook of your arm, quiet, broken, shaking against the tile as your body arched and pleasure bloomed deep in your gut, sharp and dizzying. You came hard. His name caught on your tongue like a confession you couldn’t take back. “Yunho…” The sound of it cracked out of you in a breathless whisper as you trembled through it, forehead still pressed to the wall, water beating down over your back like thunder. Silence followed. No sound from his room now. Just your own breath, ragged and uneven in the mist.

You stayed there for a long time. Not moving. Not thinking. Because the only thing worse than what you’d just done… was knowing you wanted to do it again. Steam still clung to your skin when you cracked the bathroom door open. The hallway light was low and golden, and you were already reaching to tighten the towel you grabbed at your chest when you nearly collided with a wall of warm skin and broad shoulders.

Not a wall. Yunho. He was standing right there, barefoot, damp hair curling against his temple, one hand frozen mid reach for the doorframe. For half a second, neither of you breathed. “When did you get home?” he asked finally, voice softer than usual. You caught something flicker behind his eyes, something quick, wary, almost like panic, before he blinked it away and put on that easy smile. “I didn’t even hear you come in.” You forced a shrug, trying to sound casual while your pulse sprinted. “About an hour ago. You were… busy.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze sliding away for a beat. “Just finishing up some… editing.” Editing. Right. You nodded too quickly, clutching the towel a little tighter. The air between you was heavy, thick with the scent of soap and something that still felt like electricity. You had stood in front of him wrapped in a towel a hundred times before, it had never meant anything. But now your brain wouldn’t stop replaying the sound of his voice through the wall, the way his mouth might’ve looked saying those words.

“Did you eat?” he asked, gentle as ever, and the normalcy of it almost made you dizzy. “Uh huh,” you managed, backing a half step toward your room. “Leftovers. Thanks.” He smiled, soft, sleepy, harmless, and somehow that only made it worse. You mumbled a goodnight and slipped past him, heart hammering, the brush of his arm against yours leaving a spark that followed you all the way to your door.

Once you were alone, you leaned back against it, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Because you could lie to him, sure. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It had been a few days. Three, to be exact. Seventy two hours of holding your shit together like a gold medalist in Denial Olympics. And honestly? You were kind of crushing it. No stammering. No suspicious blushing. No accidentally whispering his name like it was your favorite word while zoned out during a team meeting. You’d managed to slip right back into your usual rhythm with Yunho, sharing leftovers, mock arguing about laundry, and yelling at the TV together like two completely normal, totally platonic best friends who you did not masturbate to.

You were fine.

Really.

And you told yourself that again as you opened the front door, kicked off your shoes, and dropped your bag on the floor with a heavy thud. “Home!” you called out, voice tired but cheerful. Yunho’s voice drifted from the living room. “Couch.” You followed the sound like it was muscle memory, and sure enough, there he was. Stretched out, socked feet propped on the coffee table, PS5 controller in hand. He had one of his oversized crewnecks on today, sleeves bunched at his elbows, and a look of deep, exaggerated focus on his face. “Boss level?” you asked, plopping down beside him, stealing a throw pillow for your lap.

He smirked. “Don’t talk to me unless you’re here to cheer.” You snorted, curling into the cushions. “Go team murder or whatever.” Yunho laughed through his nose, biting back a grin as he hit a combo. The game lit up the screen in bursts of movement and color, casting a flickering glow across his jawline, one you tried very hard not to track with your eyes. This was good. This was safe. Just two roommates. Two friends. No tension. No awkwardness.

You didn’t even think about what he might’ve been doing last night with his bedroom door shut and headphones in. You didn’t think about the towel incident. Or the voice. Or the sweatpants. You definitely weren’t thinking about how he looked when he came. Nope. Brain cleared. Vibes immaculate.

“By the way,” he said casually, not looking at you. “You used my shampoo this morning.” You blinked. “What?”

“I could smell it,” he said with a shrug. “It’s fine. I don’t care. You smell nice.” Your whole body stiffened slightly, barely. But enough for you to feel it. You played it off with a breathy laugh. “Wow. Bold to call me out on a hair heist in your gamer era.” He side eyed you with a grin. “You just like smelling like me, don’t you?” Your mouth opened but nothing came out. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d said, his attention fully locked on the boss fight as his thumbs danced across the controller. But your heart? Was not fine.

You lasted maybe twenty minutes on the couch before the day hit you all at once, work stress, kid chaos, a craving for something salty and shameful. Your usual. “I need noodles,” you groaned, stretching your arms over your head like a sleepy cat. “Keep slaying or whatever. I’ll be back.” Yunho grunted in acknowledgment, but you caught the side glance as you stood. Nothing pointed. Just… tracking. You didn’t think too much about it.

Or maybe you did, because instead of staying in your work clothes, you ducked into your room and changed. Just something comfy. Something you’d worn a hundred times. Tiny pajama shorts and a thin tank top. Nothing fancy. Nothing new. Just… soft cotton and bare legs and skin that hadn’t felt cool air since your shower that morning. When you walked back out, the living room was still glowing from the TV, but Yunho’s controller was resting in his lap now. His game was paused. His eyes, however? Not.

He glanced up from his seat, and this time, really looked as you crossed to the kitchen like you didn’t notice, tugging open the cabinet with practiced ease, leaning slightly on your toes to grab the ramen from the top shelf. The movement made your shirt ride up just a little, shorts clinging when you stretched. You felt his gaze linger as the silence stretched behind you, thick and charged. You opened the ramen package, pouring it into the pot with methodical calm, refusing to look back. Acting normal. Like you hadn’t just derailed the entire atmosphere with a pair of shorts. Like his eyes weren’t burning into your spine.

“You want some?” you asked over your shoulder, voice casual, light. There was a beat of silence before he cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure.” You grabbed a second pack and tossed it in the pot. Still not looking. Still very aware of how quiet it had gotten behind you. Of the way the air shifted. Of how heavy his stare felt, hot, questioning, different now. And how, for the first time in days, you kind of wanted to turn around and look back.

The ramen boiled fast, faster than your pulse managed to settle. You ladled it into two mismatched bowls, grabbed a pair of chopsticks for each, and turned just in time to see Yunho shifting on the couch to make room. His game controller was set aside now, the screen switched to Netflix, some mindless comfort movie already queued up. “You always make the best instant ramen,” he said, reaching for his bowl as you handed it to him. “It’s literally boiling water and noodles.”

“Yeah, but yours has, like… love.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, flopping down beside him and tucking your legs under you. The couch dipped under your weight, your bare thigh brushing his sweats. You didn’t move. Neither did he. You both stared at the screen as the movie began, the sound of chopsticks clinking against ceramic the only real noise between you. Comfortable. Familiar. Until it wasn’t. Because at some point, your knees bumped again, and Yunho didn’t shift away. If anything, he leaned closer, just a little. Just enough that your shoulders touched. His scent clung to his him like laundry soap, his cedar shampoo, and that faint trace of warm skin you swore was burned into your memory from three nights ago.

You focused hard on the ramen. So hard, you didn’t even register the line in the movie that made him laugh under his breath. But you felt it. The sound of it, soft, genuine, close. You glanced sideways, bowl in hand, just to catch the curve of his grin. And he was already looking at you. Not in a weird way. Not overly intense. Just… watching you eat ramen like it was the most natural thing in the world and your stomach twisted. Not from the noodles. Not even from the memory of his videos. But because for the first time in days… you weren’t panicking. You were melting. Quietly. Slowly. Beside him. In the space where friendship used to be simple.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It had been a week. Seven full days of you and Yunho slipping back into rhythm like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t heard his voice through the wall. Like you hadn’t felt it echo through your whole body in the shower. And somehow, it had worked. You’d kept it together. At home, everything was smooth. Movie nights, shared takeout, dumb banter about his messy laundry habits. No weird tension. No awkward looks.

Except for the quiet little moments that made your skin prickle, when his knee bumped yours under the table and didn’t move. Or when he let his fingers linger too long as he passed you the remote. Or when he came out of the shower one morning shirtless and his hair still wet, and all you could think about was what else he might’ve done before rinsing off. You were fine. Until now.

Because now you were walking into his world. Yunho’s parents’ restaurant was tucked into a cozy side street downtown, the kind of place with regulars, warm wood panels, and the smell of magic in every dish. You’d been here a dozen times before, but it felt different today. Maybe because Wooyoung was with you. Or maybe because you hadn’t seen Yunho since that morning, he left for the restaurant early, mumbling something about prep shifts and delivery orders, and you hadn’t texted since.

You adjusted your tote bag and glanced at the menu even though you already knew what you wanted. Wooyoung didn’t. He was too busy scanning the place like he was searching for secrets. “Nice place,” he muttered. “Smells like good decisions and generational guilt.” You snorted. “You’re so weirdly poetic when you’re hungry.”

“No, seriously,” he said, leaning closer. “He works here every day? Like… all day?”

“Pretty much. Prep, lunch rush, dinner service. He runs half the kitchen now.”

Wooyoung gave you a sideways glance, sipping from his water. “So you’re telling me your hot secret camboy roommate also makes killer galbi and probably knows how to dice onions at warp speed?”

You closed your eyes. “Wooyoung…”

“I’m just saying, your future husband is busy.”

Before you could tell him to shut up for the fifth time that day, you heard it. “Y/N!” Yunho’s voice, cheerful and unmistakably his. You turned in your seat just as he emerged from the back, black apron tied around his waist, sleeves pushed up, hair tucked under a cap but still messy from the heat of the kitchen. He looked flushed and golden and like he’d just stepped out of a Kdrama that started with a meet cute and ended with a broken bedframe. He beamed when he saw you. “Didn’t know you were coming by.”

“Last minute lunch,” you said, smiling a little too quickly. “Figured we’d surprise you.” His eyes flicked to Wooyoung, then back to you. “Good surprise.” He said it to both of you, but his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than it should’ve. And you felt it. All over again. That ripple under your skin. That itch in your stomach. Like something was about to change as he took your order.

Yunho flashed you one more grin before disappearing into the kitchen with your order slip, promising “extra crispy egg on top, just how you like it.” His apron strings bounced slightly as he turned, and you didn’t even try to pretend you weren’t watching him walk away. Because how could you not? Tall, flushed from the heat of the kitchen, forearms flexing as he pushed the door open, that damned cap pushed backwards on his head like a personal attack. And Wooyoung saw it. “God,” he said, dragging out the syllable like it physically hurt him. “You are the strongest person I know.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You,” he said, jabbing a finger at you across the table. “You, specifically. The willpower it must take to live with that man, watch his videos, know what he sounds like when he comes, and still walk around fully clothed in his presence…” You tried to shush him, voice low. “Woo…”

“No. No, I’m serious,” he continued, leaning in, voice pitched to the exact level that made it worse. “If it were me? I would’ve climbed him the minute I saw that vein pop in his neck mid stroke.”

Your eyes widened. “JESUS!”

“I mean it!” he hissed, flapping his hands like he was fighting off a holy vision. “He’d be cooking eggs, and I’d be behind him like, Surprise! No pants!” You slapped your palm over your face. “Please shut up.”

“I would’ve been horny homeless,” he said, dead serious now. “My lease would be canceled. My dignity? Gone. I would’ve ridden that man so hard the ghost of his ancestors would’ve felt it.” You were wheezing, forehead hitting the table as you tried to quiet the scream of a bewildered laugh building in your chest as Wooyoung smirked over his drink. “And you… you just eat ramen next to him like he didn’t invent edging. You’re either a saint or a coward. There is no in between.”

You finally sat up, glaring at him. “You’re not allowed to say edging in public.”

“I say edging everywhere.”

And then, of course, the door to the kitchen swung open again, and Yunho walked out with your food. He looked happy. Bright. Unaware. And you couldn’t look at his hands without remembering what they looked like between his own legs. Wooyoung didn’t help. He leaned toward you with a smirk and whispered just as Yunho was setting the plate down, “Saint it is.”

Yunho set your food down with a soft, “Careful, it’s hot,” before sliding in beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was natural. That was the problem. Because nothing about the way your body reacted to his presence felt “friendly” anymore. You grabbed your chopsticks, suddenly hyperaware of how close your thighs were to his under the table.

Yunho glanced at Wooyoung across from you, smiling like a prince hosting court. “Glad you came by. Food okay?”

“Amazing,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “Compliments to the chef.”

“Thanks,” Yunho said, already mid bite. “It’s mostly my mom, but I make the rice like a beast.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” Wooyoung muttered and you kicked him under the table. Hard. Wooyoung cleared his throat, dramatic as ever, then leaned his chin on one hand like he was settling in for an interview. “So, Yunho,” he said. “Tell me about yourself. Any hobbies?” Your entire soul seized as Yunho blinked. “Hobbies?”

Wooyoung smiled sweetly. “Yeah. What do you do for fun? Outside of cooking.” You panicked as your foot flew under the table again and kicked Wooyoung harder in the shin making him jolt. “Shit!” Yunho turned to you, concerned. “You okay?” You smiled with the intensity of a hostage. “Cramp.”

Wooyoung was trying not to laugh, biting his straw and glaring at you across the table as Yunho gave your thigh a gentle pat under the table, just a quick touch, a friendly squeeze, and you almost dropped your chopsticks. “Poor thing,” he said, eyes soft. “You need to stretch more.”

Wooyoung coughed into his drink. “She probably does.”

You kicked him again. Harder. Yunho didn’t seem to notice the minefield you were barely tap dancing through. He kept eating, totally chill. “I don’t really have a ton of hobbies,” he admitted. “Work keeps me busy. I do some freelance stuff on the side. Mostly online. And gaming.”

Your stomach did a full somersault as Wooyoung raised an eyebrow but, mercifully, didn’t take the bait. You shot him a death glare that said, thank you and also shut your entire mouth forever. He winked at you as you turned to your food, stabbed your egg, and told yourself you were absolutely not going to spontaneously combust at this table. Not today. Not in front of your coworker, his bulgogi, and your best friend who moans like a sin you still dream about.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It was late. The apartment was quiet. just the hum of the fridge, the occasional creak from the hallway, and the faint rhythm of your own breathing as you lay flat on your back in bed, arms spread like you were waiting to be struck by lightning. Yunho had gone to bed over an hour ago. You’d said goodnight casually, like you hadn’t been clutching your chopsticks under the table earlier just to keep your hands from shaking. Like hearing him say “I do some freelance stuff online” hadn’t made your entire body buzz with tension.

You’d nodded. Smiled. Taken it in stride. And then spent the rest of dinner trying not to imagine him on camera, in that room, making a living doing things you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for weeks. You didn’t even realize your phone was in your hand until the screen lit up. Muscle memory. You hesitated. Brows furrowed. Don’t do it. You’re over this.

Except you weren’t.

You opened the site.

His profile was still bookmarked. Top of your private tab. Still no face. Still just the same cropped body shot, abs, towel, chain. But this time… something new. A glowing “recent upload” banner pulsed beneath the thumbnail. New. Posted just last night. The title made your stomach clench, “Could’ve been you.” You blinked as you sat up and clicked it.

The screen went dark for half a second. Your breath hitched. And then he appeared. Soft blue lighting. Bed unmade. Camera lower than usual, catching the edge of his desk chair. Yunho sat lazily back in it, completely bare except for that familiar silver chain around his neck, the cross pendant mocking. Hair tousled like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Eyes low. Lips slightly parted. You swore your heart stopped.

And then he spoke, voice low and smooth and devastating. “You’ve been good for me before. Let me show you how good I can be for you.” Your breath caught in your throat. Not because of what he was doing, not yet, but because of the way he looked. Yunho was leaning back in his chair like he had nowhere else to be, thighs spread wide, body on full display, head tilted slightly. Your entire body went still. Because it wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them. Soft. Focused. Like he was waiting for a reaction. And suddenly, you weren’t just watching him. You were responding.

