reactoria

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summary: at a charity dinner in manhattan, y.n, a newly successful author, shuts down a sexist remark with sharp wit. and someone was watching — jay park, hotel heir and former singer, who finds himself captivated. when he finally approaches her, she challenges him with "so what? are you also afraid of feminists and don't consider them women?" and he answers: "afraid? i love women." and y.n is not one to be easily won.

playlist — American Love Story

coming soon

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summary: what good is spending summer among savages? in the west, the sun is scorching, the wind blows the dust, and dry yellowed blades of grass rustle. y.n finds everything here unbearable — until a quiet cowboy named lee heeseung fixes her wagon wheel without a single unnecessary word. he is rough, reserved, and nothing like the gentlemen from philadelphia. but the more y.n watches him, the more she understands: she doesn't want to leave. and heeseung, burned by the past, is too afraid to ask her to stay.

pairing: cowboy!heeseung x noblesdaughter!reader

warnings: class difference, mild suggestive themes, emotional hurt/comfort, mention of past infidelity (not between main pairing), forbidden love, soft cowboy heeseung, kissing word count: 2.7k

from me: english isn’t my first language, sorry for any mistakes. i mostly translate my works through apps :((( i’m a writer in my native language who wants to share my stories with the world thanks for understanding

what good is spending summer among savages? in the west, the sun is scorching, the wind blows the dust, and dry yellowed blades of grass rustle. at night, coyotes howl in the ringing silence; y.n found it hard to get used to this after the bustling city. but what annoyed her most was the boredom. it was difficult to find decent company among taverns and half-built schools. even the local «aristocrats» could boast of nothing but their suddenly rich fathers who struck gold in the mines. no manners, no dignity, and all conversations eventually turned to gossip about the local cowboys. y.n thought she would never stoop to the level of those girls. she was a representative of an ancient noble family, educated at the best girls' lyceum in philadelphia. she reads in french, wears gloves even in the heat, and flinches at the words «cowboy» and «saloon» — a breeding ground for perverted, crude men. but that day, nothing went according to plan.

y.n only had to ride into town to buy paints — already the second set this month. there was nothing else to do, and painting at least kept her occupied somehow. her father still hadn't acquired a full set of servants, too busy with his new gold mine business, and her mother wanted to leave the comfort of home for the town so little that she hadn't hired a jockey for the wagon. y.n had to drive it herself. in principle, there was nothing difficult about it: in childhood, she had driven her friends many times in toy carriages harnessed to ponies. the problems began when the wagon wheel fell apart right before her eyes. y.n stood with a parasol and a paper bag of paints in her hands. she examined the cracked beam of the wheel, wondering if she could make it home. she kept coughing from the road dust and was terribly irritated by both the accident and the heat. y.n was starting to sweat, and she had no business getting tanned — if she returned to philadelphia all dark, as if she'd spent the whole summer toiling in the fields, her friends wouldn't understand. sighing for the hundredth time while looking at the wheel, y.n suddenly noticed a wide shadow looming over her. the gravel crackled under the movement of someone's boots. the girl cautiously turned to the right and froze, seeing beside her a tall, grimy guy in a wide-brimmed hat. he had a wooden wheel on his shoulder and, apparently, a limited supply of words, because he stood there silently until y.n spoke:

"how can i help you?" she asked, making the stranger silently glance at the wheel.

"looks like you can't help me with anything, but you," he unceremoniously pointed a finger at the broken wheel, taking his own off his shoulder to set it against the wagon, "clearly need help."

the girl frowned. was that his way of offering help? it was disgraceful for a gentleman to address a lady in such a tone, but y.n didn't even bother pointing it out to the guy. what was the use of explaining anything to savages? but she truly did need help, so the girl only exhaled to cool her temper and stepped aside, allowing the guy to do her a service. she looked at him with an arrogant, condescending gaze, though she was two heads shorter — which, apparently, amused the cowboy. the guy held his gaze on her and, smirking, lowered his head, hiding the smile under the brim of his hat. whatever that smile meant, y.n tried to ignore it as well. then the stranger knelt on one knee, examining the wheel. the toe of his cowboy boot pressed into the ground; he didn't care that the dusty road would dirty his worn jeans. finishing his inspection, the guy looked around, even accidentally catching the displeased gaze of the girl, but she only scoffed and turned away, while the guy stood up, took a log from one of the shop stalls, and returned, propping up the wagon with it. the sun kept scorching, and while the cowboy silently worked on the repair, having rolled up the sleeves of his checkered shirt, y.n took pity on him and covered him with the shade of her parasol.

