rai

It’d sounded like a good idea at the time.

But now, as you watch Park Sunghoon–campus golden boy and the boy you’ve been (secretly) in love with for three years–literally drink your experiment, you’re starting to think you might have messed up somewhere.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

“Okay, but, like, what are the odds a person could make a real life potion? Or something like it?” Jungwon asks, eyes racing back and forth on the screen as Harry Potter brings back Cedric's dead body.

Yunjin shoots him a glare, her eyes brimming with tears. “Are you seriously asking that right now? Cedric just died!”

He blinks, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "We’ve seen this movie, like, a hundred times.”

“That doesn’t make it any less sad!” She scoffs, reaching for the throw pillow behind her head and tossing it at him.

It hits him square in the chest, but he barely reacts. Just lets it fall into his lap like it'd always been there. “I’m being serious, though!”

Beomgyu hums, popping another pretzel in his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you’re just thinking of chemistry.” 

Jungwon rolls his eyes, shifting in his seat so he can better face the three of you. “I mean like an actual potion. Like ones that make you fall in love or something dumb like that.”

You finally decide to speak up, tucking your feet under yourself and pulling your gaze away from the glowing screen. “You want to know if it’s possible to make a love potion?” You ask, voice laced with disbelief.

But Jungwon doesn’t laugh. If anything, he just looks ten times more serious. “Exactly.”

The three of you go silent, glancing between eachother like Jungwon might reveal he’s joking and he knows something like that isn’t possible. 

Right?

See, there's a lot of issues with being a Biochemistry major. Some of the more obvious being that you’re a woman in a male-dominated field–which is a problem in and of itself–and the other being that it’s extremely difficult.

But the one people don’t talk about is your extreme crave for knowledge. Even if that knowledge has to do with finding out whether or not it’s possible to make a fucking love potion.

And you should shoot the idea down as soon as it comes to your head, really, you should. But there’s that little flicker in the back of your mind, the one that usually gets you into trouble, that has you saying: “It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

(Newsflash: it really, really would.)

Three weeks. That’s how long it takes the four of you to work out numerous formulas, some which nearly exploded in your face, others that did nothing at all. It wasn’t until you suggested using a bit less magnesium does the whole thing seem to be less far-fetched.

Despite her initial scepticism, Yunjin was insistent on finishing it as soon as possible so that she could make Jay–her second situationship of the month–realize he was in love with her and finally ask her on a proper date. You couldn’t help but feel like maybe that was a little unethical.

Besides, you’d already agreed you weren’t actually going to use the substance on real people. You’d test it on rats, see if it worked, and then go to sleep feeling completely and utterly satisfied.

That was the plan, anyway.

You crossed your legs, pencil tapping against your chin as you read over the equations in your notebook. The experiment was nearly completed–but you just couldn’t figure out how to make sure its effects wore off. Beomgyu had suggested maybe substituting the sodium for something else, but you just weren’t sure what.

Jungwon groans next to you, letting his forehead rest against the desk. “Remind me again why electives insist on giving more work than necessary? Like, why do I have to write a 15,000 word essay on the history of the internet?”

You snort, shaking your head slightly as the eraser of your pencil rubs furiously against your paper. “Remind me again why you chose to take a class on the internet?”

He lifts his head up, glaring at you the entire time. “I wasn’t aware the curriculum included 15 page long think pieces on the significance of Damn Daniel.”

You really laugh at that, lips curling up in a cheeky smile. 

You and Jungwon usually had nightly study sessions at the campus library. It was a good way to unwind while also getting some work done. Well, more like you were getting work done and he was decoding Vine’s cultural significance. 

It’s hard for you to focus though.

Park Sunghoon is considerably the most beautiful man you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, with raven hair and a smile that stops girls in their tracks, he has officially claimed the title of Campus Golden Boy and local heartthrob.

So how can you be expected to focus when he’s sitting in front of you, looking like that? 

He’s wearing glasses, something you weren’t even aware he needed, slightly hunched over his glowing computer screen with an adorable knit in his brow. The sight should be illegal, honestly. 

You don’t even notice you’re staring until Jungwon nudges your foot with his, a knowing smirk on his face. “If you keep staring at him like that he might think there’s something wrong with you.”

You immediately flush, forcing your gaze back onto your notebook and trying to ignore the fact that your ears have begun to burn something mean.

“I hate you.” You mumble, fully expecting Jungwon to reply with something witty, but it never comes. Instead, when you lift your gaze up, Sunghoon has left his table and begun to make a beeline for you.

Your eyes widen, throat already closing up and panic swelling deep in your chest. You’d definitely been caught and now he was going to confront you about your stalker-like behavior. You briefly wonder how long it takes for the police to arrive when they’re called, because he was definitely coming over to inform you that he’d done just that.

“Stop looking like your five seconds away from combusting.” Jungwon whispers, tone strangely serious.

You do your best to straighten your posture and make it look like there weren’t three-week-old eye bags under your eyes or a mysterious stain on your sweats, but it’s all futile when he flashes you that smile. The one he gave everyone when he was being friendly, something you’d been on the receiving end of before. But, for some reason, this time it feels different.

This time it feels like the start of something new.

He stops at the other end of your table, hand shooting up in a brief wave. “Hi,” He breathes out, “We have chemistry together.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Jungwon kicks your shin and you remember that you should probably reply. ‘Uh–Yeah!” Your voice cracks, tone pitching up higher than you meant it too. You clear your throat with a slight wince, doing your best to give him a smile. “Yes. Yeah. We do.”

He chuckles, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. And, wow, maybe Jungwon was right–you really are about to explode.

“I was having trouble with this last assignment,” He sighs, clearly exasperated, pointing a thumb back at his computer. “What are the chances you might be able to help me?”

Okay. This is fine. Amazing, actually. You’d finished that assignment the other night and you understood it pretty well, so helping him should be a piece of cake.

At least it would be if you didn’t seem to forget everything in his presence. Because you can definitely smell a bit of his cologne right now, sharp and clean, and you think you’re going to die. Yep. You’re going to pass away from cologne.

“Yes,” Jungwon answers for you, already ushering you out of your chair. “She can help you. Trust me, she’s crazy smart.”

Your eyes widen, staring at your friend in horror as he practically pushes you out of your chair and closer to Sunghoon.

“I know.” Sunghoon replies easily, tone light. Two words, but they’re enough to nearly send you melting into the floor.

You do your best to stay composed as Sunghoon leads you back to his table, but you aren’t entirely sure you’re even going to be able to think next to him. Which is definitely a little pathetic when you think about it, but seriously, look at the man. You are not ashamed in the least.

Jungwon shoots you two thumbs up, dimples showing as he smiles like he’s just won the fucking lottery. You don’t return the sentiment, instead shooting him a harsh glare. 

Sunghoon pulls out the chair next to his computer for you, and you sit down shakily. Your nerves feel completely shot, face on fire and your palms becoming uncomfortably moist.

He gestures to the problem on his screen, murmuring something about how he’d been stuck on it for the last hour.

You nod along, chewing on your bottom lip. The equation he was stuck on was thankfully something you knew how to do, so after taking a breath and reminding yourself that he is simply a boy and you are a very smart woman, you manage to explain it to him.

“You put a negative there, but the equations actually positive,” You explain, voice still shaking the tiniest bit, but stronger than it was earlier as you gain back some confidence. “You also wrote the wrong unit over here.”

Sunghoon listens as you explain everything to him, your hands gesturing wildly and words going a mile-a-minute. It’s obvious to anyone watching you that you’re passionate about the subject.

By the time you finish, he’s already fixing his mistakes and taking the steps needed to get the right answer.

He shifts closer to you, finger dragging over the paper with a light touch, “Is this right?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. He says it loud enough that only you hear, eyes flickering over the side of your face.

You feel that familiar flush building when his knee brushes yours under the table, but do your best to swallow it down. “Uh, yeah. All you have to do now is figure out the correct configuration, which you’re pretty close to doing, and you’ll be good to go.”

He hums, leaning back in his seat and flexing his palms. “How are you so good at this stuff?” He asks with a laugh, eyes raking over yours like he’s trying to fully understand you.

You swallow, playing with your fingers in your lap. “It’s just always interested me, I guess. Like, the fact that we breathe in air and breathe out carbon? And the earth needs carbon to survive, so really we’re helping power the world. It’s all just so fascinating to me!” You’re smiling now, talking animatedly, “It’s difficult, yeah, but it’s also rewarding. Like, watching your experiment work is such a rush and I–”

You cut yourself off, realizing you’re rambling about fucking chemistry like you’re in love with it. He must seriously regret even asking.

“Sorry,” You mumble, nervous laughter bubbling out of you like a defense mechanism.

He shifts, leaning forward onto the table now, face turned so he’s still looking at you. “Don’t be sorry,” He reassures, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I was listening.”

Okay, wow. You are seriously either about to throw up and die or…yeah that’s it. There aren’t any other options.

By the time you make your way back to your table you’re practically shaking, breaths coming in shallow and rushed, your entire body on fire. You feel like you’re in some weird kind of fight or flight.

Jungwons bouncing in his seat, bottom lip sucked into his teeth. He practically pulls you down next to him, beginning to ask you a million questions, but you can’t see him.

All you can focus on is the subtle glance Sunghoon gives you when he leaves.

You should’ve known something was going to go wrong the moment Beomgyu called you. 

“I swear I’ve almost figured it out,” He sighs into the phone. You can’t see him, but you can tell his nose is scrunched up the way it always is when he’s thinking too hard about something. “I think we got the units wrong, but if we can figure out the correct ones it should work.”

You kiss your teeth, bumping your silverware drawer with your hip and letting it slide shut. Your phone rests snugly between your shoulder and ear, your head tilted uncomfortably to accommodate it. “Are you in the lab right now?” You ask.

Beomgyu hums, “Jungwon and Yunjin are here too, but I don’t really know why considering neither of them are doing anything to help.” He says sharply, and you can hear the subtle cries of retaliation from your two friends in the background.

You snort, rolling your eyes slightly. “Okay, well,” You sit on your couch, attempting to get comfortable and placing your plate of food in your lap. “I’m gonna eat this and then I’ll be over, okay? Try not to blow anything up before I get there.”

“No promises.” He groans, tone laced with annoyance, but you know it’s all out of love.

You get there twenty minutes later, hair thrown up and sweats hanging off your body. Very professional, you know.

When you push the metal doors open the first sight that greets you is one you’re quite familiar with. Jungwon and Yunjin fighting with each other over something stupid, and Beomgyu ignoring them like they're his children. Nothing says friendship quite like that.

Yunjin immediately shoots up when you enter, her eyes narrowed with anger. “Can you please tell him that Jay is in love with me before I kill him?”

Jungwon’s quick to follow her, knocking his shoulder with hers so that his frame blocks her from your view. “Can you please tell her she’s known him for a week?"

You roll your eyes and scoot past them, making your way over to Beomgyu. He’s diligently writing down formulas; bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He's giving off a mad scientist vibe right now. Or maybe just a stressed-out university student vibe. Both are interchangeable.

You nudge his shoulder to get his attention, but he barely even glances at you. Just continues mumbling out questions like he's expecting the universe to answer him.

“What can I help with?” You ask, throwing on your lab coat and snapping on a pair of medical gloves.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He gestures lazily to the counter top, where a small gatorade bottle is sitting where the glass test tubes usually do. “Those two idiots broke the glass tubes I was holding the liquid in so now I have to use this janky bottle,” He mutters, throwing a glare at Yunjin and Jungwon.

Your experiment was currently sitting in a Blue Crush Gatorade bottle, floating around the bottom unsuspectingly. You snort at the sight, rolling your eyes slightly. “I think they have some extra next door,” You sigh, turning on your heel to go grab them.

But before you can even think about pushing the door open, Sunghoon reveals himself on the other side.

He’s still in his hockey uniform, helmet hanging from his hand and cheeks flushed a lively pink. You both stand there for a moment, blinking like you’re waiting for each other to make the first move. Jungwon and Yunjin even stop bickering, the both of them staring at you with wide eyes and cunning smiles.

Sunghoon clears his throat, gripping his helmet just the tiniest bit tighter. “Sorry for bothering you,” He murmurs, “I, uh, forgot something in here. Just stopping by to grab it.”

You’re silent for a moment too long, trying to string together a sentence without sounding it’s your first day on earth. It turns out, it’s a bit difficult to do that when Sunghoon is staring at you like that.

Like he’s trying just as hard as you are to not burst at the seams. 

“Can I scoot past?” he asks, tone small and light, a shy smile playing on his lips.

You swallow, managing a small nod and moving to the side weakly. His fingers brush yours when he scoots past, sending a cool shiver down your spine, one that shouldn’t feel as electric as it does.

He waves at Jungwon and Yunjin, who both give him polite smiles, but you can see the way their eyes shine at him. Like they know something he doesn’t–which they do–but still.

Yunjin hurries over to your side as soon as his back is to you, giving you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen. She grabs your bicep with her manicured hand, squeezing it so tightly you have half the mind to think it’ll bruise.

“Oh my God,” She whispers, eyes flickering between you and Sunghoon, whose eyebrows seem to be narrowed in confusion as he looks for whatever it is he left. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”

You immediately flush, smacking her lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.” You grumble.

“I’m being serious!” She defends, wiggling her eyebrows. “Even I got butterflies.”

You run a hand over your face, head shaking slightly. “Yunjin, seriously, stop talking.”

She laughs, but you can’t find it in yourself to laugh with her. Even if Sunghoon was looking at you a certain way, it didn’t mean anything. Not when Sophia was still around.

Sophia was the complete opposite of Sunghoon. A rude party girl who assumed the world revolved around her and her perfectly blown-out hair. And somehow, someway, she’d gotten the dark-haired man wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

Their relationship was constantly off and on, mostly because Sophia could never seem to make up her mind on what man she was interested in that week. And Sunghoon, poor, beautiful Sunghoon, always went back to her. Sometimes you wondered if she had some kind of blackmail on him. Or maybe he was just a secret masochist. Both answers were equally concerning.

They seemed to be on one of their breaks right now, but everyone knows it's only a matter of time before she's showing up at his games again. You hate that the thought of it fills your chest with green smoke.

You turn around on your heel to continue your walk to the classroom next door, but the sound of Beomgyu shrieking stops you.

You whip around, half expecting something to have exploded, but instead the sight you’re met with is worlds more alarming. 

Sunghoon, the campus golden boy and secret love of your life, is drinking your experiment. Literally. Lid to mouth, chugging it like it's water.

Beomgyu rips it from him, but it’s too late. Almost all of the liquid, aside from a few measly drops in the bottom, is gone.

The four of you freeze, watching Sunghoon like he’s grown three heads. But the boy in question just blinks at you with confusion. His tongue flicks out to lick a drop off his bottom lip, eyes flickering between the three of you. “What?

Beomgyu takes a cautious step towards him, arm held out like he’s worried Sunghoon might go rabid and lunge at him. “Do you feel anything…strange?”

Sunghoon swallows awkwardly, lips curving into a concerned smile. “Um,” he murmurs, letting out a nervous laugh. “Should I?”

You share a glance with Jungwon, who just shrugs his shoulders. The four of you are in different stages of shock, because why would somebody drink a mysterious liquid in a lab? What is the thought process behind that?

Yunjin looks like she's holding back a laugh, which isn't that shocking since she always laughs at the most inappropriate times. Meanwhile Jungwon looks nearly amused, like he'd known this would happen, and Beomgyu just looks pissed.

“Sunghoon,” Jungwon murmurs, circling the ravenette like he’s studying him, a hand on his chin. “Why did you drink out of that bottle?”

Sunghoon watches him, head twisting around his shoulder every time Jungwon makes his way out of his line of sight. “Because it’s mine? I left it here last night.” He answers casually.

Your eyes snap to Beomgyu, watching as his eyes trail down to the bottle in his hand. 

“You guys alright?” Sunghoon asks, tone laced with suspicion. Not that you can really blame him.

Yunjin’s the first to answer, a honey-sweet smile on her face. “Oh, yeah, we’re good! Just…deadlines. You know how people get.” 

Sunghoon nods, eyebrows knit together. “Right,” He mumbles, pursing his lips slightly. His eyes flicker between all of you once more, like if he stares at you long enough one of you might break. 

When his eyes land on you, he pauses. It’s just a moment, something you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying attention, but something you aren’t quite sure how to place flashes in his gaze. Something far too real and confusing.

“I should, uh,” He swallows, gesturing lazily towards the door. “I should go.”

You nod, lips parted slightly as he slips past you. 

Beomgyu clearly wants to stop him and ask more questions, maybe try and keep him for observation, but you shoot him a look that tells him to let it go. Your experiment being gone sucks, yes, but if he seems fine then there isn’t any reason to scare him. And if he isn’t fine later then you can deal with it then.

Sunghoon glances back at you before he leaves, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he decides against it. Instead, he pushes the door open and steps back outside, leaving the four of you to try and come to terms with what happened.

Theres a pregnant pause, mostly because you think nobody really knows how to approach the situation. How do you move on with your day after your personal campus celebrity drank your fucking experiment? It's seriously a valid question.

Yunjin clears her throat, arms crossing over her chest. “So... does this mean I can’t use it on Joshua?" She asks, expression completley serious.

Beomgyu lets out a large sigh, fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose like it might ground him. “Yunjin,” He murmurs, “Shut up.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "It was a genuine question."

Your lips tighten, hand reaching out to give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "You weren't going to be able to use it on him anyway."

"You don't know that!"

You can’t help but feel on edge when you walk into your Chemistry lecture the next day, hands gripping your computer tighter than necessary.

Would Sunghoon be here? Would he be okay? Did he die sometime in the night and the campus just wasn’t aware? What if the police were waiting for you so they could question you?

What would you even say? Well, you see officer, he kind of drank my experiment. So sorry it killed him! Yeah, no. That wasn’t gonna work.

To your relief, there aren’t any police officers waiting for you in the lecture hall, and Sunghoon seems to be perfectly fine.

Except, he’s sitting in Yunjin’s usual seat right next to yours.

You immediately pause, heart dropping to your stomach. This has never happened, ever, and you already know it must mean bad news.

He’s writing something in his notebook casually, hair curling over his forehead in a way that makes him look hand-sculpted by the Gods themselves. Your mouth goes dry, eyes flickering across the room until they land on a sly looking Yunjin. She curls her fingers at you in a sultry wave, like she knows exactly what she’s done–which you’re sure she does.

And, conveniently, every other seat in the room is full. Which means you have no other choice than to sit by Sunghoon.

Which is perfectly fine. Yep. It’s fine.

You force yourself to make your way to your seat, feet dragging the entire way, head hanging so that your hair covers your face. Is it a little pathetic? Yeah, definitely. But you’re way past caring.

You try to sit down as incredulously as possible, making sure your body is conveniently facing away from him. And for the first few minutes it works! Sunghoon doesn’t glance at you when you open your computer and pull up the assignment, doesn’t even blink when you sneeze right next to his ear.

And when you think you’re finally in the safe–finally feel like you can let yourself relax–it happens.

Sunghoon turns to you, his cheeks flushed a strange shade of pink, eyes strangely bright and pupils blown, and says in a scarily serious tone, “How are you, beautiful?”

You don’t even register it at first. It feels so absurd, so out of reach that he could even be thinking about saying that to you, that you completely ignore him. You assume he must be on the phone with Sophia, because there is absolutely no way Park Sunghoon just called you beautiful. It just wasn’t possible.

But then his foot finds yours under the table, and he starts trying to play fucking footsie with you. You freeze momentarily, brain trying it’s very hardest to catch up with whatever the hell it is that’s going on right now.

You swallow, finally forcing yourself to look at him. For a moment you really wish you hadn’t, because he’s got this cheeky smile going on, like he’s content just being in your presence.

You clear your throat, looking around once more for confirmation that he isn’t talking to anyone else. Your pointer finger comes up to point at yourself hesitantly, voice coming out in a small whisper when you say, “Are you talking to me?”

His foot stops nudging against yours now that you’ve finally answered him, and his smile widens. “Who else would I be calling beautiful?”

You nearly choke on your own spit, hand flying up to your mouth as you fall into a coughing fit. Sunghoons hand comes up to rub soothingly on your back like he’s done it a million times.

“What are you talking about?” You manage between coughs, eyes wide like you’ve just seen a bomb go off. 

Well, this certainly feels like one has.

Your mind can't even make sense of what he's saying. It almost feels like he's speaking another language and you're using google translate to try and communicate with him.

Sunghoon laughs, head shaking as his hand travels up to ruffle your hair. “You’re so funny sometimes, really. Did you know that? Honestly, I’ve always thought you were the funniest girl I’d ever met. And the prettiest.” His eyelashes flutter, leaning his cheek onto his hand like he’s got some type of school-girl crush. “I want the whole world to know just how perfect you are.”

You’re too shocked to even respond, lips opening and closing while you rack your brain for anything to say. This is so out of character for Sunghoon. Not just because his admiration is aimed at you, but because you’ve gone to university with him long enough to know he doesn’t act like this.

And then it hits you.

The fucking experiment.

You are so screwed.

You clear your throat, glancing around warily. Your professor started lecturing a few minutes ago, but you were so busy with Sunghoon you had no idea what it was he was even talking about.

You suck in a shaky breath, “Okay, listen, I know you’re probably confused right now." You attempt, voice quiet as to not draw any attention to what’s going on. “But you drank something you shouldn’t have yesterday, which isn’t your fault! Me and Beomgyu just have to figure out how to reverse its effects! Unless, of course, it wears off by itself. That would definitely be ideal.” You mumble the last part, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth just like it always does when you’re thinking too hard.

Sunghoon watches you with a dopey smile on his face, clearly not caring about anything that you’re saying. The sight makes your heart stutter, which you know shouldn’t happen. Personal feelings about Sunghoon aside, he doesn’t actually feel anything for you. He just thinks he does.

“You’re so cute when you’re focused.” He murmurs, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath catches when the tips of his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch soft and intentional. He's gazing at you with so much love, so much genuine feeling, it breaks your heart the tiniest bit.

And you wonder for the briefest moment what would happen if you let yourself indulge in this. Even if just for a day. Would it be so bad?

He pulls away from you slowly, the tips of his ears pink and his lips curled into a shy smile. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs again.

You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “Sunghoon–”

He stands from his seat abruptly, his chair scratching against the floor obnoxiously. You wince, head whipping up to figure out what the hell it is he’s doing.

“Everyone!” He announces, voice booming through the lecture hall. You immediately scramble to stop him, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to try and pull him back down. He just ignores you, instead choosing to continue to address the whole class like he’s giving some big speech.

“I’m in love–!”

Yeah, no.

You practically wrestle him into his chair, pulling on his arm so hard he nearly collapses into your lap. You push him into his chair, a shaky smile on your face.

The class stares at you with unamused frowns, all clearly annoyed at having the lecture interrupted by Sunghoons near-declaration.

You clear your throat, hands waving in front of you. “He’s just not feeling well,” You attempt nervously, a humorless laugh bubbling out of your lips like it might save you from embarrassment. It doesn’t.

Your professor fixes you with a stern look, one that you’d never been on the receiving end of until this moment. Now, you’re starting to understand why people say she’s so icy.

You murmur out apologies to the room, hoping to ease at least some ofthe growing tension between you and your peers. Yunjins looking at you with genuine shock, her hand covering her mouth like she’s hoping to spare you any kind of embarrassment. It doesn’t work.

You turn your attention back to Sunghoon, who’s giggling in his chair like he’d just witnessed the funniest thing ever.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, beginning to pack your stuff as well as his. You’d thought you’d wait until class was over to go find Beomgyu, but after that stunt you’re starting to think your social life might go down if you don’t figureout how to fix this ASAP.

Sunghoon shrugs, fingertips tapping against his thigh. “Is it a crime to tell people about the girl I love?”

You tense for a moment, but don’t stop gathering the rest of your things. “You don’t love me.” You manage out, voice cracking slightly. “You’re just confused.”

Sunghoon grabs your wrist and stops you from closing his notebook, his thumb hovering over your pulse point. “I’m not confused.” He insists, and, God, for a second you almost believe him. It’d definitely be easier to.

But you know he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s confusing his emotions for you with something else—something that isn’t there.

Something that will never be there.

You pull your wrist out of his grip, a sad smile on your face. “C’mon,” You manage, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Let's go talk to Beomgyu.”

The walk to Beomgyu’s apartment is filled with endless yapping from Sunghoon and mostly silence from you. You aren’t sure how you should reply to his advances considering he doesn’t actually know what he’s saying. You keep telling yourself to imagine he’s on some weird drug that makes him more open than normal. And ten times more flirty.

Beomgyus apartment is just on the cusp of campus, close enough that it wasn’t a long walk, but far enough to get some sense of individualism. You’d been there a thousand times, whether it was for a casual hangout or to catch up on homework, but never in a million years did you imagine you’d be knocking on the door with Park Sunghoon staring at you like you’d hung the moon and the stars.

“Stop,” You mumble, fist rapping onto the door again. You know Beomgyu’s home right now.

Sunghoon raises a brow, arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to you. “Stop what?” He asks, maintaining his false facade of innocence.

You shoot him a glare, hands gesturing at him wildly. “Stop looking at me like that!”

He just hums, like he’s amused at your reaction. And you know none of this is technically his fault–well, it is but it isn’t–but there’s a growing annoyance in your chest that you can’t seem to get rid of. If you were going to be subjected to another public embarrassment like what he’d pulled in your lecture you think you’ll die.

You huff, fist tapping against the door again. “I know you’re in there, Beomgyu! Stop trying to pretend you aren’t there so I’ll leave!”

There’s a momentary silence, and then the door clicks open and an unamused Beomgyu stares at you from the other side. He’s wearing a white stained shirt, hair sticking up in numerous places. 

He’s a sight for sore eyes, honestly.

“What?” He sighs, staring at you like you’ve interrupted his very busy schedule.

You point over at Sunghoon with your thumb, “We’ve got a massive issue.”

Beomgyu’s eyes trail towards where you’re pointing lazily, like you’re somehow inconveniencing him. He looks Sunghoon up and down, lips twisting into a frown. “I don’t see the problem.” He mumbles.

You sigh, running a hand over your face and letting it slap back down to your thigh. “It worked.” 

Beomgyu raises a brow. “What worked?”

You groan, “The experiment worked.” You hiss, nodding towards Sunghoon slightly. “And now he’s convinced he’s in love with me.”

Beomgyu blinks, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes what you said. He’s been your closest friend for long enough to know that under different circumstances, Sunghoon confessing his love to you would’ve had you over the moon. He knows you would’ve had a much different reaction to the one you’re giving now, at least.

He licks his lips, glancing around the hallway like he’s expecting someone to jump out at you, and then ushers the both of you into your apartment. Sunghoon tries to grab your hand when you go inside, but you pull away and shoot him a sharp glare. He just smiles back, like your annoyance is the most amusing thing in the world to him.

Beomgyu gestures to the couch, mumbling out a hasty sit before disappearing into his room. You sigh when you plop down onto it, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursued. 

You know it’s not Sunghoons fault. This whole thing was a complete accident. But…some part of you couldn’t help but feel like this entire thing was only going to end one way–with you getting hurt. Sunghoon doesn’t love you like he seems to think. The issue is, you aren’t sure just how long you’ll be able to resist him before you finally start believing him.

That’s why you need to figure out how to reverse this before it gets to that point.

And what about the effects it must be having on Sunghoon? Sure, you were taking emotional hits, but what if you had accidentally seriously messed him up mentally or physically? What if he never recovered and then you’d have to live with the fact that you’d indirectly messed him up for life?

Sunghoon sits down next to you wordlessly, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes trail over the living room, eyes pausing on a framed picture of you and Beomgyu from highschool. In it, the both of you are laughing at something on the other side of the camera, your hands clenching your stomachs and wide smiles on your faces. You don’t remember what exactly had been so funny at the time, but your heart still melts all the same every time you look at it.

Sunghoon hums, nodding towards the picture. “You look happy.”

Even though you don’t mean to, and there's definitely no reason to do so right now, you crack a small smile. “Yeah,” You mumble, “That was a good day.”

The space between you isn’t uncomfortable, it never really has been despite everything, but it’s tense. Like there’s some sort of gravitational force pushing you towards him, and the harder you resist, the more it wants to persist. 

Sunghoon must feel it to, because his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his adams apple bobbing slightly. For the first time since this entire fiasco started, he looks almost unsure, like there’s something he wants to do or say, but he can’t.

You frown, hand instinctively coming up to rest on his bicep, “Sunghoon,” You murmur, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Are you alright–”

“Okay, here's the plan,” Beomgyu interrupts, finally emerging from his room. He looks much more put together now and not like he’d just rolled out of bed. He points to himself, “I’m going to figure out how to fix…” He gestures to Sunghoon warily, “This as soon as possible. You,” He points to you next, “Are going to watch him while I do.”

Immediately, alarms go off in your head. You can’t watch over Sunghoon. You just can’t.

You sit up straighter, arms crossing in an X over your chest. “I can’t,” You blurt, heat rising to your cheeks. You slowly lean back again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I have…plans.”

It’s a lame excuse, you know. And you know neither of them believe you. (Honestly, does Sunghoon even understand what’s going on?)

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “Okay, first off, no you don’t. And if this is like, a one in a million time in which you actually do have something going on, cancel it.” He lowers his voice slightly, hand covering his mouth so Sunghoon can’t see what he’s saying. “He can’t be alone right now, and I’m guessing you’re the only person he’ll willingly go with. So, either take him or deal with the repercussions.”

You hate that he’s right. 

Maybe, if you had any energy left in you you’d fight with him on it. Or maybe you’d just deal with the consequences of sending Sunghoon out there on his own. But one glance at the man in question, and you immediately cave.

He’s gazing at you with hopeful eyes, his head tilted slightly to the side, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. It really shouldn’t tug at your heart strings like it does. It shouldn’t make you want to say yes until the word doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

You sigh, forcing your gaze to the ground. “Fine,” You huff, “I’ll watch him. Whatever that means.”

Beomgyu grins, glancing between you and Sunghoon cheekily, like he knows something you don’t. “Great,” He rolls his neck, letting it pop once. “Now get out so I can get to work.”

Campus is never busy on Mondays. You think it’s because most people don’t like the idea of morning classes on the first day of the week, which you can’t really blame them for. But that also means that it’s just you and Sunghoon on the street, and while it feels completely awkward for you—he looks like he just won a million bucks.

He’s smiling, as if the harsh winds blowing across your faces is anything to smile about. As if anything about this situation is something to smile about. 

And you know you shouldn’t be upset. Anyone in your situation right now would probably be ecstatic. The man you’ve been secretly in love with for the past three years is finally returning your feelings, even if they aren’t completely genuine.

But that’s the issue, isn’t it? He doesn’t really feel this way towards you, he just thinks he does. And it would be so easy to let yourself indulge in it–to let yourself forget that none of this is actually real.

But you can’t. You know you can’t.

Sunghoons arm brushes against yours, a complete accident, but you still flinch and pull away like he’s burned you.

He glances at you, eyebrows furrowing. His breaths coming out in uneven puffs of white fog. “Everything okay?”

You clear your throat, trying to act like the shiver that goes down your spine is from the frosted air and not because his smooth voice makes your body flush with heat. “I’m fine,” You murmur, “Just…hungry. Tired.”

He hums, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “You know,” He drawls, trying to keep up a nonchalant front. “We could go eat. Together. Just me and you.”

You blink, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Is he asking you on a date right now? If the past two hours hadn't happened, you probably would've been more surprised.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly, “I’m not going on a date with you Sunghoon.” The words nearly don't make it out of your throat, feeling more artificial and practiced than anything else. If you would've told yourself a week ago you'd be rejecting Sunghoon, you probably would've slapped yourself for even thinking about it.

He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “Who said anything about a date?” He asks, looking at you like you've just uggested the craziest thing he's ever heard. “We're just two friends eating lunch together, right? Even if I am irrevocably in love with you.”

He throws the word love out like he's saying hello, not like he's pulling at the strings of your heart every time it leaves his lips. It almost sounds fucking natural, like he'd been saying it to you for years, which makes it even worse.

You pause in the street, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Okay, I get that your brain isn’t in the right place right now, but stop saying things like that.”

His head tilts slightly to the side, eyebrows raising in amusement. “Why?” He asks, tone innocent, but you know better. You know he’s finding this funny. It’s frustrating and annoying and your heart fucking stutters every time he looks at you like he knows exactly what makes you tick.

You stumble over your words, hands gesturing wildly in front of you. “Because It’s annoying! And weird! How would Sophia feel if she knew you were saying all of this?”

The air goes still at the mention of Sophia, like the thought of her is enough to push away the sun. Sunghoons expression hardens, his jaw tightening for a moment before he releases it. It’s almost like the sound of her name has sucked all of the joy out of him. “Why would I care what she thinks?” He mutters.

You blank, unsure of how to respond to that. You know the two have always had a more than toxic relationship, but you’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards her before. You’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards anyone before.

“I don't know, maybe because she’s your girlfriend?” You attempt.

His eyes harden as he looks away from you, like he doesn't want to point his annoyance towards you. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He mumbles.

Your neck cranes up so you can look at him, arms crossing over your chest in a silent defense. “Besides,” He continues, taking a small step closer. “Why would I care about her when you’re right in front of me?”

You feel that familiar heat rush up your neck, the one you know you have no right to feel. And it’s strange how something good on the surface can cut you so deeply. How something you hoped to hear from him for years can suddenly feel like the biggest insult.

But, you are hungry–you weren’t lying about that, and Beomgyu has already assigned you to practically be his babysitter anyway, so might as well get something out of it, right?

You let out a breath, kissing your teeth as you do. This is a very bad idea, and you know it. “We can go to lunch as friends, but that’s it, okay? And no more flirting.”

His lips curl into a grin, eyes flashing like he’s just won a prize. “Perfect, because I already made a reservation for us off campus.”

Of course he did. 

You open your mouth to argue, or really say anything, but his hand makes its way onto your lower back so he can lead you away and you suddenly forget how to speak. Because, yes, you’re still a strong woman who would rather die than ever be rendered speechless by a man–but Park Sunghoon is an exception. One that you know you shouldn’t indulge, but doesn’t it feel oh, so good when you do?

That’s how you find yourself thirty minutes later in the nicest restaurant in a fifteen mile radius, wearing jeans and an old ratty t-shirt. You cross your legs, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach at being so underdressed.

Sunghoon doesn’t look the least bothered by it though, reading over the menu with sharp eyes and a slight furrow to his brows. He asks you your opinion occasionally, mumbles about calories and his protein intake. All things you’d never really felt the need to look at yourself before. Maybe hockey people have to worry about that stuff? You’d always assumed it was just wrestlers and weightlifters.

“Do you like Alfredo sauce or marinara? I like both, but I want you to be able to pick off my plate.” He mutters, saying it so casually. Like ordering his own food based on what you like is just common sense. If any of this was real, he would make the perfect boyfriend.

It makes you wonder again how Sophia could just let him go so easily.

Your eyes flicker up from your own menu, heart stuttering in your chest. “Just get whatever you want,” You sigh, “You don’t need to ask me.”

He’s silent for a moment, the gears in his head turning. He slowly sets his menu down, and then plucks your own from your fingers.

Your eyebrows furrow as you go to reach for it, “Sunghoon—“

“Why are you so set on rejecting me?” He asks, keeping his eyes on yours. The eye-contact nearly makes your throat close up from how intense it is. “I know you think none of this is real or whatever—“

"Because it isn’t.” You interrupt. You wish you understood how this experiment worked, because then maybe you'd know how to get it through his thick skull that none of this was real. You run a hand through your hair before continuing, “You drank an experiment, Sunghoon. Everything you’re feeling—everything you think you’re feeling—it isn’t real.” Your voice cracks slightly, like it’s a manifestation of your own hurt. 

Sunghoon, for the first time since this entire thing started, goes silent. His jaw ticks, breathing going slightly uneven. The air crackles between you, tension that neither of you really want to admit is there.

And then, without even so much as a stutter, he says, “I’ll prove it then.”

You falter, lips parting as a laugh bubbles out of your throat. You don’t mean to laugh, really, you don’t, but Sunghoon's insistence is almost admirable. And, unfortunately for you, his stubbornness only makes you fall for him the tiniest bit more.

“Why are you so set on this?” You ask, mimicking his question from earlier. 

He shrugs, leaning forward and placing his chin in his hand. “Does it matter?”

Yes, it does matter. But you know there’s no way you’re going to get an actual answer from him, so you won’t push anymore. So, instead you just shrug, fingers tapping against the table. “I guess not.”

Sunghoon grins, his tongue poking against his cheek slightly. “Atta girl.”

You should drag him out of the restaurant and back to Beomgyu’s apartment after that. Should refuse to even speak to him until Beomgyu figures out how to reverse this whole thing. Should protect your heart from the hurt that you know is coming.

But you don’t do any of that. Instead, you laugh along to his jokes. You don’t protest when he pays for your food. You let him walk you home like he’s your boyfriend and try to ignore the deep ache beginning to bloom in your chest every time he looks at you like he loves you.

And when you lay in bed that night, sheets tucked to your chin and green glowing stars shining on your ceiling, you let yourself believe that all of it was real. That all of it meant something.

Even if that was only true for one of you.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting the next morning, but it certainly isn’t sunghoon at your door with a jersey in one hand and hockey stick in the other.

You blink at him, still in your pajamas with leftover mascara flakes covering your cheeks. You’re sure you look the picture of attractiveness right now. You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. “What are you doing here?”

Sunghoon holds the jersey out to you, and it’s then that you realize it’s his. Or, at least, one with his number and name on it. “This is for tonight.” He says casually, like you’re supposed to know what that means.

Your eyebrows furrow as you cautiously take it from him, inspecting it like it was a bomb and not a piece of fabric. “Uh,” You chuckle humorlessly, “What’s tonight?”

The jersey is your size, but the only other people you can think of who wear these are family members, die-hard fans, and…girlfriends. 

But there’s no way that’s why he’s giving this to you. Besides, you’d seen Sophia wear the same exact thing enough times to know what wearing it would mean--to know what it would make you, as well as everyone else on the campus, aware of. 

That you were Sunghoons.

That is not happening.

He leans against your doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. His hockey stick pokes out from under his armpit awkwardly, and the sight nearly makes you crack a smile.

“For the game,” He says, “You’re coming.”

You immediately shake your head and attempt to shove the jersey back into his arms. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to that. Thanks for the offer though.”

You turn on your heel after forcing him to take back the shirt, and while you know you should tell him to leave, you let him follow you into your apartment.

He trails behind you like a lost puppy, a slight pout twisted onto his features. “You have to go,” He insists, “You’re my girlfriend–”

You whip around and glare at him, “I am not your girlfriend.”

His lips curl up into a shy smile, a hand coming up to brace the back of his neck. “That’s a technicality.”

You give him a look before finally turning back around and continuing your walk to your bathroom. He tries to follow you in, but you quickly shut the door in his face. You half expect that to finally be the hint he needs, but of course it isn't. Instead, he just keeps talking to you through the door. “Okay, fine, you’re not my girlfriend.” He sighs, voice slightly muffled. You just roll your eyes and throw your hair up, grabbing your toothbrush from its place in the barbie cup on your sink.

“But you said I could prove to you how serious I was,” He continues. You can hear his body slide down to the floor, and you assume he’s sitting with his back against the door. He’s silent for a moment, before mumbling out so quietly you nearly don’t hear him, “Let me do what I said I would. Please.”

You are a weak, weak woman. You’ve always known this. When it comes to school and things of that nature you’d always known you excelled. But, people? That was something that was way out of your league.

Your mom used to call you a people-pleaser. Said it’d end up in you getting hurt if you didn’t learn how to step away from things before they got out of hand. And you thought you had.

But maybe you hadn’t.

You sigh, finishing up brushing your teeth and washing your face. By the time you're finished the ends of your hair and the sleeves of your shirt are soaked, but you don’t care. He wouldn’t care what you looked like right now anyway. His brain is all jumbled up and you doubt you looking like a hot mess is the thing that'll fix it.

You open the door cautiously, and just as you’d expected he’s sat on the other side with his knees tucked into his chest. He looks so small here, so boyish. Not like the Park Sunghoon you’d seen from the spotlight, not like the school's star player and pride and joy. From here, he looks like a boy trying to find himself in a world too big for him.

You tug your bottom lip into your teeth, eyes choosing to look everywhere but at him. “I’ll go,” You finally mumble, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “But I’m not wearing the jersey.”

He smiles, shoulders sagging in relief. He tilts his head up so he can see you. “Jersey?” He smirks, crumbling up the fabric and shoving it behind his back. “What jersey?”

You grin despite yourself and nudge your foot into his lower back. “Whatever. Go home so I can get ready.”