Your breath picked up. Your thighs squeezed together. That ache you’d worked so hard to ignore for weeks sparked back to life like it had been waiting right under your skin. He shifted in the chair, legs spreading wider, hand already wrapped around himself. Slow. Lazy. Like he had all the time in the world to drag this out and make whoever was watching feel it. “You always get so shy at first,” he said, voice a little lower now, a little rougher, “but I know what you really want. I can see it.” You swallowed. Hard. Your free hand drifted down, slow, tentative at first, until your fingertips brushed your inner thigh. Your skin was warm. Too warm. You kept watching.

He stroked himself with a rhythm that was cruel in its patience. Like he was imagining someone there. Like he already had a face in mind. “You’d let me take my time, wouldn’t you?” he whispered. “You’d let me ruin you slow.” You gasped, quiet, involuntary, your back pressing into the mattress as your hand slipped beneath your waistband. You didn’t even think. You just felt. Like every part of your body was tethered to him through that screen. Like his voice was inside your head now, curling around every nerve ending, unspooling your restraint one breath at a time. “I’d keep you close. I’d hold your face. I’d make you say my name.” Your fingers moved faster as he groaned, low and wrecked, and your eyes fluttered shut as heat bloomed deep in your core, sharp and sudden. “Say it,” he breathed. “Let me hear you.”

And just like before… “Yunho…” you moaned, broken and quiet, hips arching off the bed as the orgasm hit you hard and fast. You came with your forehead pressed into the crook of your arm, chest heaving, fingers shaking. The screen was still glowing beside you, Yunho still moving through the end of the video, voice soft and satisfied. And all you could think was… that could have been you. And god, you wanted it to be.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The apartment was dark and still. Just after midnight. Yunho hadn’t meant to wake up. But nature had other plans, and now he was padding barefoot down the hallway, hoodie tugged halfway down his chest, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The place was quiet. Too quiet.

He passed the bathroom and was about to open the door when he paused. Something made him stop. A sound. Soft. Faint. His head tilted. There it was again. A quiet rustle. A breathless noise. Coming from behind your door. He froze, one hand still hovering near the bathroom knob. Then he heard it. His voice. Not yours. His. Through the wall. Muffled. But clear enough to recognize. That low, coaxing tone he only used on camera. That lazy confidence, the kind that curled around syllables like it knew exactly what it was doing. And then a sound from you.

A choked breath. A moan. His name. “Yunho…”

His body went cold and hot at the same time. He stood there, wide awake now, every nerve in his body crackling like static. You were watching him. His videos. And you weren’t just watching. You were… you’d known. You’d known for who knows how long, and you never said a word. His heartbeat spiked. Part disbelief. Part adrenaline. Part something else, something far more dangerous. The idea of you hearing him like that. Touching yourself to him. Saying his name when you came.

He swallowed hard, backing away from your door like it had teeth. Like the sound of your moan had reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He barely remembered getting back to his room. Barely remembered sitting on the edge of his bed, hoodie still half off, staring at nothing. You knew. And now he knew you knew. And there was no pretending after this.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Saturday morning had always been slow in your apartment. No alarms. No obligations. Just the sun bleeding through the windows, the smell of coffee, and the occasional soft snore drifting from your bedroom well into the late morning. Yunho sat at the kitchen table, staring at his untouched cereal. He’d poured it twenty minutes ago. Milk lukewarm now. Spoon resting on the edge of the bowl. His mind somewhere else entirely.

Your voice.

The way you’d said his name. The way your breath had caught. The soft stutter of your moan, quiet and broken, but not quiet enough. He’d barely slept. Kept hearing you. Kept replaying that one second, that confirmation, you knew. You’d known. And you hadn’t said a word. Which meant something. He just didn’t know what.

The sound of your bedroom door creaked open down the hall, pulling him out of the spiral. Then came the soft shuffle of your feet. The sleepy drag of soles on the floor. He heard you yawn, stretch. Padding into the kitchen like it was any other morning. And then you turned the corner and Yunho nearly choked on air. You were still half asleep, eyes barely open, one hand running through your hair as you wandered toward the fridge. Oversized tshirt swallowing your frame. Just the edge of black panties peeking out when you lifted your arms to stretch again.

That was it. That was all you wore. No pants. No bra. No idea what you were doing to him. And it wasn’t new. You’d done this dozens of times before. But now, after last night? Yunho couldn’t look at you the same. It’s no secret to himself how he’s wanted you for years…. But hearing you moan his name…. His eyes swept over your bare legs, the curve of your thighs, the sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt, and he had to grip the edge of the table to stay grounded.

You rubbed your eye with the back of your hand, voice rough and soft. “Mornin’. Why are you up so early?” He cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep.” You pulled out a carton of juice and didn’t even bother with a glass, sipping straight from it before leaning against the counter with a groan. “Ugh. Feel like I got hit by a dream truck.” Yunho smiled, tight. “You remember it?” You blinked over at him, still groggy. “What?” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

You wandered closer, eyes still half lidded, and dropped onto the couch next to him. Shirt riding up slightly. Legs folded. Completely unaware of how undone you looked. And Yunho? He was wrecked. Because now, every time you said his name, he wouldn’t be able to unhear that version. The one whispered into the night. The one coated in pleasure. The one that had made him need to know what would it sound like if you said it to him?

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The apartment was dark, quiet, safe. Your bedroom door was shut. He’d checked twice. He heard nothing from inside, just the soft hum of the fan you always slept with. You were out cold. He should’ve waited until tomorrow. Should’ve skipped tonight. But the truth was, he hadn’t filmed in days. Not since he heard you moan his name from the other side of the wall. And tonight? Tonight it wasn’t about content. Or fans. Or tips. Or routine. Tonight, Yunho was filming because he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He sat on the edge of the bed, camera already positioned, warm light set to its softest blue setting. Not too bright. Not too staged. Just enough to glow off his skin, to kiss the edge of shadow along his chest and thighs. His chain hung low around his neck, catching the light every time he moved. The camera rolled silently. The timer blinked red. But his eyes weren’t focused on the lens. They were picturing you. The way you looked that morning, bare legs, oversized shirt, hair tangled from sleep. The sleepy rasp in your voice when you said his name like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. It always did.

And now that he knew you’d watched him? That you’d touched yourself to him? It had completely ruined him. He leaned back on his hands, legs parted slightly, breath already uneven. “Could’ve been you,” he murmured again, low and slow, just like in the last video.But this time? He meant it. He imagined your knees on the bed. The press of your thighs straddling his lap. The look in your eyes if he said it out loud, I know what you did. I heard you. Would you panic? Would you lean in and whisper do it again?

He wrapped his hand around himself, slow and steady, biting back the sound that threatened to escape. Not yet. He had to focus. But he couldn’t. Because now, every stroke felt like it was for you. Every shift of his hips, every low breath, every filthy thought was laced with your name. He imagined your mouth. Your fingers. Your moans. Your eyes, wide and watching him from across the room, or maybe from the door. Maybe this time… you’d watch in person. The thought made his breath stutter. He didn’t say much in this one. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he might say your name.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The classroom was finally quiet. Desks wiped. Chairs stacked. Crayons rounded up from beneath tables like colorful landmines. The after school silence was your favorite part of the day, right after the chaos, right before you had to face whatever chaos was waiting for you at home. Lately, that chaos wore sweatpants and acted like he wasn’t a walking, talking fantasy you accidentally moaned for.

You sighed, tossing a few leftover worksheets into your “grade this later and cry” folder just as a knock tapped against your doorframe. You looked up. “Hey,” the voice came first, warm, slightly sheepish. Mr. New Guy. The fourth grade science teacher. You smiled out of instinct. “Oh…. hey, Jisung.” He stepped inside, looking a little nervous, a little too handsome for a guy who taught plant cycles and could get thirty ten year olds to care about sedimentary rocks. “Didn’t mean to bug you. I just saw your light was still on.”

“Just cleaning up,” you said, straightening a stack of stickers. “Or avoiding my inbox. One of the two.”

He grinned. “Smart.”

There was a pause and you could feel it, awkward and purposeful as he scratched the back of his neck. “So, uh… listen. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to get dinner sometime? Nothing fancy. Just… outside of school. Where we don’t have to whisper about the copier being jammed again.”

Oh. Oh! You weren’t expecting that. Jisung looked so sincere. And nervous. And you hadn’t been asked out by a normal, age appropriate, non literal porn star coworker in a long time. You opened your mouth to say something… And your brain helpfully supplied the image of Yunho the night before, dragging a hoodie over his bare chest, voice still thick and rough from whatever he’d just filmed behind his closed door. The memory slammed into you like a punch. His voice. His moans. That chain. Your name in your head when you came. You blinked.

Jisung was still waiting and you smiled, soft but unsure. “That’s… really sweet. I just… can I get back to you?”

“Yeah!” he said quickly, waving his hands. “Totally. No pressure at all.” He backed toward the door, cheeks a little flushed. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

The door shut behind him and you sat there, staring at your hands. Yunho hadn’t asked you anything. But somehow… he was the only one you wanted to say yes to.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Dinner was simple tonight, steamed rice, spicy pork, a few banchan dishes he’d brought back from the restaurant, all laid out between you on the kitchen table like it was any other weeknight. And it should’ve felt normal. But it didn’t. Because you were sitting across from him in a sweatshirt that hung off your shoulder, hair messy from your afternoon nap, cheeks pink from heat, and Yunho couldn’t stop thinking about how just two nights ago he came so hard to the thought of you, he had to stop filming and pretend it was part of the act. He hadn’t touched himself since. Couldn’t. Not when the real thing sat across from him every night and smiled like you didn’t know what you’d done.

You stirred your rice absently. “So, something funny happened today.” Yunho blinked, grateful for the distraction. “What’s that?” You didn’t even look up. “The new science teacher asked me out.” He froze. Spoon halfway to his mouth. Not even breathing. “What?” You glanced at him now, tone casual. “Jisung. He stopped by after class. Asked if I wanted to grab dinner sometime.”

His chest tightened as you didn’t even say it like it was a big deal. Like it meant anything. Like you hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the center of his chest and kept on chewing your kimchi like you hadn’t heard the explosion. “Oh.” He set his spoon down slowly, forcing a small laugh. “That guy.” You squinted at him. “You’ve never met him.”

“Don’t need to.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely. “Anyone asking you out is automatically suspicious.” That made you laugh. “What, you think he’s got evil intentions?”

“No. I think he’s got obvious ones.”

Your brows lifted. “Which are?”

Yunho met your gaze now, steady. Sharp. “Same ones I’d have if you weren’t my best friend.” The air went still between you. You blinked. He didn’t look away. Just waited as you cleared your throat. Didn’t look up. Didn’t smile. Just shifted slightly in your seat, dragged a few grains of rice through the leftover sauce, and said, cool as you pleased, “Maybe I should say yes. I mean… it’s been a while. Since my ex.”

Yunho felt that hit like a punch under his ribs. His grip on his chopsticks tightened, just barely, but enough that he had to set them down again before they snapped. You kept eating. Calm. Relaxed. Like you hadn’t just thrown him into a spiral so fast he could barely see straight. He studied your face. The tilt of your lashes. The slight flush in your cheeks. The way your lips wrapped around your next bite like you weren’t saying anything world shattering. Like you weren’t talking about letting someone else touch you.

He swallowed hard. “So you’re thinking about it?” You shrugged. “I mean… why not?” Why not. Yunho laughed. Quiet. Almost bitter and you finally looked up. “What?” He leaned back, stretching his arms out behind his chair like he needed to do something to bleed out the tension. “It’s just funny.”

“What is?”

“That you think you haven’t been with anyone since your ex.”

You blinked, brows furrowing as he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not physically. Sure. But come on, baby.” You stiffened. Baby? It just slipped out. Too honest. Too fast. But he didn’t take it back. He leaned forward again, eyes on yours. “After everything I’ve heard… everything I know… are you really gonna sit here and pretend I haven’t already wrecked you without even touching you?” Silence. The kitchen clock ticked loud enough to fill it.

Yunho didn’t look away. Neither did you. He could see it, right there in your face. That flicker of heat, of guilt, of something so deep it nearly made him forget where he was. He didn’t know if you were going to laugh, yell, or kiss him. But god, he hoped it wasn’t the first one.

You blinked like you hadn’t heard him right. Like you hadn’t moaned his name in the dark, hadn’t come to the sound of his voice, hadn’t watched him over and over again behind a locked door with your fingers between your thighs. “Yunho…” you said slowly, setting your bowl down, nervous laugh escaping as you shook your head. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He raised a brow as you bit your lip. Eyes wide. Too wide. “I mean… wrecked me?” you laughed again, high and off key. “That’s… dramatic, don’t you think?” Yunho leaned forward across the table, elbows on the wood, hands clasped like he was studying you. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” you said too quickly.

“You don’t flinch when you’re lying,” he said, voice lower now. “You get quiet. Look down. Bite your cheek. I’ve known you for almost a decade. Don’t play dumb.”

You opened your mouth, and nothing came out as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard you. You didn’t mean to be loud,” he added, quieter. “But it was late. And the walls are thin. And you said my name.”

Your entire face changed. A flicker of heat. Shame. Panic. Desire. You dropped your eyes to the table. And he knew. It wasn’t just once. You hadn’t accidentally clicked that video. You hadn’t accidentally come to him. You hadn’t accidentally moaned his name like it belonged to you. “I didn’t mean for you to hear,” you whispered.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he said. “But I’m not sorry.” Your eyes snapped to his as he leaned closer, voice low and steady. “You watched me, baby. Over and over. You heard me, felt me, and now you want to pretend it didn’t happen?” He shook his head. “No. That’s not happening.”

You looked frozen. Breath shallow as Yunho smiled, soft, but laced with heat. “Unless you want me to stop. Unless you want me to pretend too.” He let it hang there. The invitation. The challenge. The truth.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The classroom was loud. Markers squeaked across whiteboards. Chairs scraped tile. A kid in the back was pretending his pencil was a lightsaber, making whooshing sounds like he was the Jedi of math. You weren’t hearing any of it. Because your brain had checked out somewhere around 8:00 a.m., the second you walked into the building still echoing with the memory of Yunho’s voice from the night before. “You watched me, baby.” Your stomach flipped just remembering it. You’d gone to bed without saying anything. Without even turning off your bedside light. Just laid there in bed, hands clenched in the sheets, heart racing, trying to understand how you were supposed to live with him now, eat breakfast with him, split the water bill, pass him in the hallway…. when he knew.

He’d heard you. He’d called you out. And you’d panicked. Denied. Like a coward. And what did he do? He looked right into your eyes, called you baby again, and said “I’m not sorry.”

“Miss?” a little voice snapped you back to reality. “Miss, your marker’s broken.” You looked down. You’d been holding a dry erase marker against the board, unmoving. A big purple streak stained the sleeve of your cardigan. You didn’t even care. “Right,” you said, clearing your throat. “Sorry.” A few of the kids blinked at you, concerned in that way only 10 year olds could be when their teacher malfunctioned. You managed to finish the lesson. Kind of.

After dismissal, you stayed behind like you always did, papers to grade, emails to ignore, but mostly, to sit in your desk chair and breathe. You pulled your phone out of your drawer like it might bite you. No texts. No calls. Nothing from Yunho. But you could still hear him like he was whispering in your ear. You hated how much you wanted him to call you baby again.

You barely looked up when the door creaked open. “Please be a wine delivery,” you muttered. “Close. It’s me,” Wooyoung announced, strutting in like he owned the school. “And I brought gossip.” You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because just seeing him made the entire night before slam back into your brain like a freight train. He raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious. “Why do you look like you just saw a ghost? Or worse… your ex.” You looked at him. Dead in the eyes. And then you said it. “He knows.” Wooyoung blinked. “Who knows what?”