"i want to warn you, you offered help yourself, and i don't have to thank you in any way other than with a kind word."

the gesture didn't escape the guy in that same second. he lifted his head and looked at the ruffles of the parasol. this time, a smile didn't appear on his face.

"let it be so, whatever indecent things you might have thought up…" the guy shrugged his broad shoulders, returning to work. "and put that thing away and better hold the horse."

he casually raised a finger upward, most likely meaning the parasol. y.n rolled her eyes — yes, she couldn't have expected gratitude — and headed towards the horse. when the guy announced he was done, the girl stood stroking the muzzle of her white horse, already so exhausted by the heat that her eyelids grew heavy. her dress was soaked with sweat, the parasol wasn't helping, and the only thing she wanted was to be home. that was how y.n first met lee heeseung. his hands were dirty and covered in calluses from hard work on the ranch and with the lasso, his scent was leather and wood, and his eyes were dark — just like the cold western nights. it seemed he was the same as all the other cowboys here: rough, uncouth, but handy laborers — but it was in heeseung, only in him, that there was something mysterious, something magnetic. it was the first time she had seen a man who didn't wear a frock coat and didn't talk about stock exchanges, but did things himself, and without unnecessary words. strangely, it excited her.

of course, y.n wouldn't stoop to the level of her «friends» who couldn't shut up about cowboys, especially about «that» heeseung. summer would pass, she would go home and never return here, finding any excuse to stay in philadelphia under the care of any of her noble aunts, but why not have a little fun now? so when father mentioned the lee ranch, y.n, though she rolled her eyes, agreed to ride there and ask about the price of hay. heeseung clearly wasn't expecting guests, so when the girl appeared on horseback at the entrance of the hay barn, loudly calling for someone to come to her, lee came out shirtless. his sweaty torso glistened under the bright sun, his muscular chest heaved from heavy breathing, and in his hands was a pitchfork with a few stalks of hay stuck in it. y.n had caught him right at work.

"this time without a wagon."

not quite a question, not quite a statement, but y.n didn't bother focusing on it — she was on horseback, everything was obvious anyway. the girl tried to look him in the eyes, but the distracting sight was right there on the guy, making it hard to concentrate.

"seven sheaves, for how much?" she also decided to be terse, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. she needed to leave quickly, before y.n thought of something reckless. but, as it turned out, the girl had already been infected with recklessness the very moment heeseung first appeared near her. the guy had immediately filled all her thoughts. at lunch, before sleep, even painting landscapes had become unbearably difficult. y.n would hover her brush over the canvas and freeze, remembering the drops of sweat rolling down lee's honeyed skin. unbecoming for a lady, but it was impossible to fight. and something about the prim aristocrat had caught heeseung too. seeing each other in town, he would linger his gaze on her, nod with his cowboy hat, but wouldn't come close. when lee delivered hay every five days, he would always leave a bouquet of short wildflowers in an aluminum cup on the barn window. rare meetings and brief glances grew into a desire to be closer, more often. heeseung didn't know under what pretext y.n left the house, but by one in the afternoon she was already at lee's ranch. he taught her how to properly stay on a horse without a saddle, casually touching the corset of her dress to correct her posture. when the girl confidently placed her hand over his large palm, not letting heeseung pull away from her waist, lee would snatch his hand back, as if afraid his heated skin would burn through the fabric of her dress. they clearly liked each other, but they weren't truly close. heeseung kept his distance, always not close enough, his touches never firm enough.

one evening in late august, y.n hadn't planned to stay so long. she had come after midday, when heeseung was watering the horses, and they wandered along the dried-up creek bed, where some pitiful greenery still clung on. he told her how to tell a rattler from a grass snake, showed her coyote tracks in the sand. she listened, forgetting about her gloves — they lay in her pocket, and her fingers reached for his elbow on their own whenever she stumbled over roots. and then the sky in the west grew heavy. y.n noticed it first — she had spent too much time staring at the horizon from the veranda, where there was nothing to do but watch the clouds. heeseung lifted his head, squinted, and his face instantly became hard.

