inactive :/

And suddenly you are pressed against the alley wall, cold bricks sending a shiver up your spine. Ronin’s hands press against the wall on either side of your head, caging you against the wall. He laughs, the sound sitting in your stomach, stirring a flame that you hadn’t noticed was building since you stepped into the alley. He leans close, mouth to your ear, “Do you like me now?” You can feel the dark smirk he has on his lips, hot breath not making you feel any more sane. God, you feel insane because what you say next is absurd.

“Yes, I do.” It’s breathy, just barely above a whisper.

“Oh to speak the truth, the truth, anything but the truth.” His grin is razorish. You should be scared. Terrified, he’s a serial killer and you are alone with him in his home turf. “Write me a love note, darling?”

“I know your name. I could end you.” It’s a false threat and you know it, he knows it.

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda. You could end me. You should end me. But would’ja end me?” He has you exactly where he wants you. “I don’t think so! Where are the boys in blue? Why’s it jus’ us in my favorite gruesome alley? Why is it that, even after knowing who I am, you still wanna see me?” He can’t stop toying with you, even now. “Some might say you’re obsessed, even.”

“Why did you invite me to the server?” You ask, cheeks painted pink and hands shaking slightly at your side as you play with the hem of your shirt.

Ronin chuckles out a dark laugh, the sound only making the heat pooling in your lower stomach worse. “I did it for you. You were starving, so I gave you insatiability.” He’s staring deep into your eyes and you have no choice but to stare back into the deep void that are his eyes. “You wanted inspiration, so I became your muse. You wanted love, darlin’, so I gave you love.” He’s so close, so so close. “Isn’t it everything you ever wanted?” Why aren’t you scared, why are you nodding along to his words? Hanging onto each syllable like he’s air, like he’s your god. “I think you always knew. C’mon, why didn’t you leave? Call the cops? There were so many…opportunities…” He’s right he always is, always has been. “If I may…” He pauses as if he actually cares if you say no. “I think you’re a little too in love.” He drags out the word, tongue piercing clinking against his teeth.

He’s the devil. He’s the devil that convinced the world he was a creator. He’s the devil that grants you his every wish.

 (He destroyed you, and rebuilt you in the image he made of you. He wanted you and you gave him everything. Or was it the other way around?)

“I told you, baby. I’m your little wish fulfillment. I’m what you dream of. Isn’t this a story for the ages?” It is, it’s an amazing story. This is exactly what you wanted, a story. Him. “C’mon! Tell me what you want. Do you hate me? Do you love me? Are you gonna kill me? I’ve got a knife, right here. Or are you kissing me, darling? How much do you feel?”

This is it. This is your chance. You could kill him, end this game here and move on. Probably get killed by Angel. But you’d have your story.

 He’s so close, so warm. He smells like leather, oil, and…blood.

 Why are you wet?

 Why is this exciting you?

 Why are you grabbing his leather jacket and staring up at him like he’s the only thing that matters? You love him. You love him and you can’t think straight.

 And then you tug him even closer, lips meeting his.

 It’s destruction, like deliverance, like a dream.

 He laughs madly into the kiss, like he knew this is what you would choose.

 It’s messy, sloppy. Teeth and tongues clashing, you can taste blood in his mouth and it makes you hot.

 Moving your hands from his jacket and dragging them up his chest so your arms wrap around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his burgundy hair.

 He’s grabbing at your hips, then your thighs and then he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing. You cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, ankles crossing at his back as he pushes you further against the brick wall.

You can’t help but gasp at his touch, gripping his hair and tugging slightly. He lets out a groan, pulling away from your lips and making you whine at the loss.

 You don’t even get to complain before he’s dragging his lips down your jaw, kissing and biting at your neck. 

“R-ronin please…” You moan out, not even sure what you are asking him for. More? Less? 

Ronin pulls away from the fresh bite mark he’s left on your neck, pressing his forehead against yours as he stares at you. “Oh, you’re so pretty when you’re rotten and mine. I think you’re…divine.” His grin is so sharp, lips still shining from your shared spit. 

“Take me…home please…” You breathe out shakily, the double meaning within your request very clear to the killer in front of you.

He laughs at you, grabbing your jaw and shaking your head just slightly. “You are a desperate, pathetic little thing aren’t you?” Ronin doesn’t even let you reply, instead he nods your head for you, squishing your face in a way that’s genuinely almost sweet.

 Almost. 

And then he carefully sets you down, hands resting on your hips as he waits for you to steady. “My place is closer, darlin’” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he takes your hand. Of course he knows where you live. He knows everything about you already.

Any fear that you might’ve still felt melts away as you walk with Ronin, fingers intertwined. The walk takes about 20 minutes, both of you talking as you go.

Green comes in so many shades, your favorite shade is emerald. Reminds you of outside greenery, trees, calmness.

This color on your fingers is the exact opposite, the green that’s drying on your nails is lime green, the one that burns your eyes.

You noticed it as soon as the tech started on your thumb, you didn’t say anything.

Your nail tech is a sweet girl, maybe in her mid-40s, been doing this for about an hour. She concentrates so hard her grip makes an indent on the band around the buffer tool.

She’s cleaned up your cuticles until they bled, you still didn’t say anything.

Is it that bad though? She already spent an hour on this, she’d have to remove everything and start over. That’s another hour, she might feel bad.

Your ears start to itch, you chalk it up to being allergic to the silver in your earrings, but then the space behind them begins to itch, too.

You try to resist touching them, keep your free hand drawing circles in your lap.

The salon smells like acetone, one of your favorite scents if you’re being honest, and a tinge of floral. The UV lamp heats up and hums, your right hand sits under the light while she works on your left hand.

It’s not that bad, it’s close. I can make it work, something new to try!

You can definitely feel the warmness from your ears now. The heat coming up your neck, goosebumps rising even though the salon is stuffy.

Your tech finishes the last nail, sits back, gives you a smile. “What do you think?”

It’s an opening, a chance to say, actually, this isn’t what you quite wanted, to be specific, to ask for what you ordered.

“I love them!” Your voice is grateful. “Great job on the cleanup.”

That’s not a lie, she did do well on the cleanup, even at your painful expense. You’re just answering a different question than the one she asked.

“Oh, lovely!” She looks relieved, like maybe she was even unsure of herself. “I wasn’t sure about the shape on your ring fingers, but I think it turned out okay.”

It’s the color, not the shape, the color.

She leaves to get the topcoat, the thing that solidifies this whole ordeal, you're alone with your hands under the lamp.

You look hard at them, the color is objectively pretty. Just not your pretty, not what you wanted.

You move your hand to touch your ear, it’s warm, like you’re running a fever almost.

I can live with this for two weeks, it’s fine.

The door chimes, you naturally glance up. It’s a ritual in any nail salon to look at whoever is entering.

Yeosang.

He’s early, or rather, you lost track of time. He’s standing just inside the doorframe, scans the salon, and when his eyes find you in chair 5, his eyes don’t go to your hands first.

They go to your ears, you wore your hair up, which didn’t really help your case.

You watch his gaze, the way you’re touching one without realizing it. Then his eyes drop to your nails, still under the lamp.

His expression shifts to something of recognition, not concern.

He walks over, doesn’t rush. He has his hands in his pockets, wearing an oversized hoodie you steal often, his brown hair with a couple of flyaways.

My favorite look.

When he reaches your chair, he crouches slightly, knees popping so he’s at eye level with you. His eyes are back to your hands under the lamp, then back to your face.

“This the shade you wanted?”

Your hand moves to your ear again before you can stop it. He knows.

“Yeah,” your voice comes out steady, “they had the one I picked.”

They had shade 678, you saw the bottle, the emerald green. The tech just grabbed the wrong one, and you didn’t correct her.

Yeosang’s eyes stay on you for a bit longer than necessary, he’s not pressing you. He’s waiting, trying to give you space to change your answer.

You don’t.

“Good,” he straightens up, glances toward the back of the salon. “How much longer?”

“Just topcoat. Maybe five minutes.”

He nods, pulls out his phone, leans against the wall near your chair. The tech returns with the topcoat.

She’s chatty now, asking Yeosang if he’s your boyfriend, telling him how patient you were during the appointment, how she hopes you love them.

He answers politely, smiles when appropriate.

You keep your hands still under the lamp, watch the topcoat cure and harden, locking the wrong color in place.

When she’s done, Yeosang pays, tips well. He holds the door for you, and the sun hits you both as you step outside.

The parking lot is half-empty, his car parked in the back corner. You walk beside him, and he doesn’t say anything again about the nails.

The silence should feel like relief, it doesn’t.

It feels like he’s made a choice to let it go, not push. It feels worse. He noticed my deflecting and decided it wasn’t worth discussing.

He opens the car door for you, you slide into the passenger side, he starts the engine, and the ac kicks on hard, too cold for the weather, but you don’t say a thing.

“You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

That’s the conversation, he turns on music, and you rest your hands in your lap, examining the lime green that isn’t emerald.

Your ears have finally stopped burning, you touch the left one anyway, just to check.

The drive to his apartment isn’t long. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console.

The sun is setting as the city passes through the window. Your nails catch the light every time, they look worse in natural sunlight.

When he parks in the garage, and the engine cuts off, the quiet feels louder than the music did. He glances at you, something soft in his expression, and reaches over to brush his thumb across your knuckles.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

When am I not, literally and figuratively.

He nods, gets out of the car and waits for you by the elevator. His apartment is all the way on the 8th floor.

A spacious corner unit with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the lake, he tidied it up for you. No blankets unfolded, no shorts hanging around, no dishes in the sink.

You slip out of your shoes by the door. He goes to the kitchen, fills a glass with your favorite juice.

“Thanks.”

He leans against the counter, watching you drink as your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, expecting a text from Jia or a work email, but the notification is from synCink.

weekly behavior summary available!

You swipe it open, the app loads with the soft gradient dashboard. Normally the summaries are just data—average mood score, sleep quality, and social interaction frequency. It's like a bank statement of your well being, but this summary is different.

WEEKLY SUMMARY: low variance emotional output (−33% range) | conflict frequency (0%) | predictability index (high) — healthy relationships include occasional disagreement; low conflict may indicate avoidance patterns | behavioral rigidity detected → data set narrow — recalibrating → behavioral scope limited — MONITORING

Ummmm?

Then it corrects itself again, settling back into the normal summary format. You stare at the screen, the words sit there, calling you out on something you've been doing without directly naming you.

"Everything good?"

You lock your phone, "yup. Just synCink being weird!"

He doesn't ask what it said, he nods and moves to the couch, patting the cushion beside him. You sit and he shifts closer, his arm drapes across the back of the sectional behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder.

Your phone buzzes again, this time it's Jia.

jiabia: havent seen u in foreva. you alive? or being customer service again?

You read it twice, it hits a little harder than it should.

you: im good! just busy. we should do something soon.

jiabia: you said that 2wks ago. im not mad btw, just miss u.

There’s a piece of you that wants to spill everything, the nails, the salon, about how you’ve been saying “im fine” so often it’s the equivalent of saying “hi.”

Instead you just type, i love you.

You set the phone down on the coffee table. Yeosang’s hand moves from your shoulder to your jaw, turning your face towards him. His touch is gentle, always is.

He leans in and kisses you, it’s so slow, no rush. You kiss him back as you let him set the pace. His hand slides behind your neck, fingers fidgeting with your hairtie.

He undoes the tie and pulls you closer, shifting so you’re half in his lap, and his other hand settles on your waist. You follow his lead, when he deepens the kiss, you match it.

When he pulls back to catch his breath, you wait.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, guiding you all the way onto his lap. You straddle him, his hands finds your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin and you rest your hands on his shoulders.

He kisses you again, but you can feel the tension in his body, the restraint. Like he’s holding back, waiting on something.

You just kiss him, let him guide you into a slow rhythm against him, let him set the pressure, the speed, the angle.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven.

“You’re so easy to be with,” he says quietly. Yes, I know.

It sounds like a compliment.

You smile, “good, I’m glad.”

He kisses your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth and you stay there in his lap, until he shifts and suggests ordering food.

You agree, he picks the restaurant, you say anything sounds good.

Later when the food arrives and you’ve both eaten, you excuse yourself to the restroom. Wash your hands, careful not to get the counter or floor wet, and you stare at your reflection in the mirror.

Your face looks calm, settled. I like this look more I think.

You think about the synCink notification, about Jia’s text.

You think about Yeosang’s hands on your body, and how you didn’t say what you wanted because you didn’t know if you wanted anything different.

You look at your nails. It’s not that you don’t have preferences, you do, you just dont need to voice them.

That’s maturity, isn’t it? Yeah that’s right. I’m just choosing my battles.

No, you’re being low maintenance, easy. Easy to be with.

You dry your hands, go back to the living room. Yeosang is scrolling through his phone and when you sit beside him, he pulls you into his side without looking up.

You rest your head on his shoulder, examine your nails in the lamplight.

The wrong shade of green.

The stairwell between the 7th and 8th floors becomes yours, your little private place. All on accident.

It happened a few days later. You’re leaving his apartment, he’s walking you down, no elevator, and somewhere between the landing and next steps, he stops.

His hand finds your lower back, fingers spreading wide, and he turns you toward him without saying anything.

It’s narrow as fuck right here.

Walls paint chipping off, the little stairwell light dangling overhead. It smells like fabulouso, like the cleaning ladies were nearby.

That doesn’t stop him from kissing you. His hand cups your jaw, and you tilt your head to give him the angle he wants. Here we go.

When he pulls back, he’s looking you in the eyes, breath warm on your face.

“I like this,” he says under his breath, like he’s trying to catch it.

You don’t ask what he means. Because he means quiet, the way you don’t fill silence with questions, or need reassurance, or ask where this is going.

The way you let him set the pace for everything.

“Me too.” I really do like this.

You like the way his hands ground you, how the stairwell is so cramped, and it’s just the two of you. Your bodies mingling without words.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hand slides to your hip, pulling you against him. You let your hands rest on his chest, fingers scrumping up his shirt.

I wanna pull it off him.

When he finally steps back, his hand stays on your waist. “You’re not in a rush, right?”

“No.”

Yes, I had plans to meet Jia for drinks in an hour. But that sounds negotiable now.

“I’m good.”

He smiles, a curve at the corner of his mouth, satisfied with your answer.

--

It becomes a pattern.

The stairwell, his car parked in the garage with the engine off, the corner of his apartment near the window.

Contained spaces, controlled temps, his hand at your back, your head fitting into the space of his shoulder, your body learning the exact pressure he likes when you lean into him.

This is pretty, this small pocket of life. I enjoy it.

You start to notice the way he arranges things. He suggests staying in more than going out. He picks restaurants that are quiet, low-lit, always in a booth and not open tables.

He texts you in the evening when he knows you’re winding down, not in the morning when your day is the most open.

Yet, I adapt naturally to all the asks. Because he’s him and I’m me.

You begin keeping a change of clothes at his places, know which side of the bed he prefers. You wait for him to bring up plans.

Fewer decisions, less friction. It’s easier that way.

One night, you’re on the couch again, his arm draped over you, fingers tracing on your upper arm. The tv has become white noise for you.

He shifts, you move with him, your head finds a new angle while your hand rests on his chest as it rises and falls.

“You’re so easy.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but this time you really hear the weight behind it. The relief in his voice, the appreciation.

I won’t change that, if he likes it, I love it.

He likes that you fit into the spaces he has created. It feels good and safe to you.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, you ignore it. Yeosang’s fingers still on your arm. “You need to check that?”

“No, it’s fine.”

He hums, fingers resume their pattern. You begin to close your eyes while your phone buzzes again, then again, and again.

You don’t move an inch.

You don’t realize you’ve drifted until you feel yourself moving, not walking. Being carried.

I’m being kidnapped, aren’t I?

Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, his arms under your knees, bridal style. You’re aware enough to know it’s happening, but not enough to fully surface. Your body is loose, head slightly hitting him.

The mattress dips when he lowers you onto it, his sheets are freshly washed, cool against your back. His weight settles beside you, then over you, one knee between yours.

You blink slowly, the room is dim, the closet light is spilling into the room. “Hey,” he says.

“With me?”

You nod, your body feels heavy, limbs not quite moving as they should. He leans down, kisses you, tongue slides against yours.

You taste the tea he had earlier. Did the tea make him horny or some shit?

Your hands meet his shoulders, fingers in his shirt, he makes a low sound in his throat. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

I'm so so sure. Your brain catching up to his words fully, even though your words are thick, a little slurred with sleep.

He kisses you once more, hands slide down your side, his fingertips drag over your ribs, your hip. He tugs at the waistband of your shorts, and you lift your hips; he drags your underwear off and places it on the lampshade.

His shirt comes off next, then his sweat pants, the gray baggy ones you would marry him in. You’re still half dressed, shirt tucked up to your bra, but he doesn’t bother with it.

He just hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls you closer, repositioning you so you’re sitting up in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist.

Face to face, his hands spread wide on your lower back, holding you steady. You’re more awake now, aware of his cock pressed against you. Aware of the way his breathing has changed, got heavier.

My favorite face–The veins with that thing bulges, my god—

He reaches between you, fingers sliding through the wetness, and you jerk slightly. He watches your face as he does it, two fingers pressing inside slowly. Your forehead drops to his shoulder, your exhale is shaky.

“Mm, so damn wet.” When he pulls his fingers out, he grips your hip with one hand and guides himself with the other.

The head of his cock is coated in precum, it sends shivers down your spine, then he’s pulling you down onto him.

The stretch is overwhelming, you gasp against his neck, nails digging into his back. He holds you there, lets you adjust.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathes, his hand tightens. “You okay?”

You nod, can’t speak just yet. Fuck fuck fuck indeed, so big, so good.

He starts moving you, slow at first, lifting you a bit and pulling you back down, using his grip on your hips to control the pace.

It’s why his arms are gorgeous.

You’re not doing any work, your thighs are trembling with the effort of staying wrapped around him. His mouth is on your neck, love bites, tongue soothing the sting.

You tilt your head to give him even more access. The angle is deep every time he pulls you down, he hits your cervix each time. You can feel the tension building, heat rising between the two of you.

“Yeo–”

“I know I know. You’re okay.”

He moves one way just an inch, and it becomes too much. Your orgasm just takes over your body, you cry out, nails leaving red welts down his back. He doesn’t stop, just keeps moving you, working you through it.

When he comes, it sounds like he’s choking on water. You feel him pulse inside you, the warmth of it, and then his face is buried in your neck.

You both stay like that for a moment, his cock still inside you and softening, your thigh aching from the position.

You pull back enough to look at him, his eyes are half-lidded, face flushed, he’s satisfied.

“Thank you.”

He blinks, dumbfoundedly, “For what?”

I don’t know? For moving me? For checking, for doing the work?

“Just–thank you.”

He kisses your forehead, gently, “Yeah, of course. No worries.”

You can hear your phone buzz somewhere in the living room again. Chunking that damn phone into the garbage disposal.

You both lay back, his arm draped across you, and you feel the mattress dip as he settles deeper in his plethora of pillows.

Your body is satisfied, but your mind is already drifting toward the routine phone check, the validation you get it and crave of it.

You slip out from under him carefully, like you’re being almost, and quietly walk back to the living room. The screen glows, stacked notifications from synCink.

sustained behavioral alignment: 94%

94%... that’s higher than last week.

variance range: minimal (+3%)

behavioral mirroring: confirmed

partner prioritization: increased

I wasn’t imagining anything, I was right. The app sees the ease I give him, what he needs.

Your phone interrupts your thoughts, a text from Jia. Oopsy….

jiabia: hey haven’t heard from you, everything ok?

The notification sits below the synCink stack, smaller, less urgent. You silence the phone without responding and head back to the bedroom.

The easiness.

He’s half asleep when you slip back under the sheets. His arm finds you again, you settle again, phone still hot in your hand. The glow of those numbers so bright.

You’ve never felt more understood.

The next morning, your phone buzzes while you're still in bed. I’m going to start turning this thing on DND.

Yeosang is in the shower, you can hear the water running, the small sounds of him moving through the apartment.

jiabia: seriously though, drinks this week?