“Yunho,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Yunho knows. About the videos. About me knowing. He…. he knows I know.” Wooyoung dropped his bag on the floor like it personally offended him. “What.”

“I was in my room a few nights ago,” you rushed out. “Watching one of his newer ones…”

“Oh my god!”

“and I said his name when I…. when I came, okay?” you hissed, whispering like the whiteboards had ears. “And he heard me, Woo. He was in the hallway. I didn’t even realize he was there…. he called me out last night… called me baby and…. and said he wasn’t sorry.” Wooyoung covered his mouth like he was trying to contain an earthquake. His whole body shook. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was joking,” you groaned, collapsing into your chair. “He called you baby?? Like sexy baby? Not, aw baby, but like, you’re watching me get off, aren’t you, baby?”

“Woo!”

“I need a cigarette.”

“You don’t even smoke!”

“I do now!”

You rubbed your temples while he paced like a game show contestant on the final question. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that Yunho…. your sweet best friend roommate Yunho…. knows you’ve been getting off to his secret camboy alter ego. And instead of being mad, he called you baby and said he wasn’t sorry.”

You nodded once and Wooyoung stared. Then grinned like the devil. “Well,” he said, “guess you won’t be needing that new teacher date after all.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The apartment was still. Too still. Yunho’s door was wide open, which meant he wasn’t home. Which also meant it was safe. Now you were sitting cross legged on your bed, hoodie half zipped, blanket barely hanging onto your shoulders like it could protect you from your own worst impulses. You hovered over the new video. Your heart beat too fast. This was a bad idea. This was a terrible idea.

You clicked it anyway. The video opened with black. A beat of silence. And then his voice. Low. Smooth. Familiar. Way too familiar. “Hi,” he said, shirtless, those same damn gray sweats, face on display for once, hair pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times, staring directly into the camera. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Your stomach dropped. Your mouth went dry as Yunho leaned closer on the screen, elbows on his knees now, gaze way too intimate. “Wondering if you’ve been watching,” he murmured. “If you’re still touching yourself to me like you did that night.” You froze. There’s no way. There’s no way this video was public. This… this was too specific. Too targeted. Like he was talking to you. “You were so loud,” he said. “You didn’t even realize, did you?”

He leaned back, hand dragging up his chest to rest at his throat. “Say my name again,” he whispered, eyes half lidded. “Like you did then.” Your hand was trembling where it sat on your thigh. He hadn’t even touched himself yet. And already, you were losing it. You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your ears, thighs pressed tight together. Was this for you? Was this really for you? Because it felt like it. It felt like every glance into the camera was a dare. Every word was meant for your ears only.

He licked his lips. Shifted in his seat. And then finally, “You’ve been so patient,” Yunho murmured. “So good. So quiet. But I heard you.” You clapped a hand over your mouth, your entire body going rigid. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a confession. You slammed your laptop shut like it had personally offended you. Like it hadn’t just made you come apart at the seams without even touching you. Like Yunho’s voice, his voice, hadn’t just whispered the most intimate filth you’d ever heard directly into your soul.

Your pulse was still pounding in your ears. Your legs were shaky. You needed a drink. You all but stumbled into the kitchen, bare feet slapping softly against the hardwood, your fingers curling around the fridge handle like it might steady you. You didn’t even hesitate. You grabbed the bottle of soju from the back, the one Yunho had forgotten about, green glass chilled, frosted slightly at the neck. No shot glass. Just the bottle.

You twisted the cap off with trembling fingers and tilted it back, taking a long, burning pull that did absolutely nothing to cool your insides. The heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with alcohol. And your thighs still clenched together like they had a mind of their own. You took another swig as the front door opened and you nearly choked.

“Hey,” Yunho called casually as he stepped in, keys jingling as he tossed them into the bowl near the door. “Smells like ramen in here….” He stopped mid sentence when he rounded the corner and saw you. You. Standing in the kitchen. In sleep shorts and a hoodie that barely covered your ass. Hair a mess. Soju bottle lifted halfway to your mouth. Face flushed, pupils still blown, practically radiating guilt.

Yunho blinked.

You blinked back.

“Rough day?” he asked slowly, voice cautious but teasing. “Or are we just going full frat boy tonight?” You scrambled, setting the bottle down too hard on the counter. “I…. I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s only nine,” he said with a raised brow.

“Then I couldn’t… not sleep. Whatever.”

Yunho smirked faintly, stepping toward the fridge and opening it like this wasn’t the weirdest moment of your entire life. “You want a chaser or are we pretending that’s water?” You shrugged, trying to act normal. Casual. Chill. “I’m good,” you muttered as he pulled out a bottle of water for himself, cracking the cap open. “Want me to make popcorn? You look like you’re in a very specific kind of mood.”

You didn’t trust your voice. So you just nodded, backing up slowly and gripping the counter for dear life as he turned toward the stove. He was wearing those damn grey sweatpants again. You had to look away. You were acting weird again.

Not weird like last week, where you were jumpy and flushed every time he came around. This was different. Too calm. Too still. Like you were actively trying not to be weird and it was making you way weirder. Yunho stirred the pot on the stove, but he wasn’t focused on the popcorn. His eyes kept drifting over his shoulder, drawn to the way you stood there like you were rooted to the tile, gripping the edge of the counter like it was keeping you upright. Cheeks pink. Lips parted. Still holding that half empty bottle of soju like a lifeline.

Something had you rattled. And he was willing to bet a whole month’s worth of OnlyFlans tips that he knew exactly what. He glanced at you again. Your eyes snapped away like you hadn’t just been staring and a slow smirk tugged at his mouth. Yeah. He knew. He turned the stove off. “You see it?” he asked suddenly, cutting through the silence.

You blinked. “See what?”

Yunho took a slow step toward you, tilting his head slightly, like he could read every flicker of guilt in your expression. His voice dropped, low, teasing, but pointed. “My new video.” Your throat bobbed. “W… What video?” Another step. Now only the narrow kitchen counter was between you as he leaned in just slightly, enough that his words felt heavier, like they were pressing against your skin. “The one I posted last night.”

He saw it, the way your fingers tightened on the bottle, the way your legs shifted like you suddenly forgot how to stand. You didn’t answer and that smirk of his curved higher. A little cruel. A little cocky. “Are you gonna lie to me?” he asked, voice soft, heat buried under every syllable. “Or are you gonna tell me how many times you watched it?” You opened your mouth and closed it as Yunho moved around the counter, now fully in front of you, towering. Barely inches between you. “Well?” he murmured. “You gonna answer me?”

You hesitated. And that was all the answer he needed. Still, you gave it a shot, eyes darting to the side, lips twitching into something that wanted to pass for casual. “Video? Oh, that…. uh, no. I was just scrolling. Didn’t even have the sound on.” Yunho blinked. Then laughed. Just once. Low and disbelieving. “No sound?” he repeated, taking another step toward you. “That’s funny…” Your breath hitched as he tilted his head, watching you. Watching the cracks start to splinter through your fake calm. You weren’t good at lying. Not to him.

“You know…” Yunho said slowly, pretending to think, like this wasn’t already seared into his brain. “You said my name. Loud. Real soft at first,” he stepped close enough that the bottle in your hand bumped his chest. “But then you moaned it, baby. Whispered it like a prayer.“

Your lashes fluttered. “Yunho…”

“Mm. Just like that,” he said, voice a quiet taunt, warm and thick and curling around you like smoke. “You sounded so needy. So pretty.” You swallowed hard. “I wasn’t…” He reached out, curling his fingers lightly around your wrist, lifting the bottle from your grip with infuriating ease. “You wanna try that again?” he asked, tone playful but loaded. “Or are we finally done pretending?”

Your mouth parted. He could see it, your brain short circuiting, heart beating like it wanted to climb right out of your chest. But your legs? Still not moving. “You watched it,” Yunho said, cocking a brow. “Did you like it?” You were silent as he took another step, cornering you now, back against the cabinets. “Did you come to it?” That one landed like a punch.

You gasped, scandalized, probably, but your thighs pressed together, and that told him everything. His smile dropped lower, darker, as he leaned in. His voice barely a breath against your ear. “You touch yourself to me again, sweetheart… I want you to leave the volume up this time.” You blinked up at him, wide eyed and breathless, still pressed against the kitchen counter like you weren’t sure if you wanted to run or pull him closer. “You’re my best friend,” you said finally, a whisper like it actually hurt to say it out loud. “You’re my…. my best friend, Yunho…”

He tilted his head, that dark, knowing smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah. I know.” Your hands came up to push against his chest, weak and half hearted. “I can’t…. I can’t want you like that.”

“But you do.”

“Yunho…”

“I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”

Your breath hitched. He said it so simply. Like it wasn’t some world shifting confession. Like it wasn’t about to detonate everything you thought you were. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you weren’t ready. You had that boyfriend. You were hurting. You needed me to be safe.” His eyes dropped to your lips, his voice dropping with them. “But now? You moan my name when you think I’m not listening. You watch me like you’re starving, like you’ve been starving.”

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, breaths colliding in the charged air between you. “You want me,” he said, hushed but firm. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want you too.” Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He hovered there, waiting. Letting the silence throb between you, heavy and warm and full of tension so thick it could break you both. “Say the word, baby,” Yunho whispered. “And I’ll ruin the way you say best friend forever.”

Your lips were parted, eyes wide, chest heaving against the oversized hoodie like you’d just been dropped into someone else’s life. And maybe you had. Because the man in front of you wasn’t just Yunho, your messy, snack hoarding, laundry ignoring, ramen obsessed best friend. This was RadiantYu. Voice like sin. Fingers like ruin. Tongue like temptation. And he was looking at you like he already had you under him.

“Say it,” he whispered again, breath warm against your cheek. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want me.” Your hands were still on his chest. But they weren’t pushing anymore. They were fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt. Holding on. “I don’t…” His brows ticked up slightly. You’d barely gotten one syllable out before your body betrayed you. “want to stop,” you whispered. The teasing melted out of Yunho’s face, and what replaced it made your stomach drop straight into heat. His pupils dilated. That lazy smirk was gone. He looked like a man who had just been handed permission. “Say that again,” he murmured.

“I don’t want to stop.” You barely finished the last word before he was on you. Yunho surged forward and grabbed your face with both hands, lips crashing into yours like he couldn’t hold back a second longer. His mouth was hot and open, tongue sliding against yours, swallowing your startled gasp as he stepped into you, pressing you back into the counter like he wanted you embedded in it. And then he lifted you. One smooth motion, his hands gripped under your thighs, body flush against yours and you were off the ground with a soft yelp against his lips. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms locking around his shoulders as he turned and walked you toward the hall.

You didn’t even have time to process it. He was carrying you straight into his bedroom. The same room you’d seen in shadows and soft lighting, in cropped frames and half glimpses on a screen for weeks now because you couldn’t bring yourself to go in there after watching that first video Wooyoung had sent you. The same room where his voice had undone you in the dark.

The door swung open behind you with a quiet thud, your back pressed to it as he kicked it shut. Yunho’s lips never left yours. The walk was a blur. A blur of breathless kisses, wandering hands, his fingers slipping under the hem of your hoodie. He didn’t throw you onto the bed. He sat you on it. Slow. Deliberate. And when you leaned back on your hands, legs parted just slightly on the edge of the mattress, Yunho stood over you like he was starving.

He leaned down, mouth brushing your throat, and you felt it, the shift. This wasn’t the friend you watched movies with. This wasn’t even the camboy you watched through your screen. This was Yunho, in the flesh, in his room, about to make you his. His mouth dragged along your neck, open mouthed kisses, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. One of his hands was at your waist, the other sliding under the back of your hoodie as he kissed you like he’d waited years for this moment. His hand gripped your thigh now, sliding up, palm warm and heavy as he kissed you once more, slow this time, then pulled back. Not far. Just enough that you could see his eyes. Dark. Focused. Hungry in a way that made your stomach tighten.

Your heart skipped. For half a second you wondered if you’d crossed a line, but then he straightened, gaze never leaving yours, and reached behind him. For his gaming chair. The same one. The black chair with the worn armrests, the slight squeak when it rolled. The one you’d seen him sink into a hundred times on screen, legs spread, body relaxed like he owned the world. He dragged it closer to the bed and turned it so it faced you directly. Then he sat. Slow. Casual. Spreading his legs just slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. He looked exactly like he did in the videos, but worse. Real. Close enough that you could see the way his chest rose with each breath. “Show me.”

You blinked. “Show you… what?”

He tilted his head, lips curling into that knowing half smile, the one that had ruined you more than once through a screen. “How you do it,” he said softly. “When you watch me.” Your pulse thundered in your ears as he leaned back into the chair, fingers gripping the armrests like he was restraining himself on purpose. “I wanna see how you touch yourself,” he continued, voice calm, steady. “How you get off to me.”

Heat rushed straight to your face. “Yunho….”

“No,” he interrupted gently. Not sharp. Not angry. Just firm. “You’ve watched me. You’ve heard me. You’ve come to me.” His eyes dragged slowly over you, taking in the way you sat on the bed, knees parted just enough to give him a glimpse of skin. “Now it’s my turn.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs, voice dropping. “Show me what you do when it’s just you and a screen.” Your breath came shallow. Your fingers curled into the blanket beneath you. This was different. This wasn’t him taking control the way you’d expected. This was him watching. Studying. Letting you expose yourself exactly the way you had in private.

“I want to see your hands,” he said quietly. “I want to see your face when you start thinking about me.” His gaze lifted to yours, unwavering. “Don’t rush,” Yunho murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.” The silence stretched. Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sat in that damn chair like a living temptation, legs spread, eyes dark, waiting. The same chair where you’d watched him touch himself night after night. The same angle. The same distance. Only now, you were the one being watched.

Your breath trembled as your fingers drifted to the waistband of your pajama shorts and his gaze dropped instantly when you hooked your thumbs beneath the soft fabric, and Yunho’s jaw tensed, just a little, as you began to ease them down. Inch by inch. Past your hips, your thighs, dragging the cotton slow over your skin. You let them fall to the floor with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet room. But Yunho didn’t speak. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t tease. His eyes were locked between your legs.

Your panties clung to you, soaked through. The thin cotton was dark with wetness, the evidence of just how wrecked you were from the moment he pulled you into this room, maybe even earlier. Yunho’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Already wet for me,” he murmured, voice low and reverent as you swallowed, still sitting on the edge of his bed, legs parted slightly, panties sticking to your core like a second skin. Your breath came faster, chest rising and falling, heart thudding like it might crack your ribs. And Yunho just sat back deeper into his chair. “Take them off,” he said, voice soft, steady. “Nice and slow.”

You nodded once, barely, and your fingers trembled as you reached for the waistband of your panties. Yunho’s eyes tracked every motion. The way your thighs shifted. The way your breath hitched when your fingertips brushed the slick fabric. You lifted your hips, peeled them down, slow, just like he asked, and he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time. When you tossed them to the side, Yunho’s eyes flicked down. You were bare. And dripping. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, palms spread open on his thighs like he was bracing himself. “Now…” he said quietly, gaze climbing back to yours, “show me.”

Your fingers hovered between your thighs. You could feel how wet you were, heat slick and pulsing, but when you finally moved to touch yourself, your hand slowed. Stilled. Your breath caught, and you glanced up at him, lashes fluttering like you’d been caught doing something forbidden.