"we need to ride," he said, and his voice lacked its usual lazy ease. "fast."

but y.n's horse, a young one, quickly got spooked when the first gust of wind lashed sand across its muzzle. the girl tried to hold it, but it reared up, and heeseung had to grab the reins, hissing something through his teeth in cowboy fashion — low, guttural. by the time they got the animal into the stable, the first lightning split the sky and the rain came down in a wall.

they ran into the barn, barely making it in time. they stayed in the barn. not the one with hay — that one was open to all winds — but the old, plank one, where heeseung kept tools and spare harnesses. the rain drummed on the roof so loudly that the world shrank to the size of this tiny space, soaked with the smell of leather, oil, and dry grass. y.n was trembling. her dress was soaked through, clinging to her legs, her back, her chest, and she suddenly realized with sharp clarity how indecent she looked. wet, disheveled, without a hat — she had left it in the saddle. heeseung silently took an old blanket from a nail and draped it over her shoulders, but didn't let go. his fingers froze at her collarbones. she lifted her eyes. he was so close — his breath touched her forehead, smelled of tobacco and rain. in the barn's dimness, under the faint light of the kerosene lamp he had lit with trembling hands, y.n saw something she hadn't noticed before: how tense his jaw was, how tightly he gripped the blanket, as if afraid his fingers would crawl further on their own.

"heeseung…" she breathed out.

instead of an answer, lee pressed her to himself. roughly, greedily, as if he had been holding back an eternity and finally snapped the leash. one hand lay on her nape, the other on her waist, and y.n didn't recognize this touch. before, he had touched her as if she were made of crystal, but now — as if she were his, and only his. he pressed her into his body, wet, hot, smelling of horse and sweat, and she whimpered into his lips, because this was what she had waited for all summer. he kissed her as if he wanted to remember it forever. heavy, sparing, but all the sharper for it. his tongue swept over her lower lip, and y.n clutched his shirt, feeling the hard muscles under the fabric, the scar on his side — she knew that scar, he had told her it was left by barbed wire. she wanted more. y.n wanted his hands — those same calloused, rough hands — to run over her body in a firm embrace the same way they held a lasso, fixed saddles, trimmed hooves. with the same confidence. with the same strength.

she pulled him by the belt, and then he froze.

"no." one word. quiet, muffled, but it hung between them like the crack of a whip. heeseung pulled away, still holding her by the shoulders, but now his fingers were trembling. he stared somewhere past her, into the dark corner of the barn, and breathed as fast as if he had just been running.

"heeseung," she called hoarsely. "what's wrong?"

the guy let her go. he walked to the wall, leaned his back against the planks, pushed back his hat — though there was no sun in the barn — and closed his eyes. there was such pain on his face that y.n's chest ached.

"you're leaving in two weeks," heeseung said without looking. "and i'll stay here. there's no need to hurt both of us."

the girl wanted to object — something about «it's not for you to decide», something about «i know myself» — but he spoke again, and his voice was low, steady, like distant thunder.

"i wasn't always here. before — in virginia. i had a fiancée. we got engaged when i was twenty. i came back from the army, and she was already living with someone else. someone who had a house in the city and a decent frock coat. and me — i'm a cowboy, i plow the land, i drive cattle. she said: 'you reek of horses. i don't want that kind of life.'"

y.n listened, holding her breath. she had never heard heeseung speak so much, let alone about his past, let alone about his feelings. his words fell heavily, like stones into water.

"i left for the west. thought if i was far away, i'd forget. i didn't forget. i just understood that i don't want to give anyone hope anymore if i can't promise anything myself. and to you," he finally turned to her, and in his eyes, black as the prairie at night, she saw longing, "to you i especially can't. you're from another world. you wear gloves so you don't get dirty. your life is balls and outings, and mine is manure and coyotes. what can i give you?"

she stood, clutching the old blanket to her chest, feeling the burn under her eyelids. not from pity — from anger. anger at him, at that damn fiancée, at the whole world that had placed them on opposite sides of barbed wire. and then she noticed. all this time, while he pressed her to himself, while he kissed her until her knees went weak, he had barely touched her skin. his fingers slid over the fabric, over the wet cotton, but not once did he lay his palm on her bare neck, not once did he trace her shoulder. and she understood.