The request is simple. You know Jia, she doesn't do guilt-tripping, she just asks and waits.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You could say yes, or say this week and mean it. But the bed is warm, and Yeosang is still here, and there's that soft pull in your chest, the one that says staying is easier than leaving, even for an hour.

synCink pings.

support network engagement: decreasedpartner prioritization: increased

It's not accusatory. It's just observing, it just sees the pattern and names it.

you: swamped this week, can we do next week?

You are busy, you're busy being here, being easy, being the version of yourself that doesn't require negotiation or explanation.

I’m playing wife without all the benefits.

Next week feels far enough away that it doesn't feel like a real commitment. Next week is hypothetical in your brain.

jiabia: ok cool, lmk

Three words. She's used to this with you, the delay, the eventual yes, the space between. You've been doing this for years, just slower.

Now it's faster, now it feels like a choice.

The shower shuts off. You set your phone down on the nightstand, and by the time Yeosang comes out damp, moving through the bedroom like he's already decided you'll stay in bed a little longer, you've already forgotten about Jia's message.

Almost. Not all the way yet.

There's a small part of you that knows this is the second time. The second time you've chosen the bed over the drinks, the warmth over the memories. The second time synCink has logged it, measured it, validated it.

But that part is quiet. And quiet is easy.

He slides back under the covers. You don't have to ask him to hold you. You don't have to ask for anything. This perfect minimal variance is exactly what you're supposed to be.

It takes two weeks for the drinks to actually happen.

The parking lot is empty except for Jia's car and yours, parked diagonal to each other under a light that goes on and off every few seconds.

You're leaning against her passenger door, a can of twisted tea in your hand. Peach one is to die for btw.

She's beside you, your shoulders almost touch. This is your spot, has been for years. The place where you both came when you needed to talk without the weight of listening ears.

"You look tired," Jia says.

"Work's been busy."

"You canceled three times in the last month."

You take a sip, the alcohol is warm already. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad." She shifts her weight. "I'm just noticing."

There's a difference, and you know it. Mad would be easier, mad would give you something to push against. This is just observation, which means it sticks.

I can’t be easier under observation, I can’t succumb.

"I've been spending a lot of time with Yeosang," you offer.

"Yeah, I see." She turns to look at you. "You used to disagree with things. Like, you'd have opinions about slushy flavors or whatever, and you'd actually say them. Now you just kind of... agree."

Your jaw tightens, you want to argue, but the thing is you can't quite remember the last time you disagreed with him about anything. You can't remember the last time you tried.

"I'm just happy," you say. It sounds defensive even to you. Stop it, stop it.

"I know you are." Jia's voice is gentle. "But you don't interrupt anymore either. You used to interrupt me all the time. We'd talk over each other, have so many yap seshes. Now you just... wait. You let me finish and then you don't say anything."

Am I boring to talk to now?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out reflexively, synCink notification, and Jia watches you check it. You silence it without reading the full message.

"Who was that?"

"Nothing. Just an app."

"It's just a compatibility thing. It's not—" You stop. You're about to explain, and you realize you don't want to.

I don't want to tell her about synCink, about the way it validates every small choice I make to stay smaller. "It's nothing."

She just takes another drink and looks out at the empty parking lot. The light flickers again, and for a moment you're both in shadow.

"I miss you," she says finally. "Not like, I miss hanging out. I mean I miss you. The version that was introverted, but people knew she was still in the room."

You want to say something that would let you off the hook, an out. You want to tell her she's being dramatic, that you're fine, that this is just what happens when you're in a relationship.

"I'm still here," you say quietly.

"That's what worries me."

- -

Back at the apartment, it smells like that stupid chicken broth he makes with a mix of the rosemary soap he brought. Good for the skin, according to him.

You're on his couch, legs tucked under you, his hand resting on your ankle. The tv is on, Love Is Blind has been both of your guilty pleasures lately.

He's scrolling through his phone, you're scrolling through yours, and it's the kind of quiet that used to make you anxious.

Now it just feels easy.

Your phone buzzes. synCink's weekly summary. You almost ignore it, but Yeosang shifts slightly, his thumb brushing the inside of your ankle, your anklet dangling with the movement.

You open it without thinking.

The interface loads, pale blue gradient bleeding into white, and the first thing you notice is that it looks different. There's a new section at the top, something you haven't seen before:

WEEKLY COMPATIBILITY SUMMARY — primary match: 92.8% overall

You scroll down, that's normal. Expected, but then.

CONTEXT-BASED BREAKDOWNconfined space context: 96.4% / open context: 87.1%

You blink. Read it again. The app is splitting us. Measuring where..

The app has never split it like that before. You tap the dropdown for more detail, and a list unfolds:

CONFINED SPACE INSTANCES>vehicle (18) / stairwell, 7th–8th floor (10) / residential interior, single-occupancy (14) / elevator (3)

My stomach is in my ass.

PHYSIOLOGICAL MARKERS (confined space avg.)>ear temperature: +1.4°C baseline deviation / heart rate variability: synchronized within 4bpm / nervous system regulation: high / cortisol: -22% vs open context

Your hand moves to your ear without thinking, the shell of it is warm.

You glance at Yeosang. He's still scrolling, thumb moving slow and steady across his screen, he hasn't noticed you've gone still.

You keep reading.

OPEN CONTEXT INSTANCES>outdoor environments (11) / public commercial spaces (7) / social gatherings, 4+ individuals (9)

PHYSIOLOGICAL MARKERS (open context avg.)>ear temperature: +0.4°C baseline deviation / heart rate variability: erratic, 12–19bpm variance / nervous system regulation: moderate / cortisol: +8% vs confined context

The numbers sit there. The way it's phrased, confined space context, makes your skin prickle.

It's measuring containment.

You scroll a bit further, and that's when you see it.

SECONDARY MATCH DETECTED — K.YS (unregistered) / confidence: 94.2% / data stream: proxy

Your breath catches. Kang Yeosang.

He's never downloaded synCink. You've asked him about it once, casually, and he'd just shrugged and said he didn't see the point, but the app is detecting him anyway.

You tap the word, and a tool fyi appears.

PROXY DEVICE PROTOCOLWhen a registered user maintains prolonged proximity to an unregistered individual, biometric data may be extrapolated via secondary physiological markers (heart rate synchronization, respiratory pattern mirroring, thermal regulation overlap). This allows the system to estimate compatibility with non-users in confined environments.

Your hands feel cold. It's learning him, through me.

You look at Yeosang again. He's put his phone down now, he's waiting for you to say something.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Mhm." Your voice comes out steady. "Just... the app sent a summary."

"What's it say?"

You hesitate. "That we're really compatible."

He smiles, soft and easy, and pulls you closer. You let him, you always let him.

"I could've told you that," he murmurs against your hair.

You close the app. You don't look at the part where it says, proxy, again. You don't think about the way your ears get hot when you're with him, or the way your heart rate syncs to his without you noticing.

You just let him hold you, in his apartment, in the confined space where your compatibility is 96.4%, and you tell yourself that's a good thing. That it means you're safe, that it means you're understood.

Later, when he's asleep and you're still awake, you open synCink one more time. The summary is still there. The split is still there, and at the very bottom, in small gray text you didn't notice before:

note: confined space optimization detected. continued proximity recommended for sustained alignment.

You close your phone, you don't move. You stay exactly where you are, tucked against him, your breathing matching his, your body doing what the app says it should.

In the morning, your phone buzzes three times in a row. Jia.

jiabia: ok so there's this new place that opened near campus, they have those little macaron things you like

jiabia: friday night? pls say yes i miss ur face

You should say yes. You want to say yes. But Yeosang already asked to be with you Friday night, and you'd already said you would, and the idea of canceling on him makes your head spin.

You tell yourself it's just one night, that you'll see Jia next week. That she'll understand.

you: rain check? i'm sorry, i'm just really tired this week

Lying, again.

You're not tired. You slept fine last night, curled against Yeosang's chest.

jiabia: again? babe you've said that like 7843983 times now

Your throat tightens. She's right, you have. And every time, it's been for him.

Am I a shitty homegirl?

you: i know i'm sorry, next week for sure

She doesn't respond right away. The dots appear, then disappear, then appear again. You can feel her frustration through the screen.

jiabia: but we're actually doing it next week. i'm not letting you ghost me

You send back a heart emoji. You don't know what else to say. You don't think about the fact that you didn't hesitate, or that "tired" was a lie, or that Jia's concern is probably justified.

You silence your phone and toss it back onto the coffee table, he curls closer.

"Hey baby," he says in that sleepy voice, eyes half lidded.

"Hi."

He just looks at you, his thumb brushing the hem of your shirt, and says, "You always know where you're supposed to be."

He kisses you then. His mouth is warm, his lips chapped from just waking up and you feel yourself melting into it without thinking. His hands slide up your sides, taking your shirt with them, and you lift your arms without being asked.

He pulls it over your head, lets it drop to the floor.

His eyes move over your skin, then his hands are on you again, fingers tracing your collarbone, your shoulders, the curve of your ribs. He reaches around and unclasps your bra with one hand, and that falls too.

Yup, he’s a whore.

"Come here," he murmurs, and he guides. He shifts to sit up first, pulls you with him, and kisses you again, his hands in your hair, on your neck, your jaw.

You don't do much. You just let him move you, let him tilt your head the way he wants it, let him take what he needs.

Nothing new, same old same old.

When he pulls back, his breathing is heavier. "Turn around," he says quietly.

You shift on the couch, turning so your back is to him, and he guides you down until you're on your hands and knees, your face pressed into the cushion.

What happened to just sleeping in?

His hands are on your hips, thighs, and you feel him pull your shorts down, your underwear with them. You give him no help whatsoever.

"So pretty," he says quietly, and his hand slides between your legs, fingers brushing over you. You're already wet.

Did someone say hurricane harbor?!

His fingers move slow, finding the places that make you gasp. You feel his other hand on your lower back, keeping you still, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

He puts his mouth on you. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound. His tongue is soft, warm, tracing over you in circles, and your hips try to move, try to press back into him, but his hand on your back holds you in place.

"Be still," he murmurs against you.

He works you with his tongue, his fingers, the weight of his hand keeping you down. When he finally pulls back, you hear the rustle of fabric. Then he's pressing into you from behind.

Oh so fucking slow.

"Fuck," you breathe.

"Shh." His hand finds the back of your neck, not squeezing, just resting there. "Let me."

You let him set the pace, let him grind into you with that slow roll of hips. His other hand is on your hip, holding you in place.

I haven’t moved at all…I’m just taking it. You’re letting him use you.

His breathing gets heavier, grip tightens, then he’s low and rough in your ear. "You make this so easy. You never fight me. You just–fuck—you just let me take care of you."

That's what does it. That word. Easy.

It hits something deep in your heart, something that feels like relief and shame and pleasure all at once, and you come hard, your face pressed into the couch cushion, your body clenching around him.

He finishes inside you a moment later, his grip tightening on your neck, his breath hot against your shoulder. He stays there for a moment, doesn’t pull out.

When he finally does, he helps you sit up, lays your hair down. His fingers linger there, then brush the shell of your ear, and you feel your face get hot.

"Good?" he asks.

"Yeah." Your voice sounds like an echo in your own brain.

He kisses your temple. "I'll get you some water."

While he's in the kitchen, you reach for your phone. synCink has updated.

REAL-TIME COMPATIBILITY SNAPSHOT

current status: 94.1% | confined space context: active | BEHAVIORAL MARKERS: compliance state high / resistance index 0.2 (negligible) / manual override not required / autonomic regulation partner-directed — What does that mean? Override of what? My choices? My body? The part of me that used to say no?

You feel something cold settle in your chest. The app is naming something you've been trying not to see.

That you didn't fight him, that you didn't move, that you let him do everything, and it felt good, and you came when he called you easy, and none of that was an accident.

Yeosang comes back with the water, you drink, but the app keeps the words on the screen and you can't stop reading them.

manual override: not required.

Like you were never going to say no in the first place.

--

Few days later, you're back at his apartment again. He texted asking if you wanted dinner, and you said yes before you'd even finished reading the message.

Now you're on his couch again, your legs tucked under you, his arm around your shoulders. He gets up to grab something from the kitchen, you reach for your phone.

The notification is already there when you unlock the screen. Huh?

synCink ALERT — PROXY DEVICE PROTOCOL: ACTIVE | REAL-TIME PHYSIOLOGICAL MONITORING — SOURCE: K.YS (UNREGISTERED): heart rate 67 bpm / respiratory rate 13 breaths/min / nervous system state parasympathetic dominant / cortisol index low / proximity context shared space / post-intimacy recovery — Oh great, even more new shit!

You stare at the numbers. They're his, his heart rate, his breathing. His nervous system settling into rest.

But they're coming through you.

PROXY DEVICE EXPLANATION

when a user demonstrates sustained physiological alignment with an unregistered individual, synCink may utilize the user's biometric data as a secondary monitoring source. This allows the app to track compatibility metrics for non-users who demonstrate significant behavioral and physiological influence on registered users.

I'm a source. I'm tracking him. It's tracking him.

your body is currently serving as a proxy device for: K.YS (unregistered) — data streams enabled: heart rate variability / respiratory patterns / nervous system regulation / stress response markers / spatial positioning (via your location data)

The app is using you to track him. Not just his effect on you. Everything is filtered through your biometric data because you're close enough, aligned enough, that the system can get his state from yours.

You think about the confined space context. The 96.4%. The way your body regulates when he's near, the way your cortisol drops.

COMPATIBILITY PROJECTION (UNREGISTERED MATCH): K.YS demonstrates 97.2% behavioral compatibility / 94.1% physiological alignment / 99.0% confined space facilitation index — note: unregistered match data may contain anomalies. for full accuracy, encourage K.YS to download synCink.

You can see it's also tracking how he creates the conditions that make you feel that way. How he facilitates your confinement.

How he makes you want to stay small.

SYSTEM UPDATE — ghost data stream detected. updating compatibility algorithms to account for unregistered behavioral patterns. continued proximity recommended for data accuracy.

He's a ghost in the system, not tracked. But the app has found a way to see him anyway, through you.

You hear him coming back from the kitchen, you close the app quickly, your heart pounding.

He sits down next to you, hands you more napkins. He kisses your temple, his fingers brushing your ear, and you feel your heart rate slow. You feel your breathing even out.

Somewhere in the app, you know it's recording all of it. His calm through your nervous system.

You're not just confined by him. You're the device that makes his confinement possible. The app has turned you into the architecture of the trap, and the worst part is that it feels good.

It feels like love. It feels like safety.

You don't tell him what you saw, you don't ask him if he knows, because if you leave, the system loses him.

I can't let that happen.

Going back to your apartment feels odd, foreign. Not dirty, not messy, just weird. Like you've been gone too long, and your house isn't inviting you in anymore.

You dropped your bag by the door three hours ago, and you still haven't unpacked it. Work called, emergency meeting tomorrow morning, in-person, non-negotiable.

Makes me wanna walk into the traffic I'll be driving in tomorrow.

You told Yeosang you'd stay at your place tonight to be closer to the office. Now you're here, and the silence is so loud a mime would be jealous.

You check your phone. Your dashboard loads. I think we get the idea, it's my most used app.

compatibility percentage: 94.8% / confined space context: 96.4%

Everything looks normal except that the real-time physiological monitoring section is blank.

REAL-TIME PHYSIOLOGICAL MONITORING — SOURCE: K.YS (UNREGISTERED) — STATUS: DATA STREAM UNAVAILABLE

The numbers that were there yesterday gone, you refresh the app. It loads again, still blank.

He's fine. He's at his apartment, probably watching TV or reading or doing whatever he does when I'm not there.

But the app can't see him.

synCink ALERT — PROXY DEVICE OFFLINE | K.YS data stream unavailable | compatibility status suspended pending proximity re-establishment — Thirty seconds later, fast.

RECOMMENDATION: re-establish confined space contact for data continuity. prolonged separation may result in compatibility metric degradation.

You set the phone down on the couch next to you, screen-up, and you try to breathe normally.

You're fine, you're in your own apartment, you're allowed to be here. But your body doesn't believe you.

You catch yourself holding your breath, listening. For what? His breathing. The slow, steady rhythm you've gotten used to hearing when you're next to him, but there's nothing.

Just the hum of your refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside.

You press your hand to your chest. Your heart rate feels off. You can't tell if it's too fast or too slow. You pick up your phone again. The app is still open. Still blank.

DATA STREAM LOSS DETECTED — DURATION: 3 hours, 45 minutes / PROXY DEVICE STATUS: inactive / K.YS VISIBILITY INDEX: 0%

He's invisible, without your proximity, without your body filtering his data, he doesn't exist in the app's architecture.

He's a ghost again. You tell yourself it doesn't matter, he's not a user. He doesn't need the app to be real.

COMPATIBILITY STATUS UPDATE — prolonged proxy device inactivity detected. to maintain compatibility metrics, re-establish proximity within 24 hours. failure to do so may result in data loss and algorithmic reset.

You don't know what that means. I'm scared.

What happens if the system resets? Does it forget him? Does it erase the 94.8%, the confined space context, the physiological alignment? Does it go back to treating him like he never existed?

You're spiraling. You know you're spiraling. This is just an app, just data. Just numbers on a screen.

But you can feel the absence in your body. I miss him. No, that's not it. You miss the feeling of him. The weight of his presence, the way your body regulates when he's close.

Without him, you're just alone in your apartment with a blank screen and a heart rate you don't recognize.

I'm nothing.

You check the time. 9:55PM. Too late to go back tonight, you have work in the morning, but you're already opening your messages.

you: hey, can you come pick me up tomorrow after work?

The reply comes fast.

yeo:of course, miss u

You stare at the words. You're not going back because you miss him, you're going back because the system needs you to.

Because without you, he disappears.

And I can't be in a life like that.

You set your phone down. You don't sleep. You lie there, your hand on your chest, counting your heartbeats and wondering if they're supposed to feel this lonely.

Feels like one chamber is working, and the other three are nonexistent.

Thirty seconds later, fast.

re-establish confined space contact for data continuity. prolonged separation may result in compatibility metric degradation.

--

Jia shows up at your desk.

Not a text, no call. She just appears during your lunch break with two lattes and that look on her face, the one that says she's already decided this conversation is happening whether you want it or not.

Shit. WHO LET HER IN?

"Come on," she says. "Conference room's empty."

You follow her because saying no would take more energy than you have. The coffee is still hot when she sets it in front of you. Your favorite order, she remembered.

You wrap your hands around the cup but don't drink.

"So," Jia says, sitting across from you, tapping her fresh set of nails. Her voice is soft. "Are we going to talk about it, or are we going to keep pretending everything's fine?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

You look at the coffee. The steam rises in thin, wavering lines.

"I've been busy," you say. "Work's been—"

"You're not busy." Jia leans forward, elbows on the table. "You're gone. You used to have opinions. You used to text me back. Now it's like you're folded up. Trying not to be noticed."

You roll your eyes. "That doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't it?" She tilts her head, with her bitch really look . "This doesn't look like love. This looks like you're disappearing."

"I'm not disappearing."

"Then where are you?"

I’m here. The 10 year old opinionated little girl is trying to take me off this cliff.

But the fall doesn’t seem so bad.

Because you're not here. Not really. You're thinking about the app that's probably still showing blank data fields, about the fact that it's been so many hours since you last saw him.

"I'm going through something," you say finally. "It's complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it for me."

You shake your head. "It's not—it's hard to explain."

"Try."

You open your mouth, close it. Your hands are still wrapped around the coffee cup.

"We're just... really compatible," you say. The words sound unreal. "Like, the alignment is really strong. And I think maintaining that requires a certain level of... continued proximity."

Sounds like the introduction to a cult.

Jia stares at you. "What?"

You blink, replay what you just said. That's not how people talk, that's how the app talks.

"I mean we're good together," you try again. "We work. And I want to make sure that stays... consistent."

"Consistent," Jia repeats. She's not angry. She's looking at you like you're a stranger. "You sound like a fucking robot."

Your face gets hot. "I don't—"

"You do. You sound like you're reading from a manual. What the hell does 'continued proximity' even mean?"