“I…” you swallowed. “It’s not… silent when I….” The words came out small. Honest. Yunho froze. Not because you stopped, but because he understood. His eyes softened first. The hunger stayed, but something else layered over it now, recognition. Intention. He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, voice dropping instinctively. “You need my voice,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. You nodded once, embarrassed, fingers curling into the sheets instead of touching yourself. “I can’t… I don’t finish if it’s quiet. Not when it’s you.”

Something dark and satisfied flickered behind his eyes as Yunho exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back like he was settling into something familiar. Comfortable. The chair creaked softly beneath him as he leaned back, legs spreading just a bit wider, hands resting loosely on his thighs. “Okay,” he murmured. His voice changed, not louder, just fuller. Rich. The same cadence you knew too well. The one that slid under your skin and curled there. “Go on,” Yunho said softly. “Touch yourself.”

Your fingers trembled as they finally moved, brushing over your clit, and he watched your face like it was the only thing in the room. “That’s it,” he continued, voice smooth and coaxing. “Just like you do when you’re alone.” Your breath hitched as his words wrapped around you, warmth flooding low in your belly as your fingers pressed just a little firmer. “Good,” he murmured. “You look so pretty like this. All open for me.”

Your hips shifted instinctively, chasing the sound of him, the presence of him. “And you don’t have to be quiet,” Yunho added, voice dipping. “I already know what you sound like when you come, remember.” He watched the way your fingers circled yourself, slow and tentative at first, your hips rocking just a little as his voice filled the room. The chair creaked softly when he leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the way your hand moved. “Just like that,” he murmured. “Don’t be shy now. You’re already soaked.”

Your breath hitched when his voice dipped lower, thicker, the voice. The one that always got you in the videos. Your fingers pressed a little firmer, drawing a soft sound from your throat before you could stop it and Yunho’s jaw tightened. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “Let me hear you.” You whimpered, head tipping back as your fingers slid through slick heat, your body responding instantly to the sound of him watching you. Every nerve felt lit up, tuned only to his voice.

“Good,” Yunho murmured, approval warm and steady. “You sound so good when you stop holding back.” Your thighs trembled as the moans came easier now, your hips moving in slow, needy rolls against your hand. You could feel how close you were already, how fast he was winding you up just by talking. And then his tone changed. Firm. Certain. “Put them in.” Your eyes snapped to his. “Yunho…”

“Fingers,” he clarified calmly, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “I know you do it. I’ve watched you tense every time you get close.” His gaze dropped to your hand, unblinking. “So don’t tease yourself now.” Your breath shook as you obeyed. One finger slid inside you easily, your moan breaking louder this time, back arching off the mattress. Yunho’s chest rose with a slow inhale, his voice rougher when he spoke again. “Yeah… that’s it,” he said. “You feel how wet you are? That’s all for me.”

Your hips bucked, fingers curling instinctively, and he nodded once, pleased. “Add another,” Yunho said quietly. “Go on. Fuck yourself.” The words sent a sharp pulse straight through you. Your second finger slid in, stretching you just enough to make you gasp, a broken sound tearing out of your chest as your body clenched around them. “Good girl,” Yunho murmured, voice warm with approval. “Now move them. Slow. I want to see you fall apart.”

You were gone. Completely lost in it, fingers moving without thought now, sliding in and out of you in a rhythm your body had memorized from nights alone with his voice in your ears. Wet sounds filled the room, obscene and real, your hips lifting to meet your hand every time you thrust your fingers deeper. Your moans were loud now. Unchecked. And Yunho didn’t tell you to quiet down. He stood.

The chair rolled back softly as he stepped toward you, slow, deliberate, never breaking eye contact. You barely registered it, too far gone, too focused on the way your body was tightening, coiling, every nerve buzzing like it was about to snap. “That’s it,” he murmured, closer now. “Just like that. Fuck yourself for me.” Your fingers curled inside you and you gasped, head falling back, chest arching as the pressure built fast and sharp. Your thighs trembled, slick heat spilling over your hand as you chased it harder, faster.

“Yunho!” his name broke out of you, breathless and wrecked. He was right there now. Standing at the edge of the bed. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him. Close enough that he could see everything as your hips bucked hard as your orgasm hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. You cried out his name again, loud and broken, fingers still buried inside you as your body clenched tight around them. A soft splash of your slick hit the sheets beneath you, spotting his bed as you came undone, back bowing, mouth open in a breathless moan that didn’t stop until the tremors finally started to fade.

Yunho watched every second of it. Your name on his lips this time, silent, but there. You sagged back against the mattress, chest heaving, fingers slipping from you as the last shudder rolled through your body. The room was thick with your breathing, the scent of sex, the undeniable proof of what you’d just done for him. Before you could even catch your breath, Yunho reached for you.

His hand closed around your wrist, firm, warm, and he lifted it slowly, eyes never leaving yours. Your fingers were still slick, trembling faintly from the aftershocks, and you sucked in a breath when he brought them to his mouth. “Look at me,” he said quietly. You did as Yunho’s lips closed around your fingers. Slow. Unhurried. He sucked them clean, tongue warm as he dragged it along your skin, eyes dark and focused on your face while he tasted you like it was something he’d been starving for. The sound was obscene, wet and intimate, and your hips twitched helplessly in response.

When he pulled your fingers from his mouth, they were clean. Shining. And then he dropped. Right there between your legs, Yunho sank to his knees at the edge of the bed. One hand pressed into the mattress beside your thigh as the other pushed gently at your hip, guiding you farther back onto the bed. “Up,” he murmured. You went willingly, breath shaky as you scooted back, palms braced behind you. Yunho followed you, crawling, slow, controlled, body close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him. He moved like he had all the time in the world, like this wasn’t about rushing to anything but about making you feel every second of it.

His mouth traced the inside of your thigh as he advanced, kisses open and warm, stopping just short of where you wanted him most. His hands spread your legs wider, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was claiming space. “You did so good for me,” he murmured against you, breath hot. “Made such a mess in my bed.” You whimpered softly as his lips hovered there, not touching yet, making you ache for it. “And now,” Yunho said quietly, lifting his head just enough for you to see his eyes, “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

His lips dragged up your inner thigh, soft and wet, just barely grazing where you needed him most before veering off again. You gasped, frustrated, aching, and Yunho just chuckled against your skin. “Thought about this too many times to count,” he murmured, trailing another open mouthed kiss higher. “How you’d taste… how you’d sound.” His hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs digging gently into your skin like he needed to feel you open for him. His mouth hovered above your dripping core, but he didn’t go there yet.

Instead, he looked up at you. His voice was low, almost conversational, but laced with heat. “You know how it started?” You blinked down at him, dazed. “W… what?”

“The whole camboy thing,” he said, mouth brushing your thigh again, one slow kiss after another, almost reverent now. “Wasn’t some grand plan. Wasn’t even about money at first.” Your heart was pounding again. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered, tongue flicking out to taste the crease of your thigh, making you twitch. “And I was jerking off so much… to the idea of you…” His mouth pressed hot against your skin. “It got to the point where I figured… if I’m gonna keep doing it, I might as well get paid for it.”

Your breath caught. “Yunho…”

His voice dropped lower, rough with truth. “I used to film the videos and think about you watching. Pretend it was your name I was saying. Your mouth I wanted.” He kissed higher, closer now, so close it made your thighs tremble. “You were always the reason.” And then he stopped talking. He looked up at you once more, and dove in. His tongue licked through your folds in one slow, devastating drag that pulled a full body shudder from you. He moaned into you like he was finally getting a fix he’d been denied too long, one hand sliding under your thigh to hook it over his shoulder as his mouth sealed over you. Warm. Wet. Unrelenting.

You cried out, head tipping back as his tongue moved in tight, practiced circles, confident, filthy, familiar. Just like his videos, but now it was real. Now it was you. And god, he ate like a man with something to prove. He groaned into you, low, guttural, like he felt your taste hit his tongue. And then he changed pace. No more slow licks. No more teasing flicks of his tongue. He thrust into you.

His mouth sealed tight as his tongue pushed inside you again and again, fucking you with wet, obscene precision. Each stroke was firm, focused, filthy. It was so much. Too much. You screamed his name as your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling, tugging instinctively, hard, and he groaned again at the feeling, the sound vibrating straight through you. He didn’t stop. He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as his tongue worked deeper, faster, dragging you to the edge with ruthless rhythm. Every moan that tore out of your throat only spurred him on. Every pull of his hair made him dig in harder, like he wanted to crawl inside you.

And god, the sounds, wet, loud, echoing off the walls of his bedroom. The same room you used to watch him from a screen. The same mouth that used to whisper filth to his camera was now buried in you, giving you everything you’d only imagined as your back arched. Hips rolled. He matched your rhythm, tongue plunging into you again and again until your body was shaking, sweat damp and gasping, chasing that high with a desperation that felt like fire in your veins. “Please,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Don’t stop…. please, Yunho…”

He growled low and pulled you even closer, burying himself deeper. You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Your body was shaking, slick and soaked, fingers still tangled in Yunho’s hair as he dragged one last slow lick through your folds before lifting his head. His lips were swollen, chin wet, eyes dark and wild. Then, his hand replaced his mouth. Two fingers slipped into you, slow and smooth, and you cried out at the stretch, so familiar from your own touch, but deeper, thicker, him. Yunho watched your face closely as he eased them all the way in, curling just slightly, testing as you gasped. Your whole body twitched.

“There she is,” he murmured. His free hand gripped the hem of your hoodie. “Take this off.” You sat up just enough, dazed and pliant, arms lifting shakily as he pulled it over your head, slow, careful, like he was unwrapping something sacred. When it hit the floor, you were finally, completely bare for him. Yunho froze for a beat. Just looking. Like he’d imagined this moment a thousand times and reality still hit harder. Then he moved, climbed over you slowly, fingers still deep inside you, and brought his mouth to your chest.

His lips wrapped around your nipple without a word, tongue flicking once before sucking hard, and at the same moment, his fingers thrust into you, deep and slow. You moaned, arching into him, overwhelmed by the way he filled your body and claimed your skin all at once. His pace picked up. Still not fast. Just firm. Steady. Confident. Each pump of his fingers was matched with a kiss to your breast, tongue circling, teeth grazing, his breath warm against your skin as you moaned his name again and again, legs falling wider, hands clutching at his shoulders now, needing something to hold on to.

“You feel so good,” Yunho muttered between kisses, voice rough against your chest. “You don’t even know.” You were too far gone to answer. You just spread your legs farther and took it. You couldn’t think. Not with Yunho’s fingers pumping into you like that, deep and deliberate, curling just right with every thrust, hitting the spot that made your vision blur and your toes curl. Your body was stretched beneath him, flushed and bare, thighs trembling as he hovered over you, lips trailing wet kisses across your chest while his hand worked between your legs with merciless rhythm.

Every time his fingers curled, you whimpered. Every time his mouth sucked at your breast, you shook. “Yunho… fuck, I…..” He looked up at you through his lashes, lips slick, eyes dark with heat. “You close, baby?” he murmured, voice low and knowing. “You gonna come all over my fingers?” You nodded, desperate, breathless, your hands fisting the sheets now as your hips rocked up into his touch without control and his pace quickened. Not fast, just harder. More pressure. His palm dragged against your clit now with every thrust, slick sounds filling the room, echoing with every needy moan you couldn’t hold back.

“Let it happen,” he whispered, mouth against your nipple again, sucking hard as he thrust deep once, twice….. And you broke. Your back arched off the bed with a strangled cry as your orgasm hit violently, your whole body clenching around his fingers. You screamed his name, loud, wrecked, and then shuddered, legs spasming uncontrollably. A sudden splash of wetness burst out of you, soaking his hand, his wrist, the sheets beneath as you squirted, shaking, twitching, thighs locking around his arm as he kept fucking you through it.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, eyes wide, watching you lose it completely. You couldn’t stop trembling. Couldn’t stop panting. Your hips jerked one more time, slick still dripping down the inside of your thigh, and Yunho slowly, finally, eased his fingers out of you—soaked, and stared at the mess you made on his hand. And then at you. Utterly ruined. Chest heaving. Mouth parted. Still shaking. “Goddamn,” he whispered. “You came so hard for me.”

Yunho didn’t even give you time to catch your breath. The second your orgasm began to fade, he was right back on you, dropping between your thighs like a man starved, his mouth locking onto your soaked cunt with a groan that vibrated against your sensitive skin. You gasped, legs twitching, back arching, as he sucked your clit into his mouth again, tongue dragging through your slick like he couldn’t get enough. “Yunho… fuck, please….” you whimpered, thighs trembling as the overstimulation lit your nerves on fire.

But he loved it. Loved how sensitive you were. How you twitched under his mouth. How your body tried to pull away even as your hands tangled in his hair, dragging him closer. He ate you like he was trying to memorize the taste. When you were gasping his name again, legs falling open wider, breath catching on every ragged moan, he finally pulled back, his lips shiny, pupils blown wide. And then he started kissing his way up.

Slow, open mouthed kisses at your hips. Your belly. Your ribs. One long drag of his tongue up your sternum. His hands framing your waist like he couldn’t let go even if he tried. By the time he reached your lips, your fingers were already tugging at his shirt, gripping the hem, dragging it up, needing him out of it. “Take it off,” you breathed against his mouth. “I want you naked too.” Yunho smiled, low, lazy, dangerous. “Yeah?” he whispered, sitting back on his knees between your thighs. “You want the whole show now?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Your hands were already fisting the fabric, pulling his shirt higher until he yanked it over his head and tossed it somewhere behind him, revealing all that golden skin, flexed muscle, and fuck, that perfect line down his torso that led to everything you wanted next. He was gorgeous. And he was all yours.Yunho didn’t even get the chance to smirk again before you were on him, hands tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants with zero patience left in your system. “Off,” you demanded, voice thick with heat, pupils blown wide as you shoved at the soft fabric like it personally offended you.

He laughed, low and rough, but lifted his hips, helping you drag the pants down over his thighs. The second they were off, they hit the floor with a soft thud, his boxers quickly following. And then you saw him. Not through a screen. Not with a grainy filter or a chat window popping up. No camera angles, no distance, no delay. Just him. Thick, flushed, heavy against his stomach, already leaking at the tip. Gorgeous in a way that made your mouth water and your thighs press together instinctively. You swallowed hard. “Fuck…”

Your hand wrapped around him before either of you could blink, fingers curling, wrist twisting a little as you gave the first slow stroke. His breath caught, abs flexing as his hands fisted the sheets beside you as you pumped him again, slower this time. Eyes locked on his face just to watch it change. “Is this how you do it?” you teased, voice a little breathless, a little smug. “When you think about me with no camera?” Yunho’s jaw clenched, a sharp inhale through his nose. “No,” he growled, eyes dark. “This is better.”

He was perfect like this. Wild and barely holding back, his hips twitching into your fist, his entire body tense under the weight of your touch. And you were smiling now, hungry. Powerful. In control for just a second. But you knew it wouldn’t last. Not with the way he was looking at you now. Like you’d lit a fuse. You didn’t say another word. You just moved, laying yourself down on your stomach right at the edge of the bed, arms folded beneath you as you rested your cheek for a second. Eye level with him. With all of him.

Yunho stood there like a goddamn fever dream, sweatpants kicked off and forgotten, one hand wrapped tight around his dick, jaw slack like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His voice cracked when he whispered, “Holy fuck…” You tilted your chin up, locking eyes with him. Your mouth opened, slow, teasing, and your tongue slipped out, wet and ready, a silent invitation. And Yunho… he twitched in his grip. Like his entire body was trying to process the fact that this wasn’t a dream. That you, the girl he used to jerk off to almost every night, the reason he even started that whole camboy thing in the first place, were really here, mouth open and waiting for him like some unholy prayer.