"heeseung," she said quietly, stepping closer to him. he didn't pull away, but tensed entirely, as if expecting a blow. "show me your hands."

he didn't understand. she took his palms herself — heavy, hot, with dirt ingrained into the pores, with calluses that didn't fade even after long washing, with cracks from the rope. and brought them to her lips. she kissed his knuckles. every one. slowly, reverently, feeling the salty taste of his sweat and dust. then she turned his palms over and kissed where the skin was roughest — where the lasso left its marks. heeseung froze. his breath stopped, and he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

"you were afraid to dirty me," she said, not letting go of his hands. "you thought your dirty fingers would leave a stain on my skin. but look at me, heeseung. i'm already covered in the dust of this place, of these roads, of these old barns. but it all breathes of you, i won't be able to part with it or forget it, heeseung, i'm in your dust. and i don't care."

she lifted her eyes — there was no arrogance in them, the kind he was used to. there was something else, something that made his heart, it seemed, skip a beat.

"i'm not the girl you lost. and i don't want frock coats and balls. i want…" she faltered, because saying such things aloud was terrifying. but she had already gone too far. "i want to stay. with you. even if it smells of manure here and coyotes howl at night."

he was silent for a long time. so long that y.n got scared — had she gone too far, had she made him laugh with her stupid naivety. but then he did something he had never done before. he took off his hat — not to adjust it, but to lay it on the floor, beside their feet. and lowered himself onto one knee before her. not to ask for y.n's hand. but to press his forehead to her stomach and wrap his arms around her legs, burying his face in the wet folds of her dress.

"you drive me crazy," he whispered into the fabric of her dress.

he didn't cry — cowboys don't cry, but his shoulders trembled, and y.n stroked his hair, as dark and unruly as he was. outside, the rain was still falling. but inside the barn, among old tools and the smell of leather, something new was born — fragile, improper in the eyes of society, and yet real. the girl would stay. she already knew it. not because heeseung asked — he didn't ask. but because when he finally lifted his head and looked at her, there was no pity in his eyes, no doubt. only quiet, heavy gratitude.

and something else, for which y.n didn't yet know the name. love, probably. but they would talk about that tomorrow. and today — they would simply stay in each other's presence until dawn.

summary: the verbal altercation shouldn’t have ended in assault, but y.n was on edge. the girl threw a vase at the wall behind sunghoon’s back. she wasn’t aiming at him, but she also couldn’t have guessed that a shard would graze his cheek. park didn’t even ask if she had lost her mind: he knew — she had. y.n loves sunghoon madly, with the same force she hits him, and then receives punishment from him, but fortunately, they have officer sim, who will hide their unhealthy love from the police.

pairing: sunghoon x reader (feat. jake, sunghoon’s sister) word count: 2.1k

warnings: abuse mention (from the girl's side), injuries, unhealthy relationship, y.n gets accused, policeman jake, victim sunghoon (let me know if there are anything else)

from me: English isn’t my first language sry for any mistakes, mostly i translate my works through apps :((( I’m a writer on my native language who want to share my stories with the world

this was not supposed to happen. y.n shouldn’t have gotten so angry, flared up with rage so suddenly, done what seemed unthinkable.

“do you admit that you left those injuries on mr. park?” the officer addressed her, giving a piercing, testing look. the girl, on the contrary, didn’t look so confident: her eyes were wet, she could barely see in front of her because of the tears, her bottom lip already cherry-colored from how often she had bitten it in an attempt to calm down. futile attempts. her hands were shaking, she was scared, and what was she supposed to say? “sunghoon is three times wider than me, how could you even assume that?” y.n chose to defend herself, even if all of it was a lie. the officer sighed heavily. he could have fallen for her words. y.n’s boyfriend — sunghoon — was a head taller than her, not to mention his big, pumped-up arms, broad shoulders and seemingly unshakable figure. as soon as they both appeared in the station, the man smirked. it was hard to believe that the girl was capable of that purely physically. but the statement was drawn up by park’s sister; a relative’s report couldn’t be ignored — what if the guy really was in danger. though it only provoked laughter. “our experts have recorded an abrasion on mr. park’s cheekbone and hematomas on the back left part of his forearm, his back and his thigh. are you involved in these injuries?” the officer kept pressing, deliberately describing everything he knew to the girl, thinking he’d crack her that way. and y.n started worrying. “no.”