He stands, knees popping as he does. He grabs his hockey stick from where it leans against your wall, fingers wrapping around it and giving it a firm squeeze. “Six pm, alright? I’ll get you and your friends a spot up front.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that–”

He grins, and before you can even think about swerving him, leans in and places a gentle kiss at the crown of your head. You freeze, body flushing and eyes going wide.

His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, coated with a scentless chapstick that you’d seen him carry around with him for years. He pauses for a moment, his spare hand lingering at your waist. He never touches you directly, doesn’t even attempt to. But you can still feel the slight heat emitting from his hand, and it almost feels more intimate than if he'd just taken that final leap.

He swallows, taking a step away from you. There’s a slight pink blush dusting his cheeks, like he’s shocked by his own actions, but he’s quick to clear his throat and pretend like there was nothing out of the ordinary about what he’d just done. Like the entire thing was a regular occasion for the both of you.

“I’ll see you there, okay?” He mutters, raising a brow. Like he needs more reassurance that you’ll stick to your word and show up.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips for a moment, eyes searching for any indication that maybe he understands what he did. That maybe the experiment's effects are starting to wear off. But when you look at him, you see the same exact thing you’ve been seeing since yesterday morning.

Pure, unbridled, love.

You suck in a breath, nodding your head slightly. “Yeah,” You manage, though your voice comes out low and breathless. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles, mumbles out a soft goodbye, and then leaves you in the middle of your hallway, body flushed and mind jumbled.

Yunjin, to your dismay, comes over as soon as you ask her too.

She looks ecstatic. You’d called her last night and explained the entire situation, but she, of course, couldn’t see how it was a very bad thing.

“Why are you so upset?” She’d asked over the phone. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was practically beaming. “The guy you’ve been secreltey obsessing over like some kind of stalker is in love with you! That sounds like a complete win to me!”

You’d winced, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. “Yeah, It sounds great! But he doesn’t…” You swallowed uncomfortably, “He doesn’t actually feel that way for me. He just thinks he does.”

You heard her take a drink of something before she sighed out, “How do you know that?”

You went silent, unsure of how to answer. What did she mean how did you know? It was obvious. Sunghoon accidentally drinks a love potion and now thinks he’s in love with you. That’s what had happened.

You tucked your legs under you and adjusted your phone against your ear. “I think that’s obvious, Yunjin.” You murmured.

She hummed, “I don’t know, [Y/N].” She said, tone strangely teasing. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

So, when you’d called her and asked her to help you get ready for tonight’s match, she was ecstatic. And you appreciated her support, of course, but you weren’t sure she really understood what was happening here.

You and Sunghoon are nothing. When all of this was over, you’d go back to being two strangers who sometimes smiled awkwardly at each other out of obligation. And you needed to be able to be okay with that. You had to be.

“Okay, I think you should wear something super sexy so that Sunghoon’s knocked on his ass.” Yunjin quips, scouring through your closet and inspecting everything you own like it owes her something.

You sigh from where you lay on your bed, staring up at the stars on your ceiling like maybe they’ll save you. “We’re going to his game, Yun. I don’t want him to fall on his ass.” You chuckle, throwing up air quotes around the end of your sentence.

Yunjin rolls her eyes and throws another pair of jeans onto your desk chair. “I don’t mean literally. I just mean maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wear something different."

You sit up, bracing yourself against your elbows. “What's wrong with my usual clothes?” You ask, eyebrows raising teasingly.

Yunjin pauses, cautiously turning around so you’re face to face. “There’s nothing wrong with it," She attempts, lips twisting thoughtfully as she tries to come up with the softest way to say it. “But I don’t think a pair of sweatpants and some random shirt you got in middle school is quite the look we’re going for.”

You scoff, flopping back down onto your bed and pushing the palm of your hands into your eyes until white dots fill your vision. You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you usually wear, even if it isn’t the nicest clothes ever.

But you can’t lie and say there isn’t a part of you that wonders how Sunghoon would react. Would he even care? If he did, would it even be real?

“I think that you’re blowing this way out of proportion.” You mutter, letting your arms wrap around yourself.

Yunjin snorts and tosses a shirt at you. You cautiously inspect the fabric–a blue long sleeved top with a deep neckline that you’d bought to make your ex-boyfriend jealous and then never wore. You scrunch your nose slightly at it and then toss it back at her. 

“There’s no way I’m wearing that.” You snort.

Yunjin nods, grabbing a pair of dark jeans from your closet. “That’s what you think.”

The hockey arena, to no one's surprise, is full to the brim with die hard fans and half-way drunk college students. You, personally, have never been to a game before. Mostly because you know what they consist of, and you’d rather skip watching men fight over a puck on ice when you could be doing much more important things. Like rewatching New Girl.

But, alas, you, Yunjin, and Jungwon all find your seats right at the barricade. Beomgyu had chosen to skip so that he could keep working on some kind of fix for your current situation, but you had half the mind to believe it was because he simply didn’t want to come.

Jungwon takes a sip of his fountain drink, letting the red straw rest on his lip. “So, you’re telling me that Sunghoon drank the experiment, thinks he’s in love with you, and invited you here because he wants to prove to you that it’s real?”

You nod, shrugging your jacket off and laying it across the back of your seat. The players are warming up in front of you, their skates scratching against the ice as they yell instructions at each other. You can see Sunghoon talking to another boy with a serious expression, his hands moving admittedly as he does. You can tell he’s being stern with him, but the boy doesn’t look upset or scared in the least. If anything, he’s taking his lecture with pride–like getting told off by Park Sunghoon is a privilege.

And you think that goes into show just the kind of person that he is. He's kind, and funny, and defientley doesn't deserve what you're putting him through.

"Um," You sniff, adjusting yourself in your seat. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

Jungwon hums, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Is it weird that that isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to us?” He asks.

You furrow your brows, “What could possibly be weirder then that?”

“Remember freshman year?” Yunjin chimes in, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “There was that full two weeks where Beomgyu was stained pink.”

“Oh,” You draw out, chuckling at the memory. “I do remember that.”

You giggle at the memory. Beomgyu had had a rouge experiment blow up in his face--literally--and spent two weeks looking like he'd just stepped out of the Barbie movie.

Jungwon shrugs, “I would argue that seeing Beomgyu walk around campus like a real-life monster high doll was definitely weirder than this.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your attention back towards Sunghoon. He still hasn’t noticed you–which you’re mostly grateful for, but it also makes you anxious for when he does.

While you’ve never been to one of the matches in person, you have seen them online. You know that they can get heated and violent. You’ve seen Sunghoon walk into class with the occasional black eye or scabbed over knuckles.

It makes worry build in your stomach, thick and strong and nearly overwhelming. And you know you shouldn’t care. Sunghoon isn’t your boyfriend, even if he seems to think he is. But, still, the thought of him getting hurt makes you want to throw up.

You lean back in your chair, leg bouncing anxiously, and then you see it. It’s a subtle movement from the corner of your eye, but you catch it nonetheless.

Two seats down from you, Sophia sits down with her friends, all of them looking like they just stepped out of fucking vogue. And Sophia, with her perfectly blown-out hair and sickly sweet smile, is wearing Sunghoons jersey.

Your heart drops, stomach becoming an endless pit as you stare at her. You’d assumed they broke up, but what if they hadn’t? That was the only explanation you could think of for why she was here wearing that. What if you had accidentally ruined her relationship with Sunghoon?

Not to say that their relationship wasn’t already on the brink of disaster, but still.

You nudge Jungwon with your elbow, forcing your gaze onto the rink. The other team has come onto the ice now, and you can see Sunghoon's jaw tick. But he isn’t watching the other team, no, he’s searching the stands.

Searching them for you.

You suddenly feel a wave of guilt at what you’ve done, even if it was an accident. You’ve inadvertently forced yourself into the middle of a relationship that was never any of your business. Does this make you a homewrecker?

“Jungwon,” You mumble, “Tell Yunjin we’re leaving.”

“What?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together. “The game hasn’t even started.”

You sink into your seat as you watch Sunghoons gaze get closer and closer to you. “Sophia’s here.” You say through your teeth, “And she’s wearing his jersey.”

Jungwons gaze shifts past you, lips parting when he spots her. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, “Oh.”

Jungwon turns and tells Yunjin, and you watch as her head pops out from behind him, her lips pulled into a frown. “Oh, this is so fucked.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan, “I’m a homewrecker!”

“Okay, no,” Yunjin scoffs, still eyeing Sophia like maybe if she stares at her long enough she’ll disappear, “This is all just a really small misunderstanding.”

You groan again, dropping your hands to your lap and looking back onto the rink. Sunghoon finally spots you then, a smile curling onto his lips as he skates over. Your stomach churns, letting yourself steal a glance to Sophia, who is also smiling at Sunghoon. 

You sink further into your seat.

“Y/N!” He calls once he approaches, placing a hand in the glass separating you. You can practically feel Sophia’s gaze burning into your skull, and for once, you can’t even be mad that you’re on the other side of her icy glare.

“Um,” You manage, clearing your throat and cocking your head as subtly as possible towards Sophia. “Sunghoon, you should probably go say hi to your girlfriend before you say hi to me.”

You can feel Jungwon and Yunjin holding their breaths, like they’re scared any sudden movement will set off some kind of bomb. But Sunghoon either doesn't notice the tension, or he’s actively choosing to ignore it.

He cocks his head to the side, smile faltering a bit. “What are you talking about—”

“Hoonie!”

There’s something very distinct about Sophia’s voice—just the right amount of feminine to be cutsey, but still bordering on the edge of nails on a chalkboard. Normally, the sound of it would make you roll your eyes and resist the urge to pull your hair out, but now it just makes you feel sick with guilt.

Sunghoons expression immediately shifts, his smile curling downwards, eyes narrowing slightly. When he spots Sophia, he almost looks bored. Like the sight of her is nothing special.

She climbs over the people next to you, a mom and her toddler, both of whom she doesn’t apologize to when she steps on the tips of their shoes.

“Hoon,” She sighs, adjusting her skirt. “I missed you.”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance, which you’re partially thankful for. But, you also can’t help but wonder if it’s because she doesn’t even see you as a threat.

Which, you’re not—but still. It’d at least be nice to be considered one.

Sunghoons jaw ripples, gaze icy and nearly angry. “What’re you doing here Sophia?” He asks. His gaze falls downwards, onto the blue jersey she wears proudly across her chest, and scoffs. “And why are you wearing that?”

Sophia doesn’t even flinch at his tone, if anything she seems to revel in it. “Why wouldn’t I be here, silly?” She giggles, “I’m supporting my boyfriend!”

Jungwon glances over at you, but your eyes stay on the floor. What are you supposed to say? Actually, you’re boyfriend thinks he’s in love with me, so sorry! You’d just sound crazy.

Sunghoon leans closer, voice lowering an octave. “Are you forgetting that I caught you fucking my roomate last weekend?” He spits, gripping his hockey stick so hard you’re convinced it’ll break. “Or am I supposed to just get over that like everything else?”

You can’t help the gasp that leaves you. A small sound, but it’s enough to catch her attention. She whips her head around, dark eyes catch yours, nose scrunched like she’s staring at the trash on the side of the sidewalk and not a person.

You half expect her to apologize for having such a private conversation in front of you, but she doesn’t do that. Why would she? Instead, she barks, “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation? Go somewhere else.”

You blink, lips parting as you try to come up with something to say. But, Sunghoon beats you to it.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” He defends, eyes blazing something nearly protective. It makes your heart flutter and heat fill your stomach for all the wrong reasons.

Sophia takes a moment to process, but when she does, you would’ve thought Sunghoon had just told her he’d made out with her mom.

“Why are you defending her?” She asks, letting out a humorless laugh. She really takes you in then, eyeing you up and down. You sink into yourself instinctually, arms wrapping around your stomach like a shield. “Don’t tell me this is my replacement?” She chuckles, like the thought of you even being near Sunghoon is amusing.

You shake your head, hands shooting out in front of you. Even though she doesn't deserve it, you don't want to be the other woman. “No, no, that’s not—”

But Sunghoon doesn't let you finish. “She can’t be a replacement when there’s nothing to replace.” He mutters, tongue leaking venom.

Sophia, for what you’re sure is the first time in her life, is rendered speechless. Her glossy lips part, eyes widening a fraction. “Sunghoon—”

He turns to you then, completely ignoring her like her prescense isn’t even a blip on his radar. His eyes soften, cheeks flushing the lightest shade of pink. “Meet me after the game, okay?” He mumbles.

A buzzer sounds, and both teams on the ice skate over to their respective coaches to get ready for the game. Your lips part as you wrack your brain for a response, but it’s hard when Sophia is sneering at you like you’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

Sunghoon sighs, throwing you a final glance before pushing off the glass and beginning to skate towards the rest of his teammates.

His jaw ticks once, throwing Sophia an icy look over his shoulder. “Go home, Sophia.” He mumbles.

Sophia doesn’t say anything else, just shoots you a glare and then stomps back to her waiting friends. They all look sympathetic when she tells them what happened, shooting you not-so-subtle death glares. As if you did something. Well, you did—you unintentionally home wrecked her relationship, but still, it was all accidental!

Yunjin lets out a low whistle, crossing her leg over her knee and clasping her hands around it. “Can we make more of those love potion things?” She asks with a chuckle. “This is reality tv kind of entertainment.”

Jungwon nods, “Rivals love island, honestly.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut, “This isn’t a reality tv show.” You mumble.

Yunjin shrugs, popping a piece of candy into her mouth. “We know, but it might as well be. Or maybe the plot of some super bad fanfiction.”

And, well, you can’t really argue with that.

But you’d never been good at confrontation, and Sophia keeps looking at you like you’d owe her something. Her lips pulled tightly together, friend whispering in her ear like she knows your deepest darkest secrets.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a subtle prick of insecurity. One that forces you deeper into your seat and into your own head.

The game goes by in a blur, one that you barely pay attention to. It’s not that you don’t want to, but it’s a little difficult when Sophia keeps glancing over at you and laughing with her friends.

You aren’t stupid. You’ve been laughed at before--been the victim of bullies who thought they had the upper hand for whatever reason. But that had been in high school, never in college. And even though you try to push it away—try to block it out—those awful thoughts still crawl their way from the depths of your mind. Thoughts that you hadn’t had since you’d sat alone in a chemistry classroom in tenth grade, back before you’d met Beomgyu.

So, when the game is over (Sunghoon led the team to victory of course, because why wouldn’t he?), you don’t hesitate shrugging your jacket back on and climbing your way over people to get to the exit.

Yunjin and Jungwon stumble behind you, calling your name in an attempt to get you to slow down, but you don’t. Can’t, really.

You didn’t sign up for any of this. Didn’t sign up to be the target of Sophia’s stares, didn’t sign up to be the girl Sunghoons convinced he’s in love with.

You just wanted to go back to your life before. When you were still just in the background with your select circle. You wanted to go back to watching Sunghoon from afar—to being the girl he’d never look twice at.

Because this? This was too much for you.

And you know none of it is his fault, but that almost just makes it worse. He has no idea how much all of this is really hurting you. How much it breaks your heart every time he looks at you like you mean something to him.

The wind hits your face when you step outside, neon lights of the stadium lighting up the parking lot around you. You finally let out a breath, eyes glassy and lips chapped. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you really don’t care.

“[Y/N]!” Yunjin calls, jogging slightly to catch up with you. Her jackets hanging off her arms awkwardly, purse dangling from her elbow. “Where are you going?” She presses, grabbing your bicep gently and forcing you to a stop. “What’s going on?”

You force your gaze to the ground, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I’m going home,” You tell her, voice raw. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. If I had known he was still with Sophia—”

“Woah, hold on,” Yunjin interrupts you. Jungwon approaches then, his blonde hair blowing over his forehead awkwardly. “Did you not hear Sunghoon? They’re broken up.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “They’re always broken up.”

Yunjins lips pull in tight, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Is this because she was here?” She asks you, tone serious and deadly. "You know you don't need to care about whatever it is her and her friends think."

It’s rare for her to speak to you so seriously, always the one looking towards humor to lighten up situations. So when she does, you tend to listen.

“Sophia is a bitch, plain and simple. Sunghoon is not. And he’s actively trying to prove to you that he wants you, and you’re not letting him.” She insists.

You pull your arm from her grip at that, eyebrows knitting together. Does she seriously think anything Sunghoon is doing he actually means? If that were the case, you wouldn't even be in this situation.

“Yunjin, he doesn’t know what he’s doing!” You spit, tone harsher then you mean it. You don’t mean to aim your anger towards her, but she just keeps pushing and pushing until you finally explode. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t feel like that towards me.” Your voice breaks, eyes brimming with tears. “He doesn’t feel anything towards me.”

Jungwon swallows, his eyes downcast. He was usually good in situations like this, usually the one to take the lead and get you laughing again, but now he can’t even meet your eyes.

Yunjin reaches for you again, sympathy written all over her face, but you pull away. You don’t want her comfort right now, even though you know it comes from a place of love.

You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze onto the sidewalk in front of you. The pavement is wet from rain earlier in the day, collecting in small puddles below your feet. “I’m just going to go home, okay? Tell Sunghoon I’m sorry.”

“[Y/N]…” Yunjin mumbles, but you’re already walking away, arms wrapped around yourself and bottom lip trembling.

Is it pathetic to be crying over a stupid boy and a mean girl? Maybe. But you also know that having feelings is human, and sometimes, when the time is right, it’s okay to cry.

And you think right now is one of those times.

You don’t cry hard. Not full, chest-heaving sobs, just occasional hiccups—a steady stream of tears flowing down your cheeks that you stain your sleeves with every time you wipe at them.

Your apartment is cold when you enter, the air brushing harshly against your face. You shrug your jacket off and toss it onto the couch, padding over to your room with exhaustion sinking into your bones.

You peel off your clothes–the top Yunjin had insisted you wear for Sunghoon suddenly feeling suffocating and tight. It isn’t often you let yourself wallow in self-pity like this, but tonight was going to have to be an exception.

You change into a stained t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a rip in the knees and collapse onto your couch. You wonder if Sunghoon said anything when he noticed you weren’t there. Was he disappointed? Or had he finally realized it wasn’t you he should be chasing after?

Your heart hurts at the thought, aching and heavy in your chest.

It isn't fair to him that you feel like this. It isn't fair to you that he's unknowingly playing with your heart. The entire thing is a bad dream you wish you could just wake up from.

You barely register the knock at your door at first, too stuck in your head while trying to pretend you’re paying attention to whatever sitcom’s playing on the TV.

But then it comes again, not harsh, just louder. More insistent. Like whoever’s on the other side is desperate to see you.

You roll your eyes, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and forcing yourself to pad over. “Yunjin,” You sigh, clicking the lock and swinging the door open. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

But it isn’t Yunjin standing on the other side. It’s Sunghoon.

His black hair is a mess, bangs covering his eyes in a way you know can’t be comfortable, a pair of black-rimmed glasses resting against his nose. He’s not wearing his jersey anymore, but the black compression shirt he wears under it is still there, a pair of gray sweatpants laying dangerously low on his hips.

He looks dangerously handsome without even trying.

Your breath catches before you can stop it, gaze falling down his body like you’re commiting it to memory. You’re both silent, just staring at eachother, waiting for the other to cut through the tension first.

It shouldn’t hurt seeing him right now as much as it does. You don’t have any claim on him. He loves Sophia, you’ve known that from the start.

So why does it feel like tonight was just one big slap in the face? Like the universe was reminding you of exactly what your place with him really is?

Sunghoon swallows, eyes shaky as they try to search your own. You don’t let him though. You know if you look him in the eye right now, you’ll break, and that’s the last thing you want him to see.

“You left,” He whispers, tone low. You can hear the hurt seeping through his voice, but it’s masked by a weird kind of warmth. Like even though you hurt him, he can’t physically be mad at you.

You think that’s probably a side effect.

You shift your weight uncomfortably, twiddling your thumbs in front of you. You can’t look at him—too scared of what you’ll find if you do.

“Sunghoon,” You start, voice trembling. “You don’t want me.” You don't say it like a question, instead it's a statement.

His fingers tighten into fists at his sides, knuckles going pale. “Why do you keep assuming you know what I want?” He asks.

You shake your head, “You’re just confused—”

“Stop,” He interrupts, taking a small step towards you. “Stop saying that when I know I've never been more clear headed in my life.”

You stiffen, unsure of how to respond. You know for a fact he has no idea what he’s doing or talking about. And that’s what makes it hurt the most. He genuinely believes he loves you, and fuck, you’d give anything for it to be real.

His hand reaches out, but he hesitates and drops it back to his side. "Let me prove it to you, okay? Just like I said I would. No games. No Sophia. Just me and you.”

You force your gaze up then, eyes narrowed. You shouldn’t say yes, not when your heart is already on the brink of collapse. But Sunghoons staring at you like he’ll break into pieces if you say no—like the thought of you rejecting him is too much to handle.

You lean against the doorframe, lips twisting slightly. “I don't know,” You attempt, “it’s already so late and I look a mess—”

“Please,” he breathes out, voice wrecked. “Stop thinking so hard and let me show you how much you mean to me.”

Your knuckles tighten until your fingernails dig into your palms, forming little crescent-shaped marks into the soft skin. Everything inside of you is telling you to say no. To tell him to go home and lock himself in his room until Beomgyu figures out how to fix this.

But there’s still that small part of you—the part that wonders if maybe he really did mean every sweet word that fell from his perfect lips. If maybe, just maybe, all of this was real.

And that part of you wins.

Sunghoon doesn’t let you change—just ushers you into your jacket and leads you with a hand on your lower back out of your apartment and back towards the rink.

You don’t notice that’s where you’re heading at first, not until the lights outside the parking lot come into view. Your stomach twists at the memory of your last conversation with Yunjin and Jungwon, but you push it away. You’d fix things tomorrow.

“Why are we here?” You ask, glancing up at the raven-haired boy. His palm hasn’t left your back since you started walking, almost like he was staking his claim there. Imprinting the shape of him into your skin like it’s second nature.

He shrugs, mischief flashing in his smile. “You’ll see.”

You’ve never seen the stadium empty before, but now that you are, it makes you realize just how daunting it really is. The lights pointed at the rink are still on, reflecting off of the ice and glinting across its surface. You can see the slight scuff marks and dents from numerous skates, small puddles forming in their wake.

Sunghoon jogs in front of you, pulling out a set of keys and opening the gate that the hockey players use to get onto the rink. He holds an arm out to you, gesturing for you to come over to him.

You do so cautiously, arms wrapped around yourself. The ice from the rink makes the air frigid, crawling up your spine like a garden snake. Menacing, but not dangerous.

“I don’t have any skates.” You mumble.

Sunghoon smiles, reaching out and wiggling your hand out from where it rests under your arm, “That’s okay,” He says softly, intertwining your fingers. His hands are large, this is something you’ve always known. It’s hard not to notice when he makes his pencil look like a fucking mini-brand every time he writes down his notes—but now you realize just how much they dwarf your own. “We don't need them.”

He pulls you onto the rink then, and feet immediately slip on the slick ice. You yelp when you feel your foot begin to slide from beneath you, back arching and spare arm flinging to your side, but Sunghoon grips your hand and pulls you to his chest like he’d been expecting it.

You huff when your face meets his chest, heat crawling viciously up your neck from embarrassment. Sunghoons chest vibrates with laughter against your cheek, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer to him.

“Finally falling for me?” He teases.

If only he knew.

You scoff and cautiously step away from him, tightening the muscles in your legs so you don’t slip again. “You wish.” You say, meaning for it to come out harsh, but instead it sounds soft. Playful. Everything it shouldn’t be.

He rolls his eyes and drags you to the middle of the ice, careful not to tug too hard or walk too fast, instead matching his pace with yours.

You look around at the thousands of seats surrounding you, the blinding lights on the ice. There isn’t even anyone here, and you still feel slightly intimidated. It makes you wonder how he’s able to deal with all of it so efficiently.

He stops suddenly, forcing you to as well. For a split second, you think he almost looks nervous. 

He sucks in a breath, brown eyes finding your own. You just raise your brows, staring at him expectantly. You assume he must’ve brought you here for something—it’s just whatever that is that puts you slightly on edge.

“Do you remember that glass duck you carried around at the beginning of the year? The one with the weird monocle and pink jacket?” He asks, releasing your hand and shoving it into his coat pocket. You can see something round in there, you just have no idea what it is.

You frown. You do remember that duck. You’d found it on your trip with Yunjin to Europe over the summer in some rundown antique shop. It was stupidly overpriced and honestly kind of ugly, but you’d fallen in love with it for whatever reason. Maybe because it was a little different then the other ducks, with a weirdly shaped beak and slightly bigger beady eyes. But it was perfect to you.

At least, it was until Jungwon accidently broke it on Halloween weekend. He’d drunkenly slammed into you and knocked it loose from its place on your bag, and it ultimately shattered as soon as it hit the floor. You remember you’d been devastated and refused to talk to Jungwon for a week after, but that was it. You hadn't really thought twice about it for a while now.

But, how did Sunghoon know about it? Why was he asking you? You’d never talked about it with him—hell, you barely said two words to him back then.

Your chin lowers slightly in suspicion, “I do, yes. Why?”

He swallows, and you can see his free hand twitch. “Well, I saw it break at that party on Halloween. And you looked so sad. And…I really hated it. So,” He takes a breath, finally revealing whatever it was he had in his pocket. “I fixed it.”

You blink. Once. Twice. He’s holding out the duck to you, cracks from where it'd shattered all over its little glass body but ultimately put back together.

It takes you a second to fully process what’s going on, but once you do your lips part in a gasp and you take it from him. You hold it up to your face, cradling it in your hands. “How did you—what? Why? I-I don’t understand—” You’re talking so fast you barely even understand yourself, but Sunghoon just laughs, and you notice the way his shoulders slowly relax in relief.

He shrugs, like this is any other day and he didn’t just reveal to you he’d fixed your most prized possession. “I didn't want you to lose it,” He admits, taking a careful step towards you. “You don’t deserve to lose things you love.”

You glance up at him then, and you realize just how close he really is. The last time you’d been in this position he’d placed a soft kiss on your hairline, and although your heart feels like it’s skipping a beat, it’s not out of fear this time.

It’s something more dangerous, something you shouldn’t be allowing yourself to feel. Not with his condition. You glance back down to the glass duck, hesitation gnawing at your stomach. 

Ultimately, you know that what you feel for Sunghoon is not returned. But this... this changes things. He’d taken the time all those months ago, before the experiment was even thought of, and fixed something you’d deemed unfixable simply because he didn’t want you to be sad. Usually, you’d think that meant something.

But isn’t that also just the kind of boy he is? Kind, golden-hearted Park Sunghoon. Campus golden boy. Star hockey player. Everything you could never have.

“Sunghoon,” You breathe out shakily, still holding the duck in your palm. “Thank you.”

Although you're feeling conflicted about where he really stands with you, you know you're overall grateful. You've never had someone do something so kind for you simply because they can.

He doesn’t respond, just gives you a shy smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so bashful. It’s cute. “It wasn’t any problem.”

You hum, tapping your nails against the duck's glass tail. “Can I ask why you needed to bring me here to give me this?” You question, a teasing lilt to your voice.

He shrugs, “It’s more romantic here then in the middle of your living room.”

You laugh aloud at that. For once, the mention of romance with him doesn’t make you want to throw up and die all at the same time. Instead, it leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy and all the things you know are going to hurt you in the end.

Because while this entire illusion is going to be over at some point, right now, in this moment, Sunghoon is in love with you. And you’re starting to wonder just how wrong it’d be to let him.

Your heart is heavy in the morning as you fidget with the duck. It’s hanging off your purse again, safely locked into place with a keychain. You’d asked Jungwon and Yunjin to meet you for coffee so you could talk, and both had agreed easily.

You guys never really did well with bad blood. Any arguments you had were always resolved fairly quickly, because otherwise it would simmer until you thought too hard about it and ended up doing something you regretted.

And you know you owe them an apology–Yunjin, especially. She’d only been trying to help, and you’d spat venom at her like she’d done something wrong. You didn’t want to be like that, and it was important to you that she knew how sorry you were. That they both knew.

They arrive together, steps slow as they approach the table you’d saved. You shoot them a sad smile, unsure of just how angry they were.

They sit next to each other across from you, sharing a glance that makes your stomach churn. You suck in a breath, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” You start, choosing to skip the awkward pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “You guys didn’t deserve that. At all. And I–”

“Stop,” Yunjin sighs, not letting you finish. Your heart drops, immediately assuming she's about to end your friendship. But she doesn't--instead, she points between herself and Jungwon and says with a quiet finality, “We should be the ones apologizing.”

You raise a brow at that, spine straightening in your seat. “What? No–”

“Yes,” Jungwon interrupts now, his eyes full of concern. “You were rightfully upset with everything going on, and we pushed it aside simply because we didn’t understand how you were feeling.” He sniffs, head tilting to the side slightly. “I didn’t realize how hard this must all be for you. Having the guy you like constantly telling you he’s in love with you, and then not even know if he means it? It’s unfair to you.”

You’re silent, a wave of relief and guilt crashing over you at once. You’re relieved that your emotions are being validated, but you also feel guilty that they think they need to apologize to you when you yourself are struggling with what you should feel. Before last night, you would've agreed with them wholeheartedly, but now you weren’t sure. You glance down at the figurine hanging from your bag once, heart filling with so much warmth you think it may burst. 

“You’re right,” You murmur, leaning back in your chair. “It is unfair, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe…maybe I was wrong.”

Yunjin’s eyes widen, confusion written all over her face. “What?”

You smile softly, reaching for your purse and spinning it around so they can see the once-broken glass duck. They both study it for a moment, and you watch as recognition flashes in their eyes.

Jungwon frowns and looks back at you. “I thought I broke that ugly thing?”

“It’s not ugly,” You scoff, snatching your bag back and carefully unclipping the little duck from where it hangs. You place it in the middle of the table with a small shrug. “He fixed it.”

The three of you stare at it, studying the cracks the run along it’s surface.

“What do you mean he fixed it?” Yunjin asks.

“I mean,” You sigh, “He saw it break on Halloweekend, and took it upon himself to fucking glue it back together.”

A beat. And then, “Are you serious?”

You don’t laugh, even though you want to. It is entirely ridiculous, but it happened. You’ve spent the last twelve hours mulling it over in your mind, and you can only come to one conclusion. 

Maybe Sunghoon noticed you more than you thought.

And if that were true, what did it mean now?

You manage a soft smile, picking at the skin around your fingers mindlessly. “Yep,” You hum, popping the P. “Gave it to me last night.”

Yunjin squeals, gripping Jungwon's bicep and shaking him. He huffs and rips his arm from her grip. “Quit!” He hisses.

Yunjin just ignores him, her full attention on you. “I know I shouldn’t be feeding into this anymore, but that,” She gestures towards the duck, “That is more than some stupid experiment.”

You sigh, voice small when you say, “I know. I just…I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.” 

And for the first time, you’re starting to feel like you’re finally being honest with yourself.

“Well,” Jungwon shrugs, leaning back in the booth. The waitress comes around and drops off three milkshakes, vanilla for yourself, and chocolate for Jungwon and Yunjin. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it out.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Test it out?” You repeat, taking a small spoonful of whipped cream and stuffing it into your mouth. You'd always been a sucker for ice cream.

Jungwon nods, “There’s a party tomorrow night to celebrate the hockey team's win last night. Sunghoon will obviously be there, and maybe you can test out what he does when it’s not just the two of you.”

Yunjin sucks in a sharp breath, “But,” She draws, “Sophia will be there too.”

Jungwon snaps his fingers, “My point exactly.”

You aren’t really understanding where he’s trying to go with this. “So what?”

Jungwon continues, “We don’t really know if he’s still under the influence of the experiment,” He explains, nodding towards the duck, “that changes things. So, I think we should see if his feelings are real or not at the party.”

Your lips twist in thought, “How do you plan to do that?” You push. It's not that you don't understand what he's trying to say, it's just hard for your head to fully wrap around it.

He smiles then, that same mischievous smile he’d given you all those weeks ago when he’d initially suggested this whole disaster, and it’s then that you know you shouldn’t listen to anything that comes out of his mouth. 

“Simple,” He shrugs, taking a sip of his milkshake. “We ask.”

Your lips part to respond, but your phone ringing in your pocket interrupts you. Beomgyu’s name flashes across the screen, bold white letters that usually bring you comfort, but strangely are now doing the opposite.

You clear your throat, “Hello?”

Beomgyu’s voice sounds from the other side, exhausted and groggy, but he’s got that spark he always does when he says, “I did it.”

You glance up at Yunjin and Jungwon, stomach twisting low. “Did what?”

“I figured it out,” He swallows, “I’ve got the cure or whatever we’re calling it.”

And while it should be relief that floods your chest, instead what you’re met with is a cold pinch of disappointment.

You’d never been one for parties. Even now, dressed in some slim black dress Yunjin picked for you, a vial of something you aren’t even sure works in your purse, you’re reminded just why you don’t like them.

They’re overcrowded, filled with college students all looking to either pass out drunk or find someone to fuck until they forget why they were even there in the first place. It wasn’t your crowd, and you’d found peace with that a long time ago.

And yet, you're still here.

Beomgyu nudges your shoulder, eyes searching around the crowd of sweaty bodies. He wasn’t one for parties either, but when you explained to him just why you were coming, he insisted on joining. Of course, Yunjin and Jungwon had been ecstatic and you had to explain to them that you were not coming just to have a good time.

You were coming to find out the truth, and that was it. 

“Are you sure he’s here?” Beomgyu asks.

You nod, “He texted me earlier and invited me. Said he’d meet us here.”

Sunghoon had been slightly surprised but happy when you confirmed you already planned to come. He’d told you he might get a little busy with people trying to talk to him, but he’d make sure to try and come find you at some point. You'd scoffed, in disbelief that you seemed to have to schedule a time to talk to him. You knew he was popular, but people here seriously treated him like some celebrity and not a normal college student.

Yunjin smiles next to you, plucking a drink from the countertop. She tips it back against her mouth and chugs it, wiping off the small droplet that spills from her lips.

Beomgyu makes a disgusted face, “You don’t even know where that came from.”

“Does it matter?” She asks, grabbing another one and shoving it towards you, “It all ends up in someone's stomach.”

You push her hand away and take a cautious step back. “I’m good, thanks.”

She just shrugs like she’d been expecting that and hands it to Jungwon, who happily accepts it. “Suit yourself.”

You don’t respond, instead unknowingly floating closer to Beomgyu. Your eyes rake along the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar head of black hair, but instead you’re met with the one person you didn’t want to see.

Sophia is wearing a soft baby pink skirt and a white top that make her look like the picture of innocence, lips red and tempting. The guy she’s flirting with clearly isn’t immune to her strategy, because his eyes keep falling down to her soft neckline like he’s hoping he’ll suddenly develop x-ray vision.

Normally, the sight of her wouldn’t bother you. It really shouldn’t considering you haven’t interacted with her at all outside of the hockey incident. But, for some reason, all you can see when you look at her is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon looking at her like she’d hung the moon and stars. Sunghoon dragging her to his games. Sunghoon fixing things for her simply because he didn’t want her to be sad. Sunghoon telling her he loves her.

You have no right to feel it, but jealousy curls deep in your stomach. 

You recognize the boy she’s talking to. Jay, The hockey teams co-captain, and Sunghoons roommate. The same roommate who you’re assuming slept with Sophia. 

You don’t know any of the details–never thought it appropriate to ask, really. But you do know that if Sunghoon saw this, he’d probably be pissed. You wonder if that’s why she’s flirting with him so openly, because she wants Sunghoon to see. You wouldn’t put it beneath her.

The night continues like that, with you and Beomgyu hanging around awkwardly while Yunjin and Jungwon drink until their vision goes blurry. You keep catching glimpses of Sophia, and each time she’s talking to a different guy. A different pawn, actually.

You haven't even seen Sunghoon once, which is kind of strange considering this party is kind of for him. You’d even texted him, a quick "you here?" and had gotten no reply. 

The antidote feels heavy in your purse for reasons you can’t exactly explain. You were going to give it to him tonight no matter what, you’d already decided that. Even if you found out that this entire thing meant more to him then you thought it did, you were going to give it to him. Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought, forcing yourself to bite back a smile.

You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but it’s hard. The duck had to be proof that this whole thing wasn’t just a massive fuck up–maybe it was exactly what you’d needed to finally lead the both of you to each other.

And then, as if it’s fate throwing it in your face, you see Sunghoon.

He’s laughing at something someone's saying, his cheeks flushed and hair falling over his forehead like he’d deliberately placed it there. He looks good–but when does he not? 

You nudge Beomgyu (Yunjin and Jungwon are too busy on the dance floor) and nod your head towards the black-haired man.

Beomgyu exhales lowly and grips the strap of your bag. “No matter what he says, he has to drink this.” He insists, “I know it might be easier to keep up with the lie–”

“I know,” You interrupt, placing your hand atop his. You give it a light squeeze, “No matter the outcome, he has to drink it.”

Beomgyu physically exhales and then shoots you a small smile, “For what it’s worth,” He murmurs, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah,” You reply, “Neither do I.” And you really mean it.

Sunghoon doesn’t notice you approach at first, not until you push past one of his friends—Heeseung, you think his name is—and his attention snaps to you.

The look he gives you isn’t one you’re used to seeing from him. It’s softer. Like light rain on a warm day. Like the beginning stages of a love that lasts a lifetime.

Every other time it’s been strong. Fierce. Like a house fire at its peak. But now…now it makes your heart melt just like it did when you’d seen him for the first time three years ago.

“Hi,” You breathe.

“Hi.” He replies.

His friends have dispersed now, leaving just you and him in the sea of bodies. The moonlight filters through the windows, reflecting across his face in a way that really should be illegal.

“You came,” He says after a moment, but he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I did.” 

The air crackles between you in a way it never has before. Real and raw and entirely strange. It should scare you—it does scare you—but you lean into the feeling. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned the past couple of weeks, it’s to embrace the fear.

You reach into your purse and pull out the vial. It’s small, with a few drops of a see-through pink liquid that you don’t think anyone should ever be drinking.

“I need you to do something for me,” You tell him, voice shaking slightly. Embrace the fear, you remind yourself. “I need you to drink this.” You say, pushing the vial towards him.

His eyes flicker down to it, and then back up to yours, and for a moment you think he looks guilty.

“Look, [Y/N]—”

“Hoonie!” Your blood feels like it goes cold. Sophia approaches from behind you, shoving past and making her way in front of you like weren’t even there. 

“I got your text,” She grins, voice sweet. But you know she knows what she’s doing. You know she’s doing it on purpose to upset you, but you’re not going to give her that satisfaction. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen slightly, something mean twisting in your stomach. Your heart feels heavy in a way that physically hurts. Of course. The experiment must’ve worn off, and he was trying to figure out the best way to tell you that he hadn’t meant anything he’d said. That’s why the air between the two of you had been so different.

You look at the antidote in your hand, and suddenly it feels pointless. Beomgyu did all that work just for it to wear off on its own. But you’d promised that you’d get him to drink it no matter what, and you weren’t planning on breaking that.

Sunghoon shakes his head, “Sophia, that’s not why I texted you.” He practically spits, “Stop trying to spin this into something you know it’s not.”

She looks genuinely taken aback for a moment but recovers swiftly. “I’m not trying to do anything,” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re the one who asked me to meet you, yes?”

His eyes flicker to yours, like he’s begging you to hear him out before you jump to conclusions. “I did, but—”

“Then what else am I supposed to assume? Unless,” She turns back to you then, finally acknowledging the fact that you’re there. The sneer on her face when she looks at you is nearly enough to make you feel small. “You didn’t want to say it in front of your rebound.”

Sunghoon visibly bristles, “She’s not—”

But you've heard enough. “It’s fine,” you say, not letting him finish. You manage a small smile, but it feels like poison against your skin. “I just need you to drink this so we can make sure everything goes back to normal without any hiccups.”

You push it back towards him, but he refuses to take it. “[Y/N], just let me explain.” He begs.

“You don’t need to explain to me.” You reply, and you mean it. You’d done the exact thing you’d been afraid of since the beginning, and that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that you’d taken everything too seriously despite knowing it was all manufactured by your own hands. He’d just been an accidental victim. “Just drink it and then we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

When you let your eyes meet his, it hurts so bad you think you’ll collapse right there and then. He looks genuinely devastated, eyebrows pulled taut and lips parted. But you can’t for the life of you understand why. He was getting what he wanted, right? He was getting Sophia back. He was getting his life back. And so were you.

So why does it feel like nothing will ever be the same again?

He looks like he’s going to protest again, but holds back. Whether it’s for his own sake or yours, you aren’t sure.