“Don’t play with me,” he growled, voice low, dangerous. “I’m not,” you whispered, lips brushing the tip as you spoke and he groaned. Then with a tight inhale, Yunho let go of everything holding him back. His hand gripped the base of his dick, guiding it forward until the head tapped against your tongue once… twice… slow and heavy, precum slick and warm as he watched you like you were a miracle he still didn’t believe. “You have no fucking idea,” he rasped, hips flexing just enough to rub himself over your tongue again, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You moaned softly, the sound vibrating against him as you wrapped your lips around the tip and Yunho’s head fell back, a broken laugh escaping him, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “After all these years,” he muttered, voice shaking as he looked back down at you. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last.” You took your time, because you wanted to watch him fall apart. You dragged your tongue along the underside of him, slow and purposeful, just to hear the broken sound Yunho made in response. He gripped the sheets with one hand now, knuckles white, the other still fisted tight around his base until you nudged it away and replaced it with your mouth.

You were warm and wet and so fucking eager. “Fuck…” he hissed, his thighs twitching as you sank down slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of your throat and your eyes watered. You pulled off with a wet pop and a smile, licking him again before diving back in, this time bobbing your head in a slow rhythm that had his hips jerking despite himself. Yunho’s fingers tangled in your hair, jaw clenched as he looked down at you. “Don’t tease,” he warned, but it was already too late, you were moaning around him now, swallowing him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, letting spit drip down your chin and onto the sheets below. Your hand gripped the base, twisting and stroking in sync with your mouth, and Yunho’s chest rose and fell like he was fighting for air.

And then he snapped. “Shit…fuck, baby,” he growled, pulling your head down and thrusting up into your mouth, slow at first… then harder. Your eyes fluttered closed, throat stretching around him as you let him fuck your mouth the way he’d always imagined. His voice was ruined, ragged, desperate, each groan making you wetter than you already were, your thighs clenched together as he used your mouth and throat like it was his personal fantasy come true. But just when his hips started to stutter, when his hand tightened and you heard him pant, “Gonna come… fuck I’m gonna…..”

He pulled out. Chest heaving, dick flushed and slick, twitching from how close he’d gotten. “Not like that,” he growled, voice dark and breathless. “Not in your mouth. Not the first time.” He looked like he was seconds from losing it as he reached down, grabbing you under your arms and pulling you up against him, mouth crashing into yours like he couldn’t stand another second without the taste. His kiss was hungry, almost dizzying, but you didn’t let him keep it for long.

You shoved him back. His eyes widened, breath catching as you pushed him down onto the mattress, your thighs straddling his waist like you owned him. “Wait…” he started, voice rough but you silenced him with a look, wrapping your hand slowly around his throat, that cross chain necklace he always wore getting stuck under your grip. Yunho’s head tipped back, jaw flexing, lips parting. His hands gripped your hips but didn’t stop you. Couldn’t. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Let me,” you whispered. “I want to feel all of it.”

You reached between you, guiding him to your entrance, already slick and ready for him. And god, he was big, you’d felt it in your mouth, seen it on screen a hundred times, but nothing compared to the stretch as you finally sank down onto him. Inch by slow, gasping inch. “Fuuuck…” you moaned, head tipping back, nails digging into his chest as your thighs trembled. Yunho’s eyes were blown wide, staring up at you like he couldn’t believe this was real. His hands moved to grip your waist, grounding himself, but he didn’t take back control. Not yet. Because you were still in charge, and you were finally getting what you wanted.

You started slow. Rocking your hips in a rhythm that was almost cruel with how good it felt. The stretch of him inside you was dizzying, so full it bordered on too much, and yet you couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open as you found your pace, your other hand bracing against his chest while the one still around his throat tightened. Yunho’s reaction was instant. His breath hitched. His eyes fluttered. A groan rolled out from deep in his chest, fuck, that sound. You watched it ripple through him like you’d lit a fuse.

“You like that?” you asked, breathless but smug, hips beginning to move a little faster, a little rougher. “You like being choked?” His lips parted, but no words came out. Just a gasp, shaky, wrecked as you pressed down, just enough pressure to make him feel it. “Didn’t expect that, huh?” you teased, your grin feral now as you bounced harder, his dick hitting deeper, dragging moans out of both of you. Yunho’s hands flew to your hips, gripping so tight you knew there’d be bruises. Not to stop you. Just to survive you.

His eyes locked on yours, throat working beneath your hand, and when you tightened your grip again, just for a moment, his whole body shuddered beneath you. “Shit..” he gasped, voice breaking, “you’re gonna make me come like this.” You grinned. “Not yet.” He growled at your words and the second he started thrusting up into you, everything shattered.

Your hand was still at his throat when his hips slammed into yours, hard and fast, and suddenly you couldn’t tell who was in control anymore. The rhythm broke apart, all fluid heat and sharp pleasure, both of you crying out as it hit, that overwhelming rush, his name torn from your throat as you came around him, your whole body clenching, trembling. Yunho followed with a guttural moan, the kind of sound that lived rent free in your spine. He buried himself as deep as he could, holding you down on him while he spilled inside, your bodies shaking from the high. But he didn’t let you go. Didn’t even give you a second.

You barely caught your breath before he was grabbing your waist, flipping you over, pressing you flat against the mattress. Your cheek hit the sheets, lungs still struggling to catch up, and then you felt his mouth, God, his mouth was on your back. Warm, slow kisses up your spine. Tongue flicking over sweat damp skin. You whimpered, hips twitching, already sensitive, already raw. “Still with me?” he rasped against your skin, voice wrecked and low. You nodded weakly. “Good.” He held you down with one hand, spreading you open with the other. You gasped when you felt him slide between your thighs again, thick and still hard, nudging against your entrance, already soaked, already pulsing for him. And then he pushed in. Slow. So goddamn slow it hurt. A different kind of ache. One that made your eyes roll back.

You whimpered, fisting the sheets. “Yunho…”

“I know,” he groaned, breath hot against your shoulder. “I know, baby. I’m right here.” Each thrust was deep and deliberate, dragging along every nerve ending like he was trying to memorize the way you felt from the inside out. Overstimulated, every sound from you was wrecked now, broken gasps, whispered curses, his name like a chant. Your whole body trembled beneath him. And Yunho held you there, grounding you with his weight, his voice, his touch, fucking you slow and deep like he had all night, like the first time wasn’t enough. Because it wasn’t.

Your body trembled beneath him, your moans broke apart into soft sobs of overstimulation. He held you there, one hand gripping your waist, the other tracing up your spine as he stayed buried inside you, deep and slow, savoring every inch, every sound you made. He kissed at your shoulders, your neck, your temple, whispering soft, ragged things between thrusts. “I’ve been in love with you,” he said again, voice strained now, thick with emotion and want. “For so long.” You gasped, turning your face into the sheets, but he wasn’t done. “I was the one who slashed your ex’s tires,” he murmured against your skin, laughing breathlessly. “When he cheated on you. That night…. you were crying in my room, and all I could think about was how you deserved so much more. I couldn’t touch you. But I wanted to. I wanted to so fucking bad.”

His hips rolled deeper, slower, as he kissed your shoulder again. “You have no idea how hard it was. Watching you date losers, watching you walk around this apartment in those tiny shorts, thinking you were just my best friend…” You whined, and his fingers gripped your hips tighter. “but I wanted you like this. Just like this.” He moved harder now, still keeping that deep, rhythm, each thrust driving into you like he was trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out as you clawed at the sheets, body trembling, mouth open but no sound coming out.

Yunho leaned over you again, chest flush against your back, lips dragging along your cheek as he whispered, “I think I’ve been ruined for anyone else.” Then he kissed you, soft, desperate, a little messy, and you reached back blindly, grabbing at his thigh as he picked up pace. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, and your breath caught when he angled just right, dragging another sob of pleasure from your throat. “You’re mine,” he whispered, voice breaking now. “You hear me? Mine.”

And you nodded, barely coherent, “Yours… Yunho….. please… don’t stop!”

“Not stopping,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Not letting you go.” He stilled mid thrust. The sound you made, raw and aching, cut straight through the haze in his mind. And then you said it. “Stop.” Yunho froze like you’d struck him, his chest heaving against your back, every muscle in his body going tight. He immediately pulled up, eyes searching your face with panic flickering behind them because you had just told him to not stop and now…. “Did I… Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You twisted to look over your shoulder, breathless, lips parted. “I just… I need to see you.” For a second, he didn’t move. Then realization hit like a punch to the chest, and the worry in his expression cracked open into something softer, something vulnerable. He nodded once, like he understood in his bones, and slowly pulled out of you with a hiss, guiding your hips gently as you shifted beneath him. You rolled over onto your back, your chest rising and falling, and Yunho was already leaning over you, brushing damp hair from your face, eyes flicking over you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. You reached for him, hands curling around his shoulders, your thighs parting instinctively as he settled between them.

And when you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, he groaned low in his throat, like just being this close, face to face, was almost too much. “Please,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I want to see you when you come.” He kissed you, slow and deep, like a vow, and then he sank back into you, both of you gasping at the contact. His forehead dropped to yours. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I love you.” Your legs tightened around him, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, and his hips started to move again, slow, deep strokes that made your eyes flutter shut.

“Keep them open,” he murmured, breath shaky against your mouth. “Look at me. I want to see you too.” You did. And the moment your eyes met his again, something shifted, something cracked. There was nothing frantic now, nothing rushed. Just Yunho, bare, undone, looking at you like you were everything he’d ever wanted. Every thrust was deeper, more reverent, his hands cupping your face, brushing your cheekbones with his thumbs as you fell apart all over again beneath him. He moved like he had all the time in the world. Like you were something he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to ruin.

Still buried deep inside you, his rhythm slowed to a languid, teasing grind, the kind of pace that drove you wild because it gave you too much time to feel. Every inch, every brush of skin, every shaky breath against your mouth. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms pulling him closer like you wanted to disappear into him. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp strands of hair brushing your cheek, and his voice was low as he whispered, “You’re all I want.” His hips rolled forward again, deep and slow, the stretch still delicious, still overwhelming. You gasped, back arching, and he caught your moan with a kiss, swallowing it down like it belonged to him.

“Look at me,” he breathed, when your eyes started to flutter shut. You did. God, you did. And it was that look, his gaze locked on yours, pupils blown, jaw clenched, love written all over his face, that undid you. Your hands fisted in his hair, your thighs trembling as you broke with a sharp, cracked gasp, “I love you.” The words fell out before you could stop them. Raw and real and so damn true it hurt. Yunho’s entire body jolted like the words had struck him, and then he was kissing you again, desperate, trembling, his pace finally faltering as your release pulled him under. His groan vibrated into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep one last time, chasing the high you gave him.

He came with a low, broken sound that only you would ever hear, forehead pressed to yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip like if he let go, he’d fall apart completely. And maybe he already had. Because once the haze started to clear, and he was still inside you, still holding you like a lifeline, he didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you. Then whispered, “Say it again.”

You were breathless, hands playing with his hair now. “I love you.” And he buried his face into the crook of your neck before saying. “You think any of those moms of your students are fans?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous!”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Wooyoung was tipsy. Not drunk drunk, but tipsy enough that his phone felt heavier in his hand and his judgment had clocked out for the night. He was sprawled on his couch, one sock missing, a half finished drink sweating on the coffee table beside him.

He didn’t mean to open Yunho’s page. Okay, lie. He absolutely meant to open it. He’d seen the videos before. Hell, he was the reason you had seen them in the first place. He knew the username. Knew the vibe. Knew the way Yunho used lighting like a weapon and his voice like a loaded gun. It was old news.

Except… There it was.

Newest upload. Posted less than an hour ago. Wooyoung squinted. “Oh?” He tapped it. The video loaded, and the first thing that hit him was the framing.

Different. Yunho wasn’t hiding his face. No shadow. No strategic angle. No cropped jawline or lips only tease. Yunho was fully visible, hair messy, expression lazy and wrecked.

Wooyoung’s grin froze. “Wait.” He leaned closer, blinking hard. Yunho’s face was relaxed. Smiling. Not at the camera. At someone just out of frame. The camera angle shifted slightly, and that’s when Wooyoung noticed it. A girl. Her face was out of frame, just below Yunho’s chest. Hair familiar. Hands familiar with that little thumb ring you always wore.

The girl never looked at the camera. Never broke the illusion. But Yunho did. He looked down at her with that soft, stupid smile Wooyoung had only ever seen him wear around one person. And then Yunho spoke. Low. Fond. Unmistakably real. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice warm and wrecked. “You’re doing so good.”

Wooyoung bolted upright. “OH MY GOD…… DID THEY JUST SOFT LAUNCH ON ONLYFANS?!”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“i want to try something.” you watched with curiosity and awe as jeno pushed himself back until he was leaning against the headboard, muscles flexing, slivers of sunshine brushing his skin in a perfect glow. your lips parted at the sight, instinctually moving forward and taking his outstretched hand. you knew what this was. you had mentioned it before, when you were on his lap in the living room. it was a sunday night, serenity in the air and you half-dressed after a shower. he didn’t bat an eye, said you should try it while tracing your delicate lines of ink, wondered aloud if you already had. only a couple of times. with the wrong person, but a seed of something was still planted: closeness—a complete union.

your knees sink into the mattress, distance closing as you approach his waist, cock hard against his taut stomach, but his eyes are gentle and soft. jeno smiles at you, something reassuring as your legs widen to accommodate the width of his thighs. a guiding hand placed on your hips as you sink down.

the stretch is familiar. his hands on your thighs are warm. your locked gazes send a chill down your spine. for a moment, all you do is watch each other, feeling his length exactly where you want it, loving the warm buzz of need but knowing you won’t give in. you tilt your head, eyes closing as the waves of sweet euphoria lap at the edges of your mind, begging for a total flood. jeno draws you closer. your chests collide. your head dips, lips meeting his skin, grazing his neck, and sucking your favorite spot behind his ear—the place that always pulls a delicious sound from his lips. his strong arms hold you in a soft possession, fingertips kneading over your shoulders and down your back, searching for the spot that wakes you up in the middle of the night.

the feeling of your body going slack in his arms is electrifying because jeno knows what it means—how significant it is to be trusted completely, reminded of a moment so early on it feels like a lifetime ago when he told you: take what you need from me. he remembers the surprise that shifted your features. it widened your eyes, parted your lips, and warmed your cheeks. in that moment, his words meant a million things. neither one of you could know exactly where they’d begin and where they’d end, if anywhere at all. in the moments you feel like you’re taking too much, all jeno experiences is satisfaction and safety in your heart as the man you decided was worth letting in, letting yourself be known by, letting yourself connect with, and fall and tumble into something so intertwined you don’t doubt it’s cosmic.

jeno knows you’ve fallen asleep and readjusts himself ever so slightly, propping up another pillow behind him before closing his own eyes to focus on the rise and fall of your chest. the beat he feels against his own is recognized by his heart, and his breath matches yours.

you wake up to the sound of your name mumbled against your skin, an apologetic tone. “baby, i’m so sorry. i’ve got to piss.”

you hum, amused and start to lift yourself, but jeno stops you, catching you in a blissful kiss. his thumb teases the side of your breast, hardening your nipples. no fair. when he pulls away, you kiss his nose and finally disconnect with a sigh. one that melts into his own.

he’s still taking his time, and you lay propped up on your side to admire all of his solid lines, finding the soft and round places with ease. “are you sure you have to pee?”

“my leg’s asleep.” his smile is lazy, eyes shrinking to crescents. a light laughter follows, spilling a similar glow to the sun’s throughout your bedroom, its light gone until morning.