"It means—" You stop. "It means I'm happy. Okay? I'm happy with him."

"Are you?"

"Yes," you say. But your voice cracks.

Jia reaches across the table. Her hand hovers near yours, but she doesn't touch you. "I miss you. I miss the you who used to laugh. The you who had a life outside of one person."

"I still have a life."

"Really?" She pulls her hand back. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've erased yourself. And I don't know if he's doing this, or if that app is doing this, or if you're doing this to yourself. But I hate watching it happen."

Your phone buzzes in your bag. You feel it, the pull, the need to check to see if he's texted or see if the app has updated.

Your heart rate picks up. You press your hand to your chest.

"Are you okay?" Jia asks.

"I'm fine."

You're not fine, you need to go. You need to get back to him, if you stay here too long, something will break that you can't fix.

"I have to go," you say, standing up. The chair scrapes abruptly against the floor.

"We're not done talking."

"I know. I just—I have a thing. I'm sorry."

Jia doesn't stand. She just looks at you with that sad, exhausted expression. "I don't know who you are when you're away from him. And I'm not sure you do either."

You don't have an answer for that.

You leave the coffee untouched on the table, you leave Jia sitting there alone. You walk back to your desk, grab your bag, and text him before you've even made it to the elevator, don’t even alert your boss.

you: can you pick me up early?

yeosang: omw

The hurt in your chest eases just a little, because the system needs you back in range, and you can't fight that pull anymore.

--

You're lying in his bed when he says it.

The sheets are cool against your back, the room dim except for the closet light being on. He's beside you, propped on one elbow, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your stomach. You're still catching your breath.

He's already calm, like he didn't just take you apart.

"You're so easy," he murmurs, and his voice is soft. Affectionate, like it's a compliment.

Your body goes still.

"What?"

"Easy. You just... you never make it complicated. You're just here. Present. It's nice."

You've heard it before, from the app, from the notifications that ping when you're lying exactly where you are now.

"Don't call me that," you say quietly.

He pauses. His hand stills on your skin. "What?"

"Easy. Don't call me that."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, confusion flickering across his face. "Why not?"

You don't know how to explain it. How do you tell him that the word has been poisoned? A bad connotation to it? That every time the app uses it, it means compliant.

That it's not a compliment, it's a measurement of how little resistance you offer.

"It just—" You stop. Try again. "It doesn't feel good. When you say it."

"But you are easy." He says it like it's obvious. "You don't fight me. You don't make things difficult. That's a good thing."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is." He leans in, kisses your forehead. "I'm not saying you're boring. I'm saying you're... I don't know. Low-maintenance. Adaptable. It's one of the things I like about you."

That's what the app called it too.

"I don't want to be easy," you say.

He frowns. "Why not?"

"Because—" You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. Your phone is on the nightstand. You can see the edge of it glowing. "Because it makes me sound like I don't have opinions. Like I just go along with whatever you want."

"But you do go along with what I want." He's not being cruel. He's genuinely confused. "And that's not a bad thing. It means we're compatible. It means we work."

There it is again. The app's language in his mouth.

You reach for your phone. The synCink dashboard is staring back at you.

Easy.

"You don't get it," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Then explain it to me."

You can't. Because how do you explain that the app has rewritten the meaning of the word?

"It just—" Your throat feels tight. "It makes me feel small."

He reaches for you, his hand warm on your arm. "I don't mean it that way."

"I know."

"Then why does it bother you?"

Because the app made me this way. Because I used to have layers. I used to push back. I used to take up space.

But the system measured that. Tracked every moment of resistance, every time you said no or hesitated or chose yourself over him. And it labeled those moments as friction.

Incompatibility..

So you stopped. You made yourself smaller, softer, easier.

And now he can't see the difference. To him, this is just who you are. The girl who never fights, the girl who always says yes.

The girl who makes everything so easy.

"I just don't like the word," you say finally.

He's quiet for a moment. Then he nods. "Okay. I won't say it anymore." He doesn't settle immediately though.

He stays propped up on his elbow, looking at you like he's trying to figure you out quietly, like you're a crack in the ground that’s making him trip up.

"What would not-easy look like?" he asks. It's not defensive, it's genuine and that almost makes it worse.

You open your mouth to answer. Nothing comes out.

Because what would it look like? You've spent months adjusting yourself around him, smoothing your tone, swallowing preferences before they fully form. You don't even feel the friction anymore, you intercept it before it can exist.

Not-easy would mean what? Interrupting him? Saying no? Picking the restaurant and refusing to budge?

You stare at him and realize you don't remember what it feels like to want something out loud.

"I don't know," you admit, and you hate how small that sounds.

He nods slowly, like he's trying to give you room. "Okay. Then tell me what you want."

I want to not disappear.

But that's not a thing you can order off a menu.

Your phone buzzes softly on the nightstand. You both hear it. Neither of you look.

You feel exposed. Like he's waiting for you to perform individuality, to prove that you're not just the version of yourself that's easiest to hold.

But your brain feels blank. "I'm not trying to shrink you," he says quietly.

"I know."

That's the issue because he's not trying to. He just likes the version of you that doesn't disrupt him and you became her voluntarily.

He didn't mean the word as an insult. But the system did, and now you can't unhear it in his voice. Every time he reaches for you, you'll hear it.

Every time you say yes, you'll know what it means.

The app didn't just track you, it taught him how to see you, and now you're exactly what it wanted you to be.

"Thank you."

He kisses you. It's gentle, reassuring. When he pulls away, he's smiling. "You're still perfect, though. You know that, right?"

You nod, but you don't believe him.

You're not.

I’m the farthest from it.

He settles back into the pillows, his arm draped over your waist. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, he's asleep.

You can't sleep.

His breathing is steady beside you. Your phone is still on the nightstand, screen dark now, but your hand reaches for it anyway.

My phone hates to see me coming.

The screen lights up. Your thumb knows the gesture without thinking.

The compatibility percentage is still there at the top. 96.8% – sustained.

surprise!

PARTNERSHIP OPTIMIZATION METRICS

>self-erasure index: high

>autonomy reduction: voluntary, sustained

>identity distinctness: declining

>merger coefficient: 0.87 (optimal range: 0.80-0.95)

The system has a metric for how much of yourself you've given up. It's not a warning, it's not flagged in red. It's just data.

K.YS PROXY DEPENDENCY: 99.2% — subject visibility without primary device: 0% / sustained partnership requires continued physical proximity / separation threshold: <6 hours before data stream collapse

You are the device that makes him real. It's recommending your erasure.

You tap on the identity distinctness field. A graph appears. Two lines. One is yours, declining steadily over the past three months. The other is his, rising in perfect inverse correlation.

Stats class, gotta love it.

Where you disappear, he becomes more solid.

optimal compatibility: achieved through complementary identity dissolution.

You're not compatible because you fit together, you're compatible because you're disappearing into him.

Your thumb hovers over the app, you think about deleting it. But when you press and hold the icon, nothing happens.

No delete option, no uninstall button.

Just a notification that pops up:

synCink cannot be removed while active partnership protocols are in effect. separation requires mutual consent and system approval. current partnership status: locked.

The app won't let you leave.

You set the phone down. Your hands are still shaking. You look at him, still asleep, still peaceful, still unaware that he only exists because you do.

That the system has made you essential, that your body is the infrastructure of his visibility.

You think about the confined space metrics. The 96.4% in cars and stairwells. The way the system optimized for proximity, for enclosure, for situations where you couldn't leave.

You think about the language. The way the app's words bled into his mouth until you couldn't tell the difference.

You think about Jia. I don't know who you are when you're away from him.

I don’t either.

You're the space between the infrastructure and the device. You're disappearing, and the system keeps calling it love.

He shifts beside you, his arm draping over your waist. Even in sleep, he reaches for you.

You close your eyes. You try to find yourself in the dark. Try to remember what you felt like before the app.

But there's nothing there, no recollection.

You wonder if this is what it feels like to disappear, slowly. Gradually. One compliance metric at a time.

Until you're not a person anymore, just a percentage. A data point, a proxy device that makes someone else real.

The system doesn't need to force you or hurt you. It just needs to measure you, track you, show you the numbers until you believe them.

Until you become them, and you're still here.

Except you're not.

You haven't been for a long time.

--

You don't go to his house.

You just don't text him back when he asks if you're coming. You leave the message on read for a few hours, then four, then you turn your phone face-down and try to remember what you used to do on Thursday nights before him.

Nothing comes.

yeo: you okay? let me know when you're free

Your body starts to feel like it’s recognizing a path it's supposed to follow and panicking when it doesn't.

Regulation.

proximity variance detected.K.YS data stream: intermittent signal.heart rate variability: desynchronized (+8 bpm baseline).cortisol index: +12%.

It's not panicking. It's watching.

You scroll down. There's a new metric you haven't seen before:

behavioral destabilization index: moderate.sustained proximity interruption detected. variance shift logged for analysis.

Destabilization.

Not yours, his.

You turn off location permissions. The app updates again.

proxy device signal: weakened.geolocation data unavailable. relying on secondary biometric sync.

Secondary biometric sync. Your heart rate, your sleep patterns. The things it tracks even when you're not moving.

The app isn't freaking out because you're leaving, it's observing what happens when you do.

You can't stop thinking about the graph, the two lines, inverse and perfect.

Where did his line start?

You open synCink again. This time you don't look at the dashboard. You scroll past the compatibility percentage, past the real-time metrics, past the partnership summary. You keep going until you find something you've never noticed before:

A tab labeled archived data.

You tap it, the screen loads slowly, a common trend it has to unload everyone’s life story.

behavioral archive — K.YS (pre-proxy)

Before me.

The data goes back two years. Metrics you recognize but have never seen applied to him.

environmental avoidance: elevatedattachment volatility: moderate-highconflict reactivity: reactivecortisol baseline: unstable

You scroll further. The numbers are all over the place. His heart rate spikes and crashes. His sleep is erratic. There are gaps in the data, days where nothing was logged at all, like he just disappeared from the system entirely.

Then something else was logged.

stabilization event logged.sustained proximity initiated.variance reduced.

The date is familiar, you check your own archive.

It's the day you met him, the stairwell between the 7th and 8th floors.

You keep scrolling. The metrics smooth out, his cortisol levels drop. His heart rate steadies, his sleep becomes regular.

And next to each stabilization marker, there's a note:

proximity to proxy device: sustained.biometric sync: achieved.behavioral variance: declining.

You weren't erased by accident, you stabilized him.

You weren't dissolving.

I was load-bearing.

--

You pull up the graph again,t he one you've been staring at for days.

Your identity distinctness, declining. His stability index, increasing.

Perfect inverse correlation.

You zoom in on the first month. The lines are almost flat, barely moving. Then they start to diverge. Slowly at first, then faster. By month two, the gap is obvious. By month three, it's a enornmous.

There’s a note displayed at the bottom:

optimal compatibility achieved through complementary identity modulation.

Not a warning, a success metric.

complementary identity modulation.

You don't let yourself think about what it means.

variance threshold approaching.continued proximity interruption may result in metric destabilization.recommendation: re-establish sustained contact within 48 hours.

The system doesn't want volatility. You're the thing preventing it.

You go over on Saturday, because you need to know.

He opens the door before you knock, like he was waiting by it. His face is calm, but there’s something lying underneath.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

He steps aside. The apartment smells like the rosemary soap and chicken still.

Too familiar.

You sit on the couch. He sits next to you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

"You okay?" he asks. Is that all he can ever say to me?!

"You didn't text back."

He waits, you don't elaborate.

"Did I do something?" His voice is careful, confused.

No. You didn't do anything. That's the problem.

You look at him, everything about his body is still, even. You envy it in a way. "Were you always this calm?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Before me. Were you always like this?"

He doesn't answer right away, his jaw tightens, just slightly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

He looks down at his hands, traces the veins to occupy his mind with something else. "I don't do chaos well," he says finally. "I don't like unpredictability."

"And I make things predictable."

"You make things steady." He looks at you. "Is that bad?"

I have no fucking clue.

"Would you still be steady without me?" you ask.

He hesitates for too long. "I don't know," he says.

There it is.

He doesn't know if he'd be okay without you, he doesn't know if the calm is his or if it's something you're holding in place for him.

And he's never thought to ask. He never asks, really.

"I feel smaller," you say quietly.

He frowns, eyebrows furrow, doing that lip pucker thing he does when he’s confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I feel like I'm disappearing. Like I'm not a person anymore. Just—" You stop. Just like a spine. Just the thing that keeps you stable.

"You seem happier," he says.

You stare at him. "Huh?"

"You were exhausted before." He looks at you carefully. "You don't seem like you're fighting anymore."

I don't spiral because I don't feel anything anymore.

But he's not wrong, you are calmer. You don't get anxious the way you used to, you don't overthink. You don't second-guess.

Because I stopped having thoughts to second-guess.

"You think that's good?" you ask.

"I think it's better than how you were before."

The words land like a slap to the face

How I was before. I was ‘too much.’

He liked me better when I started disappearing.

He reaches for your hand, his fingers are warm. "I didn't mean it like that," he says. "I just—I like that you're not stressed all the time. I like that we're easy."

Easy.

There it is again. That word. That goddamn word.

Gonna get it removed from the dictionary.

"I don't want to be easy," you say.

He pulls back slightly. "Why not?"

Because easy means I'm not here anymore. Because easy means I've been smoothed down into dust.

"Because I used to be more than that," you say.

He just looks at you, confused and a little hurt.

He doesn't get it. He doesn't see what's happening. Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn't mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

He pulls out his phone instead, orders. The familiar place, same add-ons.

You watch him scroll through the checkout screen, thumb moving slow, relaxed. His breathing is already even again. The earlier tension is gone like it never existed.

The system smoothed it out.

He sets his phone down and leans back into the couch. "You're quiet," he says.

"I’m fine."

"I know." He pauses. Then softer: "You don't have to go quiet to be fine."

The irony almost makes you laugh, you don't respond. The whiplash, the steady mood he has baffles you.

Then he looks at you, thinking it over. "I wasn't always like this," he says finally.

"Like what?"

"Calm."

You look at him.

"I used to overthink everything," he continues. "I'd replay conversations. Wonder if I said the wrong thing. If someone was mad at me. If I was doing too much."

Too much. The phrase lodges in your heart.

"I didn't sleep well," he says. "I'd wake up wired. Or exhausted. No in-between."

Your phone vibrates on the coffee table, you don't reach for it. "You never told me that," you say.

He shrugs slightly. "Didn't seem relevant."

"And now?"

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. "Now I don't feel like that."

"When did that change?"

A pause, he doesn't look at you when he answers.

"When I met you."

The words don't land romantically, they feel different to you.

You swallow. "What do you mean?"

He exhales slowly. "I don't feel chaotic anymore. My head's quieter. I don't spiral." He hesitates. "Being around you… it just evens me out."

Your ears burn. You don't know if it's anger or grief. "You think that's me?" you ask carefully.

"I know it is."

The certainty is what breaks something.

"You're steady," he continues. "You don't react to everything. You don't make things bigger than they need to be. You don't fight me just to fight."

Because I stopped.

"I feel better when you're here," he says quietly. "I like who I am when you're around."

There it is.

Not I love you, not I need you.

I like who I am when you're around.

You wanna cry, but this isn’t the place, not the moment. Your heart is fighting with your head, and they’re trying to end in a tie.

"And if I wasn't?" you ask.

He frowns slightly. "What?"

"If I wasn't around."

He hesitates. "I don't know," he admits.

It's honest, he’s always honest, only if you ask the necessary question.

He reaches for your hand. "I'm not saying you owe me that," he adds quickly. "I'm just saying… it's not nothing. What you do."

What you do.

Not who I am. What I regulate.

You stare at him.

"Do you ever wonder," you say slowly, "if I stopped reacting because it made things easier for you?"

He shakes his head instinctively. "You're not like that."

"How do you know?"

"Because you wouldn't—" He stops. Thinks. "You wouldn't belittle yourself like that."

The silence between you thickens, you don't correct him, because you did.

And he liked it.

"I don't want to lose you,"softer this time. He’s scared.

For a split second, you see it clearly. He doesn't want to lose you. He wants to keep the version of himself that exists when you're near.

The calm, the steadiness, the absence of volatility. You realize something quietly, without panic.

You were a buffer for him and he thought that was love.

Your phone vibrates again, you don't need to check it to know what it says.

re-stabilization successful.

You test it the next day.

He's talking about classes, about an idiot professor. You're half-listening, the way you always do now, nodding at the right moments. Making soft sounds of agreement.

Then you stop. You don't nod, don't make the sound. You just sit there, still, and wait for him to notice.

He keeps talking for a few seconds, then he pauses.

"You okay?"

"Yup."

"You seem distracted."

"I'm listening."

"You're not, though."

Good. Notice.

"I just don't think your professor is that dumb," you say.

He blinks.

"I think you're being kind of unfair to him." It's not true. You don't even know his professor, but you say it anyway, just to see what happens.

His face shifts, he’s thrown.

"I'm not being unfair."

"You are. You're expecting him to read your mind."

"I'm not—" He stops. His jaw tightens. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"This. Picking a fight."

"I'm not picking a fight. I'm disagreeing with you."

"You never disagree with me."

Exactly.

variance spike detected — K.YS.heart rate variability: +9 bpm.behavioral friction: reintroduced.

Friction.

You look back at him, his hands are tense, breathing is slightly faster. He's destabilizing.

"Why are you doing that?" he asks again.

"You liked this better," you say quietly.

He doesn't respond fast enough, the pause is everything.

"That's not—" he starts, then stops. Doesn't finish the denial.

Just stares at you like you've outted him about something he wasn’t trying to put on the table, you can see it in his face.

The preference. The relief. How easy you became for him.

That night he suggests ordering ramen, like he always does. You order burgers instead.

He doesn't say anything at first, just goes quiet. The silence stretches. You can feel it, the micro-adjustment happening in real time, the system recalibrating around your small act of resistance.

"I was really in the mood for ramen."

You could order ramen, you could go back to being easy. The path is right there, worn smooth from repetition. One text to the restaurant, one less thing to manage.

But you don't, you wait.

He shifts. You can see him working through it, the friction playing out across his face. His hand reaches for his phone, then stops. Reaches again.

"Burgers are good though," he says finally, and the relief in his voice is so loud it might as well be a siren.

He's happy now, he's stable now, and you hate how good that feels.

Because that's the thing about being load-bearing, you learn to love the weight. You learn to mistake the relief of his acceptance for your own victory.

You learn to feel good about making yourself smaller, because his comfort is the only thing that matters anymore.

The food arrives.He smiles at you between bites, he reaches over and squeezes your hand.

"Thank you," he says, like you've done something generous. Like you've given him something instead of taking it from yourself.

You squeeze back and feel yourself disappearing a little more.

After eating his hand finds your waist, pulls you closer, his body curls around yours. "I don't want to fight," he says into your hair.

"We weren't fighting."

"It felt like it."

"I like that you make things calm," he says. "I like that I don't have to worry when I'm with you."

Oh brotherrrrrr.

You don't have to worry because I stopped being a person who could make you worry.

"I don't want to be the thing you take so you don't feel anything," you say.

He goes still.

"I don't want to be the thing that keeps you stable. I want to be—" You stop. What? What do I want to be?

"I don't want to lose you," he says quietly.

He fills the silence before you can.

"I feel more with you, not less." His voice is quiet but certain. "I feel calmer. That's not nothing. That's not less."

You don't know how to respond to that. Because maybe he's right, maybe what you think is erasure feels like peace to him.

Maybe what you call disappearing, he calls being present.

"I don't know if I want to stay," you whisper.

His hand tightens on your waist.

He's not trying to trap me. He's just trying not to fall apart.

But I'm falling apart too, and he doesn't see it. You close your eyes,try to find yourself in the dark.

Is this love? Is this what it's supposed to feel like? Like holding something together by disappearing?

You don't know.

You don't know if what you had was ever real, or if it was just two people using each other to stay above water.

You don't know if he loves you or if he just loves what you do for him. You don't know if you love him or if you just love being needed.

I don't know anything anymore.