He takes the vial from you with shaky hands, unscrewing the cap and swallowing it down in one gulp. He doesn’t make a face, even though you’re sure it can’t taste pleasant.

Once it’s done, you don’t bother saying bye. You just nod at him and turn on your heel, ignoring the smirk you can practically feel growing on Sophia’s face.

Sunghoon got what he wanted. So did you. That’s all that should matter.

But you still can’t stop the tears from flooding your eyes.

You don't look for your friends, you just get out of there as fast as possible. You knew this would happen, it was exactly why you'd been so worrued at first. And you did exactly what you said you would, you got too involved. You let his words seep through the cracks in your walls instead of strengthening them.

And now you weren't sure they'd ever be fully put back together again.

You spend the next few days locked away in your dorm. You skip class, even though you know you shouldn’t, and spend your time watching reruns of New Girl and eating bowls of Lucky Charms.

Usually, hiding away for a few days and letting yourself marinate in your ugly helps. But it’s been days since the party, and the ache in your chest hasn’t subsided at all.

Sunghoon tried to text you once, just to check up on you since you hadn’t shown up to class, but you didn’t respond; just shut off your phone and shoved it in between the couch cushions.

You’d known this would happen when it started. Knew you’d end up hurt, and the worst part was that it wasn’t even anyone’s fault. There was no one you could shift blame onto; no one you could justify being angry with.

It’d all just spiraled out of control before you could fix it.

The following Monday you finally decide to suck it up and go to class. You weren’t going to let a boy get in the way of your schooling, even if the thought of seeing him made you sick to your stomach. (Also because Yunjin had threatened to call your mom if you didn’t show up again, and you really didn’t want to have to deal with that.)

Your feet drag when you get there, head hanging low. You’re expecting Sunghoon to have gone back to his spot before, but when you look up, he’s still in the chair next to yours. He looks different. Tired, almost. Like he hasn’t gotten proper sleep in days. You doubt you look any better.

You approach cautiously, hoping and praying that he won’t try and say anything to you. Does he even remember everything that happened? Was memory loss a symptom? You weren’t really sure, and you weren’t that interested in finding out.

You feel his eyes on you when you sit down, pulling out your computer and crossing one leg over the other. You’re hoping you look the picture of casual, not like your heart was just unknowingly crushed by the boy next to you.

Sunghoon, for what its worth, doesn’t talk to you for the majority of the lesson. Just shakes his leg anxiously and sneaks not-so-subtle glances your way. He keeps biting his bottom lip like he wants to say something, but stops himself before he can. Truthfully, it takes everything in you to not look at him. It’d be so easy to look into those brown eyes and remember everything he’d said–to remember every almost-kiss and every i love you that spilled from his lips like oil spilling into an endless clear blue sea.

It’d be so easy to pretend that nothing had changed between you. That the last two weeks had never happened and things were still how they were before–when he was the moon and you were the star blinking just for him, hoping for just a sliver of attention.

But, you know things will never be the same. 

You barely even register the lesson ending, not until you feel Yunjin at your side. She must’ve known you’d need her support right now, and that much you can appreciate.

“You good?” She mumbles, glancing over at Sunghoon. The lecture hall has begun to clear out now, only a few stragglers remaining. Everyone must be ready to get out of this weather.

You nod, but it’s not sincere. “Yeah,” You manage, stuffing your laptop into your bag. It clinks against the glass duck softly, and your heart twists again. “I’m all good.”

Yunjin gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you, but she doesn't push. You stand, starting to make your way down the stairs and finally away from him–but he stops you.

“[Y/N].”

You almost don’t hear him at first, but you’d recognize that tone anywhere. The same one he’d used when he asked you to come to the rink with him. Insistence teetering on the edge of pleading, but there's something that underlines it. Something you’ve been recognizing within yourself a little too much lately.

You make the mistake of turning to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat. That look in his eyes is one you’ve seen before, the same one you’d convinced yourself meant nothing.

Pure, unfiltered, love.

Except now there isn’t any experiment to fall back on.

“Can we…” He glances back at Yunjin and clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

Everything inside of you screams at you to say no–to turn around and ignore the way your body feels like it’s being pulled towards him. Like the world has tilted on its axis and he is your only source of gravity.

Against your own will, you hear yourself say, “Okay.”

You’ve only ever felt genuine fear three times in your life. 

That time in the second grade when your dad thought it’d be funny to take you on a roller-coaster despite your fear of heights, and you’d cried so hard you ended up throwing up onto the lady in front of you. Then, there was the time you’d accidently switched up a water bottle and literal acid your freshman year of college and watched as your professor drank one of the liquids (It’d been the water, thank God). And, of course, the time you watched Sunghoon drink your experiment.

But now, standing in some empty corridor with Park Sunghoon, you think you might have to add this to the list.

Embrace the fear, you remind yourself.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at you with this unreadable look in his eyes. His hands are shoved in his coat pockets, posture slightly slumped. He doesn’t look like the put together golden-boy you’d fallen in love with. He looks more vulnerable; more like a person instead of an idea. 

He sniffles and juts his chin towards the duck hanging off your bag, “You aren’t scared it’ll break again?” He asks softly.

You glance down at the cracked glass, reaching out and holding it between your fingers. “I guess I wasn’t worried,” You mumble, “Because last time it shattered someone put it back together.”

You hear his breath catch at that, and he takes a small step towards you. He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, can feel the ghost of his lips on the crown of your head.

“Do you know why I fixed it?” He asks.

You swallow, having to lift your head slightly to see him. “Because you’re a nice person, Sunghoon.” You murmur, forcing yourself to take a small step back. Enough distance that his presence doesn’t feel like it’s consuming your very soul. “You would’ve done it for anyone.”

He breathes out a disbelieving laugh, “That’s not true.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyebrows knit together, “I know you’re smarter than that.” Even though his words are harsh, his tone is soft. Like he can’t even conceptualize the concept of being upset with you. Like it's an emotion he’s never even experienced.

He’s right, you are smarter than that. But last time you let yourself believe, you’d ended up exactly where you knew you would be–with a broken heart and tear-stained cheeks.

“You don’t understand,” You manage, voice breaking slightly. “You don’t feel that for me. I know you don’t.”

“How do you know that?”

You pause, bottom lip finding it’s way between your teeth. “You’ve been with Sophia for so long, and I’m just-just me. She’s beautiful and popular and I spend more time watching fucking Harry Potter with my friends then I do actually socializing and–”

Sunghoon cuts you off, voice level. “Exactly.”

You blink. “What?”

“Sure, Sophia is popular and objectively beautiful, but she isn’t you.”

It takes you a moment to fully process what he’s saying. But still, all you can find in yourself to manage is a quiet, “What?”

He takes another step closer, enclosing in on your personal space like he's always belonged there. “She isn’t you.” He repeats.

You’ve only felt genuine fear four times in your life. But only once has it ever melted into something so genuine–something so raw and real that your heart has felt like it was bursting at the seams.

“That night Jungwon shattered your duck, you said something. Do you remember what it was?”

You shake your head softly. All you remember from that night is how upset you’d been that it’d happened and trying to find it in yourself to forgive Jungwon.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch softly, “You said you loved it because it was different. You said you didn’t care that it was a little strange on the outside, because you knew it had a good heart.”

You don’t even remember those words coming out of your mouth. Honestly, you don’t even remember Sunghoon being close enough to hear them. 

“I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” He admits quietly. “I didn’t know it at first, but it was there. Everytime you sat down in class and tried not to laugh at something Yunjin said, everytime I saw you and Jungwon studying at the library, I felt it.” He sucks in a breath, “And then I drank the experiment.” 

You shudder at the memory, lips twisting slightly in discomfort. You’re expecting him to say that it made him realize his feelings for you weren’t actually there–that this was all just an elaborately cruel way to reject you.

But then, without even blinking, he says, “But it didn’t work.”

Your world stops for a moment. There’s no way that’s possible. You’d seen him with your own two eyes acting like a fool to get your attention. Constantly following you around, texting you late into the night, tucking your hair behind your ear–all things he’d done because the experiment gave him the confidence to. But, if that wasn’t true and the experiment hadn’t worked then that meant that all of it had been real. There’d never been any pretend. There’d never been any accidents. 

It’d all been real.

Your eyes widen, hands gesturing in front of you. “But that doesn’t make any sense.” You insist, “You were acting like you…” Love me. The words linger in the air, like mistletoe teasing you.

You think at first, part of you still didn’t believe that he loved you even with him standing here pouring his heart out to you. It just didn’t make any sense in your head. But now it was undeniable. It was a burning truth that had forced its way into the light without so much as apologizing.

“Because I do,” He murmurs, “And maybe it was stupid to go about it this way. I won’t argue with you on that. But, can you blame me? Do you know how hard it was to approach you?”

You scoff, “Me? What about you? And what about Sophia–”

He shakes his head, “That’s done. Has been for a long time now. That’s why I texted her at the party, I wanted to make sure she finally got it through her head that there was nothing there.”

“Oh.”

Sunghoon chuckles, voice deep and soft. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Oh.”

You look up at him now, into those swimming pools of chestnut. His pupils are slightly dilated, light reflecting off of his irises in a way that looks serene. The air around you fills with a soft tension, one that you’d have to focus on to even really notice.

You don’t miss the way his eyes glance down at your lips, silently asking for a permission you’d given him years ago.

He leans in closer, breath warm against your lips. “I really want to kiss you right now,” He murmurs. Your skin tingles when his fingers brush the apple of your cheek, before cupping it softly.

You lean into him, reaching a hand up to cover his own. “What’s stopping you?”

He smiles, a big toothy grin that shows off his canines, and then leans forward slowly.

It isn’t really a kiss at first, more like he's just lingering there, letting your breaths intermix. His hand travels from your cheek to the side of your neck, gently holding you in place.

And then he surges forward, mouth moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize you. He’s gentle, holding you like you’re something fragile—like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he pushes too hard.

He pulls away slowly, grinning from ear to ear like he’s just won the lottery. “You have no idea how bad I've wanted to do that.”

You giggle, heat crawling up your stomach and swirling around your cheeks. “Maybe you should do it again just to make sure it sticks.”

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate then. His hand finds your waist and pulls you into him, lips colliding with yours in a way that makes your head spin. You think colors swirl behind your eyes, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“I love you,” Sunghoon murmurs against your lips, “I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re focused,” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love how kind you are even when people don’t deserve it,” Another one to your cheek. “I love that you’re unapologetically you.”

Your heart stutters, laughter bubbling out of your chest uncontrollably. 

“You sure it isn’t because you accidentally drank a love potion?” You tease, reaching a hand up to tangle in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He huffs, finally pulling away so he can get a good look at you. “I don’t think I’d need a love potion to find my way to you.” He says, voice so sincere it nearly makes tears spring to your eyes.

So, yeah. The thing about Biochemistry is that it’s extremely difficult and sometimes shows you that maybe you should let your curiosity remain exactly that—curiosity.

But sometimes, if you’re lucky, it can lead you to exactly where you’re supposed to go.

Sunghoons hand traces down your arm until it finds your hand, and he easily intertwines your fingers like he was always supposed to fit there. “Let me take you home?”

For the first time, you see no reason to argue. No reason to protect your heart or turn him away. So, without a single protest, you say, “Okay.”

You aren’t sure exactly how it happened. One minute Sunghoons walking you home, smiling like a kid in a candy store, and the next he’s kissing you like he’ll die if he isn’t touching you. Your apartment door shuts softly behind you, leaving just the two of you in your space.

You remember the last time he’d been in here, how he’d kissed the crown of your head with tender care. He’d seemed nervous then, like the action was scandalous. Now, it was nearly the opposite.

He isn’t rough, no, he’s deliberate. Fingertips tracing across the curve of your waist, teasing against the hem of your shirt. He kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to survive, like he's an addict and your lips are his fix.

It steals your breath away and breathes the air into your lungs all at once.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He grunts against you, hands tugging at your waist and pulling you closer against him until you’re flush against his body. 

“Sunghoon,” You gasp when you feel the growing bulge in his pants brush against your thigh. “Don’t you ever stop.”

That’s all it takes before he’s tapping your thigh once and lifting you into his arms. His hands take up half your thighs, kneading the skin as he carries you to your bedroom. You’re giggling the whole way there, hearts in your eyes and cheeks flushed.

He places you down on the bed gently, your hair fawning out around you like a halo. He sucks in a breath and crawls over you, eyes trained on your face. His knuckles brush your cheek, and you lean into it on pure instinct.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, voice tender. “Can’t believe you’re letting me love you.”

You smile, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “There’s no one in this world for me except for you, Park Sunghoon.”

He grins, burying his face in the nape of your neck like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You answer, not even having to second guess yourself. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

He whines at your words, lips tracing across the skin of your neck, the length of your jaw, the space behind your ear, tongue darting out occasionally to mark you as his.

He tugs gently at your shirt and you arch your back so he can pull it over your head and toss it across the room, but it gets stuck on your elbow and he has to tug it loose. You laugh when it finally comes off, your hair falling in places it isn’t supposed to.

Sunghoon giggles and pecks your lips. “You’re making this difficult," he teases.

You just shrug and settle back down, ignoring the way his fingers trail over your bare stomach and pop open the button of your jeans. “I have to make you work for it.”

He smirks, devilish and no longer with any of that boyishness he’d had earlier. “Yeah, baby?” He whispers, voice husky. “Want me to beg you to let me taste you?”

Your breath hitches, bottom lip finding its way in between your teeth. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. 

He unzips your jeans and slowly drags them down your legs, tossing them to the floor and out of sight. “Want me to beg you to let me fuck you?” He continues.

You whimper, the sound escaping you without your permission. You’d be lying if you said the idea of Sunghoon on his knees for you doesn’t make something burn deep in your belly, but the thought of admitting that to him make your nerves spike with embarrassment.

He chuckles, sinking down to his knees until his face is level with your cunt. You can’t help but squirm in place, because even though your panties still cover you, you feel completely exposed. If you would’ve known this was going to happen today, you would’ve worn something much cuter. Not your days of the week pantied and an old bra that was a pathetic excuse for lacy. 

Sunghoons breath ghosts against your growing slick, and you know your panties are already damp. “You gonna let me touch you, baby?” He asks.

You nod your head insistently, hips searching for any kind of relief. He just chuckles and places a hand on your tummy to hold you down. “Need to hear you say it.” He murmurs. You can feel his lips brushing against your core, his nose nudging in the junction of your hip. He’s so close to giving you what you want, but he won’t. Not until he hears it coming from your own lips.

“Please,” You gasp. Your own voice sounds so needy, completely foreign to your own ears. “Wan’ you to touch me, Hoon.”

He groans, but immediately obliges. He doesn’t devour you at first, just lets his tongue lick small little kitten licks over your panties. You jump at the feeling, but he uses his spare hand to grip your hip and hold you down. 

He’s messy with it, even when he’s being gentle. He licks you open until you’re teary eyed and your panties are so drenched they look nearly see-through. He just sighs dreamily, like he’s enjoying some five-star meal and not like he’s eating you out like his life depends on it.

Pretty soon though you get over feeling everything without actually feeling it, because yes, it feels fucking insane–but you want to actually feel his lips against your bare folds. Want to feel him suck against your clit while his fingers get you ready to take him. It’s just actually admitting that that’s the hard part.

“Sunghoon,” You whine, hips stuttering slightly. “Stop teasing me.”

He pulls off of you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I’m not teasing you, baby.” He chuckles, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin of your hip. 

You huff, “You are.”

He raises a brow and begins to stand, and your stomach immediately drops. “You want me to stop then?”

“No!” You cry, shaking your head furiously. “God, no, don’t-don’t stop.”

He nods slowly, finding his place on his knees in front of you once again. “Then be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is. You’re a twenty-something year old woman with a sparkling GPA and enough experience under your belt that asking for something like this should be easy. But Sunghoons looking at you so tenderly, his hair a slight mess and eyes fucked out without even having been touched, and you’re finding it difficult to get the words out.

“I want…” You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze to the ceiling. “I want you to eat me out. Properly.”

He grins and presses a chaste skin to the inside of your thigh. “See?” He hums, “that wasn’t so hard was it?”

You don't bother giving him a response, because he’s already pulling your panties off your legs and plunging back in like a man starved. His lips wrap around your clit and suck the bud into his mouth, causing your back to arch and a loud moan to fall from your lips.

He doesn’t stop after that, licking and sucking with such expertise you wonder how Sophia could ever want anything else. She had all this and genuinely thought she was going to get better? What a fucking joke.

“S-Sunghoon–” You gasp, fingers tightening into fists in his hair. He groans when you tug lightly, and you swear you see his hips roll against nothing. 

The hand on your belly travels down until he reaches your fluttering hole, gently pushing his middle finger inside of you. The stretch isn’t intense, more like just a subtle pressure between your hips, but it’s drowned out by the stimulation against your clit.

His fingers aren’t abnormally large, but they are long. So long he finds your g-spot with ease and curls his finger against it until you swear you’re seeing stars. You let out a choked whimper, hips stuttering against him.

He seems to take that as a good sign because he’s slipping another finger inside now, intensifying the stretch and making your eyes roll back. His fingers move in tandem with his tongue, licking and thrusting until your vision starts to blur at the corners. You’re close, you know it–can feel it tightening deep in your stomach.

“Gonna-gonna cum, fuck, m’cumming–”

Sunghoon hums, and the vibrations are exactly what you need to reach your peak. Your back bows off the bed, mouth falling open and eyes squeezing shut. You release with a silent cry of his name. He fucks you through it, and you can feel his eyes on you as he does. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your legs shake slightly with aftershocks. He’s studying this image of you, fucked out and empty-headed, like he’s committing it to memory.

When he finally pulls away your vision is slowly starting to come back to you. You barely register him maneuvering to come up next to you until you watch him rid himself of his shirt and you come face-to-face with the hard plains of his chest. His skin is soft and milky, the soft lines of his abs rising and falling as he takes in breaths of air. 

You reach for him and he complies, falling over you until you’re chest to chest. You don’t waste any time before you’re kissing him again. You can taste the saltiness of your own slick on his lips, but you don’t care–instead, you kiss him deeper.

His tongue slips until your mouth, brushing against your own. It’s wet and gross and fucking perfect. “Sunghoon,” You manage between pants, “Fuck me.”

A beat passes as his eyes find yours, “Yeah?”

You nod, and that’s all the answer he needs. He wastes no time ridding himself of his pants and lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly, taking in every expression you make like he’s scared he’ll hurt you. And, yeah, he’s big. Like, bigger than anything you’ve ever taken. But the stretch is also perfect, filling you so completely your eyes nearly roll back.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” He mumbles, words slurring together. He sounds drunk on you. 

When he bottoms out, you swear you’re seeing soundwaves and hearing colors. His tip nudges against that spot in you perfectly, curved at just the right angle.

He takes a moment to let you adjust, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. His fingers drip the sheets with effort, bottom lips in between his teeth. You roll your hips once, testing the waters, and the pleasure that floods through you forces a moan out of the both of you.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, voice on the verge of collapse. “Fuck.”

It takes a second, but his hips slowly start to push into yours. His thrusts are shallow at first, just little pushes that help you to accommodate his size, but it’s not long before they turn rougher.

He pulls out halfway just to slam back in, and your breath actually gets ripped from your lungs. Stars swim behind your eyes as he finds his pace, “Fuck,” You breathe.

Sunghoon gasps, burying his face in your neck. “I love you,” He groans, “Fuck, I love this pussy. I love the way you sound. Love the way you fucking feel. You’re perfect,” He babbles.

You part your lips to reply, but all that comes out is a sob when he thrusts particularly hard. You tighten instinctively around him, and he falters for a split-second before he’s finding his tempo again.

He fucks you like you’ve been denying him for years, like he’s spent every night dreaming of this. Tears of pleasure begin to streak across your cheeks; each he kisses away without so much as a hum.

It’s so intimate, so perfect, so full of love that you don’t even notice you’re approaching your climax until it crashes over you.

“Fuck, just like that,” Sunghoon whimpers, reaching down and rubbing light circles over your clit. “You’re so perfect. Such a good fucking girl. My good girl.” And then he’s releasing inside of you, hot spurts of cum painting your insides.

He stays inside of you after he comes, both of you panting hard, sweat and fluids leaking from your bodies. He eventually pulls out and lays down next to you, his arm across your middle.

You’re silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You just had Sex with Park Sunghoon. Not only that, but Park Sunghoon is in love with you. He’d said it enough times tonight for you to finally really believe it.

“You okay?” He asks softly, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. The gentleness in which he treats you now is such a stark contrast to the brutalness of which he just fucked you that you nearly laugh.

“Yeah,” You hum, voice a bit raspy. “I’m perfect.”

Sunghoon grins and pulls you into him. He kisses you again, but there aren’t any intentions behind it. Instead, it’s slow and sweet, like he’s hoping to convey every emotion he’s ever felt into the kiss.

“Good,” he says, pulling away slightly. “Because I’m going to remind you of how much I love you as much as I can.”

You laugh, “Are you asking to fuck me again?”

He shakes his head, “No,” He whispers, “I’m asking if I can make love to you again.”

And it doesn’t take much for you to say yes.

You’ve been dating Park Sunghoon for nine months and fourteen days. Nine months of hockey games, late night study session, and weekly dates (all of which he insisted he pay for). Nine months of surprise gifts, of sweet words, and daily reminders of just how lucky you are to have him.

Yunjin groans next to you, typing away furiously on her phone. “I can’t believe this is happening again!” She whines.

“I told you that a man you met on snapchat quick add wasn’t going to end up the love of your life.” Beomgyu sings knowingly, shoveling popcorn in his mouth.

“For what it's worth, he really wasn’t even that cute.” Jungwon adds.

She shoots him a glare, “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Jiung was fucking beautiful and now he’s ghosting me!”

You shiver slightly, watching Sunghoon glide on the ice. He’s instructing his teammates to do something; you aren’t really sure. He’d tried to explain the rules of hockey to you months ago, but your brain was very clearly made for science and not sports.

“Try not to worry about it, Yunjin,” you say sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on her back. “You just haven’t met your person yet.”

She scoffs, gesturing at your shirt. “Easy for you to say when you’re already practically married to, like, the most perfect guy on the planet!”

You glance down at what you’re wearing–a blue jersey with the number 23 sprawled in the middle. Sunghoons hockey number.

You would argue with her, maybe try to make her feel better, but your eyes lock with Sunghoons across the rink for just a moment, and you stop yourself.

Because, well, she’s right. You did get lucky. You glance down at the duck hanging off of your bag, the very thing that had unknowingly started this entire thing.

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You’re right.”

And when you go home that night, listening to Sunghoon ramble about scoring the winning goal, you know that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

thank you guys so much for reading 🥲 this story took everything out of me but i’m mostly happy with how it came out. ily guys <3

taglist: @chyssly @hoonarchives @hearteubeateuxz @yufawnz @areikii @wobblymug @rikipepitos @jk5t4r @somieverse @nishimurasona @psychicdazestrawberry @isa942572 @lawjakesim @mae-f1 @12e45 @wichujunseo @holacsh @vissnipherwifeey @enhypenlovre @karynnoona @yenienha @tessa365 @kristynaaah @min9lam7 @tombraiderjones2505 @livonianmaia @betagalactose @lac4ygal @enhainurheart @tiramisuhn @caratcakemoa @teenagecheesecakereview @filthxyy @dr1diot @mcwilla @jaeyundazed

the orange glow of the late afternoon sun made the college library feel weirdly cozy. different from the mornings when you had to work, when the place was just painfully cold and way too bright, enough to see tiny dust particles floating in the air if you focused hard enough. working there wasn’t that bad, aside from the boredom and the monotony of doing the same tasks over and over again. the paycheck covered your weekend concerts and your impulsive online shopping sprees, so whatever.

you were sitting on the swivel chair - headphones resting around your neck, messy bun, smudged eyeliner, flavorless gum in your mouth - behind the oak counter, scanning and cataloging a few new titles that had arrived earlier that day. you picked them up one by one, stuck the barcode label on, registered them on the website, and tossed them into the cart beside you. you’d shelve them later.

you were paying attention to everything and nothing at the same time. a group of students had taken over one of the study rooms, two girls were studying together near a table by the windows, and an old lady wandered around looking for the next book she’d reserve.

the calm of the day was interrupted when mr. clint’s nasal voice echoed behind you.

“yn, i’d like to introduce you to your new shift partner”

you stopped what you were doing and sighed before spinning around in your chair, ready to deliver your best uninterested “hi,” but your eyebrows shot up instantly. behind the old man stood a guy who looked like he’d walked straight out of some cliché teenage romance movie.

he wore a plaid shirt over a white tee, light-wash jeans, and a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. his brown hair was slightly messy and, behind a pair of glasses that kept slipping down his nose, dark attentive eyes shined like a puppy’s. he gave you a goofy, almost shy smile and lifted his hand in a simple wave.

“jake, yn. yn, jake,” clint added. “hope you two get along”

what the hell is a guy like this doing here? it wouldn’t be weird to see someone like him at a campus football game or promoting some frat party down the hallways, but here?

“is there a problem?” the old man asked, noticing your silence and confused expression, making your eyes widen as you quickly shook your head, trying to look normal again. hopefully the shock wasn’t that obvious.

“none! it’s a pleasure… the job sucks, hope you know that” you said casually before turning back to what you were doing.

you heard jake’s soft laugh and mr. clint clicking his tongue, probably paired with the eye roll you’d witnessed at least a hundred times before. it didn’t take long before they left again, going back to the little orientation tour and leaving you alone once more.

since your shift started at 1pm and ended at 6pm, you always left the last - and most unbearable - task for 5pm. that way you never finished it and could dump it on the idiot from the night shift; a nearly forty-year-old guy who had hit on you on your first day. you pushed the book cart between the shelves, searching for the right sections and double-checking alphabetical order to put the new books away.

one of the cart’s metal wheels made an irritating scraping sound against the wooden floor; the screw was loose and apparently the college’s finance department couldn’t care less about the dozens of emails you’d sent asking for a new one. you had been listening to music earlier, but your playlist had ended, leaving you with the library’s sepulchral silence.

“did you know that, technically, time passes slower at the top of a mountain than at sea level because of gravitational time dilation?”

the unfamiliar voice caught you off guard, making your body jolt and your hands tighten around the cart’s handle. your heart, which had been beating calmly, suddenly sped up, leaving your legs weak.

“holy-, you scared me” you complained, frowning and placing a hand over your chest as you turned around. jake was there, leaning against the shelf. he held a thick applied physics book that almost slipped from his fingers when he got startled by your reaction.

“shit, sorry! my bad…” he sucked air through his teeth. “wasn’t my intention, it’s just that we… i mean, we couldn’t really introduce ourselves and i thought-” he ran a hand through his hair and then pushed his glasses back up his nose, like a nervous tic. “and this book is amazing, you know? it’s fascinating how einstein predicted that before we even had atomic clocks to prove it. it’s like reality is just a suggestion, you get it?” he smiled awkwardly, glancing away.

unbelievable.

you figured he had to have some flaw. maybe he’d gotten written up for hooking up in the locker room and getting caught by the janitor, maybe he was failing some insanely hard class and the boring library job was his only option; especially since the position had been open for months and literally no one had applied. you just didn’t expect him to be an incurable nerd who tangled himself in his own words because he couldn’t keep up with the speed of his thoughts and somehow knew everything about every possible subject. and the worst part? he was so pretty you might not even care.

“sounds awesome. i don’t know shit about that, but that’s definitely impressive” you crossed your arms, looking up at him with a subtle smile.

and he kept going. he spoke at a moderate volume - his voice would crack mid-sentence whenever he realized he was getting too loud - gesturing, pulling faces, and you followed every single one of them, studying his perfect face, thick brows, slightly big nose, well-shaped lips. he also was a good few centimeters taller than you. not to mention his veiny hands showing whenever he grabbed the cart to help you push it.

jake was stupidly attractive and completely clueless about it. the way he bit his lower lip while thinking, the way his eyes drifted upward trying to find simpler words to explain something to you, or when he hurried to place a book on the highest shelf, stretching his arm and leaning toward you.

and that’s how, over the course of an entire hour, he talked so much that somehow the topic went from einstein to rpg systems, and you ended up shelving all the books together.

“it’s just that the final boss has a 40% elemental damage resistance, which totally breaks the mage build, so in that case the best option would be a tank knight-”

your alarm went off inside your apron pocket, cutting him off.

“shift’s over,” you said simply, turning off the repetitive sound.

“for real?! i thought it’d drag more…” he licked his lips, looking at you. the two of you held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. “so, uhm… can i get your number? i’ve got, like, the perfect video to show you about that turn rotation i was talking about” he explained, and you held back a laugh before handing him your phone, he didn’t needed to explain you had given it to him anyway.

you waited while he typed his number in and gave it back so you could save it and send him a dot just so he’d have yours too.

“well… that’s it. congrats on your surviving first day” you teased, already reaching behind your back to untie the knot of your uniform, exposing the band tee you wore underneath. his eyes scanned carefully.

“thanks, i guess?” he gave you a confused, amused look. “you’re leaving already?”

“mhm. if i stay more than five minutes past my shift it’s like my soul starts leaking out of my pores” you mimicked dramatically, twisting your arms with a funny face. “and i wouldn’t recommend staying either, or clint’s gonna ask you to cover the night shift too”

you turned your back with a small wave in the air and headed toward the tiny staff room, pushing the door open and going straight to your locker. you shoved the apron in carelessly, grabbed your bag, let your hair down, and got ready to leave.

***

the walk home felt longer than usual. you normally rushed it, headphones in, mind somewhere else, but this time you caught yourself thinking about your new coworker more than once. you didn’t understand shit about physics, and you’d never played anything remotely close to an rpg. honestly, your only real concerns lately were what to wear to the cover show you were going to that weekend and what kind of makeup you’d do.

still… you hated admitting it. he was adorable.

and somehow, your peaceful, painfully boring job had just become the most interesting part of your day.

[jake🤓🐶]: hii, it’s jake. from work! hahah [jake🤓🐶]: after i left i realized we didn’t actually talk about ourselves at all. that was my fault… i always end up talking too much about the stuff i like… [jake🤓🐶]: you can tell me to stop! i mean, my friends do that sometimes. [jake🤓🐶]: anyway! tomorrow i’ll definitely talk less and let you talk more! [jake🤓🐶]: so see you tomorrow? [jake🤓🐶]: oh yeah i was about to forget. this is the video i was talking about! [jake🤓🐶]: link attached [jake🤓🐶]: it’s literally the best way to defeat a high-level boss in dxd! but of course you’d still need a bit of luck with the dice to roll a crit or something close to that [jake🤓🐶]: … i did it again 🫩 [jake🤓🐶]: so sorry, really. see you

lying in bed, already halfway ready to call it a day and sleep, you covered your eyes with your forearm and smiled at absolutely nothing after finishing his messages. ew. you felt like a pre-teen.

[you]: i’ll watch it! see you tomorrow!

***

as the days went by, the closeness between you and jake grew almost miraculously. not that it couldn’t have happened naturally, considering you worked the same afternoon shifts, but despite all the differences that made you orbit distant galaxies - you with your worn combat boots and smudged eyeliner, him with his geek-print t-shirts and the curiosity of someone still discovering the world - you still chose to get to know each other little by little.

like the night he practically tortured you through chat messages talking about some damn console he’d found at an antique shop, only to bring it in his backpack the next day and hook it up to the old monitor behind the library counter.

he spent a full twenty minutes explaining pixel logic and how the gameplay was “revolutionary for its time,” while you just watched his hands messing with the cables, amused by his excitement. when you finally started playing, he was confident, giving you tips on how to hold the controller and how to get the timing right. but by the second round? you got the hang of it. one quick move and you smashed his score on the screen.

“no way” jake stared at the screen with his lips parted before looking at you. “how???”

“just pressing the buttons… seemed pretty easy to me” you teased, making a smug little face.

“yeah right… that’s beginner’s luck!” he said, rolling his eyes, face all red and flustered, pretending to be annoyed even though the tiny smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him completely.

or the time your favorite band had surprise-dropped a remastered album and for an entire week literally everything that came out of your mouth was about it. poor jaeyun got so curious he said he wouldn’t mind if you played it during break.

and that’s exactly how you started spending every break together in the staff area (cubicle), sitting on the floor, shoulders brushing, sharing a bag of chips, one earbud each, your phone replaying your playlists while his soft, slightly citrusy perfume mixed with the smell of old paper.

“shut up, this is literally one of the best ones!” you’d exclaim, nudging him lightly with your elbow after he called the lyrics “exotic”. you’d close your eyes and rest your head against the locker behind you, taking a small pause while he laughed under his breath at the way you protested like he’d insulted a family member.

when you opened your eyes again, he’d still be paying attention to the music, drumming his fingers on his thigh, before turning to you with a wide smile. you hated when he did that, it was unfair that he was that pretty in every tiny detail. you’d smile back automatically, feeling your stupid heart take off at a full gallop.

the tension between you evolved as you both became less ignorant about the interest you clearly showed in each other. like the day you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown over an epistemology and statistics assignment. seriously, why would a humanities major require math of any kind? couldn’t you just… use a calculator or ask google? you huffed, slumped over the table and papers when jake nudged you, asking to see it and almost instantly offering help.

“let me help you, yeah?” he gently took the pencil you were holding loosely between your fingers. “the epistemology part here is simple if you apply the law of large numbers to validate the statistical sample the prompt gives you” he explained calmly, in that soft didactic tone of his, dragging his chair closer to sit beside you.

jake solved the questions one by one, filling the pages with his tiny, rounded handwriting, a mix of print and cursive, explaining step by step while you barely paid attention; your focus entirely on the cute sound of his breathing and the profile of his nose illuminated by the nearby desk lamp.

“and if we isolate the variable-” he stopped, realizing you were staring at him instead of the paper. he cleared his throat, laughing awkwardly, eyebrows lifting quickly. “want me to explain that part again?”

“uhm?” you looked down at the paper and then back at him. “no need. i got it. you’re good at explaining…” you murmured softly, holding back your smile when you saw him stutter a little, completely shy, before returning to the assignment.

but you’d bet the most challenging day was when you both decided to get some air behind the library, where there were a few patio chairs with umbrellas and the herbology department’s garden, full of different little plants. jake was reading some random comic, occasionally adjusting his glasses and licking his lips in a way that was way too attractive for you to ignore. you watched him while pulling a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it and taking a slow drag, blowing the smoke to the opposite side and lazily tilting your head toward your shoulder. what you didn’t expect was that in the brief moments you drifted off into nothing, his eyes were watching you back.

“you know something?” he closed the comic and leaned back better in the chair. “you are like the coolest person i have ever met”

you were completely caught off guard by the compliment, one that would’ve sounded cheap coming from anyone else, but from him felt like one of the sweetest things you’d ever heard. you blushed and shook your head, embarrassed. he didn’t take it back, though.

“do you wanna try?” he had once said he’d never smoked, but the curious look in his eyes now suggested he might be tempted.

“i-i don’t know if i should…”

“well, it’s not a crime”

you finished for him, leaning forward and extending your hand to pass the burning tobacco, watching him take it carefully, his eyes flicking from your face to the cigarette and back. “relax… inhale slowly and breathe calmly when the smoke gets about here” you pointed to his throat.

“promise you won’t laugh if i cough?”

he did as you said, squeezing his eyes shut when they watered, managing a tiny drag before releasing the smoke, lips pressed together and brow furrowed.

“wow… like a pro, huh?” he handed it back to you, laughing hoarsely.

“i guess it’s because my mom made me use an inhaler every day when i was little” he added casually, and that made you burst out laughing, not because you were mocking him, but because it was such a jake thing to say, like he hadn’t looked insanely hot just seconds ago exhaling smoke.

“good boy… that’s better for your health” you said simply, taking another drag before scrolling through your phone on the small table.

“why do you smoke then?” he asked, pretending not to care about the praise you’d thrown at him, sinking deeper into his chair while watching you.

“got to keep it cool for you i guess…” you taunted, using the word he’d said earlier, making him laugh softly and kick your chair.

***

and of course, there was the complicated part too.

the library job itself wasn’t hard, that was the best thing about it. people rarely asked for help beyond reservations. most of the regulars knew exactly what they wanted, how long they’d stay. it was the easiest job in the world.

it hadn’t happened out of nowhere too. it started after two girls noticed him while he was fixing the flyers on the shelves. they practically melted when he hurried to help one of them pick up the pencils that had fallen from her case after he accidentally bumped into her.

you couldn’t even blame them. he really was… something.

after that, of course they started coming back more often. and not just them, a few other girls too. they’d stop by the counter asking random questions, clearly annoyed when you were the one answering while jake just stood beside you nodding along. some of the bolder ones would lean over the wooden counter when you were alone and ask if you knew where the “cute employee” was.

“have you tried the law section? he had some books to shelve there” you’d say flatly, not even bothering to look her in the eye.

“yeah… maybe he went on break?”

“maybe” you’d shrug, unimpressed.

“i really needed to talk to him, he recommended a game earlier but i forgot the name… do you perhaps have his number so you could pass it to me?”

you’d let a small smile tug at your lips before finally looking up at her, raising your brows in a way that made your shock at the audacity very clear and enough for her to shift awkwardly, mutter a quiet “whatever” and walk away.

“i’m back, did i miss anything?” you’d hear a few minutes later, jake sitting by your side and already splitting the stack of books to catalog together.

“nothing at all.”

and in moments like that, you felt so selfish it hurted.

it was almost impossible that jake felt anything beyond the happiness of having a friend at work instead of just someone to exchange half-words with. for you, liking someone so out of your league felt ridiculous. he was different, smart, beautiful, too kind for his own good, so you didn’t try.

but you weren’t about to hand him over to the competition either.

***

after all, being jake’s friend wasn’t hard. you had learned how to listen to his monologues, and in return he’d gotten scarily good at reading every single one of your moods just by the look on your face. you talked about everything… well, almost everything. he didn’t exactly have much experience, and you were actively avoiding romantic topics after your last thing with a jackass you’d met at some indie bar.

after two months, all your friends knew about him, and all his friends knew about you. by the third month, you’d installed a few casual games just to play with him on discord calls, and he’d even bought some cds from bands you liked so you could listen to them together.

and still, you rarely hung out outside of work.

maybe because you saw each other every single day.

so you were genuinely surprised when he invited you somewhere.

“a friend invited me to a party” he brought it up while you were both dusting the tables before the shift ended. “i said i’d think about it. i get kinda lost in those environments, i don’t know…” he said, eyes still lowered.

“have you ever been to one?”

“no” he answered immediately before looking at you. “will you go with me” he added quickly, the words spilling out like if he didn’t throw them up right then they’d get stuck in his throat forever without the courage to actually exist.

“is that an invitation or a demand?” you joked, lifting your gaze to him and catching the way he inhaled sharply before managing to answer.

“i’m begging actually… please?” he pressed his lips into a thin line and straightened his posture, holding the dust cloth stiffly at his side. oh. he was serious.

“i’ll have to check my schedule…” you sighed dramatically, putting on a brief little act just to watch his shoulders slump again, like a puppy getting tired of waiting for its owner to throw the ball. you laughed when you looked at him again and found him still staring. “just kidding. send me the details” finally said, watching his face light up instantly. “and you’re washing the cloths this time!” you tossed the rag in his direction. jake caught it midair with a soft nasal laugh and looked at you quietly, that strange little sense of victory blooming in his chest.

***

the atmosphere of the party was a sensory shock. the air, saturated with the smell of cheap beer, chlorine, and the sweet vapor of vapes, felt heavy in your lungs as you tried to make your way through bodies. you had expected something lowkey, maybe a bunch of nerds debating rpg mechanics on a couch, not that the friend in question would be the fucking evan lee, aka the most desired guy on campus for countless reasons, including the fact that his parties were always a straight-up project x knockoff.

his house looked like a human anthill. the dj, clearly high, distorted the bass until it vibrated through the structure of the place, and every scream coming from the beer pong table or the crowd watching bottle-flip challenges seemed to crank the temperature higher. people sprawled over couches and bean bags, others making out in hallways, girls in micro shorts and bikinis. everything in excessive amounts.

you couldn’t lie, you’d been to plenty of these. way before college, actually, when your high school friend group would lie to their parents about sleepovers for “early projects” and end up in random basements of houses owned by people you’d never seen before. but ever since a bit of common sense had finally settled in your brain, you preferred cover gigs, bars, clubs. here, under the led lights and the frenzy of campus popularity - where you recognized more faces than you’d like - everything felt too loud.

you checked your phone again in his chat, making sure there were no new messages.