“should i stab it with a pen?” his expression sends you into giggles, and you settle for gentle squeezes along his quad muscle. “not my jen, i could never.” you fall onto your stomach and pepper kisses just above his knee. “better?” jeno hums, encouraging you to keep going.

you kiss his body until jeno stops you, groaning about the damn bathroom again, knowing his hard on will create an unfortunate struggle. “don’t go anywhere.” like you ever would.

you coo loudly, embarrassing him as he waddles through your closet and into the attached bath. “shut up!”

you turn to lay flat on your back, drawing a fingertip up your abdomen and through the valley between your breasts, completely immersed in euphoria. “don’t you dare come back in here without washing your hands.”

“who do you think i am?” the faucet turns on for a full 30 seconds - yes, you count them - before your boyfriend is back and standing over your body. he admires you: the curves he’d recognize with his eyes closed, your blissful expression, the swell of your chest, faint bruises from the weekend decorating your hip. “should we make love, baby?”

“please,” his thumb traces your lips, and you watch his face with wide eyes, eager not to miss a thing.

“you always ask so nicely, doll.”

“jen,” you moan as he pops his thumb into your mouth. your tongue circles it on instinct, satisfied, he draws it out. “please don’t make me wait.”

“i wasn’t going to,” he kisses your nose and then your forehead. sinking into the mattress, his knees entrap you this time. his thumb is coated in your saliva, not that he needs the help—your folds are already soaked. “mmm, always ready for me too.”

“you make it easy, jen.” you squirm beneath him, close to steering his thumb exactly where you need it.

“Chenle, I’m being serious,” you groan, “You need to rest it or you can’t play basketball for the rest of your life.” You were obviously exaggerating, raising your brows for even more emphasis. If he won’t listen to you by simply telling him, you might as well scare him into listening to you.

“Rest of my life?” He frowns, looking down at wrist, “I… I guess a week doesn’t seem too long… Thanks Y/N.” 

You smile, relieved that he’s choosing to listen to your advice, “I’ll see you next week then?” 

He nods and gathers his duffel bag and his sweater, dragging himself out the door of the first aid room. 

You turn away from the door, ready to busy yourself with some housekeeping items when you hear a knock at the door. It’s quiet, and you almost think that you were imagining the sound, but when you turn to face the door, you’re met with the vibrant gaze of Lee Jeno, accompanied by a sheepish smile. 

Ah… Lee  Jeno—of course.

“Almost thought you weren’t going to show up today,” you joke, “What happened now?” 

To anyone unfamiliar with the two of you, it might come across as if you weren't exactly doing your job well, seemingly rushing through treatments even when faced with potentially serious injuries. However, the guy standing in the doorway right now has been delivering the most poorest excuses for injuries you've ever heard.

Sure, perhaps a couple of questionable 'injuries' wouldn't bother you much, because maybe the person was just overly cautious about their well-being. But when Jeno strolled into your office recently with the tiniest scratch on his left calf, you couldn't help but suspect that something was definitely up. 

“I need ice,” Jeno side-steps into your office and pulls the corners of his lips higher on his cheeks, “Please?” 

“Next time, just jog over to the nearby McDonald’s and get ice there,” you say jokingly. This was his nth time in the past month asking for ice. You wonder if he’s just been using it to put into his water or if this dude just has some kink involving ice. 

You only question Jeno’s recent tendency to visit your office because, ever since you started working at the gym, he's been a regular. Hell, his physique alone is proof to his long-standing commitment to the gym. It just doesn't add up that Jeno, with his apparent gym ‘seniority’, would be falling victim to injuries so frequently.

“Here you go,” you hand him a small, transparent bag that was partially filled with ice, “Anything else?” 

Jeno’s irises fall to the right corners of his eyes in brief thought, “More… ice?”

You groan to conceal your amusement and move closer to Jeno, “Goodbye, Jeno. See you again another day!” You gently place your hands to his elbows, spinning him around and out your door.  

“No, wait I—“

“See you!” You wave, leaving Jeno no choice but to actually take his leave. 

Your coworker Jaemin sees the interaction from the front counter, and seeing that there weren’t any gym goers coming into the facility, he waves you over. 

"Everything alright?" he asks, his gaze flicking briefly from the computer screen to you.

You glance at his screen and notice a game of minesweeper unfolding. Suppressing a snicker, you retort, "Yeah, same reason as last week." Swiftly, you click on an empty tile on his minesweeper grid, revealing the mine locations.

“I’m trying to help you and you do this,” Jaemin clicks his tongue against his teeth and diverts back to the situation, “It’s not in a creepy way, is it?” 

You give yourself a moment to think everything through, “I’m not sensing anything weird or creepy with it, if I’m being honest. He’s going about it… in a cute way?” 

Jaemin lets out a hysteric laugh and it echoes throughout the gym, “A cute way?” 

"There's no other way to put it," you casually shrug. Leaning against the desk, you absentmindedly flip through the management binders laid out before you.

Jaemin's brows knit, his curiosity piqued. "Cute, how?"

“I don’t know.” You’re lying. You know damn well what you meant. 

Every time Jeno decides to pull one of his ‘stunts’, he’s at your door, eyes all glossy and resembling a hopeful puppy. And when you choose to pretend not to notice him, he doesn't hesitate to clear his throat (rather obnoxiously) or hum out a soft, "anyone home?" even though you're clearly rummaging in your cupboards for more supplies.

Jaemin reads right through your feigned innocence, eyes narrowing, “Sure you don’t.”

“Well, it’s not something I can explain,” you groan, “Just take my word for it.”

“Okay… cute… does that mean you’re enjoying all this?” Jaemin’s eyes wiggle your way and you’re glad that no one’s around to see or hear this. 

You scoff, “Enjoying what?” 

"Come on, Y/N. Let's not play naive," Jaemin smirks, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” Jaemin pats your head like you would a child, which you dodge almost immediately, “Which is honestly disappointing. A guy like Jeno could probably think of something way better but he resorted to something so basic.” 

You glare at Jaemin, your annoyance evident, “I hate that you’re probably right.” Because what else could the reason be? Jeno couldn’t be that concerned for his well-being. And you distinctly recall questioning your other coworker, Xiaojun, about whether Jeno tends to show up frequently on your days off. His response? A shocking no.

“I always am,” Jaemin brushes non-existent dust off of his shoulder, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” At times like these, you have the memory of a goldfish.

“If you were enjoying it,” Jaemin clarifies, "You did call it cute, and cute usually equals enjoyment."

There were a couple ways you could go about Jaemin’s question. Was he asking if you were reciprocating this attraction Jeno seemingly had for you? Or maybe he wanted to know if you found amusement in the ongoing situation?

Regardless, your cheeks betray you by warming at the question and the thought of your answer sliding off the tip of your tongue.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

—

It’s no surprise when Jeno shows up to your office two days later with the same smile plastered on his face. 

He’s standing right outside of your office, waiting for you to welcome him in. When you do, he enters the room slowly, greeting you as he moves toward the medical bed situated at the far corner and away from the entrance. 

Jeno watches as you rake through a pile of disorganized supplies, “How are you?” You weren’t in search of anything specific, but you were trying to busy yourself now that Jeno was in the room with no clear purpose. 

“I'm all right," you reply casually, your voice calm. "You?” You quickly glance up at him and almost crumble to your knees. Today, Jeno is sporting a black muscle tee and grey sweatshorts, and though you've never really taken notice of his outfits before, you secretly (and shamefully) remind yourself to start doing so. 

“I’m okay,” Jeno hums, “I was wondering if I could get a heat pack?” 

You take a good look at him and narrow your eyes, “It doesn’t look like you need one.” But regardless, you make your way toward the heat packs sitting in a cupboard by the fridge. You simply wanted to hear what his reason was this time. 

“My quads are really stiff today,” Jeno replies, subtly gesturing to his legs, “I could barely get through leg day with them.” 

“Well, this should work,” you say. You pop the pack and wrap a towel around it, “There you go. See you!” 

“Can I stay here for a bit?” You don’t see the way Jeno pouts. You’re too busy making your way to your box full of miscellaneous things. He presses the pack against the upper side of his thigh, remaining seated on the bed, “I’ll leave when the heat pack is finished.” 

Jaemin’s voice echoes in your head, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” And you can now see that it was painfully obvious. 

“Of course,” you say, “Take as long as you need.” 

You move on to organizing the supplies, trying your best not to mind the pair of eyes that were burning holes into the side of your head. 

“So…” Jeno starts, “How was your weekend?” 

“You don’t need to make small talk you know,” you say, pulling out three pairs of medical scissors, “You could take a nap or something.” With your back turned to him, you go to put the tools away, “I don’t mind.”

Jeno swings his legs in the air and slumps, “Yeah, but I—uh—do want to make small talk.” He’s half-assedly holding the heat pack to the side of his thigh, growing annoyed that it wasn’t staying in a specific place. He resorts to pinning it under his thigh. 

“Which I also don’t mind,” you say, biting back a smile, “My weekend was okay… stayed home and relaxed. Nothing super special. You?” 

You stop and turn to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the man who was now leaning back against the wall. The position looks uncomfortable, yet Jeno appears to be content. 

“Similar to yours,” he replies, “Except Hyuck forced me to play a few games online with him. It was fun, actually! But don’t tell him that.” 

You let out a snort. You’re familiar with Donghyuck, recalling how he and Jeno had made a deal that if Jeno managed to bring him to the gym for a few workouts, then he had to play some of his PC games in return. 

“How’s he doing anyways?” You question, “I haven’t seen him in a while.” 

Jeno’s brows furrow for a sliver of a second before they sit back to where they had originally been, “Last leg day killed him, so he’s given up until he recovers.” 

“Ah,” you giggle, “Can’t keep up with you, I’m guessing?” 

Jeno shakes his head, bangs creating a blanket over his eyes. He sweeps them aside, “Not really. I don’t really go hard on leg days. I’m more of a back and biceps type of person.” 

Your eyes defy you as they scan Jeno’s arms. You blame him. His statement was practically an invitation to look at his upper limbs as if you needed some kind of evidence, “I believe you.” It comes out a lot more flirty than you intended and you want to sprint out of the room before you make one more wrong move. 

“O-oh,” Jeno stammers. It was a sight seeing Jeno grow shy, using his hands to hide arms. And although he was hoping to conceal them, the man forgets that doing so only means he had to flex his arms, “Thanks?” 

You’re not sure how to reply, resorting to rummaging through the same box. You find some empty rolls of tape and you toss them in the trash. How do you even go about this conversation? Say ‘you’re welcome’? Weird. Ask him about his routine? No, it wasn’t like you were looking into building your arms. Ask if you could feel his arms? 

Shut up, brain, be fucking for real right now.

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You look up and Jeno’s looking back at you expectedly.

“Sorry, I zoned out a little there,” you sheepishly confess, playing with one of the box’s flaps, “Did you say something?” 

“I… uh, nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” Jeno clears his throat, “It was just about—um—something. But it can wait another day.” He smiles and it just about reaches his eyes. 

“Wait, no, tell me,” you frown. 

“It’s…” Jeno’s eyes flicker back and forth, contemplating if he really should go through with his question. He wants to—he really does—but his words fail him, teeth biting at his bottom lip. 

“It’s really nothing, ha-ha!” You watch as his gaze drops to the heat pack suffocating underneath his thigh. He uses the back of his hand to feel it. It’s still very warm, but regardless, he uses it as an excuse. “I’ll just take my leave… Um, I guess I’ll see you around?” Jeno slips off the bed, tossing the pack into the trash before he moves past you. 

“Wait, Jeno…” You make another attempt to stop him, guilt slowly creeping up on you, curiosity accompanying it because you should’ve been listening. 

For once, you wished he stayed just a bit longer. 

—

It’s been almost a week and a half since Jeno last visited your office. 

But who’s counting?

You check once, twice, thrice over your shoulder for Jaemin’s presence, nodding to yourself when you’re sure that your coworker wasn’t there to see the down-bad bullshit you were about to pull. 

Pulling up the gym’s database, you quickly type Jeno’s name into the search bar. While it loads, which feels so so painfully long, your fingers tap against the edge of the desk. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

“Hm.” 

Once Jeno’s profile finally appears on the screen, you follow his row to the Date Last Active column, seeing that he was at the gym this morning, two hours before your shift. 

A low whistle knocks you out of your trance and you jump, almost knocking the keyboard off the desktop. 

“Fucking hell, Jaemin!” You swing at his shoulder at a strength you knew damn well he wouldn’t even feel, “You think you’re funny sneaking up on me like that?” 

“Yes,” Jaemin shrugs, “Misusing the database I see…” His eyes narrow at you, brow raising. Then, he smirks and pokes at your rib, “Stalking your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” you quickly exit the application and pull up Jaemin’s minesweeper game, “He’s not my boyfriend… Acting like you don’t do the same shit with other gym goers…” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just walk up to him and talk to him,” Jaemin sighs, “He’s still here, you know.” 

“He is?” 

“Awww your eyes lit up!” Jaemin teases, diabolically sticking a finger in your face. 

You threaten him again, which Jaemin completely disregards out of spite.

“But tell me why he’s been coming to the gym more often when you’re not here,” Jaemin, like you, was quite familiar with Jeno’s routines, “Did you do something that would force the poor guy to change his routine all of a sudden? Sometimes he wakes up at ass o’clock to get his workout done.”

Your mind reels back to your last interaction. Playing back each and every second and overanalyzing each and every word that left your mouth that afternoon. Yeah, you probably did but you don’t want to think that you’ve scared Jeno away. 

“I don’t think so?” 

“‘I don’t think so?’” Jaemin mocks, “Writing ‘liar’ on your forehead would be more subtle than whatever the hell that was.” He pauses his game and decides to fix all his attention onto you, “Now spill.”

“I really don’t know, okay?” you groan, “Last time I spoke to him, I zoned out and I missed what he was saying and then he left and he didn’t even choose to repeat it or anything.” 

Jaemin narrows his eyes at you, almost as if he’s lost all hope in his very good friend and coworker, “Y/N, did you not just graduate with a master’s?” 

Your brows meet, “Huh? What do you mean?”

He mutters a dumbass under his breath, which completely flies past your head. “Nothing.” Jaemin smirks subtly, turning away to leave in hopes that you don’t ask any further questions.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Jaemin gets flashbacks to his mom, “Uhhhhhhh, there?” The man points to nowhere in particular before taking off. 

“Na Jaemin!” You call out. Your voice echoes through the gym and you groan, slumping against the desk before accepting defeat—because what did Jaemin mean? Was he calling you stupid or something?

Not even five minutes pass when you hear Jaemin’s voice boom over the speakers, “Y/N, you’re needed in your office. Y/N, you’re needed in your office.” 

You look over to Jaemin’s office and shoot him a look that could kill. And again, Jaemin ignores your threat, grinning menacingly before he waves cause he knows he’s pissing you off. You’ve never grown used to this man’s attitude, but it doesn’t mean you don’t adore it. 

Logging off the computer, you let out a huff and pad your way past the exercise machines and into your office. And from all that you were expecting, you sure as hell weren’t expecting to find a very worn out Jeno, the hem of his tank sprinkled in faint drops of blood. 

“Jeno?” You don’t even try to mask your worry, fast-walking straight to him before you guide (practically tugging) him to the medical bed, “What happened? Are you okay?” 

An annoying and almost spiteful grin shyly appears on Jeno’s lips before he turns his palms up for you to see. His hands were covered in blisters, some popped and others brand new. They looked extremely painful to even look at.

“Fuck,” you mutter, “Didn’t I say not to overwork yourself that one time?” You turn your back to Jeno and begin gathering all the supplies you need to treat his blisters. You’re rambling under your breath, words unrecognizable from where you’ve sat Jeno down. 

Your heart’s beating out of your chest, mostly because this is the first time you’ve seen Jeno in a while. But to add his injuries on top of that? You’re certainly not sure how you’re keeping composure. 