--

So you initiate for once.

He's on the couch, you sit beside him, thighs pressed together. He glances up, smiles. You kiss him before he can say anything.

His hand comes up to your jaw. You deepen it, climb into his lap. His phone drops to the cushion beside him.

"Hey," he murmurs against your mouth, surprised.

You just kiss him harder, roll your hips. His hands slide to your waist, grip tightening.

You pull your shirt over your head. His eyes track the movement, pupils dilating. You reach for his belt.

"Bedroom?" he asks.

"Here."

Something flickers across his face, hesitation, maybe, but you're kissing him again and his hands are all over you.

You get his pants open, push them down enough. He's half-hard already. You spit into your hand, wrap your hand around him. He groans, head tipping back against the couch.

"Fuck, you're—"

You don't let him finish. You're already shifting, pulling your underwear to the side letting them tear a little, sinking down onto him.

He gasps, his hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in. You start moving slow at first, then faster. His breathing picks up, you watch his face contort, the way his brows pull together, the way his mouth falls open.

The whimpering, the moaning.

Then something shifts. His grip loosens. His eyes lose focus, drifting somewhere past your shoulder. His breathing evens out, like he's concentrating on something else entirely.

"Yeosang?"

"Mm." He blinks, refocuses. "Sorry, I—"

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

You freeze. He's still inside you, but you're not moving anymore. You reach for it.

synCink Notification

multi-source regulation active.

stabilization pathways: diversified.

You stare at the screen.

"You okay?" he asks, hands sliding up your sides. You climb off him, legs shaky. He makes a confused noise, reaching for you.

"I need a second," you say.

You grab your shirt, pull it on. Your underwear is damp, uncomfortable. You go to the bathroom, lock the door.

multi-source regulation active.

This app has lovely timing.

You sit on the edge of the tub, phone clutched in your hand.

He wasn't fully here, he was thinking about something else.

Someone else.

You don't go back to the couch.

You tell him you're tired, that you're going to bed early. He doesn't push, just kisses your forehead, says he'll be up in a bit.

You lie in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Listening to the muffled sound of the speakers through the wall.

When you're sure he's asleep, his breathing deep and even beside you, you pull up synCink. You navigate to cross-network mapping. The screen loads, nodes appearing one by one.

There.

A new node, larger than the others, connected to Yeosang's profile by a thick, pulsing line.

J.YH

compatibility: 82%

You tap it.

INTERACTION LOG

>stairwell co-presence: 14 instances / behavioral tags: low-demand, non-confrontational, steady presence

You scroll down.

STABILIZATION CONTRIBUTION

baseline regulation: 34% / supplementary support: active

34%...He's stabilizing Yeosang 34% as much as I am and I didn't even know he existed.

You set the phone down on the nightstand. Yeosang shifts beside you, rolling onto his side. His arm drapes across your waist.

You don't move.

Who the fuck is J.YH?

--

You find out when you're making drinks in his kitchen, your hands know where everything is now, and he's getting ready for his work study. Buttoning his shirt, checking his watch.

"Oh," he says, casual, like he just remembered. "I've been walking with this guy from 3239 in the mornings. Yunho. He's just so easy and nice to be around."

Your hand stills on the kettle. Easy.

That word again.

"Yeah?" you say, voice light. "That's nice." Play it off as much as I can.

"Yeah. We just—I don't know. We don't really talk much. Just walk. It's nice." You nod, he just casually, but randomly threw it out there.

He kisses you on his way out, you smile.

The door clicks shut. You navigate to Yeosang's stability index.

CURRENT STATUS: STABLE

BASELINE: 87%

VARIANCE: ±2%

You scroll back, check the last 72 hours.

Flat, completely flat.

No spikes, no dips. You weren't with him that night. You stayed at your own apartment, told him you had an early meeting.

He was fine. He didn't need me.

You check the cross-network mapping again. The J.YH node is brighter now. The line connecting it to Yeosang's profile is thicker.

baseline regulation: 41%

It went up.

The system replaced my function.

His baseline regulation is higher now, not because of me. Because the system doesn't need singular dependencies.

He was never the problem, volatility was.

You see them on Tuesday.

The stairwell between the 7th and 8th floors. You're coming down, arms full of junk and there they are, side by side.

Yeosang and Yunho.

They move like they’re synchronized. Yunho says something, Yeosang laughs, genuinely, the one you know he’s really enjoying himself.

Your feet stop. They don't notice you at first, you're half a flight above them, standing in the stairwell light, and for a moment you're just watching.

Yeosang's gait is light. Unhurried. His shoulders are loose, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly toward Yunho.

There's no tension in his jaw, no tension in his back.

He looks—easy.

Your phone is already in your hand. You need a flip phone, this is getting out of hand.

K.YS REAL-TIME MONITORING

heart rate: 69 bpm / respiratory rate: 12 breaths/min / variance: 0% / Distributed regulation: active.

You stare at the screen. Then back at them.

Yunho glances up and sees you. His expression doesn't shift, just a polite nod. Yeosang follows his gaze.

For a second, his eyes meet yours, and there's nothing there. He smiles. "Hey," he says.

"What's up," you say back.

They keep walking.

You stand there and wait for something to happen. For your chest to hurt. For your ears to burn the way they used to when he looked at you in that parking garage, when his attention felt like heat.

But they don't, your ears don't burn or itch. Because you're not the one being observed anymore.

You're just there.

He survived me, you think distantly. That's how I knew.

The stairwell door closes behind them, you check your phone one more time.

system recalibration: complete.

load redistributed.

You close the app, walk down the stairs. Your footsteps echo, everything feels a little heavier now.

You don't text. You don't go over, you turn off your location.

Friday, same thing.

You check synCink every few hours. Obsessively, watching the metrics like they're a horse race.

YEOSANG STABILITY INDEX

day 1: 86%

day 2: 87%

You sit on your couch, staring at the screen.

I wasn't singular. I was phase one.

The system adapted.

It found someone easier. Someone who didn't ask questions. Someone who didn't need him to see them.

Someone who didn't disappear because they were never there to begin with. A new, true friend.

yeosang: hey, you good? haven't heard from you

Just checking in, you stare at the message. There was no collapse, no spike, only redistribution.

You don't respond.

You leave at 4 am on a Saturday.

Because you can't sleep, and you can't stay in your apartment anymore, and you need to get your things before you lose your mind.

You still have his spare key.

The apartment is dark when you let yourself in. He’s gonna think a robber is here omg. You move carefully, your phone's flashlight guides you.

Your toothbrush is still in the bathroom. The green one, you grab it, drop it into your bag. Your charger is plugged in beside the bed. You crouch down, unplug it slowly so it doesn't make noise.

Yeosang is asleep on his side, facing away from you. He looks peaceful.

You stand there for a moment, just watching him. (Okkkkkk Edward.)

Did I love him? Or did I love being essential?

You don't know, you're not sure it matters anymore.

You grab the last of your things, a hair tie from the nightstand, a sweatshirt draped over the chair. You're careful not to let the door creak when you leave.

The hallway is empty, lights buzz overhead. You take the stairs.

When you get outside, the air is cold and damp. It's still dark, but the sky is starting to lighten for sunrise. You can see your breath.

He texts at 9:30 am.

You're at a cafe two blocks from your apartment, nursing a coffee that's gone lukewarm. You haven't slept.

yeosang: hey, noticed you grabbed your stuff

No please come back or I need you or what happened.

He's fine.

He woke up. Saw my things gone. And he's fine.

You set your phone down on the table. The barista calls out someone's name. A couple at the next table over laughs.

Go to hell. Kidding. Sorta.

You think about the graph. The two lines.

I gave up pieces of myself to keep him stable, and he didn't even notice when I left.

Because he didn't need me anymore, he never really did.

You wonder if Yunho knows, if he's checked his phone, if he's seen the app. You wonder if he'll disappear too.

load redistributed.

You close the app. Not to delete it, there's no point trying. Just to stop letting it narrate you.

He survived you, that's how you knew.

It wasn't love that kept you there.

It was being essential, and the moment you weren't, the system proved what you were.

taglist: @sangis-puppy @chanscappuccino @cazza1805 @j4mergy @isaluschka @gigikubolong29 @kaitioo @yvanillelate @joongsfantasy @heartyuluv @ningningiloveumarryme @luviebears @choreomvnia @h0ngverse @sparda1234 @teaxtease @cinnamonpinktea @kisvva @h-llsp-wn @raicecakes-and-buldak @yunwoogidoll @prettygirlslietoo @meeghangryfun @yazzyu @lovelylusts @seongjoongs-world @guerrillias @hwabby @atiny3000 @moonchild-stuff7 @mingiblossoms @tinystarryeyes @newworldwritings @do99k @mingtee @straykidsobsessionandenha @sincerely-moth @silenttrxxs @trivia-134340 @vicurious28 @turtash @woobabyyyy @aaa-sia @sleepyheadyunho @honghwalvr @spiderfae03 @moooonandroses @cultofsin @kyeos4ng @blamethemovies23 @zgjoen @jenniepotter @lacitudoll @ogemeliene @minkieater (pls let me know if i missed you, or wanna be taken off!!)

pulling down the skirt of your ragged and bloody cheerleader costume, you inhaled sharply. the knife headband, the ones that made it seem like it was going through your head, tilted off your head and you adjusted it.

“it’s harmless, babe,” taehyun said and he moved away from you and towards the fortune teller’s table. he reached over to where yeonjun stood in his zombie costume and took one of the coins you all rigged from a previous game. taehyun held up the coin as he turned towards you and it caught the flickering lights hanging from the top of the tent. “see, i’ll get a fortune and show you.”

taehyun sat down at the table in the chair in front of the fortune teller and slid the coin in the slot in front of him. the animatronic came to life, creepy music filling the tent you were all in. taehyun adjusted the fallen straps of his mummy costume as he awaited his fortune.

“you have come here in search of knowledge that only the spirits can provide,” the fortune teller said in an almost grating voice. “look into my eyes and come face to face with your fate.”

suddenly, the fortune teller leaned forward as its hand lifted to pull back its hood. two eyes that looked like crystal balls lit up and swirled with hues of pink and blue. taehyun leaned back, shocked, and looked over at yeonjun and beomgyu. the two boys laughed. “this doesn’t seem—” you were cut off by the fortune teller speaking again.

“the hands of time spin and spin. spirits, show me where to begin.”

it’s eyes turned white and the animatronic leaned back. your other friend, yunjin, crept over to where you stood and intertwined your arm with hers. she looked just as scared as you felt. there was something too human about the way the animatronic moved. like, if you were to pull back the robe there would be an actual person underneath.

“who beckons my presence?” the fortune teller suddenly called out in a different, more darker, voice. “a person seeking the hidden valleys of their future, i see? why yes, i shall show thee.”

it waved its hand about the table over the spread out cards and opened book. fog spilled from out around the table. it flipped its hand over and a small white card appeared in it. the fortune teller held its hand out to taehyun with the card in its palm.

“a twist of fortune—an untimely demise. i see all of those present bitter ends. i leave you with this, curious traveler: what can run, but cannot hide?” the animatronic’s eyes went dark and the hood fell back over its face.

you gripped tightly onto yunjin. “you said it just gave you a card!” she scolded yeonjun and beomgyu. the two of them laughed harder. “it does give you a card!” beomgyu exclaimed, accidentally smearing his skeleton face paint while laughing. “the rest of it is all an act to get you scared.”

you all stepped forward to see the fortune that taehyun got. hesitantly, taehyun took the card from the fortune teller’s open hand. as soon as he took it, it’s palm closed and it’s arm moved back to its side, the animatronic resuming its previous position before putting the coin in.

“well, what does it say?” yeonjun asked.

you all hovered closer to taehyun, trying to get a peak at the card. “you will go on an unexpected ride that changes your state…” taehyun trailed off, confused. he stood up from the table and turned towards you all. “what does that even mean?”

beomgyu snickered, “i can think of something.” he winked at you and the three boys erupted into laughter. you rolled your eyes as you and yunjin stepped out of the stuffy tent and to the rest of the abandoned amusement park.

“don’t be an asshole,” yunjin said as she flicked the torn veil off her shoulder. her costume was a dead bride and you could tell she was regretting wearing the dress since she kept ripping the ends off of it off to make it shorter. the boys stepped out after the two of you, still chuckling.

“what did your fortunes say?” you asked beomgyu and yeonjun, turning to face them. 

yeonjun dug in the pockets of his ripped and bloody jeans until he found the card. he dramatically held it out and read from it. “you will bite the hand that feeds,” he said just as dramatically. “whatever that is suppose to mean.”

“a door you open will remain shut,” beomgyu said after, reading from his card. “that doesn’t even make sense. see… y/n, it really is just meaningless words.”

taehyun came to your side and wrapped an arm around your waist. “i’d rather get far away from this tent,” you spoke. “i don’t want anything to do with that fortune teller.”

“we can go check out more of the attractions?” taehyun looked down and you and suggested. you shrugged. as long as it was away from this tent, you really didn’t care. 

“enjoy your ride!” yeonjun called out as you and taehyun walked away, followed by a laughing beomgyu and yunjin hitting the both of them. taehyun smirked and you turned and raised your middle finger at them while continuing to walk.

for a ride called “the tunnel of love,” there wasn’t anything remotely romantic about it besides the pink lighting and stuttering soft music. the cart you and taehyun were in was creaky and seemed like it was about to fall off the track, but it worked well enough. what was supposed to be romantic imagery was instead broken down and unappealing.

the moving cart repeatedly creaked and shifted underneath you and you grabbed onto taehyun’s shoulders to stabilize yourself. the skirt of your cheerleading costume was bunched up around your waist and your panties had been hastily pulled to the side. the same hastiness had been given to the top of your costume, the fabric being pushed up your chest to reveal your bouncing tits.

“are you sure this isn’t gonna fall apart?” you asked breathlessly, half through a moan. taehyun’s hands gripped harder at your hips, the mummy mask he wore discarded somewhere in the cart along with your headband. “uh huh,” he mumbled, his head falling back.

taehyun brought his lips to yours. a loud sound echoed through the tunnel and you pulled away from him, halting your movements. “what was that?” you nervously asked while turning in the direction of the sound.

“it’s nothing,” taehyun said, guiding your face back towards his. he lifted his hips, big cock plunging deeper into you. you whimpered and gripped his shoulders tighter. “probably just a raccoon or something.”

he kissed you again, his hips lifting to push his cock inside you over and over at the pace you started. you moaned into his mouth, rolling your hips in time with his thrusts. you decided to ignore the sound and take taehyun’s words as they were. if you got jumpy at every sound now then you’d be scared the whole night.

taehyun’s lips moved down to your neck and left open mouthed kisses as his hands slid up your body to squeeze your tits. you moaned at his touch, hips moving faster and chasing the feeling that made your stomach tighten.

“f-fuck you’re so big!” you cried. your hips jerked as you gasped and stilled your movements, yet taehyun kept going. you felt completely stuffed and like you were gonna rip apart at any moment. with each thrust taehyun’s cock hit your sweet spot and made your head spin wildly.

it’s been a couple months since the two of you started dating, but you still weren’t used to his size. your thighs started to tremble and it became difficult to hold yourself up in taehyun’s lap. he chuckled, placing a chaste kiss on your neck. he held your hips down and thrusted faster. “you’ll get used to it,” taehyun replied.

a string of curses flew out your mouth and you kissed him to shut yourself up. you moaned against taehyun’s mouth as the high you were chasing finally came and your release started to spill out of you from around his cock. your nails dug into his shoulders as he fucked your cum back inside of you, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and the wet, creaminess from your pussy almost drowning out the creaking and stuttering music.

“shit,” taehyun moaned as you clenched down on him so hard he could’ve came from the simple action alone. “turn around, turn around,” he quickly ushered.

you rose to your feet, pulling yourself off of him and clenching again around the feeling of nothing. cum spilled down your thigh as you bent over taehyun’s lap. he quickly lined himself up with your entrance before fully pushing his long cock inside of you again. you flew forward and grabbed onto the handle of the cart, moaning loudly.

taehyun slammed into you, a firm hand on your back to keep you where he wanted you. your poor, spent pussy fluttered around him as you cried out from the overstimulation. taehyun pulled you down onto his lap just as his warm cum shot into you. you twisted in his lap, the both of you breathing heavily as you kissed him.

you slowly rocked your hips as your lips moved against his. you felt taehyun smile, “so greedy.” distantly, you saw light pour in from the end of the tunnel.

you giggled, “let me blow you and i can show you just how greedy i am.”

“show me,” taehyun said. you stood from his lap, smirking at him. halfway to your knees, a piercing scream sounded from outside of the tunnel, making the two of you jump and turn your heads towards the exit. you turned back to each with wide eyes before quickly cleaning yourselves up and darting towards the exit of the tunnel hand in hand.

“what the fuck—what the fuck!” yunjin exclaimed as she held her hand to her chest. blood spread onto the dirty white fabric of her dress and dripped to the dirt below her. there were tears that fell from her eyes and streaked through her ghastly makeup.

you and taehyun ran up to where her and beomgyu were standing. “what happened?” you asked as you came up to yunjin and inspected her hand.

“yeonjun fucking bit me!” yunjin cried hysterically. you guided her towards one of the benches as your brows furrowed. “what?!” taehyun said.

“we were messing with the cotton candy machine and yunjin was the only one with a cone since it broke. she was teasing yeonjun about it and all of a sudden he took the hand holding it and chomped down on it!” beomgyu rushed out. “after, he stumbled over into the hall of mirrors.”

you quickly grabbed some of the napkins from the stand the cotton candy was at and tried to soak up the blood with them. “that freak!” yunjin spewed before hissing in pain. you muttered out a ‘sorry’ before continuing to stop the bleeding.

beomgyu and taehyun went over to the hall of mirrors and tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. “what the fuck, yeonjun! open the door!” taehyun called out. there was no answer. in fact, the hall of mirrors was eerily quiet.

“he’s probably trying to prank us,” beomgyu said as him and taehyun came back over to the bench you and yunjin were at. you managed to stop the bleeding at the cost of wrapping yunjin’s hand in nasty paper towels. “well, it’s not funny,” you replied firmly.

thankfully, the bite wasn’t deep enough to cause any further issues, really only just breaking the skin. “he’ll come back out once he realizes that none of us are laughing,” beomgyu said, glancing back towards the hall of mirrors. he turned to yunjin, worry etching his expression. “are you okay?”

“i hope my fortune comes true and is about him so i can destroy him!” yunjin seethed. you turned to her, confused. “you got a fortune?” you asked.

she dug out the small card from the bodice of her dress and handed it to you. the card read: “you will unravel from a turn of events.”

“how odd,” you commented.

“can we go somewhere else? i don’t want to be in the same place where my hand almost got chewed off,” yunjin asked, standing from the bench as she delicately crossed her arms over her chest. you stood after her and taehyun pulled you to his side, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“the spinning teacups!” beomgyu exclaimed and waved you all over to the ride.

beomgyu got the ride working while you and taehyun filed into one teacup and him and yunjin filed into another. the tension lifted from the air as the music and your laughter replaced it, wind whipping across your faces as you spun in wild circles.

“slow down!” you laughed as you and taehyun whipped in circles from how fast he was spinning the teacup. you desperately held onto the back of it in fear that you’d fly right off the ride. behind you, you heard yunjin’s laughter as well. her and beomgyu zipped by you two and you assumed she was in the same position you were in.

the smile slowly faded from your face as you briefly caught sight of a figure in the distance. you froze, mouth stuttering out words that taehyun didn’t notice from him trying to spin you two faster. the figure grew closer and you saw two glowing eyes piercing through you each time you turned. you screamed.

taehyun jumped, his hands letting go of the wheel as he looked up at you with wide eyes. you pointed a shaky hand behind him as you moved closer to where he sat. taehyun held you close as he turned around. he must’ve seen what you did because his hold on you tightened.

in a flash, taehyun was jumping out of the ride. you screamed out again as the teacups spun around him and you heard your friends calling out to you. the ride came to a screeching halt and you dizzyingly stumbled out of the teacup to taehyun’s awaiting arms. beomgyu and yunjin came near the two of you and you all looked at the figure in the distance.