“do you know how he got these bruises? he’s your boyfriend, he probably should have shared.” the girl took her time answering again. the room suddenly became impossible to breathe in, the walls pressing down. what if sunghoon had told them a different version from the one y.n was about to give now? the policeman would understand she was lying. it was hard to explain to outsiders what kind of relationship the couple was in. they were like two fires, y.n even brighter than sunghoon. but every time after another quarrel she sincerely repented for her outbursts of anger. that evening y.n didn’t want it to end that way. she and park had a spat.

the verbal altercation shouldn’t have ended in assault, but y.n was on edge. the girl threw a vase at the wall behind sunghoon’s back. she wasn’t aiming at him, but she also couldn’t have guessed that a shard would graze his cheek. park didn’t even ask if she had lost her mind: he knew — she had. y.n, like poison, seeped into his veins, poisoning him more with every passing day, but, as is known, taking poison in small doses can build immunity. probably, the guy was the only person on earth who had it. y.n would never find someone as tolerant of her as park, but sunghoon had also grown so used to it that he wouldn’t give up on the girl, even if she almost killed him — now the guy even liked it. sunghoon wasn’t some emotionless punching doll. he answered with a fervent, spiteful comment, making y.n gasp loudly. “is that how you talk to me?!” she flared up, moving towards park. out of surprise, he lost his footing when y.n pushed him. the guy slammed the left side of his body into the shelves. books, figurines and decorative dishes rained down, some of it hitting sunghoon even harder. he froze, arms spread out to keep the shelf itself from falling. y.n finally froze too, feeling the atmosphere between them suddenly shift. the air became heavier, the light seemed darker, but sunghoon remained silent. a shadow from his hair fell over his face. he leaned back, setting the shelf upright with his back, straightening up. finally, his eyes shot towards y.n, sending a chill down the girl’s spine. blood was trickling down his cheek, his gaze was heavy, and his broad, muscular chest heaved with deep, heavy breaths. sunghoon was very angry. having dated for so long, y.n knew that for sure. slowly stepping over the mess littering the floor under him, he walked up to the girl, towering over her. now y.n could clearly see how the vein on his temple bulged, how his neck reddened from anger. this time the girl didn’t know if she could avoid a reciprocal reaction, if park would hit her. he abruptly placed his palms on her forearms, taking the girl’s fragile figure into his hands, not tearing his gaze away from her. a second. sunghoon leaned down to her and kissed her with pressure and force. y.n felt his blood imprint on her cheek and closed her eyes in bliss. the sensations mixed, her lips stung, park tormented them, biting and pulling. the guy easily lifted y.n upwards, she grabbed his neck and ringed his waist with her legs. sunghoon didn’t pull away even to look under his feet. there were shards on the floor, fallen objects, but the guy worried more about y.n not getting hurt than about himself. he stopped at the kitchen island, laying her down on it — there simply wasn’t the restraint to make it to the bedroom. sunghoon was angry. so angry that the only release that would save him from a retaliatory reaction towards y.n was to take her here and now.

“he works out in the gym, that’s where he gets injured. sunghoon never leaves that place, he’s always covered in bruises,” y.n swallowed hard, giving her answer to the policeman’s question. what else was there to say? the truth? pointless. he’d decide she was a tyrant, and he’d be right. and how could she explain to him that the couple was addicted to these quarrels? it was unlikely he was interested in the details of their insane sex life. “we have testimony from mr. park’s younger sister and a video in which he admits that it was you who hit him.” y.n immediately realized sunghoon’s sister had reported her — that was obvious. she was the only one who so fiercely meddled in their relationship from time to time. well, besides sim jaeyun. “when will they let her go?” sunghoon tried not to show emotion and spoke calmly. “i’m not pressing any charges against her.” “i’d hope not, or i’d kill you,” jaeyun hissed, filling out a form on his computer. park was on the other side of the desk, writing a written waiver of claims against y.n. the two locked eyes, sunghoon only raising a brow at his former best friend’s words. “y.n is going to have huge problems if you don’t deal with your sister. but do it quietly, calm her down. she came to file the report all on edge, almost crying for you.” sunghoon smirked. “i’ll handle how i talk to my sister myself. when are they bringing y.n out? i need to take her home.” jaeyun exhaled tiredly. now that he and his friend had fallen out, bile kept creeping into their conversations. sim leaned back in his chair. “i don’t know. the shift supervisor latched onto this case, no idea what’s gotten into him.” everything in his chest turned upside down. sunghoon feared something unpleasant would happen to y.n. they were interrogating her like a criminal, and he couldn’t do anything. jaeyun’s phone vibrated. “i’ll go check what that is.” park didn’t even look at him. they had both ended up in the same girl’s net. best friends who had been through thick and thin together — now couldn’t stand being in each other’s presence. y.n had always been a bad girl: at school, in the first year of university — that’s when they met. sunghoon and jaeyun didn’t know whether that trip to the club on a saturday evening was a blessing or their eternal curse. y.n was with a friend, the four of them talked, but the guys didn’t admit to each other that they secretly took her number. both of them. they talked, called each other, meetings ended in hotels and there was only one condition — don’t talk about us. y.n kept quiet about jaeyun when she was with sunghoon, she didn’t talk about park when she was with sim. she was choosing, tasting them both. and the guys kept quiet: because jaeyun had spoken to her first, and sunghoon had been left with the friend. y.n was alluring, park couldn’t resist. at twenty, jaeyun felt like freedom, like a boyish playful smile, like jokes that made you forget your worries. sunghoon was, as always, composed and focused, silent and smelling of responsibility, but there was something dark in him that perfectly matched the darkness in y.n’s soul. probably that’s why she chose park, leaving sim with a broken heart.