Meanwhile, Jeno really can’t do much but watch you move from one corner of the room to the other. He wants to get up and help, but by the way an eleven forms in between your brows, he’s reluctant to even say anything. 

It’s funny because despite how aggressive you’re handling all the supplies, the second you make contact with his wrist, your demeanor changes, suddenly shifting to be more gentler. You hold his hands as if you were holding a newborn, delicately rotating them to understand what had to be treated.

“If it hurts, tell me,” you say quietly, “Actually don’t. I’m mad at you right now.” 

Jeno’s head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. Then he finally says, “Mad at me?” 

“Yes,” you grab a sheet of gauze and begin wiping away at Jeno’s palm, dabbing carefully when it comes to the blisters, “I’m mad at you.”

“Why?” 

“This is why you need a break.” You ignore his question, grab new gauze and continue wiping away the new and old blood that’s accumulated in his palms. “Jeno, I know you like it here, but your body needs rest, too.” 

A response sits at the tip of Jeno’s tongue and he’s not sure whether or not he should tell you. The last time he decided to take a step out of his comfort zone, you didn’t even hear him. 

Does he want to try that again? 

You spray his palms with disinfectant before applying some ointment to help them heal faster. At this point, you hadn’t done as much as looked up to make eye contact with the man. 

“But..” Big step. “But this is the only place that I get to see you.”

What the fuck? 

You hope Jeno doesn’t notice the way you freeze for a burning second before you try to play it off by grabbing long bandages. It’s a good thing he can’t see the way your heart is beating erratically—and you’re hoping he doesn’t hear it, too. 

“You can literally see me wherever you want if you just asked,” you say nonchalantly, voice quiet, “But instead you resort to…” You stop yourself from speaking any further, unsure if you would even want Jeno knowing that you had suspicions of him pulling fake injuries out of his ass to make excuses to see you. 

“I’m not even sure if you’d even agree to it,” Jeno confesses, “I like… I really like talking to you but—“ 

“But what?” You slowly begin wrapping the bandage around his wrist, making your way up to his palm. 

Jeno can’t help but whisper, “You don’t seem to like me as much as I wished.” 

You hold back a giggle. Jeno’s always so accidentally cute and he doesn’t even know it. It’s literally pissing you off that a man you’re fake-mad at is doing absolutely nothing to earn your affection, yet here he was, doing just that. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Jeno counters. 

“No, you don’t,” you ping-pong back. The bandage crosses between his fingers and you manage to finish wrapping the bandage around his palm. 

“I do.”

“Did you ask me?” You gulp, because at this point you’re afraid where this conversation was going. 

“Well, do you like me?” 

You move onto his other hand, grabbing another roll of the long bandage. You could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift and now you’re beginning to sweat in your light sweater. 

“I do.” 

Jeno clears his throat, “In the way I like you?” You groan. Of course he’d say that. It was a valid follow up question, simply because your answer could very much cover that broad spectrum of like. 

You ask, “How do you like me?” 

Jeno takes a moment to think about his answer, watching as you start replicating your work from his other hand, “I honestly… think it’s obvious how I like you.” “Mmm,” you hum. At this point you’re teasing him on purpose, “How so?” 

“I make myself look like a fool when it comes to you,” Jeno huffs, “Ice? Heat packs? Who am I kidding…” Jeno scoots back in his seat and you follow, practically falling between his knees from the way he’s sitting. “Every time I come here looking for you, that’s when I gain the confidence to finally ask you out… well not always out but maybe for your number or just simply talk to you or something. I wanted to be friends and then more if it went well…” 

Your movements slow, attention failing to even do a decent job at bandaging. 

“But, when I finally reach this room and see you? It’s like I lose all that confidence and it’s stuffed in the bag with the ice you give me,” Jeno explains. “I’m even lucky enough that I can finish my sentences around you…”

You blink at his injured palm and the realization dawns on you. So this was what Jaemin was hinting at, “And that last time… you asked me out and—”

“And you didn’t hear me,” Jeno finishes, “And I couldn’t for the life of me repeat what I asked because my confidence plummeted and then the fear of rejection kicked in.” 

Your hands have since halted, cradling Jeno’s hand as you try to calculate your next move. It’s now clear as day that Jeno has feelings for you, and you’ve slowly been coming to terms with yourself that you care a little too much about Jeno than a normal person should. 

“Ask me now.”

“What?” Jeno practically jumps, startled and confused. 

You drop the bandage roll and lightly tighten your grip around his hand. Looking up, you find that Jeno’s gaze has already been sitting and waiting for your own to meet his. You clarify, “Ask me what you asked then, now. This time, I’m listening.”

The reassurance from you lifts some weight off of Jeno’s shoulders, ones he didn’t know even existed. Then, he fixes his composure, moistens his lips and finally says, “Would you–um–like to go out for dinner with me?”

“My answer then and now are the same,” you smile down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, “I would really love to.”

Eyebrows reaching for his hairline, Jeno’s eyes widened, “Wait, really?” 

“Really,” You nod. And although you try to look anywhere else in the room, Jeno’s eyes capture your eyes once again, holding them there for a few skips of your heartbeat. 

You clear your throat and let out a breathy laugh, “Haha so um… let me just—“ You hastily pick up the bandage roll and return to your work. 

It doesn’t take much longer before you finish, concealing and protecting his injuries under the bandages. “Now that you’ve got me, promise me you won’t overwork yourself like this?” 

“I’ve… got you?” Jeno’s cheeks heat up at your choice of words, the shift between the both of you being so evident now that he’s experiencing a weird case of whiplash. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Just promise me. I don’t wanna have to keep worrying about you getting hurt.” 

Jeno laughs, completely enamoured at your own flustered state. 

“Date, huh?”

“Yes.”

He rubs his index finger thoughtfully over his chin before saying, “Go ahead. Take the afternoon off.”

Whew. “Thank you, sir.”

“I hope you won’t go on your date dressed like that.” 

What?

You pause, thinking you misheard, and blink at him, who is now looking at his computer screen like he did not just make that snide remark. You look down at your clothes — baby blue silk blouse and a cream skirt — this is not a bad outfit. Not that you were going to go on your date like this anyway. You asked to leave early so that you could go home and freshen up.

Biting your cheek, you hold back any retort. Instead, you decide to overlook his petulance and offer him a smile as you step back. “I will see you on Monday, sir.”

He does not respond and you march out of his office.

—

The man in front of you — Eric — is underwhelming. You already forgot his last name.

he is definitely not worth you going home early to take a full body shower, shave and put on makeup and a nice dress. One hour into the date at the Italian restaurant, he keeps on talking about some start-up he and his buddies are working on, not bothering to ask you a single question.

As you play with the cherry tomatoes on your plate, occasionally nodding as a pretence of listening, your mind starts to wander. And like most times, they drift to the thought of Choi Seungcheol, your boss.

You have had a crush on him for a few years now. The story is an embarrassing one but you have come to own it over time. Five years ago, when you first joined this company as a junior sales executive, he was the COO. He made a good name for himself and the previous chairman loved him, so it was almost an open secret that he would be the next one to take over. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with a side of sharp intellect and unapologetic bluntness, gaining everyone's admiration if not support. 

As expected, once the ex chairman resigned two years later, Seungcheol became the CEO. Right away, he needed a secretary and he wanted someone within the company who already knew the ropes. Among the five applicants, you got the job, and right there, your future was decided — working in close quarters with Choi Seungcheol, the handsome, brooding man whom you looked up to immensely. And somewhere between you switching roles and becoming his right hand person, you fell for him. Hard. 

And it was supposed to be a secret. A harmless little crush. Until that one mistake drunk you made. 

You had sent your coworker Minji — who is also one of your best friends since college — a text one night after a team dinner, fangirling about your boss in the most brazen way. The next morning, you woke up to see that you, in fact, did not send the text to Minji but the group chat you were in with all the sales team members. Words spread like wildfire, and on Monday, when you showed up at work (while contemplating on what excuse to make up and quit this job and leave this city; possibly the country) word had already reached Seungcheol. Once in his office, he asked you only two questions. Was it true? You nodded yes. Were your feelings going to affect your work? You vehemently shook your head no. As unbothered as ever, he signed some files, handed them back to you and said that all was good and he would overlook this fumble. 

And so, since then, everyone in the office knows you have heart eyes for your boss. And over time, you have gotten good at acting casual about it. Except, you know, there is nothing casual about it. It has become a disease, the way you yearn for that man, and it was high time you decided to get out of that cycle of torment. 

Which is why you are on this date.

And it isn’t really going well.

Eric is still, somehow, talking about his start-up. With a tight-lipped smile, you interrupt him as your patience stretches thin, “Shall we order dessert?”

—

It is drizzling now. 

Outside the restaurant, you stand and wait for your Uber, which seems to be malfunctioning. For the past ten minutes, it has been looking for a driver, but to no avail.

Eric left a while ago, parting with decency once you said you were not sure this would go anywhere. He agreed, saying he was too focused on his business right now anyway. So, that was that.

As you stand and watch the rain, contemplating your life so far, a familiar voice calls your name. “Secretary ___?” You turn around to see Yoon Jeonghan, one of Seungcheol’s closest friends and a big name in the business world. You have worked with him a lot on various projects over the past few years and he has almost become your friend as much as he is Seungcheol’s — especially due to his easygoing behavior and charming humour. He is the exact opposite of Seunghceol in terms of personality and attitude, and you sometimes wonder how they are such good friends.

“Good evening, Mr. Yoon.” You smile.

“See, I thought I saw you earlier when I came in.” He says, stepping out of the restaurant and standing next to you. “Were you not here with someone else?”

You nod.

“Date?”

Another nod with an awkward smile.

“Let me guess, it did not go well.”

“Not really.”

He chuckles. “Well, it is good to see you trying.” He sends a playful look your way. “As I have always been saying, you are too good for Seungcheol. I can get past you being his secretary, but his girlfriend? Nah, that guy isn’t worthy of you.”

Yeah, even Jeonghan knows about your crush on his friend. Probably everyone in this field does.

“I am sure Seungcheol would not like hearing you badmouth him.” You tease.

Jeonghan sends a dramatic look of offence your way. “Badmouth? I am stating the facts, ___. And he would agree with me.”

A black Mercedes pulls up in front of you, the driver stepping out to hold the back door open and Jeonghan extends a hand, gesturing you to get in.

“What? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly trouble you.” You refuse politely.

“No trouble, ___. Get in. You are not going to find a ride anytime soon.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for a second. “Thank you, Mr. Yoon.”

“When are you going to stop calling me that? I told you, Jeonghan is fine.”

Maybe it is the wine in your blood that enables you to say, “Alright, thank you for the ride, Jeonghan.”

He smiles, closing the door behind you.

—

“How was the date?” Seungcheol asks without sparing a look at you as you set down his morning coffee on his desk while he flips through the pages of a report.

You pause. “It was…okay.”

His eyes stray from the documents briefly, taking a quick look at your face before returning to the report. “Seems it was unworthy of the afternoon you took off.”

You look around his office helplessly, uncomfortable at his sudden questioning. It seems like he is picking on you on purpose. You decide it will be better to divert the conversation, “I met Jeonghan at the restaurant.” You cringe at how you accidentally refer to his friend by his first name. 

Your words finally make your boss drop his work and regard you with full attention. “Jeonghan?”

“Erm, Mr. Yoon, I mean.” You avoid his eyes. “He was kind enough to offer me a ride home, since it was raining and all.” You need to stop blabbering. Seungcheol stares at you silently for too long a moment, his intense eyes focused on you as if he is decoding something.

“I see.” He murmurs after a while.

A beat of silence.

“Well then, I will prepare for the meeting.” You awkwardly bow while stepping back, eager to rid yourself of the growing tension in the air. With his usual expressionless face, Seungcheol’s eyes follow you until you are out the door.

—

The meeting today is, in fact, with Jeonghan. This weekend, his gallery is holding an art exhibition, sponsored by Seungcheol’s company, with him as the keynote speaker. Today’s meeting is to cross-check if everything is in place and for last-minute adjustments. 

“Where is my dear friend?” Jeonghan asks as he takes a seat in the meeting room. You take a seat on the opposite side of the table while a junior employee distributes the printouts across the table. 

“He will be here soon, Mr. Yoon. He told me to go ahead and start the meeting.” You smile. Jeonghan drums his fingers on the desk. “I thought we agreed you’d call me Jeonghan.”

You pause, looking around, briefly meeting the eyes of Jeonghan’s secretary as well as the employee arranging the desk. “At work it may not be the most appropriate.” You explain.

He sighs dramatically. “You know, sometimes, I feel like you are becoming quite like Seungcheol.”

You look at him, wide eyed. “My god, what do you mean?”

He throws his head back and laughs, “The idea is distressing, no?” 

“Your face is distressing.” A voice says quietly but unamusedly and you turn back to see Seungcheol stepping into the meeting room, with his usual air of boredom. Taking the seat next to you, he murmurs, “Why don’t you stop flirting with my secretary and optimize the work hours?”

“Someone is extra grumpy today.” Jeonghan teases with a knowing grin. Ignoring him, Seungcheol says to the junior employee, “Mina, can you pull up the slides?”

The rest of the meeting is productive as the four of you finalize all the details and map out the entire event. As the discussion rolls to an end, and your boss is getting up from his seat, Jeonghan says, “___, I would like to have you as a translator for the exhibition day.”

Surprised, you blink at him. Next to you, Seungcheol, who just got up from his chair, stills. Jeonghan continues, “You know, there will be a lot of French guests and I would love it if you were my translator. I’ll pay you for your time, of course.”

“Just hire a translator,” Seungcheol says dryly. 

“Oh come on,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. ___ has helped us out with translations before. I need someone I am familiar with and someone who is smart and charming.” He turns to you. “You have no problem with it, right?”

“Uh,” you glance at your boss, who is staring at his friend with narrowed eyes. “No, I don’t mind.” You are supposed to be there anyway, as a representative on Sungcheol’s end. So getting paid separately to be there does not hurt. Besides, you have always loved meeting new people.

“It is settled then,” Jeonghan smiles, clasping his hands. “I promise to return her to you, Cheollie. Stop glaring at me like that.”

“Whatever,” your boss murmurs and marches out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud. You cringe, before looking at Jeonghan, “I’m sorry. I have no idea why he has been behaving weirdly for the past few days.”

A mysterious smile kisses his lips, “I think I know why.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” He turns to his secretary, “Could you please email the contacts of the French guests to ___.”

—

The exhibition starts at 2 pm, but you arrive at Jeonghan’s gallery by 1 pm. Jeonghan’s secretary, Chan, gives you the tour, showing you around the space and the paintings being exhibited while his boss finishes a meeting. Just before the exhibition is about to start, Jeonghan finds you.

“Hey, ___. Sorry, my meeting took longer than expected.”

You smile. “No trouble. Chan was a very helpful guide.”

“That’s good to hear.” He replies before glancing down the length of your body. “You look stunning, by the way.”

Flattered, you glance down at the length of your baby pink dress before giving him a smile. “Thank you. You look great as well.”

He fixes the lapels of his maroon suit with a dramatic gesture. “Thanks, this is a custom piece from Italy. By the way, when is your boss going to grace us with his presence? He does know that he has to be here by 4 for his speech, right?”

“He said he would be here in time.” You give Jeonghan a tight smile. “He had a few meetings in the morning.”

“And let me guess, he is brooding.”

“Yeah, the warehouse shift has been a challenge.”

“Mhm, I think that’s not all.”

“What?” You blink. Before he can reply, Chan calls his name. With a reassuring smile and a soft squeeze on your shoulder, Jeonghan takes his leave.