[jake🤓🐶]: im already here [you]: wtf? ur being dead serious? [jake🤓🐶]: yes... why? it was saying 11pm [you]: i know but parties like this never start at the right time [jake🤓🐶]: but like are you coming already? [you]: in 30min??? im doing my makeup [jake🤓🐶]: by then my anxiety will have eaten me alive, i’ll have a breakdown, collapse, hit my head and die of cranial trauma [you]: boooo👎🏻 stop that, crybaby

your eyes scanned the pool area, water splashing rhythmically whenever someone jumped in, then drifted back inside the house searching for that familiar silhouette: hair pushed back, shoulders slightly curved. it was impossible not to feel a pinch of anxiety too; the idea of jake, with his golden retriever energy and slipping glasses, loose in that sea of social sharks was almost concerning. you stepped up on a stair to get a better view of the backyard, ignoring some guy who smelled like straight tequila bumping into you.

and then you saw him.

in a more isolated corner of the veranda, away from the epicenter of the dance floor but still swallowed by the buzz, jake stood near a snack table. he looked like a cute island of discomfort. he held a red cup with both hands like it was a shield in front of his chest and talked to a guy who clearly just wanted access to the pretzel bowl.

even from afar you noticed that there was a damp stain on the shoulder of his shirt - probably from someone spilling a drink - and in an automatic gesture he pushed his glasses up with his wrist while starting to gesture, possibly explaining the aerodynamics of a bullet dive to absolutely no one in particular, just because that was the only strategy his brain had developed for when he got nervous.

the chaos of the party seemed to lower its volume the moment you spotted him. he was, without a doubt, the most out-of-place thing there, and for you, the only one that made sense to look for.

you walked through the crowd and loud laughter until you reached the boy, and when jake’s eyes finally found yours, the brightness that burst out of them was instant. relief mixed with astonishment. the random trapped in the physics monologue didn’t even say goodbye; he just took the opening and disappeared.

jake looked you up and down, swallowing hard as he processed the image. at the library, you were the flare jeans and sneakers and customized shoes girl. but here, under the erratic party lights, you looked like something else entirely. the skirt, the spiked belt, the fuzzy animal print jacket outlining your body. it short-circuited his brain.

took him a full minute to process your “hi” and when he finally reacted, he leaned in with clumsy urgency to leave a quick kiss on your cheek, his face heating up at the scent of your perfume.

“you look gorg-” he started, only to be interrupted by a group passing behind you carrying a massive bucket of ice, forcing you to step forward with an awkward smile. the space between you vanished, leaving you almost pressed against his chest; the poor boy lost every ounce of ability to finish his sentence.

“idiots…” you muttered under your breath, stepping back once they disappeared through the sliding doors. “anyway, why didn’t you tell me your friend was the evan lee?” you looked up at him, arms crossed.

“i tutor him on wednesdays… he’s not really a friend friend” he explained, his voice coming out a little rougher than usual.

jake tried to maintain eye contact, but the proximity was a trap; his gaze dropped involuntarily to your cleavage before he forced it away, releasing a heavy breath like he was trying to remember literally anything other than the fact that for the first time in his life he felt a very physical urge to touch something.

“i don’t know…” he admitted shyly. “truth is, i don’t really know anyone here… i don’t even know what i’m supposed to do” his tone was low, only you could hear it over the music.

that vulnerability was the dirty hit. jake was unbearably lovable exactly because of that innocence. he wasn’t one of those guys who filled their phone storage collecting random girls’ nudes, nor was he the smelly nerd who forgot basic hygiene in the name of academic decathlons. he was clean, smelled good, ridiculously handsome, and had this genuine purity about the trivialities of social life that made you want to protect him from everything. seeing him there, so misplaced and so honest, made your heart jolt.

you were fucked.

you bit your lower lip, internally debating whether to just kiss him already and ruin any chance of preserving the friendship, or show him how to actually enjoy the party since you were already there and finals would start in two weeks. another excuse for the two of you to unwind a little.

“well… you don’t wanna go home yet, right?” you pouted slightly, tilting your head as he quickly shook his. “then let’s grab some drinks” you grabbed the denim jacket he was wearing and pulled.

you had a determined smile on your lips while jake let out endless “sorry” “excuse me” “my bad” like he was asking permission from the air itself to exist, as you crossed the packed living room until you reached the improvised bar in what looked like lee’s parents’ small wine cellar.

you scanned the menu written on cardboard with a disturbing amount of glitter and nudged his arm, encouraging him to pick one of the suspiciously named drinks. he alternated his gaze between the colorful letters and your face, laughing in pure indecision, genuinely grateful that you took the lead and chose for both of you.

the song blasting was straight 2000s pop nostalgia, making you sway lightly without caring, aware of his shy glances dropping to your hips, caught by the movement of your skirt and the metal details of your belt. jenny by studio killers was playing somewhere in the background and your ego mocked you internally.

jake’s head was an absolute mess of sensations. the denim jacket suddenly felt too warm over his shirt; the loud music made his organs vibrate in a rhythm he couldn’t predict; the inevitable brushing of sweaty skin against strangers… and most of all, you, in that damn outfit outlining every curve and doing violent things to his imagination, challenging the logic of just coworkers.

when the drinks were ready, you lifted your plastic cup with a casual “cheers” taking a long sip and watching over the rim as jake tried to imitate you, only to pull the most priceless grimace seconds later.

“okay. what the fuck is in this?” he coughed, throat burning.

“you don’t wanna know” you laughed, already feeling the light buzz hit your empty stomach.

and as if the stimulation wasn’t enough, seconds later jake felt a sudden weight on his shoulders. none other than evan appeared, clearly deep into drunken territory but radiating that captive energy of someone who owned the house and half the campus.

“heyy, if it isn’t my boy and… with a hot girl?! wow, i knew you had potential, jakey, but not this much…” he said to jake without taking his eyes off you; a crooked smile forming as he shamelessly stared at your cleavage and the pendants resting between your breasts. “wait, i know you, right? yn from anthropology… you called mr. nero sexist or something in the first week! holy shit!”

evan laughed loudly, beer breath hitting jake straight in the face, making his eyes water from the sting. he leaned his weight against the nerd’s shoulder to avoid collapsing, the bottle in his hand threatening to slip as he swayed.

“damn… you hit the jackpot, buddy…” he looked at jake, who stared at the situation with slightly furrowed brows, caught between embarrassment and confusion. “you know what they say… the ones who hate men are the best in bed”

he whispered it in what he clearly thought was a low tone, but it landed directly in both your ears.

jake’s ears burned a violent shade of red, the raw bluntness of the drunk comment hitting his shyness dead center. he was not subtle. evan chuckled, ruffled jake’s brown hair messily, and staggered away, but not before throwing you a wink.

the silence left between you and jake was palpable, loaded with a new, strange vulnerability that the comment had dragged. he stood frozen, unsure where to look, feeling the weight of that insinuation hovering between your spiked belt and his glasses. you held each other’s gaze for a few seconds, the bold words still floating in the air. then you, either to break the tension or to deal with the sudden heat crawling up your own neck, tipped back the rest of your drink in one sharp motion, nodding for jake to do the same before turning to order another round from the girl behind the counter.

***

the two of you were already on the fourth drink each, alternating between sips of that indecipherable mix and observations about the ecosystem of the party. you shared some random gossip about the people walking by, standing on your tiptoes to whisper into his ear; the warmth of your voice and the sudden proximity made jake bite his lower lip, keeping the corner of his eyes on you. at times, you steadied yourself with your palm pressed against his abdomen, feeling the firmness beneath his shirt, especially now that your balance was beginning to float and the floor seemed slightly tilted.

jake widened his eyes at every touch, and the urge to hold you by the waist was automatic whenever your legs faltered, his hands hovering in the air before settling the touch, making you laugh to yourself at the exaggerated care.

"you good there?" he asked quietly, bending his body to be able to look at you up close.

"i'm fiiine" you confirmed cheerfully, trying to rise above the volume of the music and failing; obviously.

you wondered - in some part of your consciousness that drifted far from reality sometimes - why he still seemed so under control. maybe he was one of those guys with strong genes for alcohol, who would take centuries to completely loosen up.

you looked at him with a silent challenge and then, after placing your cup on the counter and taking his from his hand doing the same, you grabbed the boy's arm with determination. taking a few steps back, pulling him out of the safe little corner where he was leaning.

"you know what? i think there's one last thing missing for you to fully experience a college party..."

jake looked without understanding, giving in very reluctantly while his feet were dragged by yours.

"yn, i think we've already overdone it..." he denied smiling, that smile of someone who is about to be convinced to do something reckless.

"uhm uhm" you shook your head, the expression in your face being the same as a mischievous child. "you're going to dance with me first..."

"oh… no no no" he refused placing his hand gently over yours trying to pull away. "i'm terrible at these things"

"pretty please? it'll be just a little..." you pouted and he froze.

and for god's sake, jake stuttered with the air he breathed, feeling his own fingers tighten on the hem of his jacket, his heart stopped and came back irregularly. he followed you, half uncertain, half hypnotized, to the center where the bodies danced and where disco lights, colored lasers and tutti-frutti scented smoke wrapped around everything.

"i've never danced like this..." the brunette looked around trying to find any example he could use to imitate, but none of that was possible, in public even less.

"just feel the music..." you urged, disappearing a little more into that human wave, while jake was sucked into the whirlwind that was being by your side.

and when you started dancing, for him, it was as if the world around lost focus and slowed down just so he could watch that scene.

you were so freaking beautiful.

blue and yellow beams cut through the dimness, lighting up your face, your makeup and the shine of your piercings, which became small sparkling blurs thanks to his nearsightedness, since his glasses insisted on not cooperating in that stuffy humidity.

his tense jaw from before dropped a little, his hands inert at his sides while he watched the sensual way you moved.

your fingers traced from your hip up to your neck in a fluid gesture, and when your eyes closed and you tilted your head back, jake felt the air in his lungs thinning. it was then that you took the final step: you grabbed his wrists and brought him into an unimaginable nearness, guiding his hands - which were sweating with anticipation - so that they fixed on your waist, following every movement you made.

your hand moved up his shirt until it reached the collar, curling your fingers there with a possessiveness that made him lose the ground. you pulled him down, forcing him to bend his posture until your faces were dangerously close, to the point that he could feel your breath and the scent of the drink mixed with your smell.

"imagine it's just me and you" you whispered, but the lip reading and the intention were so evident that he didn't need sound to understand.

jake nodded instinctively, his heart beating so hard that he was sure you could feel it through the layers of clothing. in that moment, logic, algebra studies and paralyzing shyness were replaced by something new; desire, in its most primitive form. his fingers closed with a little more strength on you, and he stopped fighting the environment. under the effect of the lasers and the absurd enclosure, his 'little world' reduced itself to the square meter where you brushed against each other to the beat of the music.

***

song after song, the minutes got lost between little comments and bass, sentences left hanging in the air, with no importance whatsoever compared to what was happening on a carnal level. jake was no longer just a spectator he moved with you, in sync, one of his thighs positioned between your legs while he felt his head spiral with the way you intentionally grinded, challenging every ounce of self-control he had left.

in an impulsive movement, thanks to a courage he didn’t even know where it came from, he made you turn your back to him, pressing your lower back against him; if his body were a machine, it would be in a critical state of overheating. his lips, damp and warm, brushed against your neck in a shy graze that soon became more provocative, while his thumbs slipped under your shirt from below, mapping your waist and feeling the unfair way your ass rubbed against his covered cock. jake was rock hard in there, even panting, his vision blurred and his judgment completely clouded.

"yn..." he murmured your name like it was a prayer or a cry for help.

he lost count of how many times the thought of kissing you crossed his mind, and he internally tormented himself for not being able to look away from your cleavage, which became even more exposed with the friction of your bodies. he tried shaking his head to chase the ideas away, pushing his glasses up with a trembling finger and wiping the sweat from the corners of his eyes, but he was surrendered. all it would take was for you to turn to him with those spoiled eyes and he would give up resisting.

"i wanted to do something..." you admitted, turning back to face him, pressing yourself against him to wrap your arms around his neck. "but i would hate if you ended up hating me for it" the words came out like a breath against his skin. jake paid attention, the world outside slowly ceasing to exist.

"i would never hate you" he laughed, biting his lower lip as usual while staring at you.

"are you sure? what if you"

you didn’t even get to finish. driven by a desperate decision, he himself ended the short distance between you in a brief seal, a touch of lips that lasted only a second before he pulled back slightly, looking at you for approval and dying of fear of your reaction.

"sorry, yn, i-i"

but you didn’t give space for the apology. you slid your hands from the back of his neck to his face, holding the boy’s cheeks and kissing him for real.

holy fuck

jake numbed. his wide eyes behind the lenses took at least five seconds to close, his brain processing that this wasn’t an alcohol-induced delusion. it took him even longer to relax his tense posture, but when he finally did, it was like a dam breaking.

his hands slid down urgently to your ass, squeezing it while his slender body curved over yours, giving in to the rhythm you dictated. when you deepened the kiss, asking for his tongue, jake let out a low sound in his throat, a mix of surprise and total surrender.

your mouths clashed in a needy, messy kiss that had been stored away for months, a tension accumulated between bookstore shelves that finally exploded. jake bit your lower lip with an urgency you didn’t expect, before tilting his head to the side and fitting the kiss perfectly against yours; it was sloppy, full of saliva, even starting to drip. you let out small sniffles, feeling your body soften in his arms. he definitely didn’t kiss like a nerd and there was no way to tell if he was just learning fast under pressure or if he had been hiding that talent all along.

you only pulled apart when someone, in a hard shove, hit his shoulder, making your teeth clash together. the scare disconnected your swollen lips, leaving you both staring at each other under the strobe lights, breathless. the air between you was heavy, dense, and neither of you wanted to stop yet.

"let’s go to my place..." you asked, your fingers still tangled in his hair, subtly pulling him closer; if that was even possible.

jake didn’t argue. there was no logical analysis, no concern about the time or what his dormmate would think since he was always home by 11pm at the latest.. he just held your hand and pulled you through the crowd until you found the house’s exit.

the cool night air hit your faces, but the desire still burned. you didn’t even know it, but jake had a scooter parked nearby; a small bike in coffee tones that, strangely enough, looked just like him.

he guided you to where the vehicle was and you couldn’t hold back a laugh.

"what?" he asked, looking over his shoulder while opening the compartment to grab an extra helmet for you.

"isn’t this way too imprudent, mr. jake sim?" you teased, amused, watching him approach.

jake didn’t answer immediately. he stopped in front of you, focusing on putting the helmet on your head, fastening the buckle with almost surgical care. his face was serious, concentrated, but that broke when he held your chin tilting your head a little to look up.

"as if you cared about prudence, miss" he finally replied, in a friendly tone, shrugging and making you raise an eyebrow.

the silent confidence that the alcohol and the kiss had brought him made you want to shove your entire wrist into your mouth. he still helped you get on the back seat and murmured for you to hold on properly which didn’t even take a second to happen, you wrapping your arms around his waist, playfully sliding your restless fingers over the fabric of his plain shirt, feeling his abdomen contract under your touch. jake knew the way. he had the address memorized since the day he offered to lend you his father’s record player. he felt unrecognizable, completely tamed by the need to have you, almost impatient, while you, feeling the wind hit your face and the warmth of his body between your arms, could only regret that your house was ten minutes away and not on the next block.

***

you stumbled in your boots on the stairs, the sound of your heels echoing through the quiet hallway until you finally reached the door of your apartment. you felt your fingers loose, a side effect of the liquor you had downed without thinking earlier, but it was the presence of the boy right behind that truly made you dizzy. when you finally managed to turn the key, you pulled him inside by the wrist in an impatient movement, tossing your bag into some random corner and his jacket into another.

you fell sitting on the edge of the bed when your calves hit it, and you saw jake kneel in front of you without you having to ask. he helped you with the laces of your shoes, his long and agile fingers undoing the complex knots with surprising skill, as if he were solving one of his magic cubes.

by that point, jake looked like a dream in your field of vision; his image was blurred because of the drunkenness, but the tension growing in your womb was very real. needy, you pulled him so he climbed onto the bed and, in a quick movement, switched positions, pulling a surprised gasp from him when you settled onto his lap.

"w-wait..." he tangled in his words, but you didn’t give him time, kissing him again with voracity.

"i fucking can't..." you mewled against the boy’s lips before asking for entrance with your tongue again.

the kiss was deep and deliciously clumsy, hands roaming over bodies that were still discovering each other. jake groped your skin, testing where to touch you and how to grab you, and you responded by lightly scratching his skin with the tips of your nails when you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, trying to pull the fabric down.

"take it off..." you murmured with a weak but commanding voice, which made jake swallow hard, his adam’s apple jumping in his throat.

"yn, i've never..." his sentence made you stop for a few seconds.

you interrupted the kisses that were now trailing down his sensitive neck, placing your hands on his firm chest and staring at him from above with a pleading expression, your eyes heavy with lust.

"you can tell me to stop then, ikeu..." you challenged in a whisper.

jake couldn’t stop even if his life depended on it. you were too much for him, a force of nature he had no way and no wish to contain. in response, he just pulled you into another urgent kiss, holding the back of your neck. he broke the seal only for a moment to look down, his trembling hands helping with the button and zipper of his own pants. and you moved like a cat in heat on top of him, eager to slide the fabric down his long legs.

your lips traced a trail of fire brushing from his collarbone down to his lightly sculpted abdomen, nibbling the pale skin and licking slowly, feeling the larger body tense. when you reached his pelvis, feeling one of his veins pulse under your wet tongue, you sucked right there making the small moans that escaped him turn into a low groan.

jake looked at your arched body over him, your ass raised and the ends of your hair spread across the sheets, and he cursed softly in a tone you had never heard him use. he was above average, a doctor had once said, which always made him cautious, fearing that any advance would be... overwhelming. but the thought was cut off the second you squeezed him over his underwear, with a curiosity stripped of any hesitation.

"hmm.. big.." you commented, your voice melting, while sliding your hand along his entire length.

"a-h... i-it’s okay if you don’t want to... it can be a little uncomfortable... and i-i don’t mind, we can just..." the instinct to explain and protect activated, and he started talking nonstop, the words tripping.

but the explanation died in his throat when you licked him slowly through the fabric. jake rolled his eyes back, throwing his head against the pillow and feeling his toes curl.

"what do you mean? i like it like that..." you said, with a simplicity that almost destroyed him.

you began spreading wet kisses along his thighs, which instinctively parted to give you more space. meanwhile, your hand continued the work, stroking him over the cotton, which quickly began to darken and dampen where the head rubbed. jake pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white, closing his eyes to try to keep the little control he had left.

until... everything stopped.

the sudden silence was more deafening than the party music. jake, with his head sunk into one of your pillows, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, waiting for the next touch, the next command, anything. but the only thing he received was the sound of your breathing, which had become strangely light.

he propped himself up on his elbows, his heart still hammering in his chest, and looked down. you were completely passed out, lips slightly parted, cheeks squished and lashes resting. your head lay heavily on one of his thighs, and your hand was still resting over his member, which pulsed and twitched insistently under your now motionless touch.

jake sank back into the bed, letting out a low muffled whine, covering his face with both hands. the realization hit with the weight of a ton: the way the night had escalated, the fact that he had almost let himself be carried away by desire even knowing how much you had drunk, and the perception that he was completely in love with you. the moral panic colliding with the physical frustration of a man. he stayed there, in absolute silence for several long minutes, frozen, afraid to move and wake you.

***

the next morning you woke up feeling like death itself. your hair was full of knots and apparently you had slept in such a crooked position that your neck was even burning with pain on one side. the makeup? printed onto the bed sheets and your clothes twisted on your body. a trail of drool also marked from the corner of your mouth down to your chin. but the worst part was the headache. it wasn’t just pain, it was like someone had personally poured liters and liters of water in there and it was hard even to keep your balance.

after you finally managed to take off your clothes and get into the shower, you stayed almost half an hour there under the warm water, cleaning your face and body, trying to come back down to earth. you remembered very little from the night before. you remembered arriving, drinking, pulling jake to dance and kissing… after that everything had turned into a blur. but judging by the fact that you were at home, he had probably given you a ride.

you left the bathroom wrapped in a towel and went to throw yourself onto the bed again; you would have to change the sheets anyway. you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and noticed the notifications, pulling them down to open.

[jake🤓🐶]: good morning… about yesterday… thank you for going with me to the party. we ended up overdoing it with the drinks and you passed out when we got to your house haha [jake🤓🐶]: i locked your door and slid the key under it, so if you can’t find it just look on the floor… [jake🤓🐶]: i looked it up and you’ll probably wake up feeling bad, so try to eat light things, drink plenty of water and sleep 👍🏻 text me if you need any medicine [you]: hi. yeah, my head is about to explode… but it’s fine. thanks for worrying. hope it was fun for your first party

so no comments about what REALLY happened huh? you wanted to drag the conversation out, but your pride spoke louder, so you just decided you weren’t going to do that on a saturday morning. maybe jake was still processing everything, or maybe it just hadn’t meant anything. you felt a knot in your throat having flashes of the night, his mouth so soft against yours and the hands squeezing your waist, how could that not mean anything? you tossed and turned in bed, kicking your legs.

you got up and went to make something to eat and some chamomile tea to calm down. you spent the whole afternoon under the covers watching a show and only when the sun was setting you decided to get up and go to your computer. usually you and jake played together from that time on, but as soon as you logged into discord, entering the server you shared, ready to join the call where he was, apparently alone, he left; the little green circle around the icon disappeared and he changed his status to invisible. you gave an annoyed smile, squeezing the mouse in your hand.

had you done something beyond the kiss? actually, you clearly remembered that he had been the first to kiss you, regardless of whether the thought had crossed your mind before. you curled up in the chair and brought your finger to your mouth, biting the tip of your nail. your stomach churned, and you couldn’t tell if it was still because of the remnants of the alcohol or because you were feeling guilty and afraid you had ruined everything.

sunday was another day of zero contact. he didn’t even send you some random curiosity in the chat and you had already written and deleted countless attempts to call him. but what would you say? “hey sorry for ruining our friendship”?

in monday’s class your head was in the clouds, you didn’t even talk to your friends who were chatting about some pub they had gone to. you were irritated, if you couldn’t tap your mechanical pencil on the binder, you were biting your nails, and vice versa. you felt like you might die before it was time to go to work, but you didn’t, you just arrived late because you stayed fifteen minutes locked inside one of the college bathroom stalls, going over countless possibilities of what would happen when you saw each other in person.

when you walked in through the back door, heading to the staff room, you saw jake’s things already in the locker, meaning he would be at the counter when you went there. you put on your apron with difficulty and slipped your phone into your pocket before walking over.

jake had his back turned when you passed through the little wooden door, and he gave you a sideways glance, pressing his lips together and nodding… strangely quiet, no rambling about physics, about calculus, no news about superhero movies and games, not asking how your day had been. you felt your lunch come back up your esophagus, but you controlled yourself, sitting down just as silent, and for the first time in 3 months putting your headphones back on.

next to you, jake hunched his shoulders even more, pretending he was focused on reading the comic when his head couldn’t even put two sentences together because it was so overwhelmed with thoughts. he still felt horrible for thinking he had taken advantage of you… he had simply gone from someone with no experience at all to someone awfully bad. he didn’t feel entitled to be your friend anymore, or whatever you really were. his foot kept tapping against the chair support nonstop, making the rest of his body tremble a little. the tasks you used to do together, he split into a spreadsheet that would stay on the library computer. he would handle cleaning the tables, you would organize the counter. you cataloged the books and he shelved them, it was practical, you didn’t even have to talk.

***

a week passed like that. and by friday, both of you were a wreck. it was the first time you had seen jaeyun with dark circles under his eyes. when you were about to leave the locker room, you ran into him as he was coming in just to grab something.

“sorry” you said quietly.

“it’s okay, i’m sorry too,” he replied and then stepped aside, holding the door for you to pass.

you couldn’t even look at each other for more than half a second.

when the door closed you still stood there, staring at the little sign that read ‘staff only’, parting your lips thinking about saying that you didn’t want to keep going like this… that he could at least go back to talking, that you missed the way he talked about things you had zero curiosity about but ended up remembering because the sound of his voice was addicting, how you wanted to know about the games he was playing and if he had customized any other character to look like you…

“yn?” you heard, being pulled forcefully from your trance as jake opened the door again.

“jake…” you replied and looked at him, but nothing came out after that.

“can i get through?” he indicated, pointing down, you were standing in front blocking the way.

“can we talk?” you retorted, looking away and not noticing how at that exact moment the boy blushed and lowered his head.

“l-look, yn… i, i don’t know what to say. what ended up happening last week was a mistake, i admit it. it’s just that…” he said hurried and hesitant, even up close, avoiding you.

his words hit you right in the chest.

he thought it had been a mistake.

your heart hurt. if you had thought your poorly resolved one-night thing had been shitty, this was about to become your biggest trauma. you felt your eyes water, but you held back, smiling and swallowing hard, with difficulty.

“no, you are totally right. it was a mistake. and it won’t be repeated, i am really sorry”

“am i interrupting something?” you both heard a third voice coming from behind. clint approached holding a clipboard. “why is the central counter empty?”

“i was just heading there” jake answered quickly, nodding to the older man and looking at you one more time before leaving.

“and you, ms. yln? any problem?” the nasal voice turned to you.

“no. just… dust allergy” you lied, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand and sniffling before turning around.

***

you couldn’t take it anymore.

after that short and dry dialogue that had felt more like a sentence, everything stayed the same: another week of complete silence, tasks coldly divided and your music playing low in your headphones, in a ridiculous hope that he would start any kind of conversation with you during the afternoon. you were sure that quitting the job was the best thing to do; that way, the worlds that had once collided wouldn’t have to meet again.

you were at the dean’s office, waiting to be called in by mr. clint. you felt nervous, with the sensation that you might throw up at any moment as you stared at your own feet.

“you can come in” the secretary called.

you stood up and walked into the office, watching the old man close a file book and lift his gaze to you. you tightened the strap of your crossbody bag and remained standing.

“anything I can help you?” he went straight to the point.

“mr. clint, i needed to-”

“ah, before you say it, i need to ask you a favor” he cut you off, with a tired voice and demeanor of someone who had already exhausted all options and didn’t want to deal with the matter anymore. “i know you hate it, but i’m going to need you to take the night shift tomorrow. the guy who usually comes is sick”

you froze, mouth slightly open, completely stunned.

“do you think you can do it? want to tell me what brought you here first? if it’s about the new cart… finance still hasn’t released the funds”

there was an immediate internal conflict. maybe if you asked to leave next month… it would be a way to show respect to the job that had paid for your concerts and your clothes until now… it would also give you time to do interviews and find something somewhere else…

“no… it’s fine, i’ll do it” you confirmed with a faint, unenthusiastic smile. “great, i’ll confirm it with jaeyun too” he stood up, already grabbing his phone and walking out of the office, leaving you there with a bitter taste in your mouth.

***

the library at night took on a different vibe. the huge windows weren’t enough for the streetlights and the moon to illuminate the interior, leaving most of the aisles submerged in total darkness since the led lights focused only on the central and study areas. to make it worse, one of those winter rains was falling, the kind that starts slowly and promises to last all night, leaving the air icy. normal hours were until 7pm, which meant that from 8pm till 4am you would stay there with not much to do, just waiting for the moment to open the back gate for the cleaning staff, which consisted of two old ladies.

you arrived carrying a small bag with an energy drink and some sour candies to trick the sleep away. you stored your things in the locker and went back to the counter, feeling the cold crawl up your calves. you hadn’t even bothered to put on the apron, staying only in your tank top with a windbreaker over it. the manager was giving final instructions to jake while you finished adjusting yourself.

“if anything happens, call me or the police, alright?” it was just precaution, according to him, it wasn’t like the campus had some kind of book maniac.

as soon as the man left, the silence of the library seemed to triple in size. jake, without saying a single word, started cataloging some books, adjusting his glasses on his nose from time to time. he had switched the tasks, avoiding any activity that required him to stand still beside you at the counter.

you sighed and put on your headphones, but didn’t press play. you wanted to hear the sound of the rain… you opened a social media app and started scrolling without really seeing anything. the tension between you was like an elephant in the room, a heavy presence that made the air hard to breathe.

jake was only a few meters away, the desk lamp casting dramatic shadows across his face. he seemed more uneasy than usual, and the way he turned the pages was almost mechanical, stripped of that clumsy and goofy little way you loved so much about him. you sighed, feeling your stomach tighten. it was your last chance to understand why the boy who had kissed you so hungrily on the dance floor now acted like you were an unwanted ghost.

suddenly, a louder thunderclap made the windows vibrate. the library lights flickered violently, the filament of the old bulbs letting out a dry snap. jake stopped what he was doing, looking up and then at you. you kept your focus on your phone…

the truth was that those days had been the worst jake had ever faced in his life. worse than the bullying in high school or when he had fucked up his freshman year because he felt so out of place in a class with almost 100 people that he had simply stopped showing up for an entire month. and he swore he tried to understand, he had rationalized the situation in every possible way, he had even written a letter in his phone notes.

he had never felt that before, it was suffocating not to talk to you, not to hear your voice humming songs all afternoon or see your confused expression when he said something bizarrely scientific.

he wanted to comment on the storm outside. he wanted to say he found it interesting how the atmosphere could become a giant conductive plasma in a matter of milliseconds, as if the skies were trying to balance an unbalanced equation… like the two of you in that moment. he held himself back, squeezing the book in his hands, but as soon as he turned ready to say something, you suddenly stood up and grabbed the cart already full of books to shelve them.

of course, he had divided it that way.

jake sank into the chair and threw his head back, huffing and massaging his temples, where was he not understanding? why had everything gotten so strange? why didn’t you seem angry but sad?

you, on the other hand, couldn’t rationalize anything. you pushed the damn broken cart toward the romance section, grabbing three heavier books into your arms before pulling the small ladder to climb. you held on tight, going up at least three steps before starting to rearrange the stories to make space for the new ones.

a harsh flash tore across the sky, lighting up the library windows as if it were daytime, followed by a crack of electricity that seemed to whip against the walls. the thunder came right after, so loud the floor vibrated beneath your feet, and in the same instant, the hum of the machines and the artificial light died. the darkness that followed was absolute. you waited for the click of the emergency lights, but the silence continued.

“great” you muttered into the void. you hugged the books against your chest and felt along the metal ladder, trying to climb down carefully. the mistake was careless: the untied shoelace. as you tried to take the first step, your foot got caught and the world spun. you fell backward, your body hitting the ground with a dry impact while the ladder collapsed beside you with a deafening crash. in the middle of the fall, the back of your head struck one of the shelves behind you.

you let out a sharp groan, curling up on the cold floor. the pain was throbbing. you brought a hand to your head, feeling the spot of impact, praying you wouldn’t feel the sticky warmth of blood.

“yn? yn…!” jake’s shout came from the start of the aisle.

a beam of light appeared - a flashlight that stayed in the second drawer of the counter - and soon he was kneeling beside you, his face pale under the white light. he dropped the flashlight to the side and held your face with both hands, his fingers trembling.

“fuck, i’m sorry. so sorry! no, don’t do it! don’t move! if you hit the back of your head, you can’t turn your neck, the impact could’ve affected your spine or caused a displacement we can’t see! i’m calling an ambulance!”

you hissed in pain, but managed to grab his wrist before he dialed.

“calm down… it was just a fall” you murmured, your voice weak.

“do you have any idea how dangerous a concussion can be? the glasgow coma scale exists for a reason! if you show retrograde amnesia or cognitive dysfunction in the next few hours, that indicates a mild to moderate traumatic brain injury and-” he rambled, words fumbling over while he checked your pupils.

“jake!” you said louder, looking at him firmly despite the dizziness. “i’m fine, okay? just… help me up, please”

he stopped immediately, swallowing hard. silence returned for a few seconds while he helped you stand with almost sacred slowness. jake scanned every inch of your body looking for any other sign of injury, his arms hovering around your waist without quite touching, like an invisible protective barrier ready to catch you if you faltered. you lifted the ladder together and you tossed the dented books into the cart, noticing how he dusted his hands on his jeans, his eyes still fixed on you.

“are you sure you don’t want to go? i… they can come get you, i wouldn’t go with you, i wouldn’t bother you” he tried to reassure you. “seriously, i’m sorry. i should’ve taken that task, like i always do. if i hadn’t stepped away, you wouldn’t have”

the rambling started again and you gave a small smile before letting out a soft laugh, raising the white flag, almost in disbelief, lowering your gaze…

“what? what’s funny?” he asked, confused.

“you… the way you are” you answered, rubbing the sore back of your neck and taking a step to the side. “the fact that i had to go through a near-death experience to get you talking like before… when things were normal” your body swayed a little, but you supported yourself with your hand.

his shoulders dropped and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, thoughtful.

“i don’t get it…” he whispered.

“what don’t you get?” you looked up at him, your heart beating harder than the pain in your head. “tell me, jake, what got unclear between us? because if there’s anything i can do to change it, i’ll do it”. the words came out without permission, and you meant every single one of them, not backing down now even with the imminent urge to cry and the exhaustion of several badly slept nights.

jake sighed.

“that day… the party. i’ve never felt that way before, i’ve never felt the need to touch something or someone like that… it was almost… intoxicating, like i wasn’t in control…” he started slowly, still figuring out how to put his thoughts together. “and when we kissed… it was… it felt so right, you know? but then we went to your house and fuck… you were so hot, so determined, and so… my god, so drunk” he said almost whining. “you blacked out, and all i could think afterward was that i was really going to do that, even with you that drunk… and now, i feel like i don’t even deserve to be around you” he admitted, sniffling and adjusting his glasses.

you looked at him and then your gaze drifted to the space between you. that was what had happened and you didn’t remember it at all.

you tilted your head back and closed your eyes, covering your face with your hands and pressing.

“you thought i was mad?” you asked, just to fit the final missing piece into place.

“well… if you felt like i used you, wouldn’t that be the most likely outcome?” he shot back.

you laughed again, first softly and then almost crying. you looked at him once more and pressed your lips together.

“that day, jake, i wanted you more than anything” you said directly. “not just that day, but the day before and every moment, since the first day i saw you until just now…” you spoke with a lighter expression, watching through the movement of his eyebrows as jake tried to connect all the dots.

“so you didn’t think i was some kind of asshole?”

“that was the last thing i would ever think about you” you stepped forward and reached for his hand, looking down as you intertwined your fingers.

“yn…” he called one last time. “hm?” when you lifted your head, his eyes said enough.

***

at first your lips only brushed each other, a chaste kiss almost apologetic beginning slow. your bodies still kept a minimal distance, but jake soon took care of eliminating it by holding your wrist up, pulling you close to him, while his free arm finally wrapped completely around your waist. you melted right there, feeling all the negative feelings - the guilt, the silence, the doubt - fade like smoke as your muscles relaxed at the slightest touch. there was nothing in your mind that wasn’t him, him and him.

jake called your name, his voice hoarse and drawn out between your lips, but you denied any interruption, just continuing the seal, wanting to recover every lost second.

when he let go of your wrist, your hand went straight to his cheek, stroking the warm skin as you pulled him closer, wanting more depth.

“you’re not in pain…?” he tried to murmur, his voice failing.

“i don’t care…” you answered with absolute certainty, pulling back just enough to see him blush under the flashlight’s glow.

he looked so beautiful like that, disarmed. the kiss returned, but now it was more urgent, with more tongue and your nails slipping behind the collar of his shirt. jake’s hands lost their shyness slightly - without alcohol in his blood to help - moving up and down your back, mapping the sides of your body and dragging you by the hips until he pressed you against the bookshelf. the soft impact made the books vibrate and you let out a needy gasp that he swallowed. you bit his lower lip and sucked, feeling him shudder.

“i-i don’t want to stop this time” jake panted against your mouth, breath heavy.

“we’re not going to” you assured, exposing your neck to him as his mouth kissed the base of your throat.

jake’s tongue, slow and exploratory, licked the entire area, not caring about leaving a trail, not caring about the saliva or how your moans broke the decorum of the library. you tangled your fingers in the dark strands at the nape of his neck, pulling, squeezing his broad shoulder to steady yourself.

“shiit… do you know what you’re doing?” you asked, laughing softly between shivers.

“i have… no idea… just need you so fucking bad… why?”

“because it’s working…”

the raw confession was the trigger. he continued, pulling the sleeves of your sweatshirt down after opening the zipper with your help. little by little, the heavier pieces were forgotten on the cold library floor. jake slid his swollen mouth to one of your shoulders, leaving a bite there, climbing up your collarbones and chin as if he wanted to mark you entirely. he pulled your thigh on impulse to fit himself better against you, listening to every reaction you gave to what he was doing.

“show me how to do it… please…” he begged, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes shining with an intensity you had never seen, even in the dark. “i promise i’ll be good… so good to you…”

your head spun, brows furrowing as you kissed him again, almost animalistic. your tongues even slipped out of your mouths, his hands found your ass and squeezed. you lifted your hips slightly without any control, craving the contact. when you pulled apart again, you held onto him, bringing him with you. the darkness of the library was total, but you already knew that path by heart. you walked, tripping over each other, between kisses and anxious giggles, until you reached the counter again. you pushed his shoulders until the boy fell back seated in the chair, looking at you from there with his clothes bunched up.

you mounted the inviting lap and scattered little kisses across his face, until your mouth was near his ear to whisper. “don’t overthink… just do what you want… what do you want now?”

jake listened and his skin prickled… he placed his hands on your hips now intentionally and helped you in a slow back and forth, biting his lower lip hard. you nodded and kept going. “like this? do you want me to grind on you?” and the boy nodded repeatedly, holding back his moans as his member swelled even more inside his underwear.

“yeah..?” you nibbled his lobe, closing your eyes when your tight jeans and his pressed exactly where you needed, increasing the way you were riding him. you could feel your panties getting soaked, but even so you wasn’t giving more than this yet. you made sure to moan and scratch his arms, feeling his restless hands only stop when they reached your tits, squeezing hard and pulling little mewls from you.

“pl… y-yn, please…” he babbled. jake was a thread away from coming undone inside his pants and deep down you really wanted that… especially if it meant he would be all embarrassed afterward, but you stopped, just as affected as he was, sliding down until you were on your knees in front of him.

locking your gaze with his, you waited for him to lift his hips to help you with his jeans, pulling them down and tossing them aside. the white boxer deliciously failed to hide his cock slick with pre-cum. you only lowered the waistband, letting the hard length spring free, hitting against his abdomen. it was too big… the veins pulsed and his tip was an intensely flushed pink from how aroused he was. you spat into your palm and brought it to him, sliding from head to base, squeezing his soft balls with the other hand, watching him make a pitiful little face with his mouth parted.

“want me to suck you off?” you asked mischievously, mimicking his expression.

“mhmm. yes. yes, please…” he begged, trembling at every stroke of your hand that struggled to close fully around him because of the thickness.

you kept masturbating him for a while longer, watching jake alternate between gripping his own shirt and the arms of the chair, knuckles white from the force. what did he have to do for you to finally put your precious little mouth on him? he was going insane.

in a slightly rough and clumsy movement – purely survival - he grabbed your head, pushing you down and lifting his pelvis in a thrust, making you smile satisfied between his fingers. that was exactly how you wanted to teach him.

you opened your mouth and reached him, wrapping around the head first before sliding him further inside, feeling the corners of your lips burn as you had to force yourself to fit him entirely. jake uttered something unintelligible, his head falling back and eyes rolling before he himself began to set the pace, fingers tangling in your hair with new firmness. he felt your warm breath against his pubis; when he looked down he saw your little face all puffed up while taking him.

shit. shit. he was not god’s strongest soldier. you choked when he brushed against the inner wall of your throat, drooling even more over him and forcing yourself to keep the movement while grabbing one of his thighs, taking out the lack of air on the firm flesh. the sounds you made were downright pornographic, echoing in the silence of the library and making jake’s blood boil.

***

when you were taking him more easily - adjusted to his size -, he lowered one of his hands, wrapping it around your neck with care but possessiveness, feeling exactly how deep he was reaching.

he was hypnotized by the sight: the mix of saliva and pre-cum spilling from your mouth, your pretty doe eyes rolling back and the tears of effort shining at the corners of your lashes.

“f-uck i’m coming…” he gasped, body curling as he clenched his teeth, forcing you further down on him while his pelvis lifted without rhythm, just need.

and you took it, everything he had to give.

cock so thick it pressed against the little bell of your soft palate, his pubis rubbing against your nose every time he thrusted upwards. your pussy fluttered just from that, hardened nipples brushing against your bra and your nails digging into him.

he came spilling cum down your throat, which you swallowed with eagerness, the excess slipping out, smearing your chin, your hands… even dribbling a little from your nose when you coughed because of your gag reflex sore and abused. it took him a few seconds to remove his hand from your head, letting you rise and slide his cock out again. you breathed fast, wiping your mouth uselessly with the back of your hand.

“sorry…” he breathed hoarsely, but you shook your head as you looked at him, rising again to kiss him.