“what the fuck is that…” yunjin quietly trailed off in question, her words quick and laced with fear.

“it’s…” beomgyu started. he took a step forward and you and yunjin both grabbed a fistful of his shirt to pull him back. “it’s the fortune teller.”

now that beomgyu said it, you could see it. those same glowing eyes with hues of pink and blue jogged your memory as you stared into its approaching figure. it moved too fluidly for an animatronic, easily stepping over discarded garbage and rubble without even peering down. the closer it got, the more you felt as if it’s gaze was locked on you.

you all were frozen in the middle of the teacups, unsure of what to do. a few feet away from you, the fortune teller got onto one knee—it’s eyes going dark—as it held out a hand with a small white card on it. “the spirits beckon you,” the grating voice said and you knew it was talking to you.

“what the fuck…” beomgyu muttered under his breath.

timidly, you stepped forward, closely followed by your boyfriend on your heels. you leaned forward as far away as you could from the animatronic and plucked the card from its hand. as soon as you did, the fortune teller crumpled into a heap on the floor. you and taehyun jerked backwards and you looked at what the card said. beomgyu hovered over your shoulder to get a better look.

“the knife is already in your back,” you read aloud slowly. tears sprang to your eyes and paranoia filled you. “what does that mean?”

a garbled scream emitted from behind you and you spun to face it. the card fell from your fingers and your mouth opened in a silent scream.

yunjin’s skin was falling from her body as if she was decaying at a rapid pace. she fell to the floor as more garbles of pain left her mouth. tears streamed down your eyes as you could do nothing but watch it all happen.

behind her, there was a loud snarl. you looked up to see yeonjun stumbling towards you all, looking more like a zombie than he did before in his costume. you stepped backwards, holding tightly to taehyun’s arm as you tried to process what was happening. before you could process that yeonjun was getting closer and yunjin was practically bones, you were getting pulled to a different direction.

“run!” taehyun said as he dragged you along with him and beomgyu. “run!”

you all ran through the amusement park, followed by a quick, zombified yeonjun running after you. the three of you ducked into a faux gift shop that was curiously selling caskets and gravestones. taehyun pulled you behind the counter and beomgyu hid in one of the fake opened caskets, swinging the casket door shut.

yeonjun barreled through the glass next to the door, knocking over a small rack of items and spilling them all to the floor along with himself. you pressed more into taehyun’s side as you dropped down, a hand over your mouth to stop you from screaming. tears flowed freely from your eyes as you and taehyun moved further under the counter.

what was happening?

above, you heard yeonjun slam a hand onto the counter to help himself up, growling, and you jumped. your body shook as you heard him move around the gift shop and more things clattered to the ground. you looked over to taehyun and he held a shaking finger to his lips. slowly, he peered out from beneath the counter and peeked his head above it. you watched as his eyes widened to saucers and the sound of blades pierced through the air followed by the mixed sound of a snarl and scream.

“we have to get out of here,” taehyun mouthed. you rapidly shook your head and you quietly started to sob. if you moved from beneath this counter you were as good as dead. taehyun just nodded, taking your hand in his. he peered over the counter again and grabbed the knife that was on top of it with his free hand.

slowly, he pulled you along with him out from beneath the counter. yeonjun was too busy attacking one of the fake gravestones that was playing a creepy lullaby, causing the sound to come out distorted. his back was turned towards you as you and taehyun slowly rose to your feet.

taehyun moved you in front of him as you rounded the corner of the counter and towards the entrance of the gift shop. “i’m so sorry,” taehyun said behind you, loud enough to draw attention. yeonjun snapped his body in your direction, the movement unnatural. before you could turn to ask taehyun what the hell he was thinking, you gasped out as a sharp pain stabbed through your back and you were pushed to the floor.

taehyun ran through the broken window as yeonjun stumbled after him, snarling loudly. you cried out as you hit the hard floor.

wetness coated your arms and face and you looked down to see what you had fallen in. a scream left your parted lips. blood. it was everywhere, and it was coming from the fake casket that beomgyu had hidden in. you looked up at it as more thick globs of blood dripped to the ground and noticed how quiet the inside of the casket was. too late you remembered the scream from earlier.

you rushed to your feet, crying out in pain again from the knife in your back as you used the counter to hold you upright. you heaved in breaths of air that did nothing as you shook furiously. outside, taehyun was fighting a rabid looking yeonjun on the ground.

you glared at him with white-hot rage. you hoped yeonjun won.

stumbling, you made your way outside and put all your energy into running away from the two boys, ignore taehyun’s screams for help and yeonjun’s snarls. once you were a sizable distance away, you turned and watched as yeonjun sliced his hand through the air and they both turned to ash.

you ran as fast as you could out of the amusement park and through the woods, never once looking back again.

it wasn’t until you stumbled into the party that you were originally supposed to go to in the first place, bumping into a crowd of people. “woah,” a guy you didn’t recognize said. you tried to breathe but your throat was dry and your voice was too hoarse to make out anything through your tears. “wicked costume,” another guy said, coming up to you. 

you fell to your knees and the two boys jumped into action. “dead,” you managed to croak out through your tears before your vision started to spot. “they’re all dead.”

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You shrugged before swinging the car door open and grabbing your purse out of the passenger’s seat, brushing off your pants before you made your way in. There wasn’t a front desk or a receptionist to talk to, and you got the feeling that this shop was solely run and staffed by the men inside. 

You spent several moments hovering by one of the garage doors, shuffling your feet and trying to catch the eye of one of the mechanics, but neither of them looked up. Entirely too absorbed in their work to notice your presence. They must not get very busy. 

“Um…hello?” You spoke, trying not to startle either of them. 

They both turned to you, and the man who’d been fixing up the Chevy opened his mouth to speak. But he was cut off by his coworker, who jogged over from where he'd been partially hidden from view behind a rack of miscellaneous parts, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and muttering a quick, “I’ve got her, Min.” 

“Min” chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Oh god. 

“Hey Doll, what can I do for ya?” Something about the way he sauntered up to you and smiled so gently immediately filled your stomach with butterflies, but you chose to ignore them for the sake of your own sanity.

Doll. That was a new one, and you felt that anyone else uttering that word toward you would’ve disgusted you to your core. But something about this stranger was strangely comforting. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited for you to speak. Maybe it was the baseball cap strewn backward on his head. Or maybe it was the strands of his taupe hair that fell in front of his face, strands you imagined yourself brushing up under his hat.

Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your purse, “I’m, uh, having some car issues.”

The laugh he let out, and the curve of his lips that accompanied it, made the tips of your ears burn, “‘Course you are, sweetheart. Anything in particular, though?”

“Oh,” you chuckled softly along with him, “Well, he mentioned that the acceleration’s been kinda weird, and I thought the engine was a little loud when I drove it here today. Sorry, I don’t really know a ton about cars.”

He hummed and tapped his foot a couple of times, “Which one is it?” 

You pointed across the lot. 

“Alright, let me pull it into the garage,” he put his hand out in your direction. 

You stared at it, confused, and when you looked back up at his face he was smiling at you again. Stupid smile. He made your heart flutter more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Keys, sweetheart. Your keys.”

“Oh,” you scrambled around in your purse before handing them over, embarrassed. 

He took them from you with a 'thanks doll' and a tip of his head, hand hovering over his forehead in a way that made you think he was used to wearing hats much bigger than this simple baseball cap. Before you could even question it further he was jogging across the lot and pulling the car through the big garage doors. 

When he stepped out of the car he looked at you curiously, “This your car?”

You shook your head, “No it’s my boyfriend’s. He’s been…busy…lately, so he hasn’t been able to bring it in. He keeps complaining about it, though, so I just decided to do it for him, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, nodding slowly. 

“What?” you asked, moderately offended.

He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “Nothing. Sorry. You just seemed a little unsure is all.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. I honestly think he just kept complaining so I would get tired of his whining and go on and get it fixed myself,” You chuckled awkwardly. Why the fuck were you telling him this? You started to feel a little embarrassed.

And that feeling only got worse when you saw the mildly horrified look on his face. 

You shook your head and ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “Can you just fix it?”

That pretty fucking smile came back, and your grip on your hair tightened just a little in frustration. “Of course I can. Glad you brought this in when you did, honestly. Seems like your boy toy’s got a bit of an exhaust leak. Could be pretty dangerous, so it's good to get it off the road.”

“Ah, perfect.” You shifted on your feet, “How long will it take, do you think?”

He lifted his hat and ruffled his messy hair before readjusting it on his head. Why did every little movement he made drive you crazy? “Unfortunately, issues like this take a couple days. I doubt I could get her done any sooner than tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Okay. I’ll try and get a ride home then.”

“Alright, Doll. Let me write down your number real quick so I–so we can call ya when she’s ready.”

You wrote down your name and number for him on a pink sticky note that he stuck to the dash. 

“Perfect!” He smiled at you, “We’ll call ya tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Awesome! Thank you…Oh. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Yunho. My name is Yunho, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

And you couldn’t help the ramming of your heart in your chest when he took your hand into his own.

Yunho watched as you stepped out into the parking lot to call someone, presumably that questionable boyfriend of yours who seemed to be way more trouble than he was worth. He couldn’t help how his heart had dropped when you told him you had a boyfriend in the first place. After a long while of singleness, he was kind of hoping to test the waters when he saw you, and it even seemed like you responded positively to his obvious flirtations.

“So a boyfriend, huh?” Mingi startled him from behind.

Yunho let out a small sigh, trying not to let himself get too worked up about it. You had only met twenty minutes ago for fucks sake. “Yeah, seems like a real piece of work though.”

“Really?” MIngi gave his friend a skeptical side-eye, “Or is that the jealously talking.”

“No, seriously! This is his car. And she said it’s been actin’ up for a while, but he never made the time to bring it in. She only brought it here ‘cause he wouldn’t stop whining ‘bout it.”

“Huh. Sounds kinda child-like to me, but who are we to judge? We haven't even met the dude,” Mingi pat his friend on the back, “Try not to let it get you down, man. I’m sure there’s a cowboy-lovin girl right around the corner waiting for you.”

Yunho nodded, moving along so Mingi would let the whole thing drop. But no matter how many times he repeated in his head that you were taken, he just couldn’t stop looking over in your direction. You just seemed so…tired. He didn’t want to assume, but he got the feeling that this boyfriend of yours might be the main cause of that. And try as he might to reign in his ego and keep it in check, he couldn't help the part of him that knew that, whatever this man was providing for you, he could do so much better. That wasn’t really his place, though. So he let you be. 

“Yeonjun what do you mean you’re busy? You were on the couch when I left an hour ago,” you sighed through the phone.

“Baby, come on. You know I have a gig tonight,” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “And I need to get in the right headspace, so I can’t leave the apartment. It’ll ruin the mood.”

“Is that really more important than picking me up? I’m stuck here.”

“I don’t know. Call an Uber?” Oh, you were gonna kill him.

“What? Why would I pay for an Uber when I have a boyfriend at home with my perfectly functioning car who could drive his ass over here and pick me up? For free!”

You hated how difficult it was to get him to help you out in any way. Why did he have to be so stubborn? “Listen, I really can’t break my flow right now. Maybe wait a couple hours, and I’ll come pick you up, okay? Or maybe have one of your friends pick you up.”

“It’s 3 pm on a Tuesday, Jun. Most people are at–” He hung up on you, “Work..” You trailed off.

God, this is so embarrassing. What the hell were you going to do now? You could call an Uber, but you could barely afford groceries this week. And getting this car fixed was gonna drain the last of your paycheck. 

You bit at your lip anxiously, wracking your head for options. Your friends would be more than happy to pick you up, but most of them wouldn’t get off work for another two hours. So maybe you could just wait until then. Or maybe you could hitchhike? The highway was miles off. And your gut wrenched at the idea of a stranger knowing where you lived…But maybe that could work. Or maybe you cou–

“Everything alright out here, sweetheart?” 

You jumped at his voice, “Oh! Yeah,” you scratched at your head, trying to force a smile, “My boyfriend’s just really busy, so he can’t come get me.”

“Do you…need a ride?” He offered sincerely, “I don’t wanna overstep or anything, but I could help ya if you need it.”

“Oh god no! You don’t have to do that.”

He grinned softly at you, “It’s really nothing at all. I’ll tell you what, I’m leaving here in about an hour. If you can’t find a ride before that, you’ll let me give you drive you home.”

Just say ‘yes.’ Your brain was practically begging you to speak, but you knew this would cause an argument with Yeonjun. A random handsome man bringing you back to the apartment? Oh, it was a recipe for disaster. But what other choice did you have? It wasn’t like he was gonna pay for an Uber to help you home or pick you up himself. No, he left you stranded here with a shit reason, so you were gonna get home the best way possible, and, if it pissed him off, that was his own damn fault.

“Ok,” you smiled up at him, “If you really don’t mind.”

“Trust me, Doll, it’s no problem at all. Let me just finish a couple things up and change, and then we’ll get going, okay?”

You sat on the bench inside the shop while he finished his work. Trying to give yourself a moment to breathe. This was supposed to be your day off. You had finally been able to get a break from both of your jobs, and this is how you were spending it. Trying to fix the car of your boyfriend who couldn't even put his “pre-show ritual” on hold to make sure you got home safe. Part of you was mad at him. Livid that his priorities were so far in the gutter. But you were mostly angry at yourself. Because at the end of the day, when all was said and done, you were the one who had spent six whole years of your life bending over backward for a man who wouldn’t even reach out his arm to catch you. 

You worked two jobs to support the two of you. Your paychecks paid for groceries, rent, insurance, everything. And what did he pay for? Nothing. Because he didn’t have a job. He played two gigs every month at the dingy bar two miles from your apartment, which somehow justified not even bothering to look for employment. 

How did you even get here? A deep sigh rose out of your throat. What the hell were you doing all this for? Your head hurt just thinking about all the times he’d let you down and all the stupid little arguments those let-downs had caused. And yet you were still out here paying his bills and running his errands.

“Alright, sweetheart, ready to go?” You broke out of your spiral when he called for you, and you looked up to see him no longer in the denim and baseball cap he was sporting earlier. 

Lord help me. You silently prayed to whoever might be listening, swallowing around the sudden dryness in your throat. He was sporting a light blue button-down shirt with the top two buttons left open so his collarbones were exposed and a light brown cowboy hat that almost exactly matched his hair. A cowboy. Of course. You couldn’t help the racing of your heart as he reached to adjust the brim of his hat. Unsure of whether you wanted to praise or curse whatever fate had sent him your way.

You cleared your throat and stood up from the bench, barely pushing a ‘yes’ out of your mouth. 

He grinned and motioned for you to follow him to the parking lot. The innocent gesture left you lightheaded as you focused on the way his index and middle fingers curled towards his wrist.

As you approached, he gestured to a baby blue pickup truck, “Here she is. My baby.” You chuckled, endeared by the pet name, the image of him gently patting the hood of 'his baby' as he walked around the front of the truck with you reminding you of cowboys in old westerns, leaning their foreheads against their mares as they gently stroked their manes. 

It was sweet. So sweet that you almost missed the fact that he was coming around to the passenger side of the truck with you.

He brushed past you, reaching for the passenger-side door. Swinging it open, he held out a hand to you, and you took it without much thought. 

“Up you go,” he said with a playful lilt to his voice, helping you hold your balance as you climbed into the truck.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Doll. I got ya.” He was going to be the death of you for sure.

“Ten years. You’ve been working there that long?” you looked over at him, amazed, “How old are you?”

He let out a hearty laugh, “Twenty-five. Mingi and I used to come up after school every day and help out. His grandpa used to run the shop but he retired a few years back and left it to him.”

“Oh, that’s sweet!” The thought of a little Yunho sweeping the floors and vacuuming cars made you smile. 

He hummed, “Yeah, it’s been a real nice job. Flexible hours, good pay, get to meet pretty girls from time to time.”

The tips of your ears burned at his blatant flirting. You looked over to see him focused on the road in front of you. The rays of the late afternoon sun shone on his face, letting you see the tan glow of his skin up close. 

Why did you have to meet such a seemingly perfect man today? Why couldn’t this opportunity have fallen into your lap six years ago? 

And fuck you knew you needed to end things. But more than half a decade of your life had been poured into this relationship and you couldn’t find it in your heart to let that go so easily.

Yunho noticed you looking over at him in his periphery, expecting some kind of playful rebuke, but was more than a little worried by your silence. Afraid he'd crossed a line, he was quick to apologize, eyes sincere and tone sober when he chanced a proper glance your way. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’ mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! It’s fine,” You assure him, unconsciously threading your fingers through the ends of your hair, “I just don’t usually get this kind of attention. I know you’re just being playful.”

He nodded, some of his playfulness seeping back into his expression as he cleared his throat, adjusting the brim of his hat as he fixed his attention back onto the road in front of him. “I promise I’m not lyin’ about the ‘pretty’ part, though. I hope you know that.”

You scoff, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks rise, “Thank you…”

Silence enveloped the two of you after that, but he didn't seem to mind. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and humming along to the music playing out of the car's stereo. In another life, one where the man waiting for you back at your apartment wasn't hell-bent on driving you insane, you wanted to believe that you could be strong enough to look away. To ignore the butterflies filling your stomach. To ignore the way he made your heart flutter. But you just couldn’t find it in you to look away, but he didn’t seem to catch on.

He thinks it's cute that you think he doesn’t notice. He’s very keen on noticing your every little move. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when he called you pretty and the way you awkwardly fidgeted with your bag when you told him that you didn’t normally receive that kind of attention.

It took every ounce of self-control in his body to keep him from prying. But he couldn’t help the way he started to hate this man that he’d never met even more. What he wouldn’t give to have a partner who was willing to go get his car fixed without asking. Someone who was so dedicated to the relationship that they were willing to sacrifice the little free time they had just to help out.

As he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex, he glanced over at you and met your eyes for a second. You quickly whipped your head away, embarrassed that you’d been caught red-handed. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, smiled, “Here we are.”

“Mhm,” you nodded awkwardly, busying yourself with checking that you had all your things set to go. “Thank you for the ride. It means a lot.”

“Not a problem at all, Doll. Need me to walk you up?” he asked, leaning forward to try and meet your eyes.

You shook your head, “No, I’ll be alright.” You gave him a smile, “So you’ll call me tomorrow?”

He nodded, the tip of his hat dropping slightly, “Yep, I should be done with ‘er around noon.”

“Perfect! Again, thank you so mu–”

You were cut off by the sound of someone pounding on the passenger side window. Both of you turn at the sudden commotion. 

Yunho watched as you hurriedly swung the door open and slid out of the car. And he heard a muffled, “Jun, what the hell!?” after you’d slammed the door of his truck.

Ah, the boyfriend.

“Are you insane? What the fuck is your problem?” You yelled.

Yeonjun glared at you through the wild strands of his crimson hair, “My problem!? Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh, that’s your issue? That I had to have the mechanic drive me home?” You seethed, jabbing a finger into his chest, “This could’ve easily been avoided if you had picked your sorry ass off the couch to drive me home yourself. Like any decent partner would.”

Your not-so-subtle jab seemed to go over his head, his mind too focused on the image of you smiling and blushing in response to a man that wasn’t him. “You really couldn’t have found a woman to drive you home? It just had to be this dick.”

“No, Yeonjun, I couldn’t find a woman to drive me home. You know why? Because it’s a Tuesday afternoon and all of my friends have jobs. Unlike you who can’t even take the time to take a break from whatever the fuck you do all day to give me a ride.”

He gawked at you, clearly offended, “I have a job.”

“Oh my god. This again?” You ran a frustrated hand over your face, “No. You don’t. Practicing with your bandmates twice a week and playing a single gig a month is not a job. You make $100 a month.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a nine-to-five? I like my schedule the way it is.”