Thus starts the event. You greet the guests and show them around the gallery, chatting and socializing all the way through while keeping an eye out to make sure everything is going as planned. Despite your worries, Seungcheol shows up on time — 15 minutes before his speech. After the viewing, the crowd moves to the auditorium for the panel discussion, where Seungcheol delivers his speech, along with a few other guests. You have some food, observe the scene, and help the staff with anything they need before finally, the exhibition officially rolls to an end.

To your surprise, Seungcheol stayed the entire time. You had expected him to march out the moment he was done with his formalities but he stayed the entire length of the artist’s discussion panel, hovering around, never quite coming to you or addressing you, puzzling you.

Why was he acting like a stranger?

Just as you are contemplating his behavior with a glass of champagne in your hand, Jeonghan appears. “Thank you so much for your help today, ___. You were amazing.”

You grin. “You are too kind. And it was my pleasure. This is a really good exhibition.”

“Thank you, I am glad you enjoyed it.” He winks playfully. A cameraman walks past you and Jeonghan flags him, asking for a photo of the two of you. You pose next to him, flashing a big smile for the camera. Just as you are recovering from the blinding flash, you see Seungcheol heading towards you.

He is dressed in a dark grey three-piece suit today and all afternoon, you have tried your best not to let yourself drool over him. It does not work right now, as with the jacket off, you can see the muscles of his bicep bulge underneath the white shirt and momentarily, your mind blanks.

“Ugh, there comes Mister Sourpants.” Jeonghan murmurs. Seungcheol comes to a halt in front of you, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks at his friend. “Great work on not botching the show.” He says unimpressively. Jeonghan laughs, slinging an arm over his shoulder, “You underestimate me, my friend. But thanks for showing up and not badmouthing me on stage. I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“I was looking at the pictures.” Your boss responds indifferently.

“Well, since you are all still here, let's go grab dinner together.” Jeoghan offers.

“No thanks, I am going back to the office.” Seungcheol removes his friend’s arm from his shoulder. When Jeonghan looks at you expectantly, you say, “I would love to, but not today. I have to go to the office too, as I left my charger. My battery is about to die. I have some work to finish up as well.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, “Ever the workaholics. Come on, people, work hours are over!”

“Let’s have dinner on Friday night, perhaps?” You look at Seungcheol for confirmation but he seems busy with his phone, dialling his driver’s number. As he presses the phone against his ear, you notice something and your hands instinctively reach out to fix his crooked tie, before smoothening the hem of his vest. You have done it multiple times before — for meetings and press conferences — as Seungcheol’s tie always seems to rest in a crooked manner. 

As you finish fixing it and he hangs up the call, your eyes lock with his and a shiver runs down your spine. In a split second, the air seems to be full of tension, thick enough to cut through with a knife and hot enough to ignite a fire in your belly.

Fuck. You look away and retract your hands, trying to act as normal as possible. “Your tie was crooked.” You murmur.

“Thanks.” Seungcheol’s voice is quiet.

Jeonghan looks at the two of you with a growing smile of mischief. “Well,” he looks pointedly between the two of you, clasping his hands, “I will let you kids get back to work for today. Thanks again for your help, ___.”

“My pleasure.” You smile, suddenly embarrassed to meet his eyes. With a harsh pat on the back and a suggestive wiggle of his brows, Jenghan says goodbye to Seungcheol, grinning like a Cheshire cat. With his friend gone, Seungcheol wastes no time, marching towards the exit, “Let us get going.”

—

It is suffocating inside the car.

Even with the AC on full blast, it feels like a thousand degrees in here with zero ventilation. The earlier tense moment between the two of you seems to linger, now even more amplified than before in this enclosed space. 

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, trying to think of something to talk about but coming up with nothing. You don’t trust yourself to speak right now, so you try your very best to look out the window and pretend there is no one sitting next to you. After a while, when doing that gets tough, you pull out your iPad and start sorting through your work. 

Just then, Seungcheol speaks. “You seem to have gotten really close with Jeonghan.”

Oh boy. There seems to be an edge to his voice and you are unsure how to reply or what to reply. An awkward laugh floats past your lips. “I mean, he is easy to get along with, you know.”

“Mhmm.” Even the Sahara is not as dry as his tone.

You glance at him, waiting to hear something else. For a brief second, you let yourself be distracted by his gorgeous face — the couple of stray strands of hair on his forehead calling your name, making your hand itch to put them back in place.

Though if it were up to you, you would mess up his hair. And his clothes. And his back—

“From now on, don’t help him out.” He turns to look at you. “He might be my friend but business is still business and you are my employee.”

“Uh, okay.” You whisper. Your boss looks back out the window, and you interpret that as the conversation being over. You return to your work, but for some reason, the numbers and the letters on screen make no sense to you.

A moment later, you whisper, “Did I do something to upset you?”

Seungcheol turns his head slowly to regard you with a quizzical look. A sudden rush of emotions swirls within you, and for a scary moment, you think you might cry. With a deep, calming breath, you meet his eyes and try to flash your usual professional smile. “If you are displeased with my work or anything I have done, I hope you will let me know.”

Seungcheol is mute and slightly wide-eyed, almost like he is scared of you. The silence stretches on like chewing gum, and he looks like he is about to say something, but the car halts, and you waste no time getting out.

A quiet and suffocating elevator ride later, you step into your floor, with Seungcheol leading the way. The office is now empty and quiet, save for your footsteps, which halt in front of your desk as you set your things down. Seungcheol continues his way towards his personal office, but stops at his door. Turning his head back, he says, “Can you come into my office for a second?” His voice is not commanding, and he almost sounds unsure.

Confused, you stare at him for a second as he stands at his door, eyes fixed on you expectantly. Quickly plugging your phone in, you walk towards the double doors, stepping through the one he was holding open.

The second you are inside, Seungcheol locks the door shut behind you. You only get a second to process that you are pressed against the door with Seungcheol’s body dangerously close to yours and keeping you trapped, before a hand cups your jaw and tilts your head up.

“I can’t pretend anymore.” He whispers so low, you almost miss it. 

“What?” You croak, your heart galloping like a racehorse, your knees are suddenly weak. What the fuck is going on? Are you dreaming?

His eyes meet yours before he utters very quietly, “I can’t pretend that I don’t care for you. I care much, much more than a boss should care for his secretary.”

“I…I don’t…” You mumble, heart racing in your ribcage, brain functioning on overdrive to make sense of what is happening. 

“I am going to kiss you now, ___.” He warns. Then, Seungcheol is kissing you. 

Warm, soft and delightful, you forget to breathe for a long second, your heart swooning, ready to burst. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close, molding your body with his. His large arms wrap around your back and your waist, pressing you flush against him, and you swear it is the best feeling in the world.

When you part, Seungcheol looks at you with glistening eyes, warm like a summer afternoon and for a second, you get lost in them. The kiss lingers on your lips, making you bite your lower lip. Like yours, your boss’s lips too, are swollen and just as he leans his face towards you again, you stop him, pressing your hands flat on his chest.

“Wait. Stop.” You say, voice too loud amongst the stillness.

Seungcheol pauses, eyes flashing with worry.

“Are you drunk, Mr. Choi?”

“What?”

“This cannot happen if you are drunk.” You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I… I cannot be your plaything. You know very well that I like you — I have been for a while and I’m trying to make sense of why you are suddenly doing this. I…I cannot—” you are suddenly choked with emotion, your gaze falling on the floor.

“___.” He says your name with a tenderness unlike ever before. “Look at me.”

You cannot bring yourself to, fighting to keep the tears at bay. With a finger below your chin, he tilts your face up to meet his eyes. “I am not playing with you. I am doing what I should have done long ago.”

“What?”

“I like you, ___. A lot. And I have liked you for a while. I just did not realize it,” He sighs, taking a step back and running a hand through his hair. “Well, I actually did…I think. I just did not want to give in to it, I suppose, with the dynamic we have and all.” His pauses, looking back at you. “I know this is pathetic, especially with the way I have been behaving for the past few weeks, but I cannot pretend anymore. I hate seeing you go on those dates. I hate seeing you be friendly with Jeonghan. I want to do those things with you. I want to be with you.”

Breathless, you gape at him, still struggling to believe that all of this is real.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

“I took you for granted.” He continues. “I got so used to your presence around me that I thought I would have you forever, forgetting that you could eventually move and find someone else, not only getting over me but leaving this job altogether.”

“So what, this is a ploy to keep me working here forever?” An awkward laugh comes from your mouth. Seungcheol keeps looking at you with a somber expression, a quiet storm brewing in his eyes.

“I mean it, ___. I want you. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours.” He says quietly.

Wow. You must have died and gone to heaven.

Realizing that there is not much left to say, you inhale a steady breath, remove the gap between the two of you with a few quick steps, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Seungcheol wastes no time, wrapping his arms around you, meeting your lips with an equal fervor and the passion of a starving man. Lips connected, bodies in embrace, he guides you through the office, stopping in front of his desk and pushing you against it.

Catching his breath, he swiftly takes off his jacket and your fingers reach out to undo the buttons of his vest, shaking with hazy desire. He helps in taking off your dress, undoing the ribbon on the back and pulling down the zipper before tugging it down with one strong move. Left only in your bra and panties — which do not match by the way — you cringe in embarrassment while trying to combat the sheer amount of desire flowing through your veins. Seungcheol, unbothered, gets down on his knees, face to face with your pussy.

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” You squeak. The response is him taking off your panties with a tug so harsh that the lace on the edges rips.

“Seungcheol!”

“That’s right. That’s how you call me from now on. And that is the only word I want to hear from you now.” He commands with a burning fire in his eyes as he grabs your thighs, putting them over his shoulder and then gets to work. 

Shit.

His tongue laps at your core and the first touch has you falling back on his desk, pushing down the stack of files and stationery on the floor. His tongue works at your core mercilessly, switching between playing with your folds and sucking your clit while you writhe in his grasp that is iron clad. With each flick of his tongue, your moans rise, and then he inserts one finger, which very quickly turns into two, and you think might die from the pleasure.

"Fuck!" You cry, body twisting and turning on his desk, desperate to get away from his touch but wanting it simultaneously. It is maddening —whatever that is happening, and you feel your high building, too quick, too strong.

"I cannot...Seungcheol...I think— I think—"

His response is muffled and you can only hope its a positive one as you feel the tremors run through your body, sitting right at the edge of an orgasm. His tongue moves like he has known your body for years, and with one strong flick on your clit, you go off, falling head first into an abyss of pleasure, all your nerves on fire.

As you lie flat on his desk, body still trembling from the orgasm, Seungcheol smothers kisses on your belly, slowly going up towards your chest and then your neck, biting and sucking your skin however he likes. You have bearely had a couple of minutes to recover, but heat starts pooling in your belly all over again, your hands coming up to wrap themselves around him, soft sighs parting from your lips as he kisses your jawbone, soft and sweet.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers in your ears. With a thousand butterflies fluttering in your stomach, you turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss.

Then, he stands up, discards all the remaining clothes from his body and makes himself comfortable between your legs. You prop yourself on your elbows, taking a good look at his chiseled body and his flushed cock, which stands tall and angry, pointing at you.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” Your boss hums, stroking his length, before hooking an arm underneath your thigh and yanking you closer to the edge of the table, your pussy a mere inch or so away from his cock.

“I am so sorry, sir,” you smile suggestively and Seunghcheol exhales a rough breath.

“You better keep screaming that when I pound this pussy.” His eyes shine with determination. You bite your lip, giving him a cheeky smile and watch as he inches his cock near your pussy. You take in a deep breath as he pushes his cock inside you, tantalizingly slowly, making sure you feel every inch and your nerves are on fire. With a moan, you fall back on the table, eyes falling shut with the way he fills you up over and over again.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol hisses, his voice throaty as he goes all the way in, and you swear you feel him in your stomach. With a loud cry, you cling onto his body, nails digging into his back and your toes curling at each thrust. He builds a pace, pushing in and out of you in steady movements. Your brain feels like mush as you fail to utter anything, your mouth simply hanging open to let out breathy pants as you close your eyes and feel every ridge of his cock move in and out of you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters underneath his breath, eyes set on you so intensely, you feel a shiver run down your back. “Seungcheol…” his name parts from your lips like a prayer. Another mutter of curse from him before he stops his movements and yanks your ass upwards. The new angle makes his length curve inside you and you start seeing stars.

“Oh my god,” you hiss, eyes squeezed shut. The back of your thighs rests over Seungcheol’s, your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands clutching his arms as he starts to pick up pace. With each thrust, the force increases, the tip of his cock hitting your most sensitive spot, low groans falling from his lips to match your breathy moans. 

“Shit...I want to cum...please,” your whisper mindlessly, the words scattered between whines of pleasure. “You want to come?” He taunts, leaning closer to look at your face. “Beg me. Say sir, please let me cum.”

Oh god. 

The need to find your release only intensifies at his words. You are so close you can almost taste the blissful release, and as you utter the next words, you wonder what other hidden kinks you have. “Sir, please let me come.” You beg, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. The man squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a low groan, his pace increasing.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,’’ he hisses in your ears, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Please, sir.” You whisper, doe-eyed and drunk on his cock. “Oh baby,” he murmurs, before leaning in to seize your lips in a bruising kiss. With one hand, he keeps a firm hold on your jaw while the other reaches below to touch your clit as he wastes no time rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the pads of his finger, all the while continuing to thrust inside you earnestly.

“Seungcheol!” With a loud cry you part your lips from his, your entire body jolting at his touch.

Your reaction makes him smirk as he chases his own high, not far away from finishing inside you. Standing up, he slows he pace ever so slightly, making sure to put all his body weight in each thrust as he places your clit between his thumb and index finger, giving you a particularly harsh rub followed by a pinch.

You are catapulted over the edge. Your vision goes white, your entire sweat-coated body twitching on his desk from the intensity of the orgasm. It only amplifies as you feel Seungcheol spill inside you, his warm release filling you up while float as high as the clouds, pure bliss overtaking your senses. 

Once you have caught your breath and managed to gather your senses, you realize you lie on top of Seungcheol on the office floor, your bodies pressed together, riddled with exhaustion and sweat. For a moment, you say nothing, just feeling Seungcheol’s chest go up and down with every breath he takes.

“I can’t believe we just did that. In the office.” You whisper, almost like someone would hear you. Seungcheol shifts underneath you, helping you rest your head on his arm. “Me too but about time I acted on my desires.”

Shy but intrigued, you look at him, “Have you been wanting to do this for a while?”

“Fuck you on my desk?” He asks bluntly, making your face heat up. “God yes. You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that.”

A small burst of laughter parts from your lips, delighted at his confession. Snuggling closer to him, you start tracing your index finger aimlessly over his chest. “We are going to be a nightmare for HR.”

“Fuck them. I am the CEO.”

His response makes you smile. “You are serious about this, aren’t you?” Seungcheol’s hand reaches out to cup your cheek, tilting your face upwards to look at him. “If you still have any doubts in your heart, you need to let them go because I am dead serious. You are mine.”

His words reignite the fire in your belly. And the way your lipstick marks are branded all over his face does not quite help either. Still, you decide on teasing him with a pout, “Was that supposed to be a confession? At least buy me some flow—”

You are cut off with another ruthless kiss. His tongue passionately makes its way into your mouth, meeting yours that is equally wanton. You claw at his chest, a soft moan escaping your lips as you feel him growing hard again.

“Fuck,” he almost yanks himself free from your lips. “Let me get you home before we start round two here.” Your delighted laughter rings in the air as the two of you get dressed.

Next morning, when you wake up in Seungcheol’s bed, a bouquet of a hundred roses sits at the foot of the bed, with a note saying:

Can I be your boyfriend?

For a bonus epilogue, click here! This work will also be cross-posted on my AO3.

© startlightxsvt 2026 | All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, translate, adapt, or repurpose any of my works.