“you did well…” you praised, feeling him smile.

“want to return the favor…” he sniffed softly, sliding his hands to your waist and pulling you up so you both stood.

jake unbuttoned your pants smoothly helping you kick the fabric aside after. he surprised you when he lifted you up effortlessly, setting you on the counter quickly. you kissed while he searched for your pussy to massage over your panties. he rubbed where it was wet, drawing muffled little moans from you, but it was when you placed your hand over his, guiding the movement, making him use his thumb over your swollen, covered clit that he had you writhing.

he watched closely, the way you had to break the kiss just to squirm and moan while guiding him, and especially how, whenever he pressed that swollen spot, your back arched; he was a fast learner. jake sat down again, pulling you to the edge of the counter, holding one of your heels and placing it up there to have you spread wide. he didn’t know anything about the practicality of it, he just knew what he wanted and that he’d figure it out.

more attentive to how your wet pussy had chewed the cotton fabric between your small lips before pushing the panties aside, staring shamelessly at the slick, pulsing cunt in front of him. “it’s so pretty…” he said before placing a slow kiss, enough to make his mouth wet. “tell me if i do something wrong…” he added before looking up at you from there and sinking his mouth into you.

the first licks were almost exploratory, as if he were mapping unknown territory. he tested every texture with devoted curiosity: the firmer flesh of your mound, the soft inner lips ready to slide, the entrance that clenched at the slightest touch. but when his tongue found your clit, the smooth, slippery texture made him let out a low sound of approval.

he opened his mouth wide, taking in as much as he could before sucking greedily, as if savoring a juicy fruit. when he pulled back, the slick sound of wet skin echoed in the silence of the library, a damp noise that made your lower belly throb. he repeated the motion, gaining confidence, until he stretched his tongue and tried going deeper, using the curious muscle to push into your channel while swallowing every drop of lubrication you poured over him. “taste m’so good…”

jake lifted his eyes, looking at you from behind his lenses - now crooked - only when he felt the weight of your hand in his hair, guiding him.

using his own fingers to spread the flesh and expose your most sensitive point, he captured your clit, sucking it firmly and continuously, the tip of his tongue flicking and swirling over your sensitive bud as you muffled a cry by biting your own wrist.

he flattened his tongue, moving it from bottom to top and side to side, letting the little bead drag across the muscle before returning to suck with intensity. the suction grew rhythmic, noisy, you cursed through your teeth and let out drawn-out moans, feeling your stomach tighten as you pulled his hair.

“j-jake… hhmm…” your whole body trembled while he lost himself between your legs, oblivious to anything else around. “let’s fuck.. hnng please…”

the sweet little sound when he detached his mouth from your cunt and lifted his head, slightly dazed, looking at you in confusion, almost made you change your mind. “already? i wanted… you to cum too” his eyes studied your expression while his fingers still played with your sex.

“i want to cum… but it’s going to be on your cock” you told him, sliding off the counter with his help.

you took off your shirt and unclasped your bra, watching him pull his shirt off as well, both of you completely naked. you climbed back onto his lap and smiled, kissing him slowly. “you did so well… your mouth felt so good…” you praised, noses brushing while one hand slipped between your bodies to hold him, aligning him with your entrance.

“wanted to taste you more...” his head swam, your flavor clinging to every taste bud, every one of his senses utterly consumed by you.

“you’ll have plenty of chances to do that…” you whispered, before lowering your weight and taking him halfway in at once.

jake seemed to fall apart the exact second he felt your pussy envelop him. the sensation was overwhelming, hot, slick, absurdly tight. your walls fluttered repeatedly, hands digging into his shoulders as you tried to accommodate every inch while he huffed, air leaving his lungs as if he’d just run a marathon. his moans were low, heavy with a pleasure that bordered on agony.

“fu… you’re so tight” he whimpered, voice breaking. jake couldn’t even keep his head up, resting it against yours while his arms circled your waist as if you were the only thing keeping him conscious.

you had never felt so complete. he filled every space, every curve of your spongy walls. wrapping your arms around his neck, you forced yourself to sink the rest of the way down, taking him fully. your eyes rolled back and a long moan slipped out when you felt his head press against your cervix in that position.

“f-funcking big… god…” you panted, trying to relax your muscles so you could start moving.

slowly, you began to move your hips up and down. it was a delicious torture to feel your silken folds dragging along his entire length, completely stretched. he murmured incoherent things against the curve of your neck, pulling air through his teeth in a sharp hiss.

feeling you needed more stability, you guided his large hands to your thighs, whispering for him to help you bounce.

his touch changed instantly. jake gripped your thighs firmly, fingers digging into your skin, starting to thrust your hips up and down. the slow rhythm was replaced with something steadier. each time you dropped down hard, the sound of bodies meeting echoed in the empty place, mixing with the rain outside. jake was in a trance, glasses fogged and face buried against you.

his restless mouth slid to one of your hardened nipples, sucking and making you whine softly. the loud plap plap plap and your clit striking hard against his base left you disoriented.

with every thrust you both unraveled more, jake turning into a babbling mess while you impaled yourself on the hard length, biting your lower lip to control the noise, gripping the edge of the counter and rolling your hips, making him hit your g-spot every time. you were goosebumped, sweaty, breathless, holding his face so he would look at you.

“do you want to cum inside? h-hmm?” you asked with difficulty, watching him nod desperately. “use your words”

“yes, ma’am hnng… i… please. cum-ng i-inside”

“g-good boy” you said before claiming his lips again, dropping down on him with vigor, making the chair springs squeak each time.

when you came together, jake’s whole body went rigid, holding you tight against his lap as he poured every drop of semen inside you. your arms and thighs trembling as you held onto him.

your ragged breathing taking time to settle.

jake was sweaty and marked with nail scratches, his mouth swollen and raw from so much biting. you weren’t much different, strands of hair stuck to your face, neck, shoulders… your neck covered in hickeys he’d left without even noticing and your lower belly aching.

even when you relaxed, you made no move to get off him, and he didn’t mind. the boy inhaled deeply before kissing your cheek, as if calling you to look at him. and when you did, he was there again with that mastered lost-puppy expression.

“what?” you asked with a tired smile.

jake looked up, thinking, then back at you, giggling a little.

“did you know the human heart produces enough energy to drive a truck for 30 kilometers in a day?” his smile widened and he laughed, making you look at him comically. “it’s just… my heart is beating so fast right now i think it could cross the country” he finished, burying his face in your neck again. “in other words…”

he took a deep breath, going quiet for a moment.

“i think i love you”

he confessed, making your cheeks lift, grateful for the darkness so he couldn’t see how embarrassed you were.

“well… you’d have to beat me in a race first, and i’m pretty sure you’d lose…” you replied simply, shrugging as he lifted his head to narrow his eyes at you mischievously.

“i think i love you too”

*

The palace gardens are most stunning at sunset. Bordering the eastern gate of the royal pavilion, the grounds are extensive. Flowers in full bloom, winding labyrinths, crystal blue ponds that nearby ducklings make a habit of visiting. 

There's a serenity here. One that becomes especially prominent as the last rays of sunlight begin to die on the horizon. The roses face the light, too. As if they want to kiss the day goodbye.

Wordlessly, you run a gentle finger over a stem, careful to avoid the thorns. It’s quiet. The only sounds that reach your ears are the gentle flow of a nearby stream and soft calls of birds in the trees above. 

One, a blue jay, captures your attention as it flits between branches. Captivated, you watch as it jumps to a different tree. Dipping its beak as if to assess its new landing spot. It doesn’t stay in one place long. Restless, you think. Itching for something new. Or perhaps craving the comfort of familiarity. It’s difficult to tell.

You inhale sharply at the prick of pain that suddenly radiates from your fingertip. In your absentmindedness, you threw caution to the wind. Retracting your hand from the rose stem, you’re met with a tiny drop of ruby red blood.  

At least, you consider, life here hasn’t yet been able to strip you of your ability to feel. Even if it is pain. And surface level, at that.

Letting your fingers drop to your side, the singular drop of blood rolls to the tip of your finger, hesitating for a moment before falling to the ground below.

Swallowed up by grass and dirt and earth. Now forever a minuscule, insignificant part of the palace around it.

Again, you turn your gaze to the sky. The trees that line it.

The blue jay tests one last branch before it inevitably decides it’s had enough. With one final assessment of the garden, it spreads its wings. And then, with little fanfare, flies in the direction of the sunset.

You watch until it becomes nothing but a blip. A blur of motion on the horizon. 

It’s long gone by the time the last rays of light vanish at the edge of the earth. 

The garden isn't dark, not entirely. The lanterns and torches that intermittently line the perimeter make it easy enough to find your path, as long as you know your way around. 

But they are a bit more conducive to stealth, to concealing things that don’t want to be found. Avoiding the most well lit paths, you let quiet, expert steps carry you through the winding labyrinth until you arrive at the stables. 

The palace horses have been fed and groomed for the night. You know. You’ve memorized the stable boy’s routine. And found that even on the nights he strays from it, is quite willing to turn a blind eye under the correct circumstances. 

Just like you’ve memorized which horses are less predisposed to whinny when taken out for the evening.

Just like you’ve memorized which palace gates are less heavily patrolled. What time the guards switch shifts. Which ones take longest to station themselves into position.

The palace is a well-oiled machine. But even the most streamlined systems have their flaws, their cracks. The best part about being someone of little consequence within the palace walls is that you have ample time to find them. 

As long as you’re present and accounted for on the rare occasion your presence is required, no one notices if you slip through the gates most nights. No one cares if the dark circles beneath your eyes become a bit more prominent every harvest season. 

No one keeps track of your unusually high number of trips to the tailor’s assistant for all of the strange tears and rips you always seem to have in your clothes. 

Closing in on the stable, you wrap a silent hand around the handle. The door creaks, ever so slightly, when you open it. Despite the fact that you know there are no patrols in this area this time of evening, you can't help the way your heartbeat picks up speed anyway. 

You close the door behind you, just as quietly as you opened it. Taking quick, measured steps, you approach your favorite horse’s stall. 

Rounding the corner, your brow furrows in confusion when you find it empty. Glancing around in worry, it takes your eyes a moment to land on the tiny, folded piece of paper wedged between the stall door and the wall. 

With steady hands, you pull it free. Unfolding the paper, you bring it close to your eyes in the dim light. 

It’s a letter, you realize, once you open the paper fully. From the stable boy. You’d recognize Sunghoon’s rather neat handwriting anywhere. 

Sorry, it reads. 

Blossom’s front left hoof was bothering her, so she’ll be in the western stable until the vet has a chance to assess her. Maeum’s in the fourth stall from the door. He’s not quite as quiet as Blossom, but he’s fast and wicked smart. Have him back by dawn. 

And at the bottom lies one final instruction. 

Burn this letter. 

Sighing, you read the message once more. Twice. It’s hardly ideal. You and Blossom have come to know one another like the back of your hand, but you suppose you’ll have to make due. You tuck the letter into the pocket of your dark, fitted jacket, fingers brushing against the small stack of papers already there. 

And then you look up again, silently counting four stalls from the door. 

Approaching slowly, you pull the door open as quietly as you can, doing your best not to startle Maeum. 

And you know he’s only trying to help, but one glance at the stallion in front of you has you wondering what the hell Sunghoon is thinking. 

Blossom was built for stealth. With a midnight black coat and the softest whinny you’ve ever heard, she always knew when you needed her to be quiet. The perfect trait for late night, unauthorized rendezvous from the most secure place in the kingdom. 

Maeum, however, is white. Startlingly so. And the second you have the stall door open enough to reveal yourself, he whinnies at you. Loudly. 

“Shhhhh,” you whisper, eyes widening in panic. You hold your open palms towards him, hoping he’ll understand the sign that you’re not a threat. “It’s okay.”

It takes him a minute. With large, intelligent eyes that seem almost a bit too cognizant, Maeum takes a moment to assess you. Finally, with one final, and thankfully much quieter, sigh, he acquiesces, tilting his neck towards you. 

Reaching forward, you stroke his mane in a long, gentle rhythm. 

“It’s okay,” you assure once again. “What do you say, Maeum? Are you up for an adventure?”

It sounds ridiculous to think it, much less say it, but you swear something sparkles in his eyes at your question. In either case, he lets you saddle him without so much as a peep of protest. 

And when you climb up onto the saddle, he gives only one experimental stomp before settling into stillness. Acceptance, you think. 

Turning his reigns towards the eastern gate, you check the position of the moon just beginning to rise in the sky. It’s late. Nearly time for the next guard shift switch. 

Perfect, you think. 

And without so much as a glance back, you and Maeum are off into the night. 

…..

“What the hell is that?” Jaeyun is whispering, albeit rather harshly, despite the fact that this hilltop is isolated. WIth the city stretching far beneath you, there’s no one else around for miles. 

Sliding off of Maeum’s back, you gently pull him a few steps forward before offering an apple from the bag at your waist. 

“A horse.” You don’t even bother to look in Jaeyun’s direction. You already know what you’ll find if you do. With a friendship that spans nearly ten years, his expressions have become second nature to predict. 

“Yes, thank you very much.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “I can see that it’s a horse. Why is it white?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Something to do with recessive genes, probably.”

“Are you trying to get spotted? A coat that bright practically screams ‘I’m from the palace.’”

“Blossom was out of commission,” you explain. Finally turning to face your friend, you add, “Sunghoon said one of her hooves is hurting. She’ll have to see the vet.”

“And this was the next best option?” Jaeyun eyes your substitute horse warily. “He’s so… pristine. I mean, seriously. If you told me he was the prince’s horse, I wouldn’t even question it.”

The sudden mention of the prince has you curious. Does he have a horse? You suppose he must, but the thought of him doing anything other than attending strategy meetings and making carefully curated appearances with your sister at his side is almost unimaginable. 

Shaking the prince from your thoughts, you argue, “It’s not like Blossom’s exactly shabby.” 

“No, but she is far less conspicuous.”

“I still managed to get out, didn’t I?”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “Palace security is lax these days.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one putting it to the test every night.”

Jaeyun’s lips part like he wants to say something else, like he wants to keep the banter going, but then he looks at you. Really looks. 

Takes in the deep shadows beneath your eyes. The exhaustion that has your shoulder slumping forward, words losing their bite around the edges. The work the two of you do is taxing in nature, but few people ever feel the strain as acutely as you do. 

At this point, you’re practically living a double life. 

During the day, you’re the younger sister to the future heir of the throne. It’s true that you’re largely left alone. While she attends dress fittings and lessons in etiquette, you’re left to your own devices. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t still appearances to maintain. Expectations to meet. Like it or not, you’re still a product, a belonging of the palace. You’re expected to maintain a smile and respond appropriately when spoken to. It’s a shallow life, yes, but draining in its own right. 

And with the wedding date creeping closer and closer, you’re doing your best to provide support to your older sister. Even if the distance between the two of you only ever seems to widen. 

And then there are the nights. While Mina and the rest of the palace are asleep, you’re usually out on an errand like this. Meeting Jaeyun on a remote hilltop with a fresh stack of secrets to trade. 

Because no matter how picture perfect life in the palace appears from the outside, there are cracks in every surface. Pressure points in every household. 

Much like you, there are plenty of people inside the palace walls who don’t come from money or nobility. They’re cogs in the machine. Their existence, their purpose, is to serve the crown. 

Like Sunghoon, the stable boy. And Sunoo, one of the groundskeeper’s assistants. Jay, who works in the kitchens, and Riki, the tailor’s apprentice. 

Despite the roles and the palace they’ve sworn to serve, they have identities outside of their titles, just like you. They have family and friends and people they love that live outside the palace walls. Who suffer from the hunger and unrest and turmoil the royals could easily mitigate if they had any interests outside of themselves and their firm grip on power. 

It’s how you ended up in the palace in the first place. Power. Or, at least, the illusion of it. 

Sixteen long years ago, three years after you were born, the royal seer became gravely ill. It wasn’t all too devastating, considering that for several years, the royal family had stopped relying on prophecy and started relying on military power to maintain their control of the land. 

But it was considered bad luck to lose a seer, and considering that the old woman had no children or family to carry on her legacy, the king became nervous. Ancient myths of crumbling kingdoms and vanishing wealth after the death of a seer began to haunt him. 

With a young son of his own, the only heir to the throne, the king was determined to protect his family at all costs. 

He visited the seer, as she lay in her deathbed. And he begged her for one final vision. One last prophecy that would ensure the longevity of his reign, the safety of his family. 

Barely cognizant, the seer used the last of her remaining power to reach through the veil and foretell one final prophecy. 

The king’s son, now just past his fourth birthday, would live a long, prosperous life. He would succeed the throne on his twenty-first birthday with little difficulty. He would enjoy a stable reign with absolute power and adoration from the kingdom at large. 

But there was one condition. He must marry first. His queen would not come from nobility. She would bear no wealth, have no resources that the royal family could possibly benefit from. Instead, she would have a connection to the prince. One born of ancient magic, one that supersedes mortal understanding and wisdom. 

She would be the daughter of a blacksmith, the seer told him. He would find her before the end of a fortnight. With flowers in her hair and the ability to tell him his son’s, the prince’s name without ever hearing it. After all, it was customary to wait until a royal child’s fifth birthday before publicly announcing their name. 

The king begged for more information. The kingdom was vast, and blacksmiths were as abundant as trees. But the seer has used the last of her energy. Her heart had stopped beating. And his pleas fell on unhearing ears. 

Still, it unfolded just as she foretold. 

And your life was swept out from beneath your feet when you were three years old. 

The memories are faint, hazy around the edges. It happened so long ago, and you were so very young. But you do remember playing with Mina near the river. Finding flowers to weave in each other’s hair. A man, scary and strange, approaching you both. 

He asked only one question. 

“What is my son’s name?”

As children, Mina was always the braver between the two of you. There was no fear in her eyes when she looked at the king and whispered.

“Jungwon.”

The king had only wanted her. But your parents, struggling to keep their daughters fed and cared for, begged him to take you as well. In a rare stroke of kindness or perhaps just impatience, he agreed. 

You were raised in the palace, parallel to your sister but never quite touching. After all, she was a miracle. A beacon. A prophecy come to life. 

You were nothing but extra baggage. An unextraordinary and damningly unimportant presence that faded into the castle walls as easily as moonlight on a dying day. 

You didn’t hate the palace. People there didn’t waste their kindness on you, but they weren’t cruel. You had everything you could ever need, and every month, you were allowed to leave the palace walls with your sister and a chaperone to visit home. 

For ten long years, your life proceeded in similar strokes. You studied. You played. You wandered. You felt moments of joy learning to ride a horse for the first time and swim in the lake without sinking. You felt the icy grip of loneliness, of isolation. Of being left in the dust as your sister began to take on more and more of her role as the future queen. 

In the dead of one particularly brutal winter, you learned to knit. Your monthly visit to your parents was approaching soon, and you thought your mother might like a warm pair of mittens. Thought your father might appreciate a new scarf. One without holes and the faint scent of dust and metal that always lingered no matter how many times it was washed. 

When you, your sister, and your chaperone finally set out, snow piling around you as you peered through the carriage window, dread was already gathering in your stomach. You weren’t sure why, but something was wrong. You could feel it, deep in your bones.

The closer you came to your parent’s home, the stronger the feeling became. By the time your feet dragged up to the doorstep, nausea was rolling so hard in your stomach you thought you might actually be sick. 

What greeted you inside was no remedy for illness. 

It was the cold, they told you. Frostbite. Weakened immune systems. While you had been huddling behind blankets and fire hearths inside the palace, your parents froze to death. 

You were thirteen, Mina fourteen. 

You didn’t want to hate the palace, the nobility, the royal family. Even then, you understood how inextricably you were bound to them. How much of your fate rested between the fingers of their iron grip. 

But the strongest thing you felt that day wasn’t sorrow or loss or even despair. 

It was hatred. Burning, deep, fiery hatred. 

You hated the way they told you these kinds of things were common in winter. The way the king didn’t look the slightest bit surprised to hear the news. The way the death of a commoner was as revolutionary as sunset, as predictable as sunrise. 

Jaeyun had lost his parents too, that very same winter. Only he didn’t have a palace to return to. Just the same four walls that the only family he ever had passed away in. 

The mittens meant for your mother were too big on his hands, but they were still warm. And that was enough. Combined with your shared sorrow, shared tragedy, shared hatred, it was enough to build a friendship. A resistance. 

Even now, thinking back, you only remember one person in the palace bothering to check on you. To ask how you were. 

Hidden in the depths of the library, you had been searching for something to distract yourself. Something to numb the pain of losing both parents in a single day. 

The voice that came behind you was careful, quiet. “I heard about what happened.”

Started, you whipped around with wide eyes, book of fables falling from your fingers and landing with a dull thud by your feet. 

Across from you, scant feet away, stood your sister’s betrothed. The prince. Jungwon. 

You gave him no response, brows furrowing. 

“I’m sorry,” he continued. “You must be devastated.” He was only one year your senior, but the gap between you felt larger. You had been educated, yes, but not in the manner of princes. He used words you didn’t fully understand and spoke with the gentle grace of a scholar you’d never be. 

“I…” You trailed off. It was hard for the initial shock to wear off. In the last ten years, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been in the same room as the prince. You’re not sure if he’s ever spoken to you directly before. But even in your grief, you remembered some of your propriety. Your curtsey wasn’t nearly deep enough, but the prince was kind enough to let your misstep slide. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

His lips dipped at the edges. “Please, ___. You don’t have to call me that. Just Jungwon is fine.”

But even then, in your adolescent brain, it felt wrong. He was a prince. The future heir to the country. And you were nothing but a blip. One prophecy and a stroke of luck away from dying alone in a freezing house with no one to mourn you. 

You didn’t want there to be any familiarity, any common ground between you and the prince. It was all an illusion, anyway. The two of you would never share anything but a connection through your older sister, a girl he never would have looked at twice under different circumstances. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you repeated, voice guarded, “for your condolences.” 

Something had flickered in the crown prince’s eyes then. Disappointment, contempt, you couldn't quite be sure. 

In the end, it didn’t matter. Quiet as the stray cats you sometimes crossed paths with in the stable, he had only turned and left the same way he came.

Now, years later, sitting on a hilltop with Jaeyun, you can only wonder if the prince remembers that short-lived conversation, too. If he revels in his palace comforts or finds them rather stifling. If he’s excited for his upcoming wedding or dreads it with every fiber of his being. 

If he has any idea that the sister of his betrothed who refuses to call him anything but his title, along with several members of the palace staff beneath his nose, engage regularly in treason. 

Pulling Sunghoon’s note, along with a stack of others, from your pocket, you turn to your friend. “Enough about horses. I have a new round of reports.” 

“Anything of note?”

“Not particularly.” You shake your head. “Jay says the kitchen is operating normally, although a few spices have been difficult to come by these days. Potential disruptions to trade routes on the western border, maybe.” 

“That could be.” Jaeyun frowns. “I’ve been hearing about some recent skirmishes up in that area. What about Riki? That old tailor he works for is an awful gossip.”

“Usually, yes,” you agree, “but these days he’s quite consumed with a certain white gown.” The flatness in your voice is difficult to miss. 

Jaeyun pauses, eyes scanning you warily. Finally, he ventures, “How is that going? I mean, it’s pretty soon right, the wedding? How are you feeling about things?”

“It’s proceeding normally,” you tell him, ignoring the last part of his question.

“Right,” he doubles down. “And you?”

“Don’t do that.” You shake your head. “I’m fine. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” 

He looks like he has more to say, but you’re pressing forward before he can question you further. “Sunoo had an interesting report, actually. It looks like crop yields may be down this season. They’re being stingy with the plans for the new fields.”

“That’s odd,” Jake frowns. “The weather’s been pristine. Ideal for cultivation.”

You give him a meaningful glance. “It must not be the weather, then.”

“Skirmishes on the western border, lower crop yields even though the last census still shows significant population growth.” He pauses for a moment, considering. “It’s strange.” 

“It’s suspicious,” you amend. “Everyone’s convinced that a wedding and a new king will make things better, but the royals are doing what they’ve always done. They’re hiding things. Overexaggerating peace reports. Underreporting crimes. They’re building an illusion. Trying to create a population that trusts them blindly.” You shake your head. “It’s not a coincidence.” 

“Maybe,” Jaeyun considers. But he’s always been more optimistic than you. “But border skirmishes are nothing new. And low spice and crop production doesn’t automatically mean anything bad. Maybe they’re planning to relocate some of the fields. There were rumors about more arable land down south, too, remember? And who knows, maybe that old seer was right. Maybe this wedding will lead to a long period of peace.”

There aren’t many people who you’ve shared the truth with. Even now, saying the word prophecy makes you feel like a fool. 

You scoff. “Don’t tell me you believe in magic.”

“Why not? Jaeyun shrugs. “I’ll believe in what I can. People here have suffered. Food shortages. Increased crime.” He pauses for a moment, gaze on the horizon. “Long winters. If believing in magic means better days are coming, then I’ll take it.”

You shake your head. “Believing in something doesn’t make it real.”

“Doesn’t it?” he counters. “Believing in something is the only thing that makes it real.” 

To that, you have nothing to say. You wish you could agree, that blind faith could guide you somewhere worth being. But time and trial and error have taught you to only believe in tangible things. 

Things you can wrap your fingers around. Hold between your own two hands. 

Looking down at the city from the top of the hill, it’s easy to believe that nothing there is real. That this world is made only of you and Jaeyun and his optimistic dreams for a better future. 

The silence extends comfortably before he breaks it, gaze against the side of your face. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Jaeyun speaks softly, carefully, as if trying to soften his words. “I don’t mean this in a bad way, but you just look… tired.” 

“Yeah, well, never sleeping will do that to a girl.”

Jaeyun isn’t so easily convinced. “You’re sure that’s all it is? You haven’t been having more of those… visions?”

You sigh. “No, but –”

“But?”

“They’re not visions,” you correct. “Not exactly. I don’t see images, or anything. It’s just… feelings.”

“Feelings?” Jaeyun presses. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Like intuition, almost. Sometimes it’s this overwhelming urge that I’m in the right place or the idea I have is true even though I don’t have any real evidence. But sometimes, it’s the opposite. Like everything is wrong and my body wants to fight it.”

He frowns. Extends his arm as if he wants to wrap it around your shoulders where he sits next to you. Drops it back to his side as he thinks better of it. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. It’s like using an entirely different part of my brain. Overusing it. Until it’s sore and aching and I can’t think straight. And sometimes… never mind.” You trail off, shaking your head. It sounds too ridiculous to say out loud. 

“What?” Jaeyun urges. He won’t let it go so easily. 

You sigh. “Sometimes, I have these thoughts. But they don’t… they don’t feel like mine. I mean, they’re in my brain, in my mind, but they feel like they’re coming from somewhere else. Like it’s someone else’s voice.”

His brow furrows. “Have you told anyone? Seen a healer or anything?”

“And then what?” you scoff. “Have them tell the king that the future queen’s sister has gone insane? Is a liability to the crown and should be locked away for the wellbeing of the kingdom? Yeah, right.”

“Still,” he insists. “It sounds like there could be something else going on.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure I’m just tired. All these nights were bound to catch up to me eventually. I’ll sleep more the next few days, and I’m sure it will all be fine. Everything will go back to normal.”

“Okay,” he finally agrees, even if you can tell he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t quite believe you. “But I want you to tell me if it doesn’t change or if it gets worse. You know you can talk to me about these things too, ___. It doesn’t always have to be border skirmishes and crop yield reports.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help the way your heart swells a bit with fondness. “I know,” you nod. “Thank you, Jaeyun. You know, you’re my only real friend.”

“Well, now that’s just sad.” But his grin is stretching ear to ear. Even when you land a slightly too hard punch right on his solar plexus. 

And a handful of hours later, tucked into a bed that’s never quite felt like yours, sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness. 

Despite your exhaustion, rest doesn’t come easy. Especially when that familiar, unpleasant feeling starts to build in your bones. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a deep discomfort. A distinct feeling of wrongness. Of being misplaced. Not belonging. 

It radiates through your limbs, over your skin, screams in your mind until you feel it everywhere, from the erratic beat of your heart to the very tips of your fingers. 

Until finally, finally, exhaustion outweighs the sensation. 

Still, when you fall asleep, it’s with a singular phrase looping through your mind on repeat. Like the mutterings of someone out of their mind. Like a demented chant you can’t escape from. 

Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. 

Not her. 

…..

One of your favorite perks of being someone of little consequence within the palace walls is that your mornings are mostly undisturbed. Other than the illicit errands of your own making, that is. 

Often, the meager hours of sleep you manage to find are here, extending late into the morning as sunlight streams through your window in increasingly long slants. 

Dawn had nearly broken the horizon by the time Maeum was tucked safely back into his stable. Usually, the sun is allowed to creep across the sky for hours before anyone is in need of you. 

Tucked away in the small but pleasant room you’d been given once you were old enough to require very little supervision, you sleep. It’s a wing of the palace rarely touched by anyone other than an occasional palace maid. 

Your window is small, but the west-facing orientation makes the sun dance beautifully across your few belongings and gives you a rather stunning view of the palace grounds. 

Most mornings, it’s the birds that wake you. Or the general chatter of a day in a motion. 

Increasingly, it’s been a feeling in your gut, the same one you tried explaining to Jaeyun last night. A voice in your head that you’re sure doesn't belong to you. 

Rarely, if ever, is it a knock on your door. Especially not one that thuds heavy and harsh against the quiet stillness of mid-morning. 

Startled from slumber only a handful of hours after finding it, the knock comes again. This time, even louder than before. It pounds in a way that rattles your door and has a deep sense of unease surging through your stomach. 

“One moment,” you call, but your voice is weak as you search for a robe to throw over your night clothes. Your hands are frantic, shaking, as the pounding starts again. 

Finally, you locate your plain, deep burgundy robe. Shrugging it over your shoulders, you wrap it around your body. Hardly daring to draw a breath, you take small, light steps to the door. 

With no peephole, dread gathers deep in your body as you turn the lock, slowly opening your bedroom door. 

Across from you stands a man. Fist raised to land another round of knocks, you’re sure, but his position is also perfect for delivering blows. Despite yourself, you flinch. 

At the sight of you, he drops his arm. The tension in his posture, the tight set of his shoulders, remain. 

“Miss ___.” His voice is as tense as he is. There’s no question in his voice. He knows who you are. 

Dressed in simple, utilitarian garments, you assess him for any hint of his position. Well acquainted with the inner workings of the palace, you know what the people who serve it wear. 

This man puzzles you. There’s no kingdom sigil over his heart to mark him a guard, no silver cuff links to identify him as a healer. Just loosely fitted, nondescript dark clothing. Not entirely dissimilar from what you wear on your nighttime errands. Built for stealth. 

“I am her,” you nod. Your gaze becomes more narrow in its assessment the more dead ends you run into. “May I ask what this inquiry is about?”

He spares little fanfare. “You’ve been summoned, Miss.”

“Summoned?” you echo. Immediately, your mind jumps to terrible conclusions. You’ve been noticed. You’ve been seen. You’ve been caught. 

Forcing a steady breath, you reel in your thoughts. Panic isn’t logical. The most likely reason for your summoning is surely something to do with your sister. Perhaps she’s requested your presence for some flippant reason. Perhaps she’s come down with a head cold and craves the nostalgia of a once familiar presence. 

Still, your heart won’t rest entirely until your question is answered. “May I ask by whom?”

The man just looks at you for a moment, eyes revealing nothing but a faint trace of distrust. “Come with me, Miss.”

His words ring with finality. Brow furrowing, you feel your heart lurch somewhere near your throat. Surely they wouldn’t be so vague if it was merely something concerning your sister. 

But you also know better than to argue with a summoning in the palace. Especially from a man whose uniform likely hides at least a dagger, if not a weapon of more lethal consequence. 

Shifting slightly, you confirm the location of your own small, metal blade. Tucked away between your innermost layer of clothing and the warmth of your inner thigh, it sits snug to your skin. Even clothed in nothing but a nightdress and your rather flimsy dressing gown, even in slumber, it remains. 

Forcing away the waver that threatens your voice, you agree, “I’ll just take a moment to dress and—”

The man shakes his head. “We’ll go now.”

Any last semblance of calm is shaken from your system. You’re barely dressed. Your hair is an unkempt mess around your shoulders. 

It’s improprietous to walk around the castle like this. It’s scandalous. 

You falter for a moment, confusion and fear marring your features. But the man remains stoic, insistent in his unrelenting posture. 

“Very well,” you nod. Your voice is small as you cling to your last threads of composure. 

Your bedroom door closes behind you with a quiet click. You can’t bring yourself to spare a backward glance, nor can you shake the deep growing sense of unease,  as you fall into step just behind the man’s shoulder. 

At the very least, he doesn’t seem interested in parading you in a state of undress around the castle. With the quick, practiced steps of someone well-versed in stealth, he leads you silently through winding corridors and back passages. 

Just who is this man? Only an expert could lead you so wholly undetected through the winding maze of palace passageways. 

Even you, with your wealth of knowledge, are having a hard time keeping up as you try to commit your path to memory. 

Eyes tracing over the man’s back, your mind spins through plausible explanations. Eventually, you land on two. 

Either resistance forces have fully infiltrated the castle or your illicit activities have been discovered. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re not sure what they would do, if they discovered your role in the network of resistors actively working against the crown. 

Scenarios have crossed your mind on sleepless nights. Perhaps you’d be brought in front of the king. Made to answer for your crimes and tortured to reveal the names of others doing the same. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to speak at all. Considered an enemy and a traitor to the king, maybe you’d just be executed without trial.

You wonder what would happen. If your sister would still be wed to the prince. Or if your treachery would be dire enough to overrule even something as sacred as prophecy. 

Footsteps never faltering, you suppose it’s not worth mulling over now. You’ll know soon enough. The man who you follow now is either a friend or a foe. 

And in either case, he’s leading you somewhere. To something. Perhaps someone. 

Whatever your fate is, it doesn’t rest on a messenger’s shoulders. 

You reach the end of another impossibly long, dimly lit passage. The man in front of you stops so suddenly you nearly walk straight into his back. 

Startled, your eyes widen as he turns to you. 

He pauses a moment, something almost apologetic in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m afraid I’ll have to conceal your sight from here.” 

Reaching into his pocket, he reveals a nondescript black scrap of fabric. It’s frayed at the edges, just slightly. A makeshift blindfold. 

“I’m not permitted to see?” This time, you can’t quite contain the tremble in your voice. You work in dying daylight, yes, but the thought of losing your vision frightens you more than you care to admit. 

The man only shakes his head. 

Taking a deep breath, you nod. As if he needs your permission to secure the fabric over your eyes, tying the ends into a firm knot against the crown of your head. 

With a surprisingly gentle grip, he places your hand against the crook of his elbow. And then you’re walking again. 

At first, you try to remember your steps. 

Straight. Approximately seventy paces. A left turn, followed rapidly by a right. 

But the longer minutes continue to pass, the more unsure you become. Was it a right turn followed by a left? Or two right turns in a row? 

Your mind begins to falter, unsure of itself. Unease increases steadily.

Surely if this were the work of the resistance, blindfolding you would be unnecessary. You would need to learn this path, find your way back to their stronghold independently. 

You refuse to panic. You’re alone with nothing but a dagger strapped to your thigh. With every step, it begins to feel more and more like a wooden sword. A table knife. 

You think of your sister. Of Sunghoon and the others. 

Of Jaeyun. 

You never got to say goodbye. 

The arm beneath your hold pauses, steadies the both of you. You hear hinges protesting as a door opens. And then you're going down. 

Down, down, down an endless set of steps. So far that you’re sure you must be walking yourself straight to the deepest castle dungeons. 

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. It’s difficult to tell, in this blanket of darkness. 

Until suddenly, you’re on flat ground again. The man’s voice, still curt, instructs, “You may remove your blindfold.”

Pushing the fabric upwards, it doesn’t take your eyes long to adjust. 

The lighting is dim here, but far warmer than you’d expect so deep beneath the ground. Glancing around, you find yourself in the center of a small chamber. Seats, full of cushions and fine fabrics, line the spaces where you expected to find prison cells. 

There’s a carpet on the ground. One embroidered by expert hands, if the detail work is anything to go by. Paintings on the walls. Landscapes, primarily. Scenes from flowing rivers and dense forests and wide, open fields blossoming in the springtime. 

There are maps, too. Of the kingdom and its neighbors. Some that center the castle and others that extend far beyond it. You could easily locate your childhood home if given a few seconds to concentrate .Several are marked with ink. Scribbles, lines, symbols you don’t recognize but wish you had a chance to study. 

And in front of you, at the head of the room, in a chair that is no throne but bleeds authority all the same, sits the crown prince Yang Jungwon. 

Immediately, you drop into a curtsey. Even under the strangest of circumstances, it would seem that old habits die hard. 

“Your Highness,” you breathe, gaze trained on the floor as your heart hammers against your ribcage. 

When the prince speaks, it’s not to you. “Good heavens, Heeseung, did you drag the girl out of bed?”

Remembering your current state of dress, heat gathers in your cheeks. You’re suddenly grateful for your position that obscures your face from view. Although you rather wish the ground would just swallow you whole. 

“You said it was an urgent matter,” the man, Heeseung, explains. “That no time was to be wasted.”

“I didn’t…” The prince’s words trail to a sigh. “Please, Miss ____,” he addresses you. “Stand.”

Rising to full height, your eyes make slow work of trailing the ground in front of you, flickering over the carpet beneath your feet without really seeing any of it, continuing forwards until your head stands straight on your shoulders, eyes landing square on the kingdom’s only son. Your sister’s betrothed. 

For a moment, he just looks back at you, lips slightly parted. 

You suppose the prince is handsome, in an untouchable sort of way. Your sister has always spoken highly of his looks, and you can’t fault her for it. 

Dark hair kisses his cheekbones, frames delicate, almost feline features. His skin is smooth, unblemished. High angles and sharp lines and the prominent, traceable slope of his nose, his jaw, his neck. 

The prince wears a lithe frame, coiled in muscle won from function, from use. Long afternoons on horseback, refining skills in archery and swordsmanship. 

And his eyes. God, his eyes. Sharp and distinguished. Burdened with the knowledge of a scholar and diplomacy of a politician. Assessing, searching, reflecting the few sources of light in this chamber like they’re made of stolen stars. 

Deep beneath the castle, time holds little meaning. But you know it can’t be much later than noon. Suddenly, you’re struck with the strangest urge to see him in sunlight. Watch it dance over his royal features with favor. 

Across from you, the prince does the same. He assesses you, silent as his eyes find new places to land. You’re not sure what he’s looking for. What he finds. But eventually, you grow tired of the impasse. 

“Forgive me, Your Highness, for speaking out of turn.” The prince takes the slight with nothing more than an arched eyebrow. “But if I may, I would like to know the meaning behind this… visit.”

“You’re bold, Miss ____.” It’s the second time he’s said your name, and it rattles something deep inside you. “First you steal a man’s horse and then you speak out of turn to beg him for answers.”

There’s no trace of malice in his voice, but your blood runs cold all the same. 

“Forgive me,” you repeat, chest tightening, “but I’m not sure I understand—”

“Allow me to be plain, then.” he interrupts. “Let us establish a common truth first. Last night, approximately five bell chimes after the midnight hour, you left the castle grounds.”

Panic claws at your throat. “Your Highness, I—”

The prince won’t hear your excuses. “All I require is a simple true or false.”

There’s no use lying. He knows. He knows. 

Rocks forming in the pit of your stomach, you whisper, “True.”

“Excellent,” he levels, voice betraying nothing. “We’ve established one truth, then. Now, for our second. When you fled, you did so on horseback.”

The white horse. That damn white horse. You want to laugh at the irony, at the terrible absurdity of it all. Jaeyun said it himself: 

“If you told me he was the prince’s horse, I wouldn’t even question it.”

Now, all you can do is stand as dread gathers in your gut. Was this all some sort of elaborate scheme? Was the note from Sunghoon falsely planted? Is Sunghoon a palace spy?

Your mind is whirring. Against every nerve in your body screaming in protest, you whisper, “True.”

“Right. This horse, he’s kept in the eastern stable, near the gardens. Responds to the name Maeum.”

“True, Your Highness.”

“I suppose you may not have known,” the prince pauses, “but Maeum is my horse. He was a gift, actually, for my sixteenth birthday.”

The words are tumbling out before you can stop them, “Forgive me your highness, please.” Dropping to your knees, you plead for your life, “I meant no disrespect to you or your stables. It was foolish, I know, but I was craving a bit of fresh air, and Maeum seemed to be the horse with the best temperament. I had no idea he belonged to Your Highness. If I had, I would have never—”

“Fresh air?” The prince’s voice is controlled, but something simmers beneath it. As if he knows something you don’t. “Is that how it’s referred to these days?”