You could feel angry tears forming at the back of your eyes, stinging as you held them back, “You think I DO!? Yeonjun, I work sixty hours a week trying to keep us afloat. I pay for our food, our rent, our insurance, your fucking car! And I can’t even get you to pick up the damn apartment when I’m gone.” The tears started falling before you even realized it, shocking both of you. It had been a long time since he’d last seen you cry. Because you always chose either anger or an eerily calm response to his childishness. Knowing deep down that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you if you slipped into vulnerability. “I’m fucking tired Jun. This was my first day off in three months, and I spent it trying to get your car fixed. And I can’t even get a ‘thank you’ out of you. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You aren’t nineteen anymore, and I think it’s time you grow the fuck up.”

He didn’t say anything. The anger in his face replaced by a mix of shock and awkward discomfort, one of a man who was embarrassed to even be in this situation.

You stayed like that for a beat, holding your breath, praying for the moment when he realized everything he’d done wrong. Where he woke up from the immature daze he’d been trapped in since you were teenagers. But you supposed that was all wishful thinking, the tension broken not by either of you, but by a honk from behind him. His bandmate was here to pick him up. 

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mumbled before jogging up to his friend’s car and sliding into the passenger seat. You watched him give his friend one of their ridiculous handshakes, the sound of blaring music and feminine laughter spilling out into the parking lot before the car door slammed shut. The scene was so ironic in the face of everything he'd just yelled at you for that you really couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up through your tears, bitter as acid on your tongue.

Yunho sat in his truck as he watched your asshole of a boyfriend leave the parking lot. He stayed like that for a while, watching you wipe at your tears and try to compose yourself. When you’d calmed down enough for his conscience to let him leave, he looked down at the passenger seat and noticed you had left your purse behind.

Grabbing the bag, he exited the truck and approached you. Trying his best not to startle you, he cleared his throat. 

Surprised by the sound, you turned around to find Yunho standing there awkwardly, holding out the purse you now realized was missing from your shoulders, “You left your bag.”

“Oh…thank you.” You mumbled, closing the distance and grabbing it from him with a bit more force than you meant to. The mechanic didn’t so much as flinch.

How could he when his heart hurt for you? This woman he could barely even claim to know. He hated the fact that you felt the need to respond defensively, the pain in your eyes, and how you could barely look at him. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of this. It wasn’t your fault. But Yunho knew without you having to say anything that you were incredibly embarrassed. 

“Listen–”

“Oh god. Please don’t”

His shoulders dropped, “I just wanted to–”

You lifted a hand to stop him, “Yunho, please. You’ve been so kind to me, and I really appreciate your help today. But please for the love of god don’t make me dump my relationship problems on you.”

“Hey now,” he said, holding both his hands up in a calming motion as he spoke in a voice so deep and steady in contrast to your own that it caught you by surprise, “I don’t mean to push or pry, Doll, you just look like you could use someone to talk to is all.”

“I just don’t want you to think down on me,” you sighed.

He looked at you sincerely, slipping the hat from his head and placing it on the hood of the truck, “Now, have I given you the impression that that’s somethin’ I would ever do?”

The appreciative smile you gave him almost made him melt. You leaned back against the side of his truck, tilting your head back until it hit the window with a soft thud, “I’m just so tired.”

Yunho slid next to you, awkwardly scuffing his boot into the pavement, “Would it be too rude to say I could tell?”

You chuckled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve been trying for years to get him to just put in an ounce of effort, but he won’t budge. But we’ve been together so long I don’t know if I have it in me to end things.”

“You know it’s not your job to teach him how to be an adult, right? He’s a grown-ass man. You shouldn’t have to beg him to help you out.” 

The somber look in your eyes when you looked up at him made Yunho want to pull you in and hug you to his chest, but he respected your boundaries. 

“I know. I just…” you trailed off, no longer finding it in yourself to argue for your relationship.

Yunho took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he wanted to get off his chest, “Look, Doll, I don’ wanna overstep or anything, but I’m gonna be blunt with you.” He paused, giving you room to tell him to stuff it and save it for someone else if you wanted to. But you were looking up at him expectantly, teary eyes nearly pushing his little speech clean out of his skull. He had to clear his throat a little before continuing. “The way that man treats you is just disgusting. For everything you do for him? The least he could do is make sure that your apartment is spotless and you never have to cook again. And I’m not saying it’s me who should give it to you, but you deserve worlds better than that.”

“Yeah…” was all you could get out before you felt a tear fall down your cheek, and you tried to wipe it away before Yunho saw. But of course he noticed.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on your shoulder in comfort, running his thumb along the fabric of your t-shirt. You surprised him, though, when you turned into him and started sobbing into his chest. Your fingers desperately gripping his button down.

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back. Holding you with so much warmth and sincerity that you felt safer than you had in years. In the arms of a stranger, no less.

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@dancingwithdeities @maidens-world

            I had always been a dreamer, a child with big sparkling eyes, eager to discover the world and its wonders. My parents had always considered me naïve and way too kind, but I found life easier to navigate if I remained humble and kind to those around me. I was not too fond of loud spaces and huge crowds, I would much rather prefer smaller circles where everyone came together to spend their time in silence. That’s how I discovered my elementary school’s reading club. I had been young and disoriented after a strenuous P.E. class when walking down the hallway, pushed into a door by two bigger boys as they chased each other down the hallway. The door I was slammed into wasn’t closed, so I very ungraciously fell inside a classroom in which five people sat in a circle, in silence, with books in their hands and candy on the round table. Eyes fell onto me, mostly surprised, and I blushed as I sputtered my apologies, embarrassed and wanting to hide away as I had disturbed their peace, but my curiosity got the better of me. The teacher in the room made sure I was fine and asked whether I wanted to join them when she noticed me staring longingly at the book in her hands. I didn’t say no to her.

And really, that’s how my love for literature and theatre sparked, evolving into a passion by the time I reached my high school graduation. I knew what I wanted to be, I knew what I had to do next. I had been a theatre kid my whole life, so when my mother rushed inside my room one cool summer evening with my acceptance letter in her hands, I knew my life would change in the next few seconds. Allston Hall University, the dream institution of every student who wishes to become someone important and useful in the near future. I was one of those students, tears streaming down my cheeks due to happiness when my mother read the letter, informing me that I had been accepted and was even the student with the highest grade currently. It was a dream come true, everything I have worked for, my aspirations and hard work were tangible, and I finally felt like I could release the breath of air that’s been constricting my lungs ever since I sent in my application. I was rushing towards the future I wanted, the one I had been dreaming of.

But all good things had a downside to them. Allston Hall University was huge, the biggest in our county, and it harboured various majors and many people, to the point you’d have to watch your every step in the hallways to avoid crashing into anyone. My first day, and week, had been nerve-wracking. People were loud and friendly, sometimes too friendly, to the point I felt uncomfortable in their presence and had to excuse myself to take a moment of solitude. Despite being a theatre kid myself, I felt like the odd one in my circle of people, the one that didn’t fully belong, the one that was a bit different. Everyone around me was outgoing and boisterous, eager to be heard, and even more eager to make more friends. I was quiet and curious, but I liked watching people from the sidelines, assessing a situation from afar before jumping into anything. I liked to meet new people, but I struggled to find common ground with them. I never had many friends growing up, most were surface-level, but the one true friend I did have decided to move counties and start working, instead of following an academic path. There was nothing wrong with that, but our time was limited together and she rarely visited, our friendship has transformed into a long-distance one.

But, to my utmost surprise, I didn’t stay friendless at this huge university for too long. As an extracurricular, I have picked up a Visual Arts class since I have been always interested in it. The class was small and filled with people who dressed better than in any fashion magazine I had seen, all of them having a peculiar aura that I seemed to enjoy a lot. And, to my surprise, they were more like me than my own colleagues. They were quiet, mostly sticking to themselves with big headphones on as they bobbed their heads to the music, briefly greeting you once you entered the classroom. They were mostly art majors, but they didn’t make me feel bad for not being one. A passion was a passion, and they didn’t make fun of you for loving what you loved. However, even here, it seemed that there was someone who wasn’t like the others, someone who was loud and energetic, always laughing and joking with students and professors alike. She was like a happy virus, her happy disposition contagious, and without realizing it at first, I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Perhaps it was because we were complete opposites, unlike my closest friend who thought and viewed the world similarly to me, but with Wendy everything seemed to feel like a new experience.

I couldn’t tell when it happened when the two of us became best friends, but it’s been a year since and we were almost inseparable. Wendy loved spending her free time with me, humming to herself and drawing while I wrote sonnets and read through the next play we’d be going through or even performing with Mrs. Jeong. Wendy felt like a fresh breeze, ready to yank me away from my monotonous days, eager to experience something new. I hated amusement parks, but I went to one with her and had the fun of my life, having never screamed or laughed as much as that afternoon. Wendy couldn’t skate, but one snowy evening, I took her to the skating ring and taught her how to find her balance, and through baby steps, she became even better than me. Wendy loved visual arts but she never understood the charm of a book, a play, or a poem, so I brought her along to the reading club I had been frequenting since my freshman year in high school, and it was an unforgettable experience for the both of us, but Wendy concluded that perhaps literature just wasn’t for her. Much similar to my experience, when I let her drag me to Allston Hall’s first baseball game of the year, all excited and giddy to see her favourite players, only for me to conclude at the end of the game that the sport held no interesting elements for me to find likeable or enjoyable, baseball just wasn’t invented for me.

So yes, Wendy and I were opposite sides of the same coin, eager to learn more and discover the world through our own lenses while dragging the other after ourselves. This would explain why we were currently decked out at the bleachers, sitting at the lowest spot as Wendy’s eyes followed the boys while they played a friendly game and warmed up for their very soon upcoming game. Wendy was athletic and loved to get in a good morning run, which she usually did outside the bleachers to catch a peek of when the boys would go in to exercise. It was embarrassing at first, to walk in every second day with her and have the boys gawking at us, but now it was plainly amusing to see Wendy fall over herself whenever one of them acknowledged her. Her father had been a player in a smaller league, so Wendy grew up in the sport, hence her immense love for it. She was convinced the boys on the University’s team were undiscovered gems and she made sure to stick around them until one of them finally asked her out. She thought I didn’t know, but it was rather obvious that her eyes were set on Byun Baekhyun, the biggest trickster on the team with a notorious grip that could send any batter into a spiral when he’d pitch—these were Wendy’s words, not mine.

I continued flipping through the shortened version of Pride and Prejudice as we would soon do a small audition to see who got which role. Mrs. Jeong wanted to do something special and new this year, so there have been added elements to the play—ones that would send Jane Austen into an existential crisis, in my opinion, but Mrs. Jeong likes to think out of the box and considers herself an innovative person—which I agree with, but the play would’ve been best without the modifications done to it. Wendy, sitting in front of me as I had taken the bench between my legs, hunched over my play, sighed dreamily and tapped her fingers against her chin. She was usually a very loud person, but surprisingly she knew when to remain silent, when to give me space and tranquillity to be able to enjoy my reading time. Her short hair stuck to her nape as she decided to run an extra lap this morning, on the verge of hyperventilating when she finally ran inside the arena, spotting me easily as I was the only person in the bleachers while the boys did their warm-ups. Her bag was with me and I knew she refrained from sprawling out on the ground just because Baekhyun was watching her, so I handed her the water bottle with an amused smile. Wendy took it with gratitude and sprinkled some on her face and neck before she took a small sip, chest still heaving from her run.

“That was very sexy of you,” I said with a chuckle as she settled next to me, trying to regulate her breaths as she caught Baekhyun’s eyes, cheeks flushing even deeper as he waved in our direction. Wendy fumbled with her water bottle for a second, then eagerly waved back and pushed my thigh with her elbow to acknowledge Baekhyun as well. I flashed him a smile and gave him a curt nod, which he returned before the coach blew his whistle and called out his name to get him to focus again.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Wendy mumbled, grabbing her towel out of her bag, “my throat was parched and my brain felt like it was overheating.”

“When will you stop finding ways to kill yourself?” I raised an eyebrow and Wendy gave me a look of confusion.

“I’m just pushing my limits, nothing you have to worry about.” Wendy shrugged, taking a sip of her water again, “You know I’m training for the marathon.”

“Right, I almost forgot.” I fixed Wendy with a stare, rather unimpressed as it was impossible to forget that she was training for next month’s marathon. She speaks of it daily, around the same time after she finishes her run and complains about being on the verge of passing out, I’m sure there are other ways of training yourself for a marathon that don’t involve putting too much pressure on yourself and sending your body into despair as it clings to life—a bit dramatic, but that’s what being a theatre kid made of me.

This was half an hour ago, and now Wendy had completely settled down as she was leaned back on her hands, gazing out onto the field as I blocked out the sound of a bat hitting the ball every few minutes, enraptured by the play as I imagined Mr. Darcy standing in front of me, thick eyebrows furrowed and eyes shining with confusion as Miss Elizabeth—me—tells him that he cannot disrespect her whole family and look down on her, and then expect her to fall to her knees and accept his affections. The language was a lot more modern than the one Jane Austen had used, this is where Mrs. Jeong’s crafting comes into play and makes me cringe as Elizabeth is supposed to tell Mr. Darcy that ‘she won’t throw herself at him like every other bitch’, I just knew Jane Austen was rolling in her grave at the atrocity that’s been done to her masterpiece. I could try and convince Mrs. Jeong to modify that part, hopefully, as she’s rather keen on me due to how seriously I take her classes. Cheers erupted on the field and they increased in volume as Wendy gasped next to me, holding her hands together as she was on the verge of shooting up from her seat. The boys were merely training, yet Wendy treated it like a real game every time she got the chance.

“Oh, that’s a home run—” Wendy’s voice was strained, and she sprang up from her spot as the whole team exclaimed, making me lose my train of thought as I couldn’t focus in loud surroundings, “Seungkwan just hit a home run!”

I looked out towards the field as the boys crowded around Seungkwan, forming a circle as they made howling sounds and jumped around, making Seungkwan cackle loudly as he basked in the attention. He was a rather uptight guy, but out on the field, he was simply amazing although he’s never managed to hit a home run until now.

“Oh, this is amazing,” Wendy mused, her eyes sparkling as she clapped away, showing the boys thumbs-up as they turned our way to bow, pushing Seungkwan to the front as he grinned widely, “They’ll ace the next game, Y/N, I can feel it deep in my bones.”

I chuckled but said nothing as I knew this meant a lot to Wendy, and only grabbed her arm to make her sit down when the coach threw her an irritated look. They couldn’t kick us out because we weren’t doing anything illegal or interrupting their training, but I knew the coach wasn’t too fond of two girls always lingering around the bleachers to distract his boys. Not that it was our attention, but I have caught them busy ogling us instead of doing their warm-ups. Wendy was buzzing as she sat down, chewing her bottom lip before she started chewing her nails, making me grip her wrist to stop her as I knew she did it subconsciously. She gave me a grateful smile and I turned back to my play as the boys had calmed down too, going back to their friendly game.

“Do you want to stay for longer?” I asked as I flipped to the next page, eyebrows furrowing as it was Mr. Darcy’s monologue that wasn’t in the original work, “I think I could make use of a coffee right now.”

“Can’t we stay for another fifteen minutes at least?” Wendy asked with a pout, her sparkly eyes widening as I gave her an unimpressed look, “Yunho is up for pitching right now and then it’s Baekhyun again, I promise we can leave once he’s done.”

I sighed but knew I wouldn’t drag my best friend away before she got to watch Baekhyun pitch again, so I just nodded and threw a quick glance at the field. Indeed, player number 04 was up for pitching, Jeong Yunho. His name didn’t leave a distaste in my mouth as I, thankfully, had never had to interact with him, but it was inevitable to know who he was with how huge his reputation had gotten over the last year. We started out at university at the same time, he’s been a baseball player since he was just a child, and he was rising in the ranks rather quickly. He was amazing, even as someone who still didn’t understand how baseball worked, I knew he was good at what he did and he was often praised for his skills. He was the best pitcher the team had—the university has had for ages, at least based on the coach’s words—and he carried himself like a successful athlete would, always smiling brightly with his warm eyes twinkling with mischief-ridden in them.

Sure, Jeong Yunho had a warm and perceiving aura, friendly and even kind, but even those couldn’t stop the rumours spreading of him being a heartthrob. Better said, he was a womanizer. He appeared to be this soft and puppy type of guy, sweeping girls off their feet with his acts of service and soft-spoken nature, but just as quickly as he wrapped them around his fingers, he dropped them without his ‘kind’ smile breaking from his lips, eyes even teary when he told them that he just wasn’t right for them, that they deserved someone better. Behind his innocent mask lay a man who enjoyed playing with others and using them to his liking with a deceiving smile and excuses that didn’t make sense upon another thought. But many girls didn’t care about the rumours, they thought they were simply fake because certainly the sweet and kind Jeong Yunho couldn’t be like that, not with them at least. And that is exactly how they go their hearts broken by the most sought out playboy of our university, from the baseball team at least. The soccer team was even worse, you’d never hear the end of how cool and mysterious Park Seonghwa was. Personally, I preferred my peace of mind and stayed away from both.

I heard the bat collide against the ball with a loud bang, and I could tell it was a strong hit as the boys ‘oohed’, but Wendy just gasped, stiffening in her seat. I paid it no mind as she reacted to every single thing the players did, living in the moment and giving her all to the game—even if just friendly. But some exclaimed alarmed and tried to warn us—or me—of something, but I was too busy ignoring them as my irritation levels were rising. I just really wanted a cup of coffee and silence to be able to finish reading the play before my class later today.

“Y/N!” Wendy’s shrill exclamation made my head snap up, taking in her wide eyes as she gesticulated, only confusing me more. Turning my head to the right, to see what got the boys reacting like that as well, my own eyes widened into saucers when I realized a white small ball was hurling at my face rather quickly. I knew I could dodge it, it wasn’t too late yet, but I felt blindsided as I stared at it, accepting the fact that it would either break my nose or give me a black eye. But someone was moving on the field, had been for a few seconds now, running full speed towards me and the ball. And before it could collide against my face and ruin it, a black glove was in my face, so close that if I puckered my lips, it would’ve touched the fabric. My heart was beating fast and I stared up at the person who caught the ball with wide eyes, exhaling loudly as Wendy yelped and shot up from her seat again.

For a second, it was completely silent, even the coach stood staring at us with an open mouth, whistle threatening to fall from it, but the boys on the field suddenly started howling once again, yelling and calling out my ‘saviour’s’ name. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed as his cheeks were rosy from the bite of frost of the morning air, but also from having pitched for the last few minutes. I could feel my own cheeks tinge red from the adrenaline and also from the way the guy’s warm chocolate eyes seemed to melt into mine. Yunho looked pleased that he managed to catch the ball, and his fingers closed around it as he lowered his hand and leaned down a little. My back was rigid as I couldn’t help but blink at him wordlessly, gripping the play tightly in my hands.

“Are you okay?” His eyebrows furrowed more, and his face was ridden with worry as he searched for eye contact. I gulped and averted my eyes, exhaling shakily.

“Yes,” I took a tentative glance at Yunho and cleared my throat, “thank you.”

“I’m sorry.” My eyebrows furrowed as he looked apologetic, biting his bottom lip which was cherry red and plump, “I positioned my arm wrong and I was distracted when I pitched, I almost hurt you.”

“Oh, uhm,” I stared at him for a few seconds as I felt Wendy sit back down and subtly nudge my arm, “It’s fine, you managed to catch it so—good job?”

Yunho chuckled, and I was taken aback by how high-pitched it sounded and how warm his tone was, cheeks puffy and rosy, and definitely giving him this sweet and innocent aura, “Glad to be your saviour despite putting you in harm's way myself.”

I hummed as I found myself lost for words, all the acting classes I had taken flying out the window. There was something about his gaze that made me feel small, made me forget how to articulate my words, “Best if it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Yunho chuckled and I felt embarrassed, but he didn’t look like he meant bad, he seemed simply amused. I was sure he could tell I was flustered and that only made me feel more embarrassed, “Right, I’ll try to keep my eyes off you next time then, focus more on pitching.”

Wendy gasped next to me as I just stared at Yunho dumbfounded, trying not to let my confusion show at the sudden change of events. Well, I was under the impression nobody paid me any mind as I never really paid them any mind, I was here for Wendy and it was pretty obvious.