“i was the first” — jaeyun’s words still echoed in both their heads.

“i will be her last” — sunghoon had said, final as a guillotine. he knew sim could never handle y.n’s temperament, but he hadn’t even given him a chance to try, latching onto the girl like a predator to prey. but… there was no prey in their relationship, both deserved each other.

“park sunghoon has dropped the charges,” jaeyun said from the doorway, opening the interrogation room door. his gaze immediately went to his boss, but he felt y.n’s eyes on him — it made the air leave his lungs. “after all we’ve dug up?!” the policeman flared up, slamming the table. “yes, he’s already filled out all the paperwork,” sim tried to answer calmly. only for a moment did he look at the girl. she was on the brink of tears. “can i go to him? please…” she voiced, her tone fractured by fear. “i need to see my beloved.” jaeyun clenched his jaw hard, crossing his arms over his chest. he was still standing in the doorway, waiting for when he could get the girl out of there. she had deliberately called sunghoon that, sim just knew it. y.n would never drop these jealousy games, even now, when the three of them were forced into the same room. they hadn’t spoken for years and met here — in a police station. “hold her, god forbid she attacks the guy right in the waiting hall out of anger,” whispered the boss, annoyed that he couldn’t see the case through. the man left first, leaving jaeyun one on one with y.n. “let’s go, y.n,” despite the order, he called her gently. “sunghoon is waiting for you, you’re going home.” “really?” she said with hope in her voice. the guy nodded with a sigh. when she approached the door and drew even with sim, she said:

“i always knew you’d cover for us, officer sim.”

the usually playful voice of the girl had turned tired, a slight smile appearing on her face. she had always called jaeyun that, even when jaeyun’s police badge was still four university courses away. old memories flared up. for years sim had tormented himself with memories of what had been between him and y.n. now, when she was so close, when sunghoon was in the waiting hall not knowing what was happening in the interrogation room, jaeyun snapped. he abruptly put his hand on the doorframe, blocking the girl’s path. she lifted her eyes to him. “i’m waiting for thanks.” “what?” y.n snorted with a smirk. “thanks for the rescue.” jaeyun’s eyes darkened. the girl looked at him, at his hand, and back at him. “didn’t you hear what they’re accusing me of, or aren’t you scared?” “even if you hit me — it would still be a touch. i dream of feeling your hands on me again.” at the sudden confession, y.n froze. the guy clearly wasn’t joking, but…

“i’m crazy, but not that crazy. i don’t even know what would be worse: hitting a policeman myself or letting sunghoon do it?”

“he won’t find out, y.n, please.” in his memories she was like a ghost, following him every day. loneliness tormented jaeyun, but with no one else did he feel the way he had with y.n — it was a vicious circle. but instead of giving in, the girl bent down, passing under sim’s arm.

“i chose him and i won’t change my mind. i love sunghoon, so unhealthily, so strongly, in a way you can’t even imagine.” she paused, seeing how jaeyun’s face gradually fell. “which way?” she looked around the corridor. “to the right,” gathering himself, sim pronounced clearly. it was foolish to hope that y.n would give him even a sliver of her attention.