“I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. The air inside castle grounds is of course excellent, as well—”

“I am not concerned about air quality but rather your excuse itself.” The prince leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Unless fresh air suddenly refers to trading insider secrets about crop production and diplomatic peace reports, then I’m afraid I find your explanation rather lacking.”

No.

No.

No no no no no no.

He knows. The crown prince knows. You’re not sure how much, but it's enough. It’s treason. It’s a death sentence.

This chamber may not look like a prison, but you're suddenly confronted with the reality that you very likely won’t make it out of here alive.

“Please, I—” Begging for your life feels useless. “Please, my sister. She has nothing to do with this, I swear.”

A crease forms between his eyebrows. “I’m not… your sister has no place in this conversation.”

Oh, thank the heavens. If nothing else, at least you can rest knowing your sister won’t be punished for your crimes. “Thank you, Your Grace, for your mercy. I know my life holds little value, but I swear to you that if you spare me, I—”

“You misunderstand. Please, Miss ___. Lift your head.”

You remain on your knees, but you know better than to ignore a prince’s command. Dragging your head up, you lift your eyes until your chin is parallel to the floor.

Looking you directly in the eye, he says, a bit softer, “I’m not going to kill you.”

Confusion, relief have you forgetting propriety. “You’re not?”

The prince shakes his head. “What you’ve done is treason, yes, but I find that things are rarely that simple.”

He takes a slow breath. “You’ve lived in the castle since you were a child. You are no fool. You know the expectations and the rules. And the consequences of breaking them. So it begs the question, Miss ___. Why?”

“Why?” You echo.

“Why you risk your life multiple times a day, gathering intelligence, obtaining secrets, passing along parcels of information. I imagine it’s not for lack of entertainment. From my understanding, most palace ladies of your age enjoy hobbies such as painting, embroidery, and the occasional dance lesson.”

“I’ve never been much of a painter.”

“Regarless,” the prince shakes his head, “your painting skills do little to change the fact that outside the castle walls, food rations continue to shrink. Failing diplomatic policies are leading to unrest with our neighbors. Disruptions in trade that people rely on for their livelihood.”

It takes a good deal of effort to keep your mouth from dropping open in shock. Never once have you heard even the slightest whisper of a royal caring what happens outside the palaCe walls. “I wasn’t aware that the strain had reached all the way to Your Highness.”

“It hasn’t.” He shakes his head. “Not directly. Our tables are full. Our finery well stocked. But a good king looks beyond his castle, does he not?”

Here, you must tread carefully. “I won’t pretend to know the burden of ruling. But goodness is subjective. It seems a king would have many other considerations to make.”

“Perhaps some do,” he agrees. “But only a fool with a crown considers himself before his people.”

Matching his eye, you say, “This kingdom will be lucky, then, to have a ruler who holds them in such high esteem.”

“I hope so,” the prince nods. Pausing for a moment, he continues, “My wedding is to be held at the end of the month. And my coronation shortly thereafter. I know it sounds strange given my position, but there are things, whispers, rumors, that I believe you are far more well versed in than I. I would appreciate any… guidance you could provide me. At least until then.”

“Guidance?” You echo. 

The prince nods. “Which systems are failing, which  people are feeling the strain the most. Which royal decrees have a favorable impact outside the castle grounds and which do not. This sort of thing.”

For a moment, it’s difficult not to doubt your own ears. It’s ridiculous, all things considered. “Are you saying…?”

“That I want your assistance in committing crimes against the crown? Yes, I suppose I am.” Across from you, the prince sighs. “This kingdom has been allowed to run at the mercy and whim of its rulers for too long. People are suffering. Relations are collapsing. My birth, my reign, they’re meant to bring peace. Prosperity. I’ve warred and struggled with myself, and I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Can it really be called treason if done for the betterment of the kingdom? Can it really be called allegiance if done solely for a king?”

For a moment, silence stuns you. And then—

“I wouldn’t dare to speak my thoughts on kings in front of Your Highness.”

“Why not?” He’s looking at you now. Really looking. “Because it’s improprietous? Because it’s treason? I was under the impression that you’re rather well acquainted with both already.”

Your lips remain fully sealed. 

“Very well,” the prince acquiesces. “I won’t push any further. The man who escorted you, his name is Heeseung.” A glance around the chamber reveals that sometime during your conversation, Heeseung has made himself scarce. It’s just you and the prince. Glancing over your state of dress, a faint flush rises on his cheeks. “I apologize for his… imprudence earlier. He works as a scribe in the royal archives. You can pass information along to him. Or to me, of course, although I may at times be a bit more difficult to find.” 

He has it all figured out, your arrangement. But you’re still hung up on one crucial piece of information. One you find thus far to be rather lacking. 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The prince pauses for a moment, considering. Eventually, he says, “I suppose you don’t. But isn’t trust a bit superfluous? I don’t mean to speak too bluntly, but I don’t believe you’re operating under any illusions. If I truly wished it, you’d be dead.”

You won’t give in so easily. “I trust that you want me alive for the time being. That is not what I inquire. How do I know that our views are aligned, that any information I may pass along will be used in a way I also see fit? How can trust be… superfluous, when it’s what builds empires, what crumbles them?”

For a moment, your prince does nothing but look at you. His expression is guarded as he weighs his words carefully. 

A moment passes. Another. An all too familiar feeling of nausea begins to roll in your gut. 

You try your best not to let the sudden urge to be sick affect you, but you can’t quite suppress the wince that crosses your features.

 And then, as if he’s whispering it directly into your ear, you hear, “A leap of faith, then. It will have to be. And in time, I’ll hope to earn just a fraction of your trust.”

It’s the voice. The one that's been haunting your dreams. Your waking visions. The source of your migraines, the interruptions to your intuition. 

And in front of you, the prince’s lips remain shut.

Still, you ask, “What?”

He sighs, and this time with his own mouth, tells you, “I am your prince. Soon to be your king. Fortune may not be a fair thing, but it has decided for the both of us that your trust belongs to me. I hope to use it well.”

You have a million questions. A thousand unfinished thoughts. But no matter what voices speak in your mind, he is right about at least one thing.

He is your prince. He will be your king. He holds your, your sister’s, and an entire kingdom’s lives in his hands. 

And this, you realize, is an order. 

Ignoring the tremble in your legs, you once again stand to full height. And immediately drop into the deepest curtsey you can manage. “Very well, Your Highness.”

…..

Despite it all, life proceeds with an almost uncanny sense of normalcy. You begin your morning the day after meeting with the prince in the same way you always do. With a visit to the castle kitchens.

Jay is expecting you. An apron tied around his waist, and a small plate of fresh fruits he slides across the counter towards you, he speaks in hushed tones while he dices vegetables for tonight’s supper. 

“Potatoes,” he whispers. To anyone else, it would look like a simple meeting between friends. 

Your brow furrows. “What of them?”

Jay nods to the cutting board currently beneath his hands. “It’s the fourth evening in a row we’re serving them.”

You frown. “Is that strange? They’re a hearty vegetable, and they grow in abundance this time of year.”

“Right,” Jay nods. “But the king grows restless if served the same dish more than once within a fortnight. The last head chef was demoted to kitchen help less than a year ago for a much less egregious repetition.”

“What does that mean? Low crop production?” You speculate. 

“Perhaps,” Jay agrees. “It could also be trade issues. More valuable crops being used to barter for other necessities.”

It’s confusing. Just yesterday, the prince told you that the royal kitchens were still well stocked. The royal family was still eating well. 

“Is this a recent development?” You ask. 

“Fairly.” Without ever pausing his cutting, Jay adds, “The choice of potatoes is also interesting within itself. Nutritionally, they’re quite dense. It’s much easier to create a full, hearty meal, or at least the illusion of one, than it is with other vegetables."

“I’ll speak with Sunoo,” you nod. “He mentioned last time that the plans for new fields are quite conservative this year. I wonder if low overall production, or at least low variety, has anything to do with it.” 

Taking a bite of the apple slices he prepared for you, you add, “Thank you, Jay. Take care of yourself.”

At that, he does pause. Setting the knife down, he looks up at you for a moment. “You too, ___. Be careful.”

You smile, easy and bright. “I always am.”

The straight set to Jay’s lips doesn’t budge. “I mean it, ___. Things are… strange these days. I know how valuable your information is, but you need to look out for yourself too.”

You frown at the sudden urgency in his voice. “I know, Jay. I will. I think people are just on edge with the upcoming wedding and coronation. Transitions in a kingdom are always a bit unnerving. Especially since Mina’s just… well, you know.” You shrug. “We’re certainly not royalty.”

“Could have fooled me.” Jay grins, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite disappear fully. “Look at you, sitting like a lady, eating my apples.” 

You roll your eyes, taking another bite with an exaggerated crunch. 

“Right. Well, this lady has a groundskeeper to visit.”

“I won’t keep you, then.”

“Thank you, Jay,” you tell him, standing up from the counter. “For the apples and the… conversation. I’ll see you again soon.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Making your way back through the corridors, his words play back in your mind. First, you wrestle with the idea of poor crop production. It’s strange, but you won’t know anything for sure until you have a chance to speak with Sunoo. 

Tucking that away for later, your mind spins through some of Jay’s other claims. 

Lady. Despite the childhood you’ve spent in the castle, you’ve never really considered yourself such. You and Mina were brought here as children, but the distinction was always clear. The separation was always made. 

The only reason you were behind these walls instead of outside of them was because of a prophecy. One you were far too young to understand. 

Even if you had been older, it’s not as if you had the chance to hear it from the seer’s mouth yourself. Instead, it had been divulged to you in the one direct conversation you’ve ever had with your king. 

That night, so many years ago the memory is beginning to blur around the edges, the king of your nation told you and your sister in plain words that the two of you were to come to the castle. To live there. 

That in due time, your sister would marry his son, the prince. Even now, you remember how he spat the words like venom, as if they tasted bitter on his tongue.

The world could never know, he said. Prophecies were a fickle thing, and the less people to know, the better. To the kingdom’s knowledge, you two would be the daughters of his late wife’s dear friend from a distant kingdom. Children whose parents had been lost to senseless violence. 

Not royal, not noble, but at least somewhat respectable members of society instead of the daughters of an impoverished blacksmith. A symbol of the king’s graciousness and goodwill. 

You would be trained, of course, in the manners of court. How to sit, how to speak, how to walk. The bulk of this particular attention had always gone to Mina, the future bride of his son, but you were not exempt entirely.

Looking down at your hands now, you wonder, not for the first time, where the truth begins and ends. Your hands are well versed in embroidery, in poetry, in penmanship. 

But they’re also rough, full of callouses from you illicit nightly errands on horseback. 

Are you a lady? You’re not really sure. It’s never been the identity you’ve pondered when others feel far more pressing. 

Rebel. Traitor. Forgotten sister.

And now, apparently, personal informant for the crown prince.  

Whichever it is, you still have a job to do. And Sunoo’s expecting you. 

By the time you make it to the eastern crop fields, Sunoo is taking fertilizer inventory. Sunlight shining on his dark hair, he startles a bit when you clear your throat behind him. 

“Oh!” He turns in surprise. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?” But he’s smiling at you like an old friend. 

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I didn’t realize fertilizer could require so much fascination.”

“Fascination, no,” Sunoo corrects. “Concentration, yes. You might find this interesting, actually. We’ve been asked to ration it.”

“Ration fertilizer?” Your nose scrunches. “Isn’t it just made of cow dung?”

Sunoo’s lips flatten. “Among other things, yes. Primarily a nitrogen-rich soil that we’ve been trading with our northern neighbors for decades. I guess it’s becoming a bit more difficult to come by these days.”  

“Or,” you counter, “something is disrupting trade.”

“That’s possible as well,” Sunoo nods.

Pausing for a moment to consider, you press forward, “I actually came here to ask about something. Potatoes. Has there been an increase in potato allocation?”

A mild flicker of shock crosses his features. “Yes, actually. I’d have to check the records to be sure, but some of the other fields, mostly carrots, beets, and radish, were ordered for replanting with potato crops. How did you know?”

“The kitchens,” you explain. “They’re serving potatoes almost nightly. Do you know why they increased potato crops?”

Sunoo shakes his head. “I haven’t heard anything directly, but potatoes have always been fairly abundant. They grow well here. And it is cheaper overall to have less diversity across the fields.” 

“So it’s a way of cutting costs, then.”

Sunoo nods. “Probably.”

“Have any other crops been removed?”

“Nothing’s been taken out entirely, but there have been similar orders, particularly in fruits. They’ve reduced vineyard production, as well as plums, figs, and strawberries. The only place that was expanded was the apple orchard.”

You think of the apples Jay gave you this morning. “Another less expensive crop.”

Again, Sunoo nods. “It is.”

You pause for a moment, considering. “Thank you, Sunoo.”

“Of course.” He hesitates for a moment. “Is there… I know there have been rumors. Increasing unrest. More disrupted trade routes. Is it true?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “But I think it very well could be. You know as well as I do that the people outside these walls are no stranger to struggle. But the king has always gouged himself on grapes and wine and exotic vegetables. For even the royal kitchens to Jace such limits… Something else must be happening.”

Sunoo pauses for a moment, thinking. “I hope what they say is true, about the prince.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just speculation.” Sunoo shrugs. “Likely wishful thinking, but people are ready for change. The fact that the prince selected a bride without a crown—” He pauses, suddenly remembering your relation. “I mean no offense, of course.”

“None taken,” you shake your head. “It’s the truth.” And only a fraction of it. 

“Well, people hope that it’s a sign. That their new king values power and status less than his father. That he’ll consider the needs of his kingdom and not just live out a reign in search of self-serving pleasures.”

You can’t help it, the way your mind immediately goes to the prince. 

“But only a fool with a crown considers himself before his people.”

“It’s unfounded, I know,” Sunoo adds when you remain silent. “Nothing but a fool’s hope.”

“Perhaps,” you nod. “But perhaps not.” Turning to him, there’s a genuine earnestness in your gaze when you say, “Perhaps our prince will surprise us yet.”

Despite yourself, you hope it’s true too.

You’ve nearly made it back to your bedroom when the second summons in the span of days comes. 

This one, at least, is a bit less terrifying. Although it does inspire a similar sense of dread. 

The ladies’ maid waiting outside your door holds only a letter in her hands. One she passes to you with a bow and a customary greeting before hurrying back down the hall. 

Unlocking your bedroom door, you close it tightly shut behind you before sitting at the foot of your bed. Then, you slide your finger under the seal of the envelope, feeling nothing but slight resistance as it opens in your hands. 

Miss ____, the letter reads. 

Your presence is requested at the eighteenth hour of the same day this message is delivered. Please arrive promptly to the royal tailor’s fitting rooms at the requested time. 

You’re not entirely sure what to expect. When Riki has information, he usually goes about summoning you in less formal manners. But it’s difficult to think of any other business you could possibly have with the royal tailor. 

Well, you suppose, looking at the clock, you only have approximately an hour before your summoning time. You’ll find out soon enough.

…..

It’s a shame you aren’t in need of more gowns. The royal tailor is in possession of one of the loveliest rooms you’ve ever seen. 

Surrounded in golden dipped mirrors, the room reflects shiny things like it loves them. Instead of a traditional ceiling, the space above you is lined with windows. Skylights, they’re called. Designed to maximize the amount of natural light inside the room. To show how fabrics will looks and dresses will move beneath the sun.

In the early hours of the evening, candlelight picks up the slack for dying rays of sunlight. Still, the room is beautiful. Sparkling in a way that’s almost alive. 

In the center of the room stands the royal tailor. Hands always full of fabric and pincushions and a measuring tape, he places another pin in Mina’s bodice.

Mina. Your sister. Despite the fact that the two of you technically share a home, this is the first time you’ve seen her in nearly a week. 

A year your elder, age has been nothing but kind to her. She may not be royal yet, but she’s been groomed for queendom since she was a toddler.

Her skin glows with a certain vitality, hair shines from the efforts of custom hairbrushes and rare, expensive serums.

You see some of your own features reflected on her impossibly beautiful face, and you can’t quite explain in words the way it makes you feel like hiding. 

Beauty has never been at the top of your list of concerns, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t care at all. To say that the sight of your older sister positively glowing at her wedding dress fitting doesn’t make you simmer with something akin to jealousy. 

Even if Mina’s beauty weren’t so certain, the gown she wears would certainly pick up the slack. Much like the room around it, it’s less white than it is iridescent. It glows and glimmers and glides across each plane of your sister’s body like a lover’s caress. 

She’s practically dipped in starlight. Ethereal, stunning, painfully beautiful. 

She must know it too.

Still, there’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice when she catches your gaze in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Mina,” you tell her truthfully. “You’re glowing, truly.”

Still, something in her wavers. “Is it fit for a queen?” 

“How could it not be, when it’s fit for you? And you are to be queen.” In this moment, you almost wish you knew her better. It’s a strange thought, that her ladies’ maid could probably provide her more comfort than you. Abate her woes with a more expert hand. 

“I suppose so. Have you thought more, about what you might wear to the wedding?”

You scoff. “No one cares what I wear.”

“Of course they do,” Mina counters. “Youre the sister of the queen. It would be foolish to think no eyes will be on you.”

“Whatever you think will suit me, then.”

Mina sighs, shaking her head slightly. “You’re hopeless. I’m to try on my coronation gown as well. Come, stand with the tailor and decide on a fabric while I change.”

“Forgive me,” the tailor speaks, “but I’m afraid I must accompany you, my lady. I would like to place a few more pins.”

“Very well,” Mina nods. “Then your assistant can accompany my sister.”

“Indeed,” the tailor agrees. “Riki,” he calls, “would you please assist Miss ___ in finding a suitable fabric?”

Stepping to the center, Riki bows in agreement. “Of course, sir.”

Your sister takes careful, measured steps on the arm of the tailor, and you watch as they exit to the adjoining room, door clicking shut behind them.

“Let me guess,” you mumble wryly, “lemon yellow would be just perfect for my features.” 

Riki just laughs. “I was thinking vomit green might suit you more.”

“Of course you were.” You roll your eyes. 

“Stand up,” he instructs, tone still light. “Come stand here.”

Your feet drag, but you follow his instructions. Stood in the center of the room, you can’t help but find the mirrors rather unforgiving. You understand Jaeyun’s concern from a few nights ago. You really do look like you haven’t slept in ages. 

Even if you were well rested, Mina is a difficult act to follow. Your clothes are plain. Utilitarian. Clean and well-made, yes, but nondescript all the same. Eyes trailing upwards, you can’t help but think the same of your face. 

Everything is duller in comparison. Your hair doesn’t shine the way hers does. Your skin doesn’t glow with radiance. There’s nothing special or royal or extraordinary in your reflection. You’re just… you. 

Still, Riki treats you like a high paying client. 

When he returns to your side, he holds two fabrics. One a rich burgundy and the other a deep violet. 

“What do you think of these?” he asks. In the mirror he holds them up to your chest, eyes narrowing as he tests them against your reflection. 

“They’re pretty,” you nod, suddenly finding it hard to maintain eye contact with your reflection. “Either’s fine.”

Riki drops the fabrics back to his side, exasperation crossing his features. “That is not the reaction I want from someone choosing a gown.”

“How can I?” you ask. Riki turns from you, takes a few steps back towards the dresser. He sets his original choices to the side and begins searching for another fabric. “You of all people know I have other things on my mind.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, back still turned. 

“Speaking of which,” you glance over your shoulder, ensuring the door to the adjoining room is still firmly shut. “Anything new to report these days? Any more tidbits from the palace ladies?”

After all, no one has a better penchant for gossip than them. It’s why you’ve learned some of your most valuable secrets from Riki. It’s amazing what people will divulge in the presence of someone they deem lesser than themselves. 

“Nothing much.” He shakes his head. “More of the same, mostly. Complaints about not being able to purchase their favorite tea leaves or jewelry or rouge anymore. A lord’s daughter did request a pair of leather shoes that we had to deny. Our stock has been low for months. Reserved for the royal family only.”

“Low leather supply?” you echo. 

“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still rifling through drawers. “It’s unusual, but not uncommon. Supplies ebb and flow. Some things are hard to come by for a while and then suddenly, they’re available in abundance again. I’m not sure if it’s anything worth noting.”

“Right,” you nod, but you tuck away the information regardless. 

After another moment of searching, Riki stands back up to full height. Turning to face you, he asks, “What about this?”

Your lips press together. “Gold?” you inquire flatly.

“Something shiny for the vision of radiance herself.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” He shakes his head. “I really think this would suit you.” Stepping back to your side, he holds the shimmering fabric against your reflection in the mirror. 

You hate to admit it, but he might be right. Immediately, your features look softer. Something about the shimmer brings out your eyes, makes the curve of your lips appear almost more feminine. 

“See,” he urges. “It looks nice.”

“Isn’t gold a bit much for a wedding guest?”

“You’re more than a guest. You may not be queen, but this wedding will make you royal, too, you know. Even if it’s by relation. Eyes are going to be on you. You may as well look the part.”

A moment passes. Another. 

And then, you nod, almost imperceptible. You watch in the mirror as your chin moves. Quietly, you acquiesce, “Okay.”

“Good, then,” he nods. “It’s decided. Now, for silhouette—”

“I’ll leave that to you,” you interrupt. “Really, Riki,” you add when he gives you a look, “I’m sure you know much more about silhouette than I do. Besides, I trust you.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll send you a summons when it’s time for fitting.” 

“I’ll await it eagerly,” you tell him, trying not to let yourself sound too sarcastic. Glancing again towards the door, you ask, “Do you think I can sneak out before Mina starts her coronation gown fitting?”

Riki smiles, but shakes his head slightly. “Probably not. She values your opinion, you know. Besides, you’re not the only one who will be giving input.”

“What?” you ask. “Who else—?”

A knock sounds sharply against the main door, interrupting your question. 

With an exaggerated sense of urgency, the adjoining room opens, the tailor practically running to the source of the knock. In his wake, your sister trails. This time, the gown she wears is far less ornate. 

It’s a beautiful shade of violet, not dissimilar from the first fabric sample Riki showed you earlier. Fit for royalty. Perfect for a new bride to celebrate the ascension of her husband to the throne. 

To your left, the tailor falls into a deep bow as Riki slowly pulls the door open. 

And in walks the crown prince of the kingdom. 

It’s hardly been a day since you saw him, but still, the sight makes you draw in a sharp breath. 

It feels different. He feels more real, more solid somehow here, above the ground than he did in the chamber in the underbelly of the castle. 

At your side, your sister drops into a curtsey. 

Across the room, the prince’s eyes land on you. He holds eye contact, and you forget yourself for a moment longer. 

The sound of rustling fabric breaks your trance. Remembering yourself, you fall into a curtsey identical to Mina’s. 

“Your Highness,” you whisper beneath your breath, too low for him to possibly hear. 

“Please,” he addresses the room. “Stand.”

“Thank you,” your sister says, voice breathier than you’ve ever heard it, “for joining us, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” he responds. The edge from his voice, the tremor of desperation, is nowhere to be found. He’s every bit the measured prince when he adds, “It is tradition for an incumbent king to approve the coronation gown of his bride.”

Your eyes are still trained on the floor. You can feel his flickering over your features. 

“This is what we’ve decided on, my prince.” Your sister speaks with an even tone. “A violet color to represent the transition to the highest form of royalty. With flowers, lillies, embroidered into the sleeves to represent luck and prosperity for our kingdom.”

“It suits the occasion,” he nods. “Perhaps I too could have lilies embroidered on my sleeve.”

Orchids, you think, still not daring to look up fully. Your sister is a well-trained royal, but you were always a bit better at your studies. Particularly with details requiring memorization. 

Botany was a favorite subject of yours, reinforced by the time you still spend in the gardens. Even now, you remember the text as if it were laid in front of you. 

Lilies for harmony and fortune, peonies for wealth and honor, lotus for inner peace and spiritual growth. 

And orchids. For luck and prosperity. 

You dare not speak to correct her. It is hardly your place. And, you suppose, in the end, it will make little difference. Harmony and fortune are fitting wishes for his reign as well. 

“Of course,” the tailor agrees. “It would be an honor to add a lovely lily motif to your sl—”

“Or perhaps,” The prince interrupts. “We could change the flowers to orchids.”

At that, your gaze does snap up. And it locks right onto his. 

“Forgive me,” the prince continues. “Botany was never my strongest subject, but I believe it’s orchids, not lilies that have historically symbolized luck and prosperity.” 

It’s a terrible offence of propriety, the way you stare at the crown prince as if he’s grown a second head. 

But to hell with propriety. If you didn’t know better, you would think that the prince just read your mind. 

“I apologize,” he says. “I know you must have already dedicated much time and effort to embroidering such lovely lilies, but orchids were practically shouting at me.”

“Please!” the tailor practically exclaims. “It would be an honor to do the embroidery a thousand times over if Your Highness so wished it. And what a great mind you have. I should be embarrassed to have made such an egregious error, but I am rather so very impressed with your knowledge of flowers.”

“Thank you,” he inclines his head. “For your gracious understanding. With the changes, I approve this coronation gown.”

There’s a moment of suspended silence. The prince's mouth closes. Opens again.  

Your head is still spinning, racing a million miles a minute. It could just be a coincidence, but you have that feeling again. Deep in your gut. Something that burns like nausea but begs you to lean in. To embrace the discomfort and discover what lies beneath. 

Then the prince looks at you and asks, “What will you be wearing?”

You must have misheard him. He must be addressing someone else. He must.

“Me, Your Highness?”

But the prince only nods. 

“I…” You trail off, lost for words. “I don’t know. It hasn’t been discussed yet. I—”

“Something light, I think,” he interrupts. Looking directly at you, he tilts his head to the side, considering. “A pale blue, perhaps. Or maybe gold. With orchids too, of course. I’d like to be consulted before you make a final decision.”

Heat rises in your cheeks, your skin flaming as he assesses you. 

The tailor coughs. “Oh, I… of course, Your Highness. You shall be the first to know when we’ve decided on a color for your bride’s sister’s gown.”

“Very well,” he nods. “I’ll take my leave, then. Thank you for your time” Glancing around the room, his eyes land on you once again. Linger for a moment too long before he breaks contact. First, he addresses your sister. “Until next time, my lady.” And then he says to you, “Goodbye, Miss ___.”

And then, just as quickly as he came, he’s gone once again.

A rather uncomfortable silence settles around you as the room reels in his absence. The tailor is the one to break it. 

After another forced cough, he says, “Well, I think we have our work cut out for us, Riki.”

Riki, doesn’t even spare the man a glance. Instead, he looks at you, gaze sharp and all too knowing. “Indeed we do.”

…..

The eastern stables are quiet tonight. Just as they always are. 

No matter how many alarming pieces of information you pick up around the castle and how many ways the prince manages to catch you off guard, at least this is always the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to speak to Sunghoon yet, so you’re praying that Blossom has made a full recovery and will be waiting for you behind the stable doors. If she’s not, you don’t know what you’ll do. Jaeyun’s expecting you tonight. 

But if Blossom is out of commission, you can hardly ride Maeum again. Not after what happened with the prince.

Pushing open the door at the far edge, you avoid the pressure points that make the hinges whine. The last thing you need is a startled horse. Especially one that whinnies. 

Pulling the door closed behind you, the light is too dim to make out much of anything. Counting down to Blossom’s usual stall, you nearly give a shout of joy when you find it occupied. 

“Good girl,” you whisper, pulling a carrot from your bag. “Good job, Blossom. You made a full recovery, didn’t you.” 

But as you reach up to stroke her mane, you realize that something is amiss. You’re at Blossom’s stall, yes, but the horse in front of you is not Blossom. The light is too dim to make out much of anything, but you can tell through touch alone that this horse is taller. By at least several inches. 

Squinting, you try to make out any details. You can tell that the horse’s coat is dark, but that’s about it. Reaching into your bag, you pull out your lantern. Striking a flint, you’re careful to avoid any wood and hay as you light the candle inside. 

Holding it up, you assess the horse in front of you. 

Lips pulling downward, you frown. “You’re not Blossom.”

“No, but she might suit you even better.”

In your surprise, you nearly drop your lantern. A certain disaster in a stable full of hay.

Spinning on your heel, heart hammering against your ribcage, you whip your head around to find none other than the prince of the kingdom. Leaned against the wall of the stable like it was made to do so. Like there’s nothing strange about him being here well past midnight. 

“What,” you hiss, still finding yourself short of breath after the fright he gave you, “are you doing?”

It’s no way to address a prince, but in the cover of midnight, he hardly looks the part. Wearing black head to toe, gone is the regalia, the finery that marks his position. 

His head is bare. Empty of the crown you’ve come to associate so closely with him. It makes him look strange. Younger, maybe. 

And you never realized just how long his hair was. 

In the glow of lanternlight, he doesn’t look like a prince. Just a boy. A young man. One you can’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

“I could ask you the same,” he counters. 

“I…” you trail off, remembering yourself. Your status. Dropping into a curtsey, you say, “Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not realize it was you. You startled me.”

“Please, ___.” Your name sounds strange in his mouth, without the ‘Miss.’ More intimate somehow. “Stand up. You can forget your propriety now. Just Jungwon will suffice.”

Jungwon. Jungwon. 

Distantly, you’re aware that it’s his name. But it’s not as if you’ve ever used it before. Even in your mind, the most private of your thoughts, he’s always been the prince or Your Highness. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Is it really so strange?” he asks. “To call me by my name?”

Your eyes fly to his. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Speak to me as if you can hear what’s in my head.”

For a moment, he does nothing more than look at you. His expression betrays nothing. 

After another beat of silence, he finally says, “Close your eyes.”

“What?” you balk.

“Please,” he says. “If I need to command it, I will. But I’d rather you just trust me.” His eyes are imploring, begging for a bit of faith. Again, he asks, “Close your eyes, ____. Please.”

You stare at him a moment longer. What you’re searching for, you aren’t entirely sure. And then, despite your better judgement begging you not to, you draw your eyelids closed. 

Losing what little light your lantern provides, the world around you goes dark. Hands clenched into fists, you can only hope your small shreds of trust haven’t been misplaced. 

A beat passes. Another. Nothing happens. The night stands still. 

And then, as if whispered against the shell of your ear, you hear it. Clear as day. 

Hello.

It’s his voice. You're sure of it. Eyes flying open, you expect to find him standing so close you could touch him. But the prince is still motionless, still leaning against the wall of the stable. A good four paces from you. 

“You heard it,” he asks, lips drawing thin as if he’s just confirmed a hypothesis. “Didn’t you?”

“I… I heard you, but it wasn’t real. It was like—”

“Like it was coming from inside your own mind,” he finishes. 

You stare at him, lips parted. 

He laughs humorlessly. “Yeah. For months, I’ve been hearing this… this voice in my mind. It wasn’t mine, but sometimes it felt like it was. It was impossible to tell where my thoughts ended and this voice began. I thought I was losing my sanity. The stress of the upcoming coronation was making me insane.”

He looks up at you, eyes assessing. “But then, that day in my chamber beneath the castle. You spoke to me, and it was familiar. Too familiar. And yesterday. In the tailor’s room. It was you, was it not? With the orchids.”

You nearly gasp. You hadn’t been imagining things. He had read your mind. “I thought of them, yes, but I certainly did not intend to… speak to you.”

“I didn’t either.” He shakes his head. “Just now was the first time I attempted to send my voice to you. But it wasn’t the first time you heard it, was it?”

“I cannot be sure—”

He won’t let up so easily. “If you had to guess, then.”

You’re quiet for a moment, weighing your answer. And then you tell him truthfully, “No. No, I suppose it was not.”

The prince looks at you, considering. “There’s something strange between us. A connection.”

With the way your cheeks flame, you're suddenly grateful for the cover of darkness. 

“I cannot pretend to understand it, Your Highness, but—”

“For heaven’s sake,” he exasperates, pushing himself off the stable wall, “we hear one another in our heads. Please, call me Jungwon.”

“I… I couldn’t possibly—”

“Fine,” he says. “Don’t say it then. At least not out loud. Speak it to me. In my mind.”

“I don’t know how,” you protest. 

“Try.”

You stare at him.

The prince doesn’t give in. Instead, he suggests, “It may help to close your eyes.”

For a moment, you just look at him, everything in you screaming in protest. Then, on a long exhale, you close your eyes. 

First, you let the thought pass through your mind. 

Jungwon. 

Even in the sanctity of your mind, it sounds like treason.

Next, you try again. This time, you imagine shouting it across an open field, sending it as far as the wind will carry it.

Jungwon. 

It’s to no avail. You open your eyes. Across from you, the prince just shakes his head. 

It’s not about volume, then. 

This time, you close your eyes, let your eyelids relax as if you were sleeping. You don’t shout. You don’t whisper. Instead, you search. 

For something, anything that might lead you to him. 

The inside of your mind feels like a chamber. Vast, expansive, but entirely self-contained. 

You think about what it sounds like, what it feels like, when he speaks in your mind. The way it always seems as if he’s whispering against your left ear. 

Opening your eyes slowly, you ask aloud, “When you hear my voice, where does it come from?”

He doesn’t need to ask for clarification. The prince knows what you mean. 

Wordlessly, he draws his hand upward, taps the space just beside his right temple, next to his eyebrow. “Here.”

Nodding, you close your eyes again. This time, you imagine closing the space between you. Your hands tremble, heart racing as you picture this phantom of yourself leaning in, far closer to the prince than you could ever dream of being. 

You imagine leaning forward, lips tracing that spot against his temple, feeling a stray strand of hair rustle beneath your lips. 

It’s like using an untrained muscle, stretching a long forgotten ligament. It strains a little. Burns with effort. But it’s there, and it’s real. At least in the expanse of your mind. 

Jungwon, you whisper. But your lips never move. 

You don’t even need to open your eyes. You know he heard it. 

When you do finally look at him again, he’s already staring at you, lips parted. And those eyes. Those damn unnerving eyes that seem to see right through you. 

Now, he’s looking at you in awe. As if you’ve just performed a miracle for him. 

“Do it again,” he whispers.

“Jungwon…”

“My name,” he nods. “Good. Was that so difficult?”

The look you send him is withering. “I hate to part ways early, but I do have a rather important errand to run.”

“More important than the duty you discussed with me?” He arches an eyebrow. “Do you have anything to report yet?”

You shake your head, trying to be firm while remaining subordinate. “I’d be happy to have this discussion at a later time, but I’m afraid I’m occupied at the moment.”

He won’t let you go so easily. “With what? Where exactly do you sneak off to in the night? And don’t tell me it’s for fresh air.”

“No,” you pause for a moment, deciding how much of the truth you should give him. “I have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” He echoes.

“Yes.” You nod. “A rather important one. Hopefully, I’ll have more information to share with you when I return, so if you’ll excuse me—”

His gaze never strays from your face. “Who are you meeting?”

You frown, suddenly defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your concern.”

The prince disagrees. “It’s entirely my concern. You're an informant for me now. Highly valuable. If anything were to happen to you, I could lose a very important source of information.”

“I haven’t even told you anything,” you protest. 

“So you understand my problem.”

It takes a great deal of effort not to roll your eyes. “I’m meeting a friend.”

He’s unrelenting. “Who?”

“I hardly see how that information is relevant to you.”

“I should like to know where to look, who to question, if anything were to happen to you. After all, you are planning to leave the safety of the castle.”

It’s infuriating, the way he has an excuse prepared for every rebuttal you make. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. This is a routine meeting. One that I am now going to be late for.”

“Still, I insist.” An edge of command, of order slips into his tone. One you’d have to be a fool to miss. 

The information you’ve divulged thus far already feels like too much. You’re not sure how much more you can bear to give. “He’s part of the resistance,” you sigh. “He’s like me. Someone who talks to people and monitors tensions and skirmishes and other strange patterns.”

“He?” If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was an echo in the stable.

“Yes, he.”

“What’s his name?”

Jungwon’s been begging for your trust, but this is pushing too far. Jaeyun is one of the only people in the world you consider a true friend. Someone you’d protect with your life. It doesn’t matter if Jungwon’s intentions are entirely aligned with your own. You’re not giving up his name. 

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Very well,” he agrees easily. Too easily. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Your lips draw into a thin line. “You most certainly are not.”

For a moment, Jungwon just looks at you. 

“Fine,” you throw your hands in exasperation, still mindful of the lantern in your grasp. “Fine. His name is Sunghoon. Will that information suffice?’

His voice is low now, dangerous. “How lowly you must think of me, to assume that I don’t even know the name of the castle’s own stable hand.”

A burst of surprise flickers through you. In all honesty, you didn’t think he would know Sunghoon’s name. 

Then, the prince gives you an ultimatum. “Either I come with you, or neither of us goes. And I believe you did say something about already being late.”

You sigh. There is no way you can bring the kingdom’s prince to an illicit, treasonous meeting. Jaeyun will just have to forgive you the next time you manage to sneak out. 

“Fine then,” you drop your shoulders. “We’ll stay. The horse I usually ride seems to be missing, anyway.”

“You didn’t hear me earlier?” Jungwon raises an eyebrow. “Her name is Nabi. She’s new to the castle. A young mare with a sweet temperament. She rarely whinnies even when startled. And she’s quite tall. Long legs. She has one of the fastest gallops I’ve ever seen.”

“A horse that impressive is surely valuable.” You shake your head. “People will notice if she’s ever missing. More tired than she should be.”

Jungwon just looks at you for a moment, and you feel you’ve missed something entirely. 

“She’s yours, ___, if you’ll have her. I know Blossom’s a good mare, but her hoof is taking longer to heal than the veterinarian thought. You won’t be able to ride her for a while. Plus, I happen to know her owner.” Jungwon winces. “Not a very pleasant man, despite his excellent taste in horses. Not someone you wouldn’t want to cross.”

But you’re still stuck on his earlier words. “What do you mean, she’s mine?”

“I mean just that. She won’t be ridden by anyone else here. Sunghoon will take her out for general exercise and care, but she’ll be able to rest during the day when she needs. You won’t need to worry about overworking her at night.”

“I…” you trail off, lost for words. “You did this?”

Jungwon’s expression betrays nothing. “An informant needs to be quick, do they not?”

Turning your back to him, you approach the horse, your horse again. 

“What did you say her name was?”

“Nabi,” Jungwon repeats. “It means—”

“Butterfly,” you finish for him. “Yes, I know.” Taking a deep breath, you turn back to face him, “Listen, Jungwon.” His name still feels strange against your tongue, but that sensation of wrongness is fading quickly. “I understand that you want to rule differently than your father.” You’re not sure when you lost your inhibitions, but something about the low light of the stable is making you feel bold. “I admire it, actually. But my friend, this network of resistance, they’re important to me. I know that you’re used to giving orders, but please just… please listen to me while we’re out there. I don’t think anything out of the ordinary will happen, but if it does, I need to know that I can trust you.”

For a moment, Jungwon says nothing. And then you hear it, quiet and familiar as a lover’s caress in your ear. 

I promise. 

The shudder that runs the length of your spine has nothing to do with the nighttime chill. 

And then, a handful of minutes later, dressed in black and trading in secrets like a pair of bandits, the two of you set out from the stables into the inky darkness of the night.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

Jake didn’t see the suitcase at first.

He didn’t see anything. 

He was too busy wallowing.

“I treat them well, right? I’m nice. I try. I’m not a jerk. I’m respectful. And somehow, they still leave. Every. Single. Time. So clearly the common denominator is me—”

“Mhm.”

“So maybe relationships just aren’t in the cards for me. Maybe I should take a break. A long break. Like a… celibate monk arc or something.”

“That sounds dramatic.”

Jake lifted his head. “I’m dramatic! I’m heartbroken!”

Heeseung zipped up his duffel bag with one hand and tossed a pair of sunglasses in after it. “Then come be a camp counselor with me this summer.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

Heeseung shrugged. “Fresh air. No dating apps. No situationships. No exes. Just kids, nature, and free meals. Might fix your brain.”

Jake stared.

Heeseung continued stuffing socks into corners of the bag.

Jake stared harder.

Heeseung wasn’t kidding, was he?

Jake sat up straighter. A distraction. A purpose. Something new. Something healthy. A break from the heartbreak factory his dating life had become.

He latched onto the idea like a lifeline.

“You know what? You’re right.” Jake sprang to his feet with renewed determination. “I’ll do it.”

Heeseung snorted. “Bro, I was just—”

Too late.

Jake was already gone.

The next morning Heeseung opened his door—and froze.

Because on his porch stood Jake Sim:

Two duffel bags slung over his shoulders.

A bright orange life vest buckled proudly over his shirt.

Sunscreen unevenly smeared in streaks across his face.

A crooked baseball cap.

Sunglasses too big for his head.

A whistle hanging around his neck.

Hiking boots untied.

And the most earnest, determined expression imaginable 

“Morning!” Jake chirped breathlessly. “I’m ready.”

Heeseung blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“…You’re joking.”