“Are you reading a play by any chance?” Yunho asked as he looked down at my lap, and I cleared my throat, feeling hesitant as I nodded my head.

“Yeah, Pride and—”

“Pride and Prejudice,” He smiled sweetly, his eyes hidden by his baseball cap, “my favourite.”

I knew Wendy wanted to scream and jump up and down, but she was doing a good job of remaining put and silent. For some reason, Yunho didn’t pass me as the person who would pick up a book, let alone a play, to read, so I just gave him a tight smile and an unimpressed look. I had heard the rumours, and I was sure they were true, I didn’t want to fall for his schemes.

“Right.” My tone was a bit sharp and I knew it took him off guard because his eyebrows twitched, “Aren’t you supposed to be pitching?”

And as if the coach had heard my words, he blew his whistle loudly and shouted, “Jeong, get back on the field!”

Yunho bit his lower lip and grabbed his cap as he nodded his head, winking at me before he was jogging back onto the field, making me grimace. Wendy’s eyebrows were raised and she had a suggestive smile on her face, but I just sighed and shook my head, deciding that I wanted to have coffee now, “We both know he sleeps with every girl and then dumps them right after, so before you get even started, I’m not interested in him at all.”

“But he’s so handsome and tall.” Wendy sighed dreamily and I chuckled, standing up.

“There are plenty of tall and handsome guys at our university, I’ll find myself a decent one, thank you very much.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my coffee.”

“But Baekhyun hadn’t pitched yet.”

I chuckled as Wendy whined, rooted to her place as I got off the bench.

“Meet me at the coffee shop then, I have class in an hour so don’t stay for long.”

“I love you! Save me a seat by the window!”

I chuckled and nodded, waving Wendy off as she focused on the game again, eyes wide and attentive. I kept to the side of the field so that I wouldn’t be in anyone’s way and walked quickly so that I could be out of the arena swiftly, without angering the coach. Wonwoo, who was the left fielder, threw me a quick smile and I waved at him as I passed by, feeling eyes on the back of my head. I didn’t turn around to check who it was as the coach had spotted me and narrowed his eyes at me. I bowed my head and then slipped out of the arena, less stressed and happier now that I was about to get my caffeine fill of the day.

             The rest of my day had gone well, and I was more than excited to attend my last class of the day, drama class. We’d hold the rest of our courses at the small theatre of the University as Mrs. Jeong wanted us to focus on the upcoming play only, assignments already handed out as our final grade now depended on finishing it on time and also delivering our best in the play, the two grades turning into our final score. I happily skipped down the stairs of the theatre and greeted a few of my colleagues as I settled not too far from the front rows, somewhere in the middle of the row. I liked sitting by myself so that nobody could distract me while Mrs. Jeong gave us advice and coached us on how to deliver the lines, when to put emotion in it and just how much of it. I placed my coat on the chair on my right and left my backpack on the floor as I leaned down to unzip it and grab the play, my yellow notebook, a black pen and a green marker. I heard the door of the theatre close and open loudly, then running down the stairs and shuffling as I straightened up, trying to organize my things in my lap as I waited for Mrs. Jeong to show up.

To my surprise, there was movement on my left and I looked over, curious of who decided to sit right next to me when there were numerous empty seats in the theatre, only to find Jeong Yunho staring back at me with a surprised expression similar to mine on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hey I know you, hi!”

Yunho and I spoke at the same time as I heard the girls sitting a few rows in the back behind us whisper and giggle to each other. Yunho flushed as he pushed his leather jacket off his wide shoulders and settled quietly in the seat next to mine. I continued staring at him with confusion as his legs spread out wide, his head turning to face me.

“You’re the girl from this morning,” Yunho said as he disregarded my question, “I actually see you around the field often, do you like baseball?”

“No.” I deadpanned and Yunho’s enthusiasm died out at once, smiling unsure, “My friend loves baseball so I tag along with her sometimes.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Yunho’s smile became more confident as his eyes took in my features, making me feel a bit uncomfortable, “And how are you?”

“I’m—fine.” I still didn’t understand what he was doing here, but I wasn’t about to be rude to him, “And you?”

Yunho’s smile widened into a grin, and he threw a short glance behind us when the girls started giggling louder, “Rather good knowing you’re here too. Why are you here?”

I tried to refrain from sighing at his not-so-subtle flirting and occupied my hands as I grabbed my marker and fiddled with it, “I’m a drama major, Yunho.”

Yunho’s eyes widened for a small fraction, cheeks flushing, “Oh, that sounds lovely, I—sorry, I’m just taken aback that you know my name.”

I didn’t mean to glare at him, but he was bad at playing the abashed and shy boy persona, perhaps a few acting courses wouldn’t do him bad, “You’re on the baseball team and I have gone to almost every game of yours, so I think it’s only natural I know everyone’s name on the team, no?” I didn’t let him answer me as I gave him a scrutinizing look, “Besides, you’re quite famous for breaking the hearts of the girls you go out with, right?”

Now, I could tell he was actually flustered as he averted his eyes, biting his bottom lip as the flush from his cheeks spread to his ears too. Yunho’s dark hair was messy and wavy, and he wore his glasses now. The black turtleneck made him look comfy and safe, his dark jeans complementing his long legs nicely.

“Ah, those are just rumours, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” He rubbed his nape and looked back at me, “I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

I sighed and thought about whether I should tell him, but it was only right since I knew his name and didn’t want to look like a prick, “It’s Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He grinned widely and extended his hand to shake, “I’m Yunho, but you know that already.”

I hummed and took his hand, a little surprised by how long his fingers were and how much bigger his palm was, it made me blush as I carefully pulled my hand out of his, busying myself with my marker, “So, what are you doing here? It’s a bit weird seeing a sports major here, you know.”

Yunho groaned and I glanced at him to see him rubbing his forehead, “Don’t even tell me about it, it’s completely against my will, if I’m being honest. Not that I hate the theatre or anything, but I’d be much rather doing something else.”

“Well, you can just get up and walk out before the professor comes, you know,” I suggested, nodding my head towards the exit, but Yunho had a solemn look on his face. He let his hands fall in his lap as he intertwined his fingers.

“Actually, I can’t.” He pouted, and I tried not to think of him as a manchild, it wasn’t very appealing, “You see, I might have done something that was against the rules, and this is basically my punishment if I don’t want to lose my scholarship, or worse, get kicked out. I mean, my career would be ruined before I even had the chance to start it, you know?”

I nodded, pretty much on board with what he was saying, “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, it sucks but I still don’t understand why drama class out of all classes they could’ve punished you with.”

“Ugh, right?! Don’t even get me started on it,” Yunho rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses as he licked his lips, turning his body to face mine, “Like, the principal is totally crazy for placing me in this class! I don’t know why she thought a little play-pretending would fix my attitude—her words, not mine—but it certainly won’t. Like, whatever I did wasn’t even that serious, it’s the fact that the stupid professor can’t take a joke, I didn’t even sleep with his daughter!”

So, this is who the real Jeong Yunho was, unfiltered, and apparently, not as perfect and charming as everyone thought him to be. I chuckled, amused that he’d have to suffer through our drama classes because I knew the outsiders always viewed us as crazy whenever they stumbled through the doors of the theatre, “And how long until your punishment is over?”

“This whole semester, can you believe it?” Yunho sounded annoyed, but his face remained void of any annoyance as he slumped in his chair, looking defeated, “I swear to God, the principal was high on some shit when she threatened to throw me out if I didn’t heed her orders. It’s like—I know she’s my mother but we’re at school, for fuck’s sake! Like—this is university, she can’t punish me like I’m some sort of five-year-old, no?!”

I covered my mouth to try and hide my amusement at his outburst, which got other students chuckling. I meant to answer him, but a rather loud scoff coming from the first row caught everyone’s attention as suddenly they stood, whirling around, hands on their hips. My amusement died down as my eyes widened, staring at Mrs. Jeong in surprise, I didn’t know she was there, I thought she was running late.

“Oh, really, young man?” Her sharp eyes narrowed, and I watched from the corner of my eyes as Yunho’s own widened, mouth falling open, “You think you’re here because I believed whatever that professor accused you of? No, you’re here because you promised me you’d stop fooling around, yet here we are!”

“Mom?” Yunho seemed pale as Mrs. Jeong glared him down, he turned to me with a desperate look on his face, “What’s she doing here?!”

He whisper-shouted as Mrs. Jeong scoffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. I felt a bit awkward and put on the spot as I nodded in acknowledgement at her, then faced her son, “Mrs. Jeong is the head of our department.”

Yunho’s eyes widened comically and I chuckled as I bit my lower lip, “Uhm, did you not know that your mother is the head of the drama club and department?”

“No!” Yunho whisper-shouted and eyed his mother, who had started to grin in contentment. I could see the resemblance in the two as I looked between the mother and son, their smiles were the same and their cheeks were puffy and almost always rosy. Mrs. Jeong was a lovely and compassionate woman, it sometimes made me wonder why Yunho had such little respect for women when his mother must’ve raised him right.

“If you’re done parading yourself, son, I’d like to start my class, thank you very much.” Mrs. Jeong raised her eyebrows and Yunho grumbled something under his breath as he slipped lower in his chair.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jeong.” He avoided eye contact with his mother and Mrs. Jeong smiled in victory, eyes taking in the place as she counted how many there were of us. I smiled at her when her eyes fell on me and she returned it, clapping her hands once she was done.

“Good, I see more of you joined us—I didn’t count my son in—I hope you’re all ready to rehearse for the play before the auditions, and I’m more than eager to help you all out. Today, I’d like to highlight some of the culminant points of the play and discuss the acting techniques they should be delivered with.” Mrs. Jeong intertwined her hands behind her back and nodded before she went to grab her own copy of the play. Yunho looked helpless as he glanced around the room, sighing long as he peered down at my lap over my shoulder.

“Uh, can you share yours with me?” He grumbled, not so smiley anymore, “I didn’t know what we’d be doing today, I’ll bring my play for the next class.”

“Just this once,” I said with a pointed look and put my copy of the play between us, “I don’t like to share and I like to sit alone, just so you know in the future.”

“All alone?” Yunho asked curiously, “Don’t you like sharing?”

“I like my peace of mind and quiet.” I answered, raising my eyebrows at him, “And I really like to be left alone, Yunho, so don’t try to distract me.”

“Okay,” He whispered as he flipped through the pages, making me give him a small glare, “I’ll be silent, but don’t expect me to survive this whole semester if you ignore me the whole time.”

“Go make friends, I’m sure the girls behind us are more than eager to sit with you,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes, and Yunho grinned as he leaned slightly closer.

“Is that a hint of jealousy—”

“Mr. Jeong,” Mrs. Jeong snapped and we both looked at her alarmed, she was frowning at her son, “Leave Miss Lee alone, yes? Or I’ll make sure to fail you in this class—”

“But mom!” Yunho whined, sitting up straight as he leaned forward, “You can’t do that, I’m not even registered for this class!”

“Really?” Mrs. Jeong chuckled, “Aren’t you?”

“You did not.”

“Oh, trust me, I did.”

Yunho’s mouth fell open in shock, and I had to turn my head to hide my silent laugh as Yunho turned into a whining manchild once again, “You will behave in my class, young man, and you’ll let Miss Lee be, understood?”

“Understood, Mrs. Jeong.” Yunho grumbled under his breath and looked down, a grimace on his face as he muttered something to himself, “I can’t even skip class now, for fuck’s sake.”

A laugh slipped through as I gave Yunho another amused smile and then grabbed my marker, way too amused by how things were turning out to be. Yunho didn’t look too amused but Mrs. Jeong did, and she spoke up with a smile on her face, asking us to flip to the thirteenth page of our play.

I could only hope Jeong Yunho, the Casanova, wouldn’t ruin one of my favourite classes for me.

❱❱ Next act

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the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

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            Saturday (2:55 pm)

Me: mingi can we talk?

Saturday (8:30 pm)

Me: i am free whenever you say so just let me know and i’ll be there

            Sunday (9:15 am)

Me: we need to talk, mingi.

            Sunday (12:08 am)

Me: please hear me out im sorry

Monday (current time)

            “Do you think he’ll slam the door in my face?” The hallways were buzzing with life as I tried to veer my way around the crowd of students without running into anyone. Today, out of all days, I just so happened to have my last class of the day in a completely different building and at least a good five-minute walk away from the arts building.

“It’s what you’d deserve, to be fair, but—” The was a gasp on the other side of the phone and my eyebrows furrowed as Seulgi muttered something to someone, muffled, “sorry, Wooyoung almost dropped my mother’s favorite vase, I told him to take off that blindfold.”

Eyebrows furrowing even deeper, I abruptly stopped walking, making a girl give me a heated glare that I didn’t care for, “Why is he blindfolded? Wait! I actually don’t want to know.”

“We were playing hide and seek with his niece, you idiot, but I got bored and sneaked away when I saw you calling.” Seulgi’s voice was exasperated and I chuckled as I took off again, leaving the science major’s building as I nuzzled further into my thick scarf. Some days it was warmer, but most days it got really cold and I hated it. I couldn’t deal with the freezing weather, perhaps it was my biggest enemy after Jeong Yunho, “Anyways, as I was saying, you deserve to be ignored by Mingi, but knowing how big of a sucker he is for you, he’ll probably give in before you can utter a single word.”

My heart jumped at the thought as I gnawed on my bottom lip, cutting off the path as I hurried through the grass, uncaring that I was probably destroying the work of the gardener. Besides, the grass had barely just started growing out again, it would be fine, “You think so?”

“I know so.” I heard Wooyoung’s high-pitched voice shouting from the distance and my eyebrows furrowed as I realized Seulgi had probably put me on speaker. Now that was a bit awkward, “He’s an idiot, but he’s in love. Now that I come to think of it, you two are a lot alike, two idiots in love—”

“I believe your niece is looking for you, babe.” Seulgi cut her boyfriend off and I was thankful because I don’t think I could’ve handled hearing him say the words ‘in love’ again. That was scary, even just the thought of it. I was barely coming to terms with liking Mingi, but hearing the word love sort of made me want to turn back around and abandon my whole plan of trying to make peace between the two of us. And Seulgi knew this, thankfully, because she didn’t say anything about it again, “Are you on your way to his studio right now?”

I hummed and curled my fingers tighter around the thermos bottle, my nose cold from the weather as the arts building finally came into sight, “Yeah, three minutes and I’m there.”

“Good.” Seulgi sounded content and I sighed as I tried to ignore the dawning anxiety that tried to crawl through my body and make me abandon my well-thought-out plan. I had to do this. Seulgi and my mom were right, I couldn’t mess this up again. I liked Mingi, a lot. He is a good guy and I shouldn’t let my past and my fears dictate my life. Yes, Mingi is Yunho’s best friend, but Mingi isn’t like Yunho. Hopefully, “Update me later then, I love you Y/N, I hope you know that.”

I chuckled and nodded at the security guard as he was out of his cubicle, standing at the bottom of the steps, smoking his cigar, “I know, thank you for knocking some sense into me.”

“We’ll see about that later.” Her snort was amused and I shook my head as we said our goodbyes, the warmth of the building making me sigh out in relief as I entered through the front doors. I pocketed my phone and unwrapped my scarf from around my neck, greeting the familiar people I crossed paths with. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling nervous at all, after all, I didn’t know how Mingi would react. If he was anything like me, he wouldn’t forgive me so easily. Not when I’ve hurt him again and in the worst way possible.

As I ascended the marble stairs, I found stability in the thermos bottle clutched firmly in both of my hands now, its weight helping me to keep my determination and focus on going through with my own plan. When I woke this morning and went to take a quick shower, I was surprised to hear my mother’s singing and smell the delicious waft of pancakes, making my stomach growl loudly as I didn’t have dinner the night before. It seemed like my mother had taken a day off, grumbling something about her deserving a day to rest after she was almost choked out by one of her mentally ill patients. I couldn’t help but agree with her as we sat at the table in silence, enjoying our breakfast, that is until she cleared her throat loudly and stood up, fetching a mug and a cup from the counter next to the sink. I froze when I realized she was handing me the cup Mingi had designed with funny looking chicks on it, and I was even more confused when I realized it wasn’t coffee I was drinking, but hot chocolate.

“So, what are you going to do about that handsome fella?” I tried not to groan or regret the fact that I told her everything about Mingi. I took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate and realized it wasn’t hot before taking a bigger gulp as I enjoyed its sweet taste.

“I’ll talk to him today—”

“Great!” My mother didn’t even let me finish as she sprung up from her seat again to fetch something from a cupboard, “It’s amazing how strong our maternal intuition is, I swear my starlight, you should make some babies soon.”

“Mom.” I groaned as I watched her curiously as she took a blue thermos bottle from the cupboard and filled it with hot chocolate from the kettle, “We’ve had this discussion many times before, I’m not having children so young.”

“You’re not that young though.” She sent me a sheepish smile as my eyes widened, feigning hurt.

“I’m turning twenty-three?! How is that not young?” She cleared her throat as she sealed the thermos and walked back to the table to sit down.

“I’m just trying to inspire you, anyways,” She huffed and then placed the thermos on the table and pushed it towards me, “Bring this to him as peace offering, he’ll love it. Trust me.”

“I don’t think what Mingi needs right now is hot chocolate—”

“Finish your breakfast and shut up.” My mother didn’t let me finish as she cut off a thick part of the pancake with her fork and forced it inside my mouth, making me groan, “Mothers know best when it comes to stuff like this, be thankful I’m saving your relationship and be back before lunch. I’m ordering take out, and I certainly am not waiting for late your ass if I’m hungry.”

I knew fighting my mom was fruitless, so I just grumbled an okay as I tried to chew the pancake she had forced in my mouth, my cheeks all puffed out. My mother seemed content that I finally wasn’t talking back to her and I shook my head as I pulled the thermos bottle towards me, reminded of the time when Mingi had brought me tea knowing that I would be feeling probably a little sick after getting all soaked in the cold rain and harsh wind.

So, now, with Mingi’s clothes in my tote bag and the thermos filled with hot chocolate in my hands, I couldn’t help but feel optimistic despite the anxiety gripping at my thoughts. If my mother, Seulgi, and even Wooyoung—who knew Mingi like the back of his hand—were convinced that everything would work out just fine, then why would I not believe that? Sure, Mingi was probably still annoyed at me, but I didn’t think a few apologies and even more explanations couldn’t fix the issue at hand. All I had to do was be honest and come clean with my feelings and he’d probably do the same and then—that’s where anxiety stepped in. Then what? Was I ready to pursue a relationship? Did Mingi want to date me? Did I want to date him? Why did it have to be Jeong Yunho’s best friend I was into? Why could I not move past my fears and stop associating Mingi with everything I was wounded by, when he never once made me feel like Yunho did? I could dwell on these thoughts for an eternity, I fear, but I didn’t have that time right now. And to be fair, I didn’t want to think of such things right now because I could feel my determination wither the closer I got to the music majors’ floor, heartbeat loud in my ears.

I stopped at the end of the hallway and took a deep breath, eyes settling on the studio I knew now was used by Mingi only. Wooyoung was nice enough to tell me the number of his studio—not that I had forgotten since the last time I was here—and he also let me know that it was used by Mingi only, the teachers having granted him full access, even at hours when students were supposed to be at home. It seems so Mingi was a favorite amongst the teachers, and I could see why. He was diligent and hard-working; his lyrics were beautiful and nothing would stop him from fulfilling his dream of becoming a well-known rockstar. I couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of that, and hoped that I would be part of his journey, that he’d let me back into his life.

Steeling my nerves and trying to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I knew there was no turning back. I wanted to do this, I had to do this. I had to stop sabotaging myself, and so, I marched down the hallway towards Mingi’s studio with a newfound hope and determination. Which lasted about five seconds as I came face to face with Mingi’s studio door. There was a small window on it, which would let you know whether the room was occupied or not, and it was straight across the desk where he was sat at—with the blonde girl standing right next to him. And that should have been okay, because really, Mingi could talk to whoever and spend his time also with whoever he pleased. And it’s not like I didn’t have male friends—I didn’t, Seulgi was my only friend—it’s not like he couldn’t speak to one of his fans. After all, he’s made it clear she was nothing more than a fan he appreciated for helping spread the word about his band.