“Nope!” Jake stepped forward cheerily, boots thudding on the wooden porch. “Signed up, got accepted, printed the forms, even watched a knot-tying tutorial.”

“But—but I wasn’t serious—”

“Too late! I’m already mentally in nature mode.”

Heeseung ran a hand down his face. “Jaeyun, you look—ridiculous.”

“Prepared,” Jake corrected, beaming.

And prepared he was—prepared enough that when they arrived, he accidentally impressed the camp director by already knowing the emergency protocols, showing his whistle-usage demonstration unprompted, identifying poison ivy correctly and shaking everyone’s hand like he was running for office.

Within an hour, he was given a standard camp uniform, a set of keys, and a shared hut assignment with Heeseung.

Heeseung had mourned.

“Great,” He sighed dramatically, tossing a string of condoms into his drawer. “There goes my bachelor hut. No more bringing hot counselors back here.”

Jake blinked. “…Hot counselors?”

He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t thought about women at all, actually.

The whole point was to get away from them. Reset. Recalibrate. Heal.

But then—

Then he walked into the staff orientation meeting.

And he saw them.

Women his age. Attractive women. Very attractive women.

Sun-kissed skin. Short shorts. Uniform shirts tied at the waist or stretched across curves. Laughs that carried across the field. Smiles bright as the July sun.

Jake’s brain short-circuited.

Heeseung slapped his back. “Forgot to mention that part. Oops.”

Jake choked. “You—you brought me to temptation island?!”

“It’s literally just a summer camp, bro.”

There was nothing “just” about it for Jake.

He tried his best—really tried—to stay focused. To be professional. To avoid unnecessary touching or staring. To keep his voice steady when talking to female counselors.

He failed often.

But all those attempts shattered the moment you walked in.

You had years of experience written in confident steps. A clipboard under your arm. Hair pulled back loosely, with strands falling in the sun. Two top buttons of your uniform undone,  enough to make Jake swallow hard. A glint of a lacy bra edge that seared itself into his retinas and soul. Little pins decorating your shirt pocket. Bandages sticking out of one cargo pocket. A smile that made the kids run to you like you were the sun itself.

You kneeling to tie a child’s shoelaces? Lethal. You laughing when a little boy told you you were “the prettiest lady ever”? Fatal. You twirling a strand of hair while listening to another counselor? Catastrophic.

Jake had been doomed before you even looked at him. 

And when you did look at him—eyes bright, lips curved in a friendly hello—Jake felt his knees weaken so dramatically he nearly collapsed into the nearest picnic table.

Heeseung, of course, noticed.

“Ah,” he said smugly. “Found your distraction.”

Jake didn’t answer, because for the first time in a long, miserable stretch of heartbreak…

He felt something spark. Something warm. Something like desire. Something like falling.

And unfortunately for him—

It was happening fast.

It was happening hard.

And it was happening with you.

Jake Sim had survived three breakups, one allergic reaction to a cat he tried to impress a girl with, and a disastrous blind date where the woman only talked about her ex’s crypto investments.

But you?

You were the first thing to genuinely terrify him. 

Which is exactly why he spent the next few days avoiding you like you were trained specifically to hunt down boys with fragile hearts. And luckily—miraculously—the kids kept him occupied enough to make avoidance a legitimate battle plan.

Jake made sure his entire schedule left no space for accidentally brushing shoulders with you.

Archery practice? He volunteered. Canoe supervision? Signed up. Arts and crafts? Already promised the kids he’d make them braided bracelets. Bug safety presentation? He memorized the handout and delivered it with genuine enthusiasm.

It helped that thirty-six children seemed determined to orbit him like satellites.

“Jake hyung! Jake hyung! Can you help me find my water bottle?”

“Jake! Tie my shoe!”

“Jake, can you do the whistle thing again?”

Heeseung, watching from across the field, looked like a man witnessing a strange phenomenon.

“Dude,” he said, leaning beside him, “you’re like… dad-coded.”

Jake wiped sweat from his forehead. “Perfect. The more dad-coded I am, the less chance I have of embarrassing myself in front of—” He abruptly clamped his mouth shut.

Heeseung smirked. “Ah. Avoiding that counselor, are we?”

Jake reddened. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m being productive.”

Heeseung pointed across the field.

You were kneeling beside a little girl helping her braid wildflowers into a crown, hair glimmering in the sun, shirt loose enough that the breeze caught it.

Jake immediately turned around and pretended to fix a crooked signpost.

Heeseung laughed for a full thirty seconds.

Jake perfected the art of being physically present but socially absent.

When you entered the dining hall? Jake exited stage left, carrying a stack of napkins he didn’t technically need.

When you walked toward the docks? Jake suddenly remembered he left sunscreen in his cabin and sprinted away.

When you greeted him with a warm, friendly “Good morning, Jake!” He panicked, waved too fast, nearly dropped his tray, then escaped into a group of eight-year-olds debating whether frogs could fall in love.

Jake’s system of avoidance worked flawlessly—until nature decided to betray him.

It happened during a swimming rotation.

Jake was teaching a small group how to float on their backs, explaining the basics with gentle encouragement. The sun was warm, the water cool, the kids giggling.

He was happy. Stable.

And then he heard your voice behind him.

“Jake! Can you help me with something?”

Every muscle in his body tensed.

Slowly—agonizingly—he turned.

You were standing at the edge of the dock, clipboard against your chest, sunglasses perched on your head, uniform shirt half-unbuttoned because of the heat.

Jake forgot what language he was speaking for a moment.

“What—uh—help you? Help. Yes. I—yeah. Some… thing. Help.”

You smiled, oblivious to his internal meltdown.

“One of my campers is scared of getting in. You’re great with the nervous ones. Mind giving her a demonstration?”

“Sure,” he croaked. “Happy to help.”

You guided the shy camper forward and knelt beside her, encouraging her gently.

Jake’s heart clenched.

God, you were sweet. Sweet in a way that made him ache. Sweet in a way that made him terrified of falling again.

He moved into the shallow water, demonstrating calmly, voice soft, arms open.

And it worked.

The little girl eventually stepped into the lake, holding onto Jake’s hands, trusting him completely.

You glanced at him, smiling warmly.

Jake forgot to breathe.

As you praised the camper who had conquered her fear, Jake found himself staring.

Not in a “wow, she’s nice” way. But in a “I am absolutely, undeniably screwed” way.

The sun hit your damp shirt in a way that made it cling, outlining the curve of your waist. Your hair was messy from the lake breeze, strands stuck to your cheek. You brushed them back casually and—

Jake swallowed.

He turned back to the kids, voice several octaves too high.

“GREAT JOB EVERYONE, LET’S—uh—float!”

It had started small. Then it got worse.

You had a habit of scribbling notes on your palm when you lost your pen. Jake noticed the ink smudge once and spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what you had written. What you were thinking. What you cared about.

Every day, it felt like you were leaving breadcrumbs without even knowing it.

Breadcrumbs Jake kept picking up like an idiot. He often found himself watching you from across the field—telling himself it wasn’t weird, he was just… aware. Vigilant. Noticing. Except it was weird, because he wasn’t noticing anyone else. Only you.

The way you pushed your hair out of your face when the wind blew. The way your shirt rode up when you bent over to pick up stray sports equipment. The way your hands moved when you talked—soft but animated. The way your laughter rolled across the lawn, making the younger kids giggle just because you did.

He tried to stop.

He really did.

But every time you smiled at someone—even a kid—Jake felt that awful, sinking heat curl in his stomach.

At night in the hut, Jake lay on his back, staring at the wooden ceiling while the darkness pressed in around him. 

He remembered the way your shirt clung to your back when you came in from the heat, the thin fabric damp and outlining things he had absolutely no business noticing. He could still see it when he closed his eyes. He remembered the moment you stretched to hang a sign above the craft table, your uniform lifting just enough to reveal the soft line of your waist. He’d looked away immediately—too fast, too guilty—yet the image stuck to the inside of his skull like honey.

He remembered your voice going low and warm when you comforted a kid who scraped their knee.  It wasn’t meant for him, not even close, but it still sank under his skin, unraveling him from the inside out. He remembered walking behind you on the trail, watching how the breeze tugged at the hem of your shorts—how he’d forced himself to stare at the trees instead, counting them like that would save him.

Each memory hit him with the force of something he wasn’t prepared for, something he couldn’t guard against no matter how hard he tried.

And he hated—truly hated—how quickly his thoughts slipped into places they shouldn’t go. Places that made his breath hitch and heat rise under his skin. 

This summer was supposed to save him. Give him distance. Help him reset.

A clean slate. A distraction. A break from feeling too much.

But all it took was you—just you—and Jake was already spiraling. Falling again, harder than ever. 

Jake groaned low in his throat, the sound muffled against the crook of his elbow as he rolled onto his stomach. The thin camp mattress creaked under him like it was judging every pathetic shift of his hips.

The fan whirred uselessly on the nightstand, pushing lukewarm air across his bare back. It did nothing for the heat crawling under his skin—nothing for the way his pulse had taken up permanent residence between his legs.

He pressed his forehead harder into the pillow, trying to smother the images that kept flashing behind his eyelids.

You, laughing after that cannonball contest with the older kids. You, bending to tie a little girl’s shoelace, the curve of your ass filling out those damn camp shorts like they were custom-made to torture him. 

He imagined what it would feel like to slide his palms up under that damp shirt, fingers splaying wide over your ribs, until you arched into him.

Imagined pinning you against the boathouse wall after lights-out, your legs hooked around his waist, while he ground against you—slow at first, then desperate, fabric dragging over his leaking cock until you were both shaking.

His hips rocked once, involuntary, into the mattress. The friction sent a sharp jolt straight up his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper.

“Fuck,” he whispered into the dark.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

But his hand was already moving—sliding down his stomach, past the elastic of his boxers, wrapping around the thick, aching length of himself. He was so hard it hurt; the head flushed dark and slick, smearing precome across his palm the second he touched it.

One slow stroke and his breath punched out of him.

He pictured your mouth instead—soft, parted, tongue flicking out to taste him. Pictured the way your eyes would widen when you realized just how big he was, how you’d have to stretch your lips around the head, cheeks hollowing while you tried to take more. Pictured the little whimper you’d make when he hit the back of your throat, the way your thighs would press together like you were already soaked just from having him in your mouth.

Another stroke—tighter this time, twisting at the crown—and his hips jerked up off the bed.

He imagined flipping you onto your stomach on this very mattress, yanking your shorts down just enough, spreading you open with his thumbs. Imagined the way you’d gasp when he nudged the fat head against your entrance—teasing, barely dipping in—before sinking in until your back bowed and you sobbed his name into the pillow.

“Jake—”

He choked on a whine at the fantasy of you saying it like that—breathless, wrecked, needy.

His fist sped up. The wet, filthy sound of skin on skin filled the tiny cabin, louder than the fan, louder than his breathing. He didn’t care anymore if Heeseung woke up in the next bunk. Didn’t care about anything except chasing the image of you clenching around him, milking him, begging him to come inside, to fill you up.

Heat coiled low and vicious in his gut.

He turned his face into the pillow, muffling the broken moan that tore out of him as he came—hot, messy pulses spilling over his knuckles, soaking into the sheets. His hips bucked through it, chasing every last aftershock, thighs trembling.

Jake lay there for a long minute after, chest heaving, sticky hand still curled loosely around his softening cock. The fan kept droning like nothing had happened. The cabin smelled faintly of pine, sweat, and sex.

He dragged himself up on shaky legs, boxers half-down his thighs, come already cooling on his fingers and streaking the inside of his shorts. He hissed at the mess, at himself, at how pathetic this had become.

The bathroom was just a small stall tacked onto the side of the counselors’ hut— row of sink, flickering bulb, mirror that made everyone look like a zombie at 2 a.m. Jake flicked the light on and winced at his own reflection: flushed cheeks, wild hair, pupils blown wide like he’d been drugged. He looked wrecked. He felt worse.

He turned the faucet to cold and shoved his hand under the stream, scrubbing at the tacky evidence with furious little jerks. Soap foamed pinkish-white down the drain. He kept scrubbing long after it was gone, like he could wash the thoughts out too.

But they came back anyway. Uninvited. Relentless.

His cock twitched against his thigh—already half-interested again, traitor that it was.

“Stop,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink edge so hard his knuckles bleached. “Just—fucking stop.” He splashed cold water on his face. It dripped down his neck, soaked the collar of his tank top. Didn’t help. The images kept looping: your thighs parting for him, your fingers in his hair pulling him closer, your voice cracking on his name while he licked into you until you were shaking.

He groaned, low and defeated, forehead thunking against the cool mirror.

He was hard again. Not fully—yet—but enough that the waistband of his boxers tugged uncomfortably. Enough that he could feel the slow, heavy throb returning, insistent, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be over.

“You’re disgusting,” he whispered to himself.

The door creaked open behind him.

Jake’s eyes snapped to the mirror.

You.

Standing there in the doorway like a fever dream he hadn’t earned the right to have.

Tiny sleep shorts—barely more than cotton underwear with legs—riding high on your thighs, the hem frayed from too many washes. A thin, worn tank top clinging to you from the humid night air, straps slipping off one shoulder, the fabric so soft and faded it was practically see-through under the shitty bathroom bulb. Your hair was a wild, sleep-tousled mess, strands sticking to your neck from the heat. Flip-flops slapped softly against the tile as you took one hesitant step inside.

You froze when you saw him.

“Jake?” Your voice was sleepy, soft, and surprised. “I—I thought everyone was asleep. I just needed to… brush my teeth or something. Sorry, I didn’t—”

You stopped talking.

Because you’d noticed.

The way he was braced over the sink, shoulders rigid, tank top rucked up from where he’d been gripping the counter. The flush that hadn’t left his cheeks. The obvious, obscene tent in his boxers—thick outline straining against the thin cotton. 

Your eyes widened, pupils blowing out in the dim fluorescent light.

For a split second, the world narrowed to just the two of you: the hum of the fan outside, the drip of the faucet, and the way Jake’s cock twitched visibly under your stare, the fat head pushing insistently against the waistband like it had a mind of its own.

“Shit—fuck—wait—” Jake scrambled, voice cracking high and panicked. He spun half-away from you, one hand flying down to cup himself through the boxers while the other snatched the nearest thing—a thin, ratty hand towel hanging off the rack—and tried to hide it over his crotch like that would somehow erase the last thirty seconds.

The towel was too small. It barely covered anything.

“I—I wasn’t— I mean, this isn’t— fuck, I was just— washing my face! Yeah! Washing my face and— and thinking about— about tomorrow’s schedule! Canoe races! Kids! Lots of kids! Totally innocent!”

The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless rush. His face was scarlet, ears burning, eyes darting everywhere except your face. He kept shifting his weight, trying to angle his body away, but the mirror betrayed him—every desperate twitch of his hips reflected right back at both of you.

You just stood there, your gaze dropped again to where his hand was futilely trying to shield the bulge. You watched the way his fingers flexed, knuckles white, like he was fighting not to stroke himself right there in front of you.

Jake’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t— I’ll go. I’ll just— I’ll leave. Right now. You can— you can have the bathroom. I swear I won’t—”

Jake took a hesitant step forward, trying to sidestep you toward the door, but the bathroom was small and you were right there, blocking the narrow path like you’d grown roots into the tile.

He froze mid-motion, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides. Every inch of him screamed to bolt, but moving meant brushing past you—meant feeling the heat of your body, the soft brush of your bare arm against his, and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t trust himself not to shatter if he touched you right now.

So he stood there. Frozen. Breathing too fast. The air between you thick.

You still didn’t move.

“Uh—” His voice cracked. “Can you—please—just—” He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the door, then back to you.

You tilted your head, just a fraction. Still silent. Still watching.

The silence stretched until it hurt.

Finally, desperation won.

Jake reached out—gentle, careful, like you were made of glass—and placed one trembling hand on your upper arm. His fingers curled lightly around your bicep, warm skin under his palm, soft and fever-hot from the humid night.

The contact hit him like a live wire.

He pushed—just enough to ease you sideways, creating the barest sliver of space—and slipped past you in one frantic, clumsy movement. His shoulder grazed yours. Your arm slid against his chest for half a second. The scent of your skin—coconut, lake water—flooded his lungs.

The door banged shut behind him as he stumbled out into the cool night air. Flip-flops forgotten somewhere on the bathroom floor. Bare feet slapping against the wooden path as he half-ran, half-staggered back toward the hut.

He could still feel you.

The exact imprint of your arm under his palm—soft, yielding, alive. The ghost of your heat lingered on his skin like a brand. Every nerve ending in his hand tingled, replaying the texture, the warmth, the way your muscle flexed just slightly under his touch.

He burst into the hut, door slamming louder than he meant. Heeseung’s soft snores came from the other bunk—thank fuck he was still asleep.

Jake collapsed onto his mattress face-first, heart hammering so hard it hurt.

He pressed his hand—the same hand that had touched you—against his cheek, trying to cool the flush there.

It didn’t work.

Because now all he could think about was how close he’d been. How easy it would’ve been to pull you against him instead of pushing you away. How your skin had felt like silk under his fingers.

His cock throbbed painfully against the mattress, still hard, still leaking, still aching for the one thing he’d just run from.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice muffled and broken. He was never going to sleep tonight.

Not after… that.

So the next morning, Jake implemented Operation: Avoid you at all costs with military precision.

And he meant it.

He avoided you like you were a live wire and he was barefoot in the rain.

The first new rule: Never be alone with you.

He woke up early—before Heeseung, before the kids, before the mosquitoes even had the decency to start buzzing—just to leave the hut before you could walk by on your usual morning route.

At breakfast, he positioned himself strategically between two tablefuls of kids, knowing you’d never be able to squeeze into the chaos.

During activities, he always made sure another counselor was nearby—someone loud, someone distracting, someone who would prevent you from stepping within arm’s reach.

It worked.

For a few hours.

Then the universe remembered Jake was its favorite target.

And the main problem: You were everywhere.

You walked into the arts-and-crafts cabin to grab paint just as he was slipping out the door. Jake swerved so hard he crashed into a rack of hula hoops.

You laughed softly behind him and Jake nearly ascended into the stratosphere from shame.

Jake was supposed to be supervising the canoe station.

Supposed to be.

Instead, he stood rooted to the dock, gripping his paddle so tightly his knuckles whitened, because across the shoreline—just a few feet away—you were kneeling in the grass helping three little campers tie their life vests.

And the heat was brutal today.

Which meant the camp uniform—already a questionable sin—looked even worse on you. Your shirt clung to every curve. Your shorts were barely shorts at all. Your legs caught the sunlight like it had a personal vendetta against him.

Jake swallowed hard. No—he choked on air.

God, he was so screwed.

You leaned closer to one of the kids, brushing hair from their face. Your shirt dipped. Jake saw far more than he should’ve. His brain immediately short-circuited, crashing like a cheap computer overloaded with images he had no business imagining.

And then his body responded.

Fast. Painfully. Predictably.

Jake inhaled sharply and discreetly tugged his paddle lower, shielding the very visible problem forming in his shorts.

“Dude.”

Heeseung’s voice came from behind him like a death sentence.

Jake jumped. “Wh–what?”

Heeseung leaned his elbow on Jake’s shoulder, smirking like the menace he was.

“You’re staring so hard I’m shocked her clothes haven’t caught fire.”

“I—I wasn’t staring,” Jake stammered, sweating harder than the sun could account for.

“You’re literally drooling.”

“I’M NOT—”

Heeseung just laughed, clapping him on the back. “Bro, you’re gone. Like, beyond gone. NASA couldn’t retrieve your dignity at this point.”

Jake groaned into his hands. “Shut up.”

But it was too late. Heeseung had seen everything—Jake’s flushed face, blown pupils, and the way he kept subtly angling his paddle to hide the mess in his shorts.

Heeseung whistled low. “Wow. She bends over one time and you’re ready to propose marriage?”

“I’m NOT— it’s not— dude, stop talking.”

Heeseung leaned closer, voice dropping. “Then stop looking at her like you want to get on your knees in the middle of the camp.”

Jake choked on his own saliva.

“HEESEUNG!”

“What? I’m just narrating what I’m seeing.”

Jake was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. Preferably with a life vest.

Jake, still recovering from the verbal assault that was Heeseung’s commentary, made the single worst mistake of his entire existence.

He looked back at you.

And you were already staring at him.

Not glancing politely. Not half-looking. Not scanning the field. You were focused. Eyes on him like he was something worth noticing—worth studying. Your brows lifted the barest amount, lips soft and parted, like you’d caught him mid-thought… mid-stare… mid-sin.

Jake’s brain detonated.

Full catastrophic system failure.

His throat tightened. His hands numbed. His pulse skyrocketed so violently he wasn’t sure if he was dying or being reborn in the worst possible way.

Because you weren’t just looking at him. You were looking into him.

He felt heat explode across his cheeks, racing down his neck, blooming under his shirt. His heartbeat slammed hard enough to rattle his ribs.

You saw him. You saw him staring. You saw the mess he was trying so desperately, pathetically, humiliatingly hard to hide.

Beside him, Heeseung made a choked noise of triumph—like a man who had just spotted Bigfoot and gotten it on video. 

“Oh my GOD,” he whispered, gleeful as sin. “She’s LOOKING at you—”

And that was it.

Jake panicked. He panicked like someone had just shouted “SHARK!” in knee-deep water.

His grip spasmed.

The paddle slid out of his hands.

“No no no no—” Jake lunged for it.

“DON’T—!” Heeseung snapped, reaching out.

But Jake was already in motion. Already doomed. His foot caught the edge of the dock. His balance tipped backward. His whistle swung up and smacked him in the chin. His sunglasses—how were they even still on—flew off into the air.

Jake grabbed wildly at nothing—truly nothing—because the paddle bounced away from him like it had been training for this moment its whole life. He went down hard, arms flailing, knees buckling, legs pinwheeling like a newborn deer.

And then—

SPLASH.

The sound burst across the entire lake like a small tidal wave. 

Kids shrieked. Counselors gasped. Birds took flight in a panicked cloud overhead. Even the lake seemed offended.

Heeseung made a sound like he was being physically strangled by laughter.

Jake sank beneath the surface with all the grace of a bowling ball. For one long second, he sat there at the bottom of the shallow lake, bubbles drifting up around him as he contemplated every decision that had led to this moment.

Then he kicked up, resurfacing in a violent gasp, sputtering, coughing, eyes wide, looking like a drowned cat that simultaneously regretted every life decision.

But it got worse. Much worse.

Balanced perfectly on top of his head— as if placed there by the comedic gods themselves— was a bright green lily pad.

A lily pad.

On his head.

And sitting comfortably on that lily pad, blinking slowly… was a frog.

A frog.

Jake Sim—camp golden boy, heartbreak survivor, current emotional disaster—was treading water with a literal frog crown.

Kids started laughing. One screamed, “JAKE IS KING OF THE FROGS!”

Heeseung folded onto the dock, wheezing, nearly crying from how hard he was laughing. “Oh—my—god,” he gasped between breaths. “This is the best day of my LIFE.”

Jake spit out lake water. “This isn’t—! I didn’t—! GET IT OFF ME!”

The frog did not get off. It simply adjusted itself, as if settling more comfortably into its throne.

Jake, sputtering and panicked, swiped his hand over his head in a frantic attempt to knock the frog off.

“GO—SHOO—LEAVE ME ALONE—!”

The frog blinked once, unimpressed. Then, with the dignity of a royal being dismissed by an incompetent servant, it hopped off the lily pad and launched itself into the lake beside Jake.

PLIP.

A small, perfectly aimed splash hit Jake right in the face.

Jake shut his eyes, jaw clenching.

Great. Perfect. Amazing.

There went any hope of impressing you. Straight to the bottom of the lake with the lily pad.

He groaned under his breath and swam—miserably—toward the metal ladder bolted to the dock. The water felt colder now, mocking him with each stroke. He grabbed the rungs, dragged himself up rung by rung, boots heavy, clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Dripping. Humiliated. Confidence somewhere downstream, probably floating next to the frog.

The moment he reached the top, two adult counselors rushed over, shoving towels at him.

“Oh my god, Jake, are you hurt?” “Are you okay?” “That was a fall, man.”

“I’m fine,” Jake muttered, rubbing water from his eyes. He was fine. 

Physically. 

Emotionally? He had the confidence level of a damp crouton.

A couple of the other male counselors snickered behind their hands, whispering to each other.  Jake didn’t have to hear the words to know exactly what they were saying. They weren’t exactly subtle. One mimed falling off a dock.  Another did a frog ribbit.

Jake’s jaw tightened. Great. Just great.

He was the newest counselor. The one who was already trying to prove he wasn’t a total walking disaster.

This definitely helped.

Not.

Of course.  He couldn’t even fall into a lake normally…

But none of that mattered.

Because suddenly—

You were there.

Right in front of him.

Where did you even come from? Had you teleported? Materialized from thin air just to make his pulse explode?

“Jake?” you asked softly, stepping closer. “Hey. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jake forgot how to breathe. He forgot how to stand. He forgot everything.

Because you were looking at him with real concern—warm eyes scanning his face, brow furrowed just a little. Not laughing. Not mocking.

Worried.

About him.

Jake’s heart did a full somersault. And before he could react, you reached up and gently tugged the towel onto his head, fingers brushing his temples. 

“Here,” you murmured. “You’re freezing.”

Jake made a strangled noise.

You started blotting water from his hair, using both hands, the towel rustling softly. You leaned in slightly to reach the back of his head—completely unaware of how absolutely, catastrophically close you were.

Jake went rigid.

Your scent drifted over him—clean laundry, sunscreen, something sweet he couldn’t name. His face hovered dangerously close to your shirt, just inches from your chest, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from you.

His brain ceased all function.

Thoughts: gone. 

Language: deleted.

Motor skills: offline.

He stared ahead helplessly, praying he wasn’t shaking.

You kept drying his hair, completely focused, completely gentle. “Hold still,” you whispered. “You’ll catch a cold like this.”

Jake tried to respond. He really did. He tried to say, “Thanks,” or “I’m okay,” or literally anything that resembled human speech.

What came out was:

“Ah—gu—h—”

You giggled softly—quiet, warm, like the sound was meant only for him.

The little puff of laughter brushed against his forehead, and Jake’s entire nervous system short-circuited all over again.

You kept drying his hair, gentle fingers working through the wet strands at the back of his head, tugging the towel this way and that. Every small movement seemed to pull you closer. Or maybe he was imagining it. Maybe the universe had decided to personally torture him today.

But no—no, he wasn’t imagining it.

Your chest was definitely inching nearer.

The soft swell of your breasts, barely contained by that thin, slightly damp camp shirt, hovered closer with every careful swipe of the towel. Close enough now that he could see the faint freckles scattered across your collarbone. Close enough that the fabric stretched just a little tighter across your skin. Close enough that when you leaned in to reach the stubborn wet patch at his crown, the very tips of your breasts brushed—barely, feather-light—against his cheek.

Jake’s brain flatlined.

A strangled, high-pitched noise escaped his throat—something between a whimper and a prayer.

Your giggle turned into a soft hum of amusement. “Relax, Jake,” you murmured, voice low and teasing, warm breath ghosting over his temple. “You’re so tense. I’m not gonna bite.”

He wanted to die.

He wanted to live forever.

He wanted both at the same time.

His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, fingers curling into fists so he wouldn’t do something stupid like grab your waist and pull you the rest of the way against him. His face was burning so hot he was sure the lake water was evaporating off his skin in little puffs of steam.

Jake’s eyes squeezed shut.

He was going to pass out.

Right here.

In front of the entire camp.

He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears, in his throat, lower—his shorts suddenly way too tight despite the cold water still dripping down his legs.

You finally pulled back—just enough to look at him, towel still draped over his head like a sad, soggy crown. “There,” you said, smiling that soft, devastating smile. “All better.”

Jake opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“…Th-thanks,” he managed, voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old’s.

Your eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to mischief.

“Anytime, Jake.” Then you gave the towel one last gentle pat—right on top of his head—and turned to walk away, hips swaying just enough to make sure he watched every step.

Jake stood there, dripping, red-faced, towel askew, heart trying to claw its way out of his chest.

After that towel incident, Jake’s dick officially declared independence.

It had a sixth sense for you now—like a goddamn compass needle snapping toward north the second you walked into a fifty-foot radius. Full traitor mode. Uncontrollable. Radar-locked to your presence like some feral heat-seeking missile.

You walked into the mess hall for lunch? Instant throb in his shorts before you'd even crossed the threshold, straining against the zipper like it could smell your coconut lotion from twenty feet away. He'd cross his legs under the picnic table, fist clenched around his fork, pretending to focus on his mystery meat while visions of bending you over that very table flashed behind his eyes.

You laughed during arts & crafts, that husky ripple carrying across the field? His balls tightened. Cock swelled heavy and hot, leaking into his boxers so fast he felt the wet spot bloom. He'd mutter excuses—"Gotta piss"—and bolt to the nearest bathroom stall, slamming the door and yanking his shorts down. Fist wrapped tight around his throbbing length—veins pulsing, head flushed purple and slick—stroking furious and sloppy while he bit his lip bloody to stay quiet. Imagining your thighs spread wide on the craft table, your pretty cunt clenching around his fingers. 

He'd come with a muffled groan, ropes of thick cum splattering the toilet rim, knees buckling as he slumped against the wall. Only then—only after painting his hand white—would the ache finally ebb enough for him to face the world again.

The worst was the day Heeseung walked in.

Jake had bolted to the hut after free swim, your bikini top had slipped just enough while you adjusted a strap, flashing a sliver of underboob that sent him spiraling. Jake thinking he had the hut to himself — curled on his bunk, shorts shoved to his knees, hand flying over his dick as he pictured you on your knees, tiny shorts pooled at your ankles, mouth stretched wide around his girth. Drool dripping down your chin. Eyes watering as you gagged, taking him deeper.

He was so close—thighs trembling, precome slicking his palm when the door banged open.

Heeseung froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, eyes wide.

Jake yelped—high-pitched, mortified—scrambling to yank the sheet over his lap.

"SHIT—HEESEUNG—FUCK—SORRY—"

Heeseung slapped a hand over his eyes, but not before that perv glanced down—clocking the sheer size of it.

“DUDE! WE SHARE THIS SPACE! THERE ARE RULES! AT LEAST WARN A GUY!”

"I'M SORRY—OH GOD, I'M SO SORRY—" Jake babbled, rolling off the bed in a tangle of sheets, cock flopping heavy against his thigh as he tried to hide like a cornered animal, trying to tuck himself away while babbling apologies like a broken record. "It won't happen again—swear—I'll go outside—I'll jerk off in the lake—PLEASE DON'T TELL ANYONE—"

Heeseung backed out, still shielding his eyes, laughing so hard he wheezed. "Chill, virgin! I'm not telling the whole camp you're blue-balling over her. But boundaries, bro! Boundaries!"

Heeseung peeked through his fingers, then dropped his hand with a dramatic sigh. “Bro. You’re jerking it like three times a day now.Your dick’s gonna file for workers’ comp.”

“I know! I know! I’m disgusting! I’m sorry—”

“Bro. Listen to me. You are not disgusting. You are tragically horny. There’s a difference.”

Jake dragged both hands down his face, smearing come across his cheek in the process. He didn’t even notice. “I came in my shorts during swim lessons yesterday. Just—watching her adjust her whistle. I had to dive into the lake to hide it.”

Heeseung barked another laugh. “Classic.”

“No it's not!” Jake wailed, flopping backward onto the floor like a starfish of despair. “I tried thinking about baseball. Taxes. My grandma’s knitting club. Nothing works. It’s like my brain is just… her. All the time. Her smile. Her laugh. The way her hair sticks to her neck when she’s wet from the lake. The way her thighs look when she’s sitting on the dock. I’m gonna die, Heeseung. I’m actually gonna die.”

“Okay, drama queen. First: breathe. Second: you need to do something about this before you actually combust. Or before you get caught jerking it in the supply closet again.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “You know about the supply closet?”

“Dude. Everyone knows about the supply closet. There’s a rumor you’ve christened every shelf in there.”

Jake made a sound like a dying animal and pulled the sheet over his head.

Heeseung snorted, leaning against the doorframe, suddenly way too amused. “You know what the funniest part is?”

Jake groaned into his hands. “Please don’t.”

“She’d probably love your little buddy.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “What?”

Heeseung grinned like the devil. “I’m saying, if she knew how whipped your dick is for her, she’d probably be flattered. Might even wanna meet it. Personally.”

Jake’s brain blue-screened.

With a wordless yell, he launched himself across the room—full football tackle—crashing into Heeseung and sending them both tumbling onto the nearest bunk in a tangle of limbs.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP—”

Heeseung cackled underneath him, arms up in mock surrender while Jake tried (and failed) to smother him with a pillow. “Okay okay! Truce! Truce! I’m just saying—she’s got you by the balls, man! Literally!”

Jake groaned—long, defeated, the sound of a man who’d lost every battle with his own dignity—and rolled off Heeseung, collapsing face-first onto the bunk mattress like he’d been shot. The pillow stayed clutched to his chest like a shield.

Heeseung sat up, still grinning, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You done trying to murder me?”

Jake’s voice came out muffled into the fabric. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You love me. I’m your emotional support wingman.” Heeseung poked him in the ribs with his foot. “Come on, bro. You can’t keep living like this. You’re one accidental brush of her hand away from coming in your shorts in front of the entire camp.”

Jake lifted his head just enough to glare. “I’m handling it.”

“You’re not handling it. You’re jerking off six times a day and jumping me like a feral cat every time I mention her tits. That’s not handling it—that’s a cry for help.”

Jake buried his face again. “Shut up.”

Heeseung sighed dramatically, flopping back onto his own bunk and staring at the ceiling like a philosopher. “Look. I’m saying this as your best friend who has seen you suffer more than any human should: confess. Or at least do something. Ask her to help you ‘check the boathouse inventory’ after lights-out. Corner her behind the craft shed. Hell, just tell her you’ve been thinking about her non-stop since day one and your dick won’t give you a single peaceful moment.”

Jake made a strangled noise.

“I’m serious,” Heeseung pressed. “She’s been looking at you like she knows exactly what’s going on in that horny little head of yours. The towel thing? The eye-fucking across the lake? The way she ‘accidentally’ brushes up against you every five minutes? She’s teasing you, man. She wants you to crack. She’s waiting for you to man up and take what you both clearly want.”

Jake rolled onto his back, staring at the wooden beams overhead. His chest rose and fell too fast. “And what if I’m wrong? What if she’s just… being nice? And I make it weird and ruin everything?”

Heeseung snorted. “Dude. She dried your hair like a mom while her tits were literally in your face. That’s not ‘nice.’ That’s foreplay.”

Jake groaned again, dragging both hands down his face. “Fuck.”

“Exactly. Fuck. Her. Preferably soon. Before your balls explode and we have to explain to the camp director why there’s a crater where you used to be.”

Jake was quiet for a long minute. Then, quieter:

“…What if she says no?”

Heeseung sat up again, suddenly serious. “Then at least you’ll know. And you can stop torturing yourself. But Jake—” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention. The way her eyes linger. The way she bites her lip when you talk to the kids. She’s not saying no. She’s waiting for you to say yes.”

Jake swallowed hard. His heart was hammering again—not from embarrassment this time, but from something sharper. Hope. Terror. Want.

Heeseung kicked his foot lightly. “So what’s it gonna be, lover boy? Keep hiding? Or finally grow a pair and go get your girl?”

Jake stared at the ceiling for another beat.

Then he sat up slowly, jaw set, eyes a little wild.

“…I’m gonna do it.”

Heeseung’s grin returned full force. “Atta boy. Tonight?”

Jake exhaled shakily. “Tonight?”

The hut suddenly felt too small, the air too thick with the scent of pine and his own unresolved tension. He was still flushed from head to toe, cheeks burning, cock giving a traitorous twitch in his shorts at the mere idea of finally confessing—of touching you, kissing you, burying himself so deep inside you that neither of you could think straight. But first, he had to actually get you alone. How hard could that be? He’d spent the last week dodging you like a pro; reversing it should be easy, right?

Heeseung, sensing Jake's hesitation like a shark smelling blood, hopped off his bunk and grabbed a crumpled notepad from the nightstand—the one they used for doodling dumb canoe race strategies. "Alright, lover boy, let's strategize. We're not sending you in blind. This is Operation Get Jake Laid—er, I mean, Confessed. Whatever..."

Jake rubbed his palms on his thighs like he could wipe away the nervous sweat. "Okay. Plan. Good. What's the move?"

Heeseung paced the narrow space between the bunks, tapping the notepad with a chewed-up pen like he was a general mapping out a battlefield. "First things first: timing. Tonight's the bonfire sing-along after dinner. Everyone's gonna be there—kids roasting marshmallows, staff pretending not to hate 'Kumbaya' for the hundredth time. That's your window. Chaos equals opportunity. You slip away early, say you're grabbing extra firewood or some bullshit. I'll create a distraction—maybe 'accidentally' knock over the s'mores station. Kids go nuts, staff scrambles, and boom—you pull her aside to the boathouse path. It's dark, secluded, romantic as fuck with the lake view. Confess there. Worst case, if she rejects you, you can jump in the water and drown your sorrows."

Jake nodded slowly, picturing it. The boathouse—dim moonlight filtering through the trees, the soft lap of water against the dock. You standing there, close enough to touch, your eyes widening as he finally spilled it all: how he couldn't stop thinking about you, how every brush of your skin made his brain melt and his cock ache, how he wanted to drop to his knees and worship you until you were the one begging. His breath hitched. "Yeah. That... that could work. But how do I get her to follow me? Just... ask?"

Heeseung snorted. "Subtlety, man. Walk by her during the fire, lean in close—like, whisper something about needing help with 'inventory' in the boathouse. Make it sound urgent but flirty. You've got that puppy-dog charm; use it. Girls eat that shit up. And if she hesitates, flash those dimples. Bam. She's hooked."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "Okay. Distraction. Whisper. Boathouse. Got it." He stood again, pacing now himself. "What if someone's with her? She's always got a kid hanging off her or one of the other counselors chatting her up. Remember yesterday? She was braiding hair for like six girls at once during free time."

Heeseung waved it off. "That's why the bonfire's perfect. Everyone's scattered. I'll scout ahead—make sure the path's clear. If there's interference, I'll run blocker. Pretend I need her friend's help with something dumb, like fixing the guitar strings. Easy."

They spent the next twenty minutes hashing out contingencies: If the bonfire ran late, pivot to the morning hike trail before breakfast. If rain hit (unlikely, but summer storms were sneaky), use the supply shed as backup—cozy, private, full of ropes and tarps that Jake's filthy mind immediately twisted into fantasies he had to shove down before Heeseung noticed his shorts tenting again. Heeseung even drew a crude map on the notepad: X for bonfire, arrow to boathouse, stick-figure Jake with hearts for eyes confessing to stick-figure you.

By the time they finished, Jake felt a fragile buzz of confidence. "Alright. This is solid. Thanks, man."

Heeseung fist-bumped him. "Go get cleaned up. And hey—don't chicken out. You've got this."

Jake nodded, grabbing a fresh towel and heading to the showers. Under the lukewarm spray, he tried to psych himself up, but his hand drifted south anyway—wrapping around his half-hard cock, stroking slow as he imagined your reaction. Your lips parting in surprise, then curling into a smile. Your hands pulling him closer. Your thighs wrapping around his waist as he pinned you against the boathouse wall, cock sinking into your tight heat until you were whimpering his name. He came with a choked groan, cum mixing with the water swirling down the drain. Tonight, he promised himself. No more running.

But as dinner rolled around, the plan started crumbling like a stale graham cracker.

You were at the head table, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling preteens who'd apparently declared you their queen. They were all over you—handing you plates, showing off friendship bracelets they'd made "just for you," dragging you into their drama about who kissed who. Jake hovered at the edge of the mess hall, plate in hand, watching like a creeper. Every time he thought about approaching, another kid popped up. Heeseung shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, mouthing "After eating."

Post-dinner cleanup? You volunteered to help the kitchen staff, elbow-deep in soapy water with two other female counselors, chatting and laughing about some inside joke. Jake lingered outside the window like a stalker, pretending to tie his shoe for the third time. Heeseung wandered by, whispering, "Abort. Bonfire next."

The bonfire crackled to life as the sun dipped low, casting orange glows over everyone's faces. Kids clustered around the fire pit, staff scattered on logs and blankets. Jake scanned the crowd—there you were, sandwiched between a hyper ten-year-old boy telling ghost stories and one of the senior counselors, a chatty guy named Sunghoon who kept leaning in way too close to "share" his marshmallows. Jake's jaw clenched. Fuck. He circled once, twice, trying to catch your eye for the whisper ploy, but every approach was blocked: a kid running by with sparklers, the camp director calling everyone for the first song, Heeseung's distraction (a fake spill of chocolate syrup that only drew more people over).