But then, why was her hand on his shoulder one second and the next second slowly trailing down the sleeve of his beige cardigan—which looked like it was messily stained with paint—and certainly the way my good disposal dissipated and was overtaken by blind jealousy and rage had nothing to do with the sudden possessiveness that shook me to my core. And perhaps the thing that bothered me the most wasn’t even her feeling up Mingi’s arm as she looked down at him with sultry eyes, perhaps it was the way Mingi leaned back in his chairs, legs spread wide, and smirk on his lips as he looked up at her with his sharp gaze, allowing her to touch him. Perhaps that’s what sent me over the edge as I barged inside the studio in the most unceremonious way, making the girl yelp in fright and Mingi flinch as his eyes widened.

『Baby, you're all that I want

I want you all to myself

Oh, but you know me too well』

And when I was angry—or panicking, or hurt—all rational thoughts flew out the window as I was led by nothing else but pure instinct and a shit ton of unclear and not so necessarily nice thoughts. Simpler put, I wasn’t thinking nor making sense, but I couldn’t care less as I glared at the both of them while I struggled to mask the fury licking at my veins. They were both looking at me wide eyed, as if I had caught them doing something I wasn’t supposed to, and that made me snap before I could think through how to proceed with this whole shitshow, “Get out.”

For a second, even I didn’t recognize my voice as it dropped a few octaves, fierce gaze set on the blonde girl as she paled, eyes scrambling between Mingi and me as, suddenly, Mingi seemed to snap out of whatever scare I had given him by slamming his door open and into the wall. God, I hope I haven’t actually damaged it, because I certainly didn’t have the money to pay for it right now. I couldn’t look at the blonde girl anymore, heart beating fast in my chest as Mingi and I made eye contact, his eyebrows set in a deep frown as he had a sneer on his face.

“Excuse me?” God, even her voice was annoying. I looked back at the blonde girl and raised my eyebrows at her mockingly.

“Are you deaf?” I chuckled, but it was humorless, “Do I need to repeat myself?”

She huffed, looking offended—rightfully so—and I gritted my teeth as I stepped inside the studio, making it pretty obvious that I wasn’t going anywhere before this bitch left. I tried not to see red as Mingi’s hands balled up into fists or the way the girl snickered, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“You’re the one that’s barged inside uninvited, sweetheart,” And if I could have, I would have ripped her blonde strands out, “this isn’t your fucking studio, so, shut up. Mingi wants me here, maybe you should leave.”

I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing, somewhere deep in my mind realizing I looked absolutely psychotic and if Mingi didn’t hate me before, he certainly would hate me now. I wasn’t helping myself; I was making everything worse—just the usual, then. But this bitch wasn’t stopping me from getting what I came here for, and I hummed as my eyes fell on Mingi again, who’s jaw was clenching and unclenching. His sharp eyes were narrowed, but it seemed like he wasn’t saying anything anytime soon and that only pissed me off more.

“Sure,” I nodded and walked further inside, forcefully throwing my tote bag on the small couch against the wall on my left, making the contents of it spill out. I watched as both Mingi and the girl looked at the clothes, and Mingi’s expression flashed with something unreadable for a second, “Mingi wants you here.”

I suppose neither expected me not to stop until I reached the desk, coming up on Mingi’s left side as I slammed the thermos bottle—albeit too harshly—against the desk, a loud bang echoing in the room. Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed as I opened my mouth to tell the girl to leave again, but suddenly, he was up on his feet, staring me down. The height difference wasn’t that great between the two of us, but suddenly I felt small under his heated glare and sneer that seemed to settle on his lips, broad shoulders intimidating as he lowered his head just a little bit. He looked nothing like the Mingi I had gotten to know over the past few months, and it made my heart race as I realized I might not be able to reason with him today, “What the fuck is your problem, Y/N?! You tell her to get out when you barge in unwelcomed, and then start demanding for her to leave—”

I couldn’t even let him finish his sentence before I was firing back my argument, “Oh, what’s my fucking problem?! Maybe the fact that you lied to me?”

“About what?!” Mingi snapped, eyebrows furrowed as he took a step towards me, his body big enough to make the blonde girl not be seen behind him.

“Oh, be for real.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes, “You never show anyone your songs to? But you so conveniently let me listen to that unfinished song of yours and now look who else gets to listen to it? Her. If you’re so desperate to get laid, you should have—”

“I didn’t show her shit.” Mingi cut me off, voice shaking as his cheeks grew red from anger, probably. Mingi wasn’t a scary person, but he looked scary right now. There was no ounce of kindness in his expression nor tone, he looked cold and angry and like he hated me. I gulped and realized, once again, that I was digging myself deeper into the shithole I had created for myself, that I was hurting him again and again. This is not how things were supposed to go, “I only showed you. That unfinished song you’re talking about, only you know about it. Thanks for reminding me again why I shouldn’t deal with you anymore—”

“Stop it.” I snapped, eyebrows furrowing as I felt fear grip at my throat, making my voice sound shaky as Mingi’s expression went blank. I hated when he did that. I wanted to know what he was thinking about, I needed to see what he felt. I couldn’t do this if he withdrew himself, I couldn’t do this if I was the only one that would bare her heart to him. I was scared. He was pushing me away like Yunho had done, Mingi was abandoning me.

“Stop it?” If I wanted to cry when he laughed in my face mockingly, impassive smirk settling on his lips, I didn’t let it happen. I kept my composure, anger, hurt, desperation, yearning all mixing together as I found it harder and harder to breathe, “You want me to be nice to you after all the shit you said to me on Saturday? You want me to treat you like before after everything that’s happened? I can’t. You hurt me, made me feel like a fucking idiot, Y/N, you broke—I thought we were friends. I feel disrespected and played, and yet here you are again, acting like you have even an ounce of right to act the way you are right now, when it’s you who made it so fucking clear you want nothing to do with me anymore. Do you enjoy making others suffer? Do you want to see me on my fucking knees begging for your attention? I have enough self-respect to step back and move on with my life when someone so blatantly tells it to my face that I am nothing—”

“But you aren’t!” My tone raised without me meaning to as my heart continued to beat out of my chest so fast my ears started ringing. I felt tears prick at my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to victimize myself, I just wanted Mingi to understand I made a mistake, that I knew I did, and that I was trying to fix things. I didn’t want us to part ways, especially not like this, he made me realize this second that I didn’t want to lose him, “You aren’t nothing to me. I said those things because I’m scared. I don’t know how to navigate these feelings—”

“Save it, okay?” I was left gaping as Mingi shook his head, pushing his hands in the pockets of his light denim jeans, “I don’t want to hear whatever sob shit you have to say right now, I’m asking you kindly to leave before I call security and delete my number, like I have deleted yours.”

The silence that settled upon us was deafening and my eyebrows furrowed as a tear rolled down my cheek without warning, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to find my breath. That hurt, it hurt more than anything before, it hurt more than when Yunho left me, broke my heart. Mingi meant so much more to me than Yunho ever did, and I bit my lower lip as Mingi seemed unaffected, expression blank and rather bored. Nothing was making sense anymore. I was scared, but I also felt ready to break free of the chains of the past, I wanted Mingi. And knowing all this, I didn’t want to hold back anymore, I didn’t want to consider my next words anymore. I just wanted to speak my mind freely.

“My ex-boyfriend is Jeong Yunho, your best friend.” Mingi had almost turned away from me, but he froze, head slowly turning back to face me once again, “We dated back in high school, many years ago, when we were still some headless and stupid teenagers. But he was the first boy I’ve ever loved and he fucking broke my heart, shattered into pieces with a bright smile on his lips. He promised me many things, and I was naïve, so I believed it all. And because I did, I ended up hurt beyond fixing and I’ve never trusted a man again. He was my first boyfriend and the center of my universe, yet he never cared enough about me to properly break up with me.

“Yunho talked about you all the time. Everything you liked, everything you hated, you were part of our daily conversations and I always wished to meet you, to see what was so great in you that had Yunho gushing all the time. I was jealous, so jealous that I became bitter. I started hating even the mention of your name, I selfishly wanted Yunho to myself, and you gone from his life. I couldn’t understand what was so great about you and why I wasn’t enough. I knew Yunho didn’t love me, but I wanted him to, so I made myself believe it, believe that I was worth more to him than you’ll ever be. And in the process, I stupidly made myself believe that he’d never leave me, that he was the one for me like he has said so many times before.

“He broke my heart so fucking bad that it took years until I could say his name or even see his face again. I am over him now, have been for a long time, but I can’t help still feel bitter about him. I can’t help but associate you with him at times. He made me defensive and untrusting of men, I couldn’t help but assume you’d be just like Yunho when I first met you, at least when I finally realized who you were. I felt so guilty, I tried to push you away but you wouldn’t fucking give up. You are everything yet nothing like Yunho and that scares me, because I want you, Mingi. But I’m scared you’ll abandon me like Yunho did, that you’ll fill my head with empty and pretty fantasies and then leave me alone with them, tearing my heart apart in the process. I want to open up, but I’m scared. I think, however, with you by my side, I’d be able to do that, to let my walls down.”

The silence that settled upon us, once again, was deafening and I gulped, heart racing and making me feel lightheaded as Mingi’s face had fallen, expression finally not as void as before. He looked shocked, but surprisingly, he didn’t look hurt nor like he would hate me for ever. It made me hopeful for a second, it made me sniff loudly and blink away the insisting tears from my eyes. He gulped and took a deep breath, making me stare in his eyes, hopeful and less scared, as he sighed and rubbed at his chin; a stubble was showing. Now that I come to think of it, he looks rather tired with bags under his eyes, and his platinum hair has a blue hue to it.

“I’m sorry he made you go through so much; I know it wasn’t easy.” Mingi’s tone finally lost the edge it had before, finally it wasn’t laced with so much anger, and it almost made me cry, “I kind of—I knew. Not exactly the whole thing, but I suppose I can say I had a feeling that there was history between you and Yunho. It was too obvious whenever I brought him up that you didn’t like him, at first I was confused, but then I suppose everything just clicked into place. The drawing of his eyes, the sweater you lent me and the fact that you gave it to me in the end—I’ve known since then that it was probably Yunho. I never said anything to him, not like that at least, I wanted you to come to me on your own, when you fully trusted me with the information. And I’m sorry, but he—he was an asshole back in high school, he was insecure and he played with everyone’s feelings, he was quite good at manipulating people around him. He’s mentioned dating you, but very few times, and by the time you had broken up I had all but forgotten about you, I suppose I wasn’t much better compared to him.

“But all of this isn’t my fault in the end, and while I completely understand your reasoning now and why you often acted the way you did, I’m sorry, but I can’t just let go of things and start anew. There’s just—too many things that have happened, emotions that you stirred up in me, and I just can’t do it, I—it’s not even about you and Yunho, I don’t give a fuck about it, it was ages ago and Yunho is a changed man and I know he’s long moved on. And you too, I believe you have, you seemed less bitter lately, but I just can’t. I can’t help but ask again, what do you want, YN?”

At least he wasn’t mad at me, but I did feel ashamed that I made him piece everything together on his own, that I wasn’t capable of telling him the truth myself. I have made mistakes, sure, but Mingi apparently didn’t hate me for them, “I just want to apologize, for everything.”

Mingi nodded and I watched in despair as that cold mask slipped back onto his face, expression void of any emotion once again. It made me want to grab his shoulders and shake them, force him to look deep into my eyes and just see everything I felt for him, “That’s fine, I accept your apology. If that’s all, you can leave—”

“But that’s not all!” I snapped, having had enough of being dismissed by him. I saw the way his jaw twitched, the way his eyebrows furrowed at my defiance, at my reluctance to leave just yet. I was being pathetic and a pain in the ass, but I had to make him understand that I was ready to leave all my fears behind for him, to learn how to be a better person next to him. I wanted to change, and I wanted it to happen with him by my side, with him guiding me and teaching me how to be more like him, and less like the shitty person I was for so long. I longed to be the way I was before meeting Yunho, a lot happier and a lot less broody and hateful of the beautiful things that surrounded me, “Mingi, I cannot stop thinking about you. I spend every waking moment when we’re apart wondering what you’re up to, what’s going through your mind, whether you’re okay or not. And I’ve been drawing you, since the first time I saw you, you’ve captured my attention, you’ve made me curious of who you were the longer we spent time together. I don’t want to be like this anymore, I don’t want to hurt you anymore and shut you out, I want to fix everything. I want to—I just want you, Mingi.”

There was a quiet scoff behind Mingi, but neither one of us reacted to it as our gazes bore into each other, my eyes glinting with yearning and his façade slowly breaking down as he released a shaky breath, “Mingi, I adore you.”

“Get out.” For a second, my body froze as I thought he was addressing me, but then, he whirled around and pointed towards the studio’s still open door, “Get out, now.”

And I just realized that the blonde girl had been witness to everything, and I couldn’t help but blanch in embarrassment as she made to interject, but I guess Mingi’s sharp eyes made her reconsider her choice as she huffed and then stormed out of the studio. My cheeks felt hot and I realized the clothes were making me sweaty, so as Mingi hurried towards the door to close it, I shrugged my jacket off and placed it neatly on the back of the sofa together with my thick scarf. And as I looked up, mouth dry as the door clicked shut and Mingi turned around, it felt like time stopped, like the world stopped moving. But Mingi was moving towards me, in nothing more than three steps he stood in front of me, and before I could even as much as try to reason with him or plead more to be forgiven, warm fingers dug into my cheeks and the wind was knocked from my lungs as his plush warm lips slammed against mine, making me gasp as my eyes remained wide open.

『Filthy impetuous soul

I wanna give it to you』

I thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, I thought he’d tell me that he needed time to forgive me completely and for us to work things out. But I couldn’t help shudder and feel ecstatic as I grabbed the collar of his shirt and cardigan, my eyes falling shut, as I pulled him closer to my body, savoring the kiss as if it was our first. But it wasn’t anything like that one, it wasn’t soft nor careful nor slow, it was hurried and desperate as Mingi pushed me backward, pressing me against the wall, right between the small space between the sofa and the desk. My arms circled his neck as he grabbed my nape with one big hand and pressed his other into the small of my back, making it arch as my fingers tangled into his soft hair, not pulling, just feeling the need to hold onto something, to keep myself grounded.

And much like the first time, our lips seemed to fit perfectly, and I tried not to keen when he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling on the soft flesh, and I tried not to turn into a puddle when he hummed lowly against my lips as my fingers flexed in his hair. Perhaps I kissed him a bit harder and more aggressively as our pace quickened, my hand holding the side of his neck as Mingi pressed his body into mine until it felt like he was trying to forbid me even of the idea of escaping from his clutches, and I had no fucking intention of going anywhere, because in his arms I felt content and safe, and perhaps a bit too hot as goosebumps covered my arms the longer our lips moved hungrily against each other. And when I cupped his cheeks and perhaps held onto them a bit too firmly, his lips parted, and I ignored my lungs screaming for air as my tongue slipped past his parted mouth. I didn’t expect him to moan as our tongues tangled together, all wet and perhaps a little disgusting, but neither one of us cared about that.

I tried to stand on my tip toes for better access as Mingi’s ring clad fingers were suddenly running through my hair and tilting my head back, making my skin tingle where he held my hip firmly. I had been kissed by other people before, but neither felt like with Mingi, neither made me crave more and more and more. But our lungs could only go on so long without air, and I would’ve been embarrassed for the loud gasp I let out when we finally parted, if it wasn’t for Mingi diving straight for my neck and finding the sweet spot that made me putty in his arms. And I tried to ignore his deep grunts as my fingers got tangled in his platinum blonde strands as he pressed open mouthed and wet kisses against my neck, his arms around my hips pulling me into an embrace that had my pulse showing through the skin of my neck. My lips were tingling and my lungs actually hurt, but I couldn’t care less when Mingi finally pulled back and blinked his dark eyes open, pupils dilated and lips so swollen he almost made me chase after them once again.

『Oh, just to see what you'd do

'Cause I'm so drunk on you』

“What’s in the thermos?” His voice was raspier than usual, and it made me bite my bottom lip as my eyes searched his face, his falling on my lips instead.

“Hot chocolate, for peace making.” I answered, sounding a lot more breathless than I actually felt, and Mingi chuckled, the sound deep in his throat. I let my arms fall from his shoulders and instead circled them around his torso, trying to fight off the smile from my lips. Mingi didn’t look angry nor dismissive anymore, but I knew I wasn’t actually forgiven just yet. And that was only fair.

“This is peacemaking, not the hot chocolate.” And there it was, the mischievous glint in his eyes and the smug smirk on his lips as he squeezed my hips once and lowered his face until our lips brushed together, “Although I do appreciate the hot chocolate too.”

“Good, my mom was rather excited when she told me to give it to you.” I pressed a chaste kiss against Mingi’s lips before he could try and say anything, and he chuckled when I pulled away, eyes creasing and crooked front teeth showing.

“What are we now?” His voice was a mere whisper, not insecure nor scared, just wondering, “What do you want?”

I gulped, but decided to be honest. No more hiding my feelings and thoughts from him, “I don’t know just yet, and that’s why I need you to take the lead, but this—I want more of this, of you.”

“Good,” Mingi hummed, lips pursed as he kissed my cheek once before slowly releasing me from his warm embrace, “because I’ve been wanting more of you for fucking ages, doll.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as suddenly I felt embarrassed and perhaps a little shy, but Mingi seemed to be unphased as he grabbed my tote bag and looked through it because his clothes were in it, “You can keep these, they looked better on you anyway. But you better not give them to Yunho if he ever happens to go over to your house—”

“Mingi.” I snapped mortified and pushed his arm as he dropped the tote bag and burst out laughing, giving me a cheeky smile.

“Want to hear the rest of the song I made for you?”

“For me?”

“Yeah, doll, for you.”

            By the time I managed to get home I might as well been on cloud nine and in so much ecstasy that one would think I was on drugs. Which, kind of felt like it after the day I have had—not that I’ve ever done any drugs. I failed to notice my mother’s silhouette in the window of our kitchen when I got out of Mingi’s car and, of course, that meant she saw him get out of his old Honda Prelude and jog after me to kiss me hard and leave me dizzy before he left. And all of that, of course, meant that by the time I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, my mother was leaning against the archway of the kitchen with the widest smirk I’ve ever seen on her face.

“So, did you have sex?”

My eyes widened in mortification and I struggled to step out of my boots and shrug off my jacket, “Mom!”

“So, you did, huh.” It wasn’t even a question, and suddenly running after Mingi’s car sounded a lot better than standing in front of my mother as she bit her bottom lip, giving me a wink.

“We didn’t!” I exclaimed, cheeks flushed a deep red as I cradled the tote bag to my chest, “He needs to take me out on a date first—many dates, actually.”

“Well, he better hurry up then cuz you’re glowing and you’re happy.” I froze at my mother’s words as she looked at me with a serene expression on her face, lips pulled into a small smile, forgetting all about her previous teasing, “He’s good for you, too good. I haven’t seen you so relaxed and happy since—since highschool.”

Since Yunho broke up with me.

“I know, and I will make sure I never hurt him again.” I told my mom and she hummed, looking down at her wristwatch.

“You missed lunch, by the way, so you’ll eat chicken tenders—”

“Again?!”

“Again, exactly. Go wash up before dinner.”

And I was out of her sight in no time, with a newfound rush in my system, skin tingling as I realized I craved to hold my pencil and my sketchbook in my hands. I couldn’t remember the last time I drew something for me and not because it was an assignment. And if hours later the sketch looked a lot like a familiar platinum blonde haired man with sharp eyes and a tall nose wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a beige cardigan over it, accessories many and nails painted black, then I wouldn’t even deny it anymore. Perhaps he would love seeing my drawings. Perhaps I should finally show him.

Mings 🖤: date on wednesday? Me: but im paying this time Mings 🖤: so when we went to the pottery coffee shop it was a date wasnt it, doll Me: maybe it was maybe it wasnt Mings 🖤: no maybes this time

『Oh, but you know me too well

Oh, but you know me too well, well』

❱❱ Next chapter

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