"Pst—Jake!" Heeseung hissed from behind a tree as the group launched into a off-key "The Wheels on the Bus." 

"New plan: Wait 'til s'mores wind down. I'll lure Sunghoon away—say I need help with the canoes for tomorrow. You swoop in then."

Jake nodded, heart pounding. But s'mores time turned into chaos: Sticky fingers everywhere, kids demanding seconds, you organizing a impromptu "s'mores assembly line" with half the staff involved. By the time it quieted, the director announced lights-out in fifteen, and you were already herding your cabin group toward the bunks, arms linked with two girls who wouldn't let go.

Jake deflated against a log, watching your silhouette disappear into the trees. Heeseung plopped down next to him, clapping his back. "Tough break. Tomorrow, then. Early bird gets the worm—or the girl alone."

But tomorrow was worse.

Morning hike: You were at the front of the pack with the lead guide, pointing out birds and plants to an enraptured cluster of kids. Jake hung back, trying to work his way forward, but the trail was narrow, and every time he got close, someone needed water or a bug bite check. Heeseung tried distracting the guide with questions, but it backfired—drawing you into the conversation instead.

Arts and crafts: You were manning the bead station, kids swarming like bees. Jake "casually" wandered over to the paint area nearby, but before he could signal, a little girl dragged you away to judge her macaroni necklace.

Swim time: You were on lifeguard duty with three others, perched on the dock in that red one-piece that hugged every curve, whistle around your neck. Jake swam laps to "cool off," planning to ask for your help with "equipment" after. But post-swim, you got roped into a volleyball game on the beach—surrounded by laughing staff and kids spiking the ball like noobs.

By lunch, Jake was fraying. He and Heeseung huddled in the hut during siesta, notepad out again. "This is insane," Jake muttered, head in hands. "It's like the universe is cockblocking me now! She's never alone. Avoiding her was easy enough—getting her isolated? Fucking impossible!!"

Heeseung tapped the pen thoughtfully. "She's popular. Kids love her, staff loves her. We need stealth. New plan: Fake an injury during archery this afternoon. Nothing bad—twisted ankle or some shit. Ask her specifically to help you to the first-aid cabin. It's private, got that cot in the back. Confess there. I'll cover your group."

Jake's eyes lit up. "That's... genius. Yeah. Let's do it."

Archery rolled around. Jake "tripped" mid-demo—dramatic groan, clutching his ankle like he'd been shot. The kids gasped; staff rushed over. "I'm good, just—ah, shit—twisted it. Hey, can someone grab Y/n? She's great with this stuff."

But fate laughed. You were already there, kneeling beside him with concern etching your pretty face—but so was half the camp. The director insisted on two people helping him limp to the cabin, and a nurse volunteer tagged along. Inside, it was a circus: Ice packs, questions, kids peeking in the door. No alone time. The "injury" fizzled out fast—Jake had to fake recovery to avoid real medical attention.

Dinner: More crowds. 

Evening games: You refereed capture the flag, untouchable, no time alone.

By nightfall, Jake was back in the hut, collapsed on his bunk, cock throbbing painfully from a day of near-misses and pent-up fantasies. Every glimpse of you—bending to tie a shoe, laughing with wind-tousled hair—had him hard and leaking again. He'd jerked off twice already, once in the woods mid-hike (hiding behind a tree, fist flying as he imagined pinning you against it, rutting into your soaked pussy while you muffled moans into his neck), once in the shower (coming to the thought of you on that lifeguard chair, legs spread, his face buried between them until you squirted on his tongue).

Heeseung flopped down, undeterred. "Alright, Plan Z: Tomorrow's the talent show prep. She's emceeing. I'll sign us up for a 'duet' or something dumb—get you backstage with her. Private green room vibes."

Jake groaned, rolling over. "If this doesn't work, I'm quitting camp. Moving to Antarctica. Penguins don't tempt me."

Heeseung laughed. "Hang in there. She's worth the blue balls."

But as Jake drifted off, dick still half-chubbed under the sheets, he wondered if he'd survive another day of this torture. Getting you alone wasn't just hard—it was a goddamn quest. And he was more desperate than ever to win.

The talent show prep turned out to be another spectacular disaster in Jake's ongoing saga of blue-balled misery. He and Heeseung had signed up for a "duet"—some half-assed acoustic cover of an old camp song that Jake could barely strum through without his fingers shaking from nerves. The plan was simple: Get backstage with you during rehearsals, where you'd be organizing the lineup. The "green room" was really just a curtained-off corner of the main pavilion, cluttered with props and folding chairs—private enough for a quick confession, or at least a stuttered invitation to talk later. Heeseung would "forget" his guitar picks or something, leaving Jake alone with you for those precious few minutes.

But reality? A shitshow. The pavilion was packed with hyper kids practicing their acts: Little girls twirling batons, boys doing awkward magic tricks, a group of teens attempting a rap battle that devolved into giggles. You were in the thick of it, clipboard in hand, directing traffic like a pro—smiling that soft, devastating smile as you adjusted a kid's costume or gave a thumbs-up to a nervous singer. Jake lurked at the edge, guitar slung over his shoulder, heart hammering so loud he was sure the strings were vibrating from it. When Heeseung finally nudged him forward during a break, Jake approached, mouth dry. "Hey, uh..." he managed, voice cracking like he was back in puberty. You straightened up, turning with that warm gaze that made his knees weak. "Need help with... with the script? Or something?"

You blinked, then laughed softly—god, that sound went straight to his balls. "Actually, yeah! Can you hold this for a sec?" You thrust the clipboard at him, your fingers brushing his in the handoff. Electric. His dick twitched hard, thickening instantly like it knew exactly who was touching him. But before he could stammer out anything resembling a confession, a swarm of kids descended: "Miss, my hat fell off!" "Can I go next?" "Look at my dance!" You were pulled away in a whirlwind of tiny hands and excited chatter, leaving Jake standing there with the clipboard pressed awkwardly against his crotch to hide the growing bulge. Heeseung shot him a sympathetic shrug from across the room, but the moment was gone. Rehearsal ended with Jake barely exchanging three words with you beyond "Here you go" when you reclaimed the board.

That night, back in the hut, Jake jerked off furiously under the sheets—fist pumping his thick cock in brutal strokes. He came with a muffled groan, cum spilling hot over his knuckles, but the relief was temporary. Hollow. He needed the real thing.

The next day brought more failures, each one chipping away at Jake's sanity like a dull axe. Morning yoga session by the lake: You were leading a group stretch, and Jake "casually" joined, positioning himself in the back row for a view that nearly killed him—your body bending into downward dog, ass up, shorts clinging to every curve. His cock went rock-hard in seconds, throbbing painfully against his thigh. 

The plan was to linger after, ask for "private tips" on his form. But as the group dispersed, Sunghoon—that tall, smug bastard with the perfect hair and easy charm—sauntered over, slinging an arm around your shoulders like he owned the place. "Hey, great class. Wanna grab coffee from the mess hall? I could use some pointers too." You laughed, nodded, and walked off with him, leaving Jake frozen.

Afternoon canoe races: Heeseung rigged it so Jake's team "needed" your help as a spotter on the dock. But the races turned chaotic—kids capsizing, laughter echoing, and you ended up knee-deep in the water, helping flip boats and towel off soaked campers. Jake paddled close, ready to "accidentally" bump your section and pull you aside, but Sunghoon appeared again, "helping" by lifting you out of the water with his hands on your waist—your wet shirt clinging transparently to your breasts. Jake's vision tunneled red. Alarms blared in his head: Red zone. Danger. Back off. He paddled away furiously, beaching the canoe and disappearing into the boathouse for a frantic wank.

Evening campfire stories: Heeseung's new ploy—start a "scary tale" chain and "need" you to sit next to Jake for "moral support." But you arrived flanked by staff, including Sunghoon, who plopped down beside you first, sharing a blanket and whispering something that made you giggle. Jake sat across the fire, staring daggers, his dick traitorously hardening at the sight of your lips curving into that smile—even if it was for someone else. The alarms in his head screamed louder: He's too close. Touching her knee. Fuck him. 

Jake excused himself early, claiming a headache, and jerked off in the hut. 

The failures piled up like a cruel joke. 

By mid-week, Jake was a wreck—eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. Heeseung was fraying too, his pep talks turning exasperated. "Dude, this is ridiculous. She's like a magnet for people. And Sunghoon? That guy's orbiting her like a fucking moon. Saw him 'accidentally' bump her during volleyball yesterday—hand on her ass for a second too long. If you don't do something soon, he's gonna beat you to it."

Possessive heat curled low in his gut, twisting with jealousy until he felt physically sick.

“I’m done, man,” he mumbled, voice cracking. “I’m done. She’s too busy. Too liked. Everyone wants a piece of her—kids, counselors, fucking Sunghoon. I can’t even get close without someone interrupting. Penguins in Antarctica sound better than this torture. They don’t have perfect tits and laugh like angels and make my dick try to escape my body every five seconds.”

Heeseung flopped backward onto his own bunk, arms spread wide, staring up at the wooden ceiling beams like they held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.

“Maybe,” he conceded, tone dry. “But watching Sunghoon get closer? That’s the cherry on top of this shit sundae. Alarms are blaring for a reason, bro. Red zone. Full red alert. If he makes a move first…”

Jake’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles bleached white. The thought hit him like a punch to the solar plexus—Sunghoon’s perfect, smug face leaning in, lips brushing yours, hands sliding under your tank top to cup your breasts while you arched into him with that soft little gasp Jake had only heard in his filthiest dreams. Sunghoon’s cock—probably average, probably nothing like Jake’s—pushing into your perfect, tight, dripping pussy, stretching you open while you moaned his name instead of Jake’s.

The image was so vivid Jake could almost hear it: the wet slap of skin, your breathy whimpers, Sunghoon’s low groan as he bottomed out inside you. Jake’s vision tunneled red while his heart hammered with a mixture of murderous jealousy and bone-deep despair.

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice raw. “I can’t watch him touch her. I can’t watch him make her smile like that. I can’t—I’ll fucking die, Heeseung. I’ll actually die.”

Heeseung watched Jake unravel for a long moment—fists clenched, eyes glassy, breathing too fast—like the guy was one wrong word away from either punching a wall or bursting into tears. Finally, Heeseung sighed, long and dramatic, and flopped back onto his bunk with the air of a man who had officially thrown in the towel.

“Alright,” he said, voice flat, resigned. “Fine. You win. She’s untouchable. Sunghoon’s probably already got his tongue down her throat behind the craft shed or whatever. Let’s just… move on. There are other fish in the lake, right? Plenty of hot counselors who aren’t currently being fought over by every breathing person in a ten-mile radius.”

Jake didn’t respond. He just stared at the ceiling, jaw so tight it looked painful.

Heeseung kept going anyway, ticking names off on his fingers like he was reading from a mental catalog.

“There’s Minji from the arts cabin—tall, legs for days, always smells like vanilla and paint thinner. She’s got that whole ‘quietly unhinged artist’ vibe. Could be fun.”

Nothing from Jake. Just a slow blink.

“Or Yuna,” Heeseung continued, undeterred. “Lifeguard duty with her would be a religious experience. She’s got abs you could grate cheese on and that little mole right under her left eye? Deadly. She smiled at me once during relay races and I forgot how to swim.”

Still nothing. Jake’s breathing was shallow, like he was trying not to hyperventilate.

Heeseung rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand. “Chaeryeong’s single now, too. The one with the short black hair and the lip piercing? She’s got that ‘I could ruin your life and you’d thank me’ energy. Probably bites. You like biting, right?”

Jake’s voice came out small, cracked. “Stop.”

Heeseung ignored him.

“Or hell—go for someone completely different. Jiwoo from the mess hall. She’s sweet, makes those killer brownies, always smells like cinnamon. Zero drama. Zero competition. She’d probably bake you cookies after you fuck. Low stakes. Safe.”

Jake’s fists clenched harder. His knuckles were white.

Heeseung kept listing, voice getting flatter with each name.

“Soojin. The one who teaches archery. Quiet, deadly accurate, thighs that could crush a watermelon. She’d probably pin you to the target board and have her way with you. Hot, right?”

Jake’s breathing hitched.

“Or Hyein. Blonde, always in those little sundresses, giggles at everything. Easy. No baggage. She’d probably blush the whole time and call you ‘oppa’ while you—”

“Stop.”

The word ripped out of Jake like a gunshot.

Heeseung finally went quiet.

Jake sat up slowly—elbows on his knees, head in his hands, shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself.

“None of them are her,” he whispered, voice raw and trembling. “None of them laugh the way she does. None of them smell like coconut and lake water and summer. None of them look at the kids the way she does—like they hung the fucking moon. None of them make my chest hurt just by existing in the same zip code.”

He dragged his hands down his face, hard enough to leave red marks.

“I don’t want Jiwoo’s brownies or Yuna’s abs or Chaeryeong’s lip piercing or any of it. I want her. I want her smile. I want her teasing me across the mess hall. I want her thighs wrapped around my waist. I want her moaning my name. I want to wake up every morning and see her marks on my neck and know I put them there.”

He looked up at Heeseung—eyes red-rimmed, voice cracking on every word.

“And if Sunghoon gets there first… if he touches her, if he kisses her, if he makes her come… I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna fucking break. Because she’s supposed to be mine. She’s always been mine. And I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

Jake's life really sucked sometimes.

Jake’s blood ran hot and cold at the same time.

Fifteen minutes after lights-out, the camp had fallen into that soft, cricket-laced quiet. He was supposed to be in his own hut, following Heeseung’s latest desperate plan: wait until tomorrow’s canoe trip, “accidentally” capsize near you, then use the chaos to pull you aside on the far shore. Simple. Safe. Controlled.

Instead, he was crouched behind the big pine tree that overlooked the girls’ row of huts, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

Because he’d seen you.

You stepping out of your cabin door, hair loose and messy from the day, wearing that oversized camp hoodie that swallowed your frame and those tiny shorts that barely existed. And Sunghoon right there beside you—close enough that his shoulder brushed yours when you laughed at whatever smooth bullshit he’d just said. The two of you lingered on the porch for what felt like an eternity: heads bent together, your hand brushing his arm once—twice—before he leaned in and murmured something that made you smile that soft, devastating smile.

Jake’s stomach twisted into a green, burning knot.

Then Sunghoon gave you a lazy, smug little wave—fingers lingering in the air like he owned the right to touch you—and sauntered off toward the boys’ side, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed like a man who knew he was winning.

You watched him go for a second.

Then you turned, slipped back inside your hut, and closed the door.

Jake didn’t think.

He just moved.

His feet carried him across the pine-needle path before his brain could catch up. Every step felt like stepping off a cliff. Alarms blared louder in his head—not the jealous ones this time, but the: “this is insane, you’re going to get fired, you’re going to ruin everything” ones. 

He ignored them.

The door to your hut was in front of him, he tested the handle—quiet, careful—and it gave easily under his palm.

He pushed the bug net aside with trembling fingers and slipped inside.

The air hit him like a drug.

Warm. Sweet. Coconut sunscreen mixed with vanilla body lotion and the faint smoky trace of the bonfire that had clung to your clothes all night. Candles flickered on the small wooden table near the window—three of them, soft golden light dancing across the walls, turning everything hazy and intimate. The scent of melting wax and you wrapped around him so completely he nearly groaned out loud.

And there you were.

Standing with your back to him.

Undressing.

The oversized hoodie was already off, pooled at your feet. You were shimmying out of the khaki shorts, letting them slide down your legs until they puddled around your ankles.

All that was left were the tiniest pair of lacy panties—white, delicate, the kind with little satin ribbons. The fabric hugged the perfect curve of your ass, barely covering anything, the lace so sheer he could see the shadow of skin beneath.

You reached for the thin cotton sleep top folded on the edge of your bunk. No bra. Nothing underneath. Just soft, bare skin and the gentle sway of your breasts as you lifted your arms to pull the top over your head.

Jake’s mouth went dry.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

You were humming softly under your breath—some little tune from the campfire—completely unaware that he was standing in the doorway, staring like a man starved.

The green monster in his chest roared louder than ever.

She was alone.

No Sunghoon. No kids. No staff. Just you. In lace panties. 

And Jake—desperate, defeated, possessive, aching Jake—finally snapped.

He stepped forward.

The floorboard creaked.

Your humming stopped.

You froze, hands still tangled in the hem of your sleep top.

Slowly—agonizingly—you turned.

Your eyes widened when they landed on him.

“Jake…?” Your voice was barely a whisper, soft and surprised and a little breathless.

He didn’t move. Every muscle was locked tight, gaze raking over you like he was trying to memorize every inch before you screamed or told him to get out.

Your nipples were visible through the thin cotton of the top—hard little peaks that made his mouth water. The lace panties clung to you, the fabric already darkened slightly between your thighs.

You didn’t cover yourself. You didn’t scream.

You just stared back at him—eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushing a deep, telling pink.

And then, so quietly he almost missed it:

“…You’re not supposed to be here.”

But you didn’t tell him to leave.

And Jake—heart in his throat, cock throbbing so hard it hurt—took another step closer.

“I know,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Jake took that final, trembling step forward, crossing the threshold completely into your hut. The wooden door swung shut behind him with a soft, definitive thud that echoed in the quiet space like a heartbeat.

He reached back without looking—fingers finding the simple metal latch—and slid it home.

Click.

The sound was small, but it rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit hush. No one could walk in now. No interruptions. Just the two of you.

Your breath caught audibly—a tiny, startled hitch that made Jake’s cock jump hard in his shorts. He watched the way your eyes widened fractionally, pupils blowing out in the flickering light. Your lips parted on a soft, involuntary exhale. You didn’t move to stop him. Didn’t protest. If anything, your body language shifted—shoulders relaxing just a touch, thighs pressing together almost imperceptibly.

The thrill of it surged through him like lightning.

You liked the sound of that lock.

You liked being trapped in here with him.

Jake’s pulse roared in his ears. His hands flexed at his sides, aching to touch you, but he forced himself to stay still for one more second, drinking in the sight of you like a man who’d been starving for years.

Jake’s voice came out rough, almost broken. “You didn’t tell me to leave.”

Your gaze flicked to the locked door, then back to his face. Your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip and Jake nearly groaned out loud at the sight.

“I know,” you whispered, voice soft and a little shaky, but there was heat underneath it. “I… I didn’t want to.”

Another step. Closer now. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off your body, smell that intoxicating mix of coconut and vanilla and you.

His eyes dropped to your chest again—couldn’t help it—watching the way your breasts rose and fell with each quick breath. Then lower, to the lace clinging to your hips. “I’ve been going fucking insane,” he rasped, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Every time I see you… every time you smile, or laugh, or bend over, or just exist… I get so hard it hurts. I can’t think straight. I can’t sleep… I can’t stop wanting you.”

Your thighs pressed together and a tiny, needy sound escaped your throat.

Jake took one more step. Now he was close enough to touch. Close enough that if either of you leaned forward even slightly, your bodies would meet. He lifted one shaking hand, hovering it near your cheek—giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you tilted your head just enough that your cheek brushed his palm. Soft. Warm. Perfect.

His thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow and reverent.

“I saw you with Sunghoon tonight,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “Laughing. Touching his arm. Smiling at him like that. It fucking killed me. I wanted to drag him away and show him you’re mine.”

Your eyes fluttered half-shut at the rough edge in his voice, but the corner of your mouth curled—just a tiny, wicked little tilt that made Jake’s heart stutter.

“Yours?” you echoed softly, voice breathy and teasing, like you were tasting the word. Your cheek stayed pressed to his palm, nuzzling ever so slightly into his touch. “That’s a pretty big claim, Jake… especially when you’ve barely said two words to me all week.” You tilted your head further, letting your lips brush the pad of his thumb—barely a kiss, more like a ghost of one. Just enough to make his breath hitch audibly. “I mean,” you continued, voice dropping lower, silkier, “if I’m yours… then why did Sunghoon get to make me laugh tonight? Why did he get to walk me back to my hut? Why did he get to touch me right—” You lifted your hand and traced one fingertip down the length of his forearm, following the tense line of muscle. “—here?”

Jake’s entire body locked up. A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest—half growl, half plea.

You leaned in closer, lips hovering just shy of his, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath against his mouth. “Were you jealous, puppy?” you whispered, the pet name slipping out sweet and cruel at the same time. “Did it hurt watching him get so close? Did you imagine ripping him away and fucking me right there on the porch so he’d know who I really belong to?”

That was it.

The last thread of Jake’s restraint snapped like a cheap string. With a broken, desperate groan he surged forward—hands clamping around your waist like iron bands, yanking you flush against him so hard your feet left the floor for a split second. His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was filthy. Starving. All teeth and tongue and weeks of pent-up obsession pouring out at once. He kissed you like he was trying to devour you—lips bruising yours, tongue plunging deep to taste every corner of your mouth, swallowing the soft, surprised moan you let out. One hand slid up your back, fingers tangling roughly in your hair to angle your head exactly how he wanted.

His other hand slid down your body with rough, greedy purpose—fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass through the thin lace of your panties. He squeezed hard, kneading the curve like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin.

A low, broken groan vibrated against your lips as he rolled his hips forward—slow at first, testing, savoring—then harder, more insistent. The thick, heavy length of his cock dragged against your lace-covered pussy with every grind, the rigid heat of him pressing right where you were already soaked and aching. 

“Fuck—” he gasped into your mouth, voice wrecked and trembling. “You feel that? That’s all for you. Been like this for weeks.” He ground again—deeper this time, hips snapping forward in a filthy rhythm that made your clit throb against the swollen head of his cock through the layers. 

Jake’s control was unraveling fast. His brain was gone—completely hijacked by the pulsing, aching need between his legs. His dick had taken over like some feral puppet master, yanking every string, making his hips buck harder, faster, more erratic. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. “Shit—shit, baby—” he panted, forehead dropping to your shoulder, teeth scraping over your collarbone. “Can’t—can’t think—need you so bad it hurts—fuck, you’re so wet, I can feel it through everything—”

He was shaking now—whole body trembling with the effort of holding back, but his hips wouldn’t listen. They kept grinding, kept fucking against you like he was already inside, like he could come just from this alone. One particularly hard thrust had you gasping and Jake whimpered. A real, broken, needy sound that he couldn’t swallow back.

“S-sorry—fuck, I’m sorry—” he babbled against your neck, but he didn’t stop. “Just—need to feel you—need to—gonna come like this if you don’t stop me—please—”

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you leaned in closer—lips brushing the shell of his ear—and whispered, soft and wicked, “Come like this, Jake. Right here. Make a mess for me.”

That was all it took.

He came hard—so hard—hot, thick pulses spilling into his shorts, soaking through the fabric in heavy, obscene spurts. A long, wrecked moan vibrated against your neck, muffled into your skin as he shuddered through every wave, hips stuttering, cock jerking with each rope of cum that painted the inside of his shorts. “F-fuck—oh god—baby—” he babbled, voice cracking, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from how intense it was. 

When the last pulse finally ebbed, he sagged against you—forehead dropping to your shoulder, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon. 

You didn’t let him catch his breath.

Your fingers tightened in his hair again—harder this time—and you pulled his head back just enough to crash your mouth against his in a deep, filthy kiss.

Jake moaned into it—loud, devastated, the sound vibrating against your tongue. He kissed you back desperately, sloppy and needy, letting you lead. His tongue slid against yours, tasting faintly of salt and desperation, and when you tugged his hair again—sharp, possessive—he made the most broken, wrecked noise from the back of his throat. You pulled him with you, guiding him backward step by stumbling step until the backs of his knees hit the edge of your bunk.

One firm push, and he went down.

He landed on the mattress with a soft oof, legs splayed, chest still heaving. The kiss broke with a wet, obscene sound—strings of saliva connecting your lips for a heartbeat before snapping.

Jake stared up at you, dazed and utterly ruined. His hair was a wild mess—strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes huge and glassy with that big, pleading puppy look that made your stomach flip. Drool glistened on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips and ran in a thin line down his chin. His cheeks were flushed dark red, pupils blown so wide they were almost black.

And between his legs—

The incriminating wet stain on his shorts was massive. Dark, spreading across the front, clinging to the thick outline of his cock. Even now—after coming so hard he’d nearly blacked out—there was still a heavy, obscene bulge there. His dick hadn’t gone down at all. If anything, it looked even thicker, twitching visibly under the soaked fabric like it was already begging for more.

You slid down slowly, your knees hitting the worn wooden floor of the hut with a soft thud that seemed to echo, Jake’s breath punched out of him in a sharp, shaky exhale as he watched you settle between his spread thighs, your hands resting lightly on the tops of his knees.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice cracking. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, like he didn’t know whether to reach for you or grip the sheets to keep himself grounded.

You looked up at him through your lashes—eyes dark, lips parted—and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his ruined shorts. The fabric was soaked through, clinging obscenely to his skin, the dark stain spreading from the thick outline of his cock all the way down his inner thighs.

You tugged.

Jake lifted his hips on instinct, helping you drag the shorts and boxers down in one pull. The elastic caught for a second on the swollen head of his dick before snapping free, and then he was bare—springing up against his stomach with a wet slap.

His cock was thick, veiny, flushed an angry dark pink at the base and deeper at the tip where precome still leaked in steady, glistening beads. The length curved slightly upward, heavy and throbbing, the slit weeping openly. Cum from his earlier release still streaked the shaft in pearly ropes, mixing with fresh precome to make everything slick and shiny.

You gasped involuntarily, eyes widening as you took him in fully.

Jake’s entire body tensed. His face flushed deeper, a wave of self-consciousness crashing over him even as his dick twitched violently at the sound. “Shit—sorry—I know it’s… it’s a lot, I get it, I can—” The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless ramble, hands fluttering like he wanted to cover himself. “I didn’t mean to—fuck, I can go if it’s too much, I don’t want to—” His babbling choked off into a strangled, high whimper the second your fingers wrapped around him.

Your grip was warm and perfect, circling the thick base where your thumb and fingers barely met. You gave one slow, experimental stroke upward, and Jake’s hips jerked up off the mattress like he’d been shocked.

Then you leaned in.

And kissed the tip. 

Just a gentle press of your lips to the swollen, leaking head, tasting salt and him on your tongue.

Jake’s head fell back against the pillow with a broken, devastated moan—long and raw, the sound tearing from deep in his chest. His hands flew to the sheets, knuckles bleaching white as he gripped them hard enough to tear fabric.

You lingered—lips still brushing the sensitive slit, letting your tongue flick out in a swipe to collect the fresh bead of precome that had welled up the moment your mouth touched him. The taste of him burst across your tongue: salty, musky, unmistakably Jake. 

A high, broken whine tore from his throat—raw and helpless—and his hips bucked upward, pushing the swollen head past your lips just enough for you to feel how hot and velvet-hard he was against your tongue. “F-fuck—oh god—please—” His voice cracked, trembling on every syllable. Veins pulsing along his forearms where his hands gripped the sheets like a lifeline. Knuckles white. Fingers shaking. 

You hummed softly around the tip—barely a vibration—and Jake’s head snapped forward. His eyes flew open, glassy and wide, pupils blown so huge they swallowed the hazel entirely. He looked wrecked: cheeks flushed dark, mouth hanging open, drool shining on his chin, messy hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. That big, pleading puppy stare locked onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

“Baby—shit—I can’t—I’m gonna—” 

You pulled back just enough to speak—lips still brushing the head, breath hot against the slick skin. “Shh,” you murmured, voice low and soothing, almost teasing. “I’ve got you.”

Then you took him deeper.

Just the tip at first—lips wrapping around the fat, flushed crown, tongue swirling slow circles over the slit while your hand stroked the base in long, firm pulls. Jake’s moan was immediate and devastating—long, ragged, breaking into little whimpers every time your tongue flicked the sensitive underside. 

“Oh fuck—oh fuck—your mouth—baby, your mouth—” The words dissolved into another whine as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking gently, letting your tongue press flat against the underside and drag back up in one slow, wet stroke.

Fresh precome flooded your mouth. His cock throbbed so hard you felt it against your tongue, thick veins pulsing under your grip. You could taste how close he already was again—how the earlier orgasm had done nothing to take the edge off, only made him more sensitive, more desperate.

One of his hands flew to your hair—fingers tangling gently at first, then gripping tighter as he fought not to push. “Please—please—don’t stop—gonna—gonna come again—fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t—”

You answered by taking him deeper still—half his length sliding into the wet heat of your mouth, lips stretching wide around his girth. Your tongue worked relentlessly—swirling, pressing, lapping at the underside while your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit.

Jake’s back bowed off the mattress. A strangled cry ripped from his chest—high and broken—and his thighs trembled violently around you.

“Baby—oh god—gonna—gonna come—”

He tried to warn you. Tried to pull back.

But you didn’t let him.

You sucked harder—hollowing your cheeks, tongue flicking the slit one last time—and Jake shattered. 

His hips snapped up, burying another inch deeper as he came with a long, wrecked moan that echoed off the cabin walls. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your mouth—pulse after pulse, so much it spilled past the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy streaks. 

Jake collapsed back against the pillows with a shuddering exhale, his entire body going limp as the last weak pulses of his orgasm ebbed through him. His head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth open in a dazed, wrecked expression—like he’d just been hit by a truck and loved every second of it.

You pulled off him slowly, lips swollen and glistening, a soft, wet pop echoing in the quiet hut as the head slipped free from your mouth. Thick strings of cum and saliva stretched between your tongue and the flushed, still-throbbing tip—glistening, obscene, snapping one by one as you leaned back. A final bead of his release clung to your lower lip before you licked it away with a slow swipe of your tongue.

“Your turn now,” he rasped suddenly, voice wrecked but burning with intent. “Been dying to taste you—been dreaming about it every fucking night.”

Before you could respond, he surged up—hands strong despite the way they still shook—and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed on the soft sheets with a quiet gasp, hair fanning out around your head like a halo. Jake climbed over you instantly, caging you beneath him with his broad shoulders and trembling arms. 

He kissed you deeply—messy, desperate, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning into your mouth like the flavor drove him insane. His lips were swollen, breath ragged, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he poured everything into the kiss: gratitude, obsession, raw need. 

Jake’s hands roamed—sliding up your sides, under the hem of your thin sleep top. His palms were warm, calloused from weeks of camp work, and they trembled slightly as he pushed the fabric higher. Inch by inch, he revealed you: the soft curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts. He broke the kiss just long enough to drag the top over your head and toss it somewhere behind him, only to immediately descend—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down the column of your throat like he was starving and you were the only thing that could feed him. 

When he reached the swell of your breasts, he paused, breath ragged and hot against your skin, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Can I…?” he whispered, voice hoarse, almost pleading.

You nodded, fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. “Please, Jake… touch me. Taste me. I want you to.”

Jake groaned and dove in like a man who’d finally been given permission to worship. His mouth closed around one nipple, hot and wet, tongue swirling slow circles around the hardened peak before he sucked—hard, greedy, pulling the sensitive bud deep into his mouth. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb brushing back and forth over the nipple in perfect rhythm with his tongue. 

You arched into him with a soft, needy moan, back bowing off the mattress. “Oh god—Jake, yes—just like that…”

The praise hit him like a drug.

He moaned against your breast and switched sides, giving the other nipple the same devoted attention. “Fuck—you taste so good,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled and wrecked. “So perfect—been dreaming about these tits every night—wanted my mouth on them so bad—”

You threaded your fingers deeper into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him whimper around your nipple. “You’re so good, puppy,” you breathed, voice trembling with pleasure. “So good with your mouth—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

His hands roamed everywhere—kneading, squeezing, thumbs flicking your nipples until they were swollen and aching. He buried his face between them, groaning deep in his throat as he nuzzled the soft valley, then dragged his tongue up the underside of one breast in a slow, filthy stripe before latching on again.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, voice thick with awe. “So fucking beautiful.”

He shifted lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your stomach, worshipping every inch. His tongue dipped into your navel, swirling lazily before he pressed a lingering kiss just above it. His hands followed—palms sliding up your sides, thumbs tracing your ribs, fingers splaying wide across your waist like he was trying to hold all of you at once. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, voice cracking with emotion. “Every single part of you—fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted to touch you, taste you, make you feel how much I—” His hands slid down to your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle pressure, thumbs stroking the soft inner skin in slow circles.

He looked up at you again—eyes shining, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening.

“I love you,” he whispered, raw and shaky, like the confession had been ripped out of him. “I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts. Every smile, every laugh, every time you look at me—I’ve been gone for you since the first day. And now you’re here, letting me touch you… letting me love you…” His voice broke on the last word. A single tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away—he just leaned down and pressed his forehead to your stomach, breathing you in like you were oxygen.

Your breath caught at the trembling confession—his words sinking into you like warm honey, sweet and heavy and almost too much to hold. “Jake…” you whispered, voice soft and thick with emotion. “Look at me.”

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes—his own wide, glassy, shining with something so vulnerable it stole your breath.

“I love you too,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, but steady. “I’ve loved you since the first time you smiled at me across the mess hall and tripped over your own feet. I’ve loved you every time you played with the kids and made them laugh, every time you looked at me like I was the only person in the world. I’ve loved you through every single one of your shy glances and every time you blushed so hard I thought you’d catch fire.”

A fresh tear slipped down his cheek. He let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh—half sob, half joy—and turned his head to press a desperate kiss to your palm.

“Baby…” he choked out, voice wrecked. “You… you love me too?”

You nodded, smiling through the tears gathering in your own eyes.

“I love you so much it hurts,” you whispered. “So please… don’t hold back anymore. I want everything. I want you.”

“You mean it?” he whispered, voice barely audible, cracking on every syllable. “You really want… everything? All of me?”

“I mean it,” you breathed. “I want all of you, Jake. No holding back. No hesitation. I want you to take me—love me—the way you’ve been dying to. I’m yours. Completely.”

The last thread of restraint snapped. 

He trailed kisses down the crease where thigh met hip, then lower still, until his lips found the plush, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He kissed one thigh, then the other, alternating back and forth like he couldn’t decide which one deserved more attention.

Every time his mouth moved, his breath ghosted over your soaked panties, making you squirm. You moaned softly—fingers tightening in his hair—and the sound made him whimper against your skin, hips twitching helplessly against the mattress.

“Jake…” you breathed, voice trembling. “Please…”

He pulled back just enough to look.

And stare.

“Look at this pretty fucking pussy,” he rasped, voice raw with devotion. “So wet she’s crying for me…I’ve dreamed about this—imagining.. And now you’re letting me see it… letting me have it…”

You couldn’t take it anymore. The ache between your legs was unbearable—every word, every hot exhale making you clench around nothing.

“Jake…” you breathed, voice trembling, hips lifting just a fraction off the mattress in desperate search of contact. “Please… please, just taste me. I need your mouth on me—now.”

That single, pleading “please” snapped something inside him. With a low, guttural groan that sounded like it had been torn from his soul, Jake smashed his face against you.

No hesitation.

His nose pressed right to your clit through the lace—inhaling deeply, greedily, like he was trying to drown himself in your scent. A long, broken moan vibrated straight through your core as he breathed you in—once, twice, three times—his whole body shuddering with how good you smelled.

Then he opened his mouth.

Wide.

And dragged his tongue flat and hard up the entire length of your soaked slit through the lace. The rough texture of the fabric dragged deliciously over your swollen folds, catching on your clit with every pass. He licked again—broader this time—tongue pressing firm and hot, soaking the already drenched lace even more with his spit.

“God—taste so fucking good,” he mumbled between licks, voice wrecked. “Even through this… so sweet… so wet… can’t get enough—never gonna get enough—” His hands gripped your thighs tighter—fingers digging in possessively—as he smushed his face deeper, cheeks flushed and slick with your arousal, chin glistening. 

“Tell me you love it,” he pleaded against you, words muffled and frantic. “Tell me my tongue feels good—please, baby—tell me I’m making you feel so fucking good—”

“Yes—fuck, Jake—your mouth is perfect—don’t stop—please don’t stop tasting me like that—”

Jake was utterly gone.

“Jake—please—” you gasped, voice breaking on a whine. “Please… take them off. I need your tongue on me—properly. Need to feel you—please, puppy, I can’t take it anymore—”

“Anything,” he rasped, voice trembling. “Anything for you.” With shaking hands, he hooked his fingers under the soaked lace at your hips and tugged the fabric down your thighs. 

You were spread open for him—glistening, swollen, blooming like the prettiest flower he’d ever seen. Your folds were dark and slick, clit throbbing visibly, entrance fluttering with every shaky breath you took. A fresh trickle of arousal slipped free, sliding down toward your ass, and Jake made a low, devastated sound in the back of his throat before he dove back in—face-first, no hesitation, no lace in the way this time.

The first real taste of you made him groan so deep it vibrated through your entire body. His hands gripped your thighs harder, spreading you wider, holding you open as he buried his face between your legs like he never wanted to leave.

And god almighty—he never wanted to.

His mouth worked messily, greedily, with no trace of restraint left. Long, sloppy drags of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, lapping up every drop of your arousal like he was dying of thirst and you were the only thing that could save him. 

The sounds were filthy.

Wet. Obscene. Disgusting in the best possible way.

Every time his tongue plunged back into your dripping entrance, there was a lewd shlick—the slick glide of his tongue through your folds, followed by the wet slurp as he sucked your arousal straight from the source. 

Then his hands moved. He slid both palms up the backs of your thighs, fingers hooking under the soft, swollen lips of your pussy before he pulled them apart—spreading you wide open, exposing every inch of your glistening, fluttering core to his hungry gaze.

He didn’t even give you time to feel shy. He dove right back in—face buried even deeper now, tongue thrusting inside you, fucking you while his nose ground against your clit. 

“Jake—oh god—Jake—yes—right there—fuck—”

Your hips rolled shamelessly against his face, grinding your clit against his tongue, smearing your arousal across his cheeks, his chin, his nose. He was soaked—face glistening, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy as he devoured you like a man who’d never eat again.

Then—while his lips were sealed tight around your throbbing bud, tongue flicking fast and relentless—two of his fingers slid down through your dripping folds.

He teased your entrance first—slow circles around the fluttering hole, collecting your slick before pressing the tips inside. Just the first knuckles—enough to make you gasp—then deeper, until both long fingers were buried to the hilt.

The moment Jake’s fingers sank fully inside you—long, thick, curling perfectly against that spongy spot deep within—your whole body seized.

A sharp, broken shout tore from your throat—“Jake—oh fuck—!”—and then you were coming.

Hard.

Your walls clamped down around his fingers like a vice, fluttering and pulsing in violent, rhythmic waves as the orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his knuckles, coating his hand, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. Your back arched off the mattress, fingers yanking at his hair so tightly you were sure it hurt, but Jake only moaned louder.

When the first brutal wave finally began to ebb, Jake pulled back from your clit with a loud, wet pop—lips swollen and shiny, chin dripping with your release. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He crawled up your body in one fluid motion as he settled between your legs. His fingers never left you—still buried deep, still curling lazily inside your fluttering walls.

Then his mouth crashed down on yours.

You moaned helplessly into him, arms wrapping around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, arms wound tight around his neck, nails raking down the backs of his shoulders, leaving stinging little trails he’d feel tomorrow and love. 

Minutes passed like that. Maybe longer. Time dissolved into nothing but heat, wet sounds, and the feeling of Jake consuming you from the inside out.

Then—reluctantly—he pulled his mouth off yours. A thick string of spit connected your bottom lip to his for a heartbeat before it snapped. 

“Need to taste you again,” he rasped, voice ruined. “Everywhere.”

And then he started moving down. Open-mouthed kisses. Hot. Hungry. Worshipful.

He kissed the corner of your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat, sucking a fresh bruise into the skin he’d already marked earlier. Lower. Lower. His mouth found your tits again—immediately latching onto one nipple. At the exact same moment, you felt pressure at your entrance.

A third finger.

He didn’t force it—just nudged, teasing the slick, fluttering rim, letting your own arousal coat the tip while he waited.

You answered instantly.

Your thighs fell open wider, hips canting up in a silent, desperate plea. 

He moaned against your breast—vibrating the sensitive bud—before he started pushing in.

Slow.

So fucking slow.

Just the tip at first, letting you feel the stretch, then deeper, until all three thick fingers were buried inside you, spreading you open, filling you so perfectly your eyes rolled back. Your walls fluttered wildly around the new fullness, clenching and releasing as he curled them gently, stroking that perfect spot over and over.

The stretch of his three thick fingers inside you was overwhelming—perfect, burning, delicious. They filled you so completely, knuckles brushing every sensitive wall as he pushed in slow and deep, then dragged back out with agonizing patience before thrusting in again. Every time he curled them—hooking right against that spongy, electric spot—your walls fluttered wildly around him, clenching down like you were trying to keep him buried forever.