taking a break

The wooden front door unlocks with a noticeable click, the hinges creaking loudly as you push it open. You bite back a smile as you step inside, noting how nothing has changed. The walls are still plastered with a faded rose patterned wallpaper, interrupted only by framed photos every few paces. The mostly wooden furniture has been worn down, scuffs and scrapes scarring their surface. Even the leather of the couches is riddled with holes that you remember from your childhood, the result of multiple movie nights and family gatherings. 

The house still vaguely smells of early 70s summers as you move throughout the different rooms. You can hear the laughter of your cousins and feel the stickiness of watermelon on your face. You see a few mason jars on the windowsill, fireflies lighting up in a distinguished rhythm. Your grandparents dance around the kitchen, blasting blues music and asking their grandchildren what they know about good music. 

Back then, they knew nothing. 

You sigh when you finally make it back to the front hallway, grabbing your discarded suitcase as you make your trek upstairs. Instead of making a left into the master bedroom, you make a right and end up in the room you used to spend your summers in. The walls are still painted a pale yellow and the blanket has Winnie the Pooh printed on it. You can’t help but rub your fingers over the faded fabric, feeling your chest tighten. 

The wooden night stand is littered with colorful marker streaks and stains, empty save for a lamp perched on top and a gilded picture frame next to it. You’re quick to pick it up, taking a seat on the bed that welcomes you with a sigh. The picture is faded, and the glass is dusty, but the memory it contains is bright in your mind. 

Two children beam at the camera, missing teeth and ice cream stains around their mouths. The boy’s inky black hair falls messily across his forehead while the girl’s hair is pulled up into two pigtails. The sun beats down on them, forcing them to squint up at the lens. They say cheese with all of their might, loudly enough to make the woman behind the camera chuckle. Her laughter makes the picture come out slightly unfocused, but it’s beautiful anyways. 

Y/N + Wonbin, July 1978

.         .         .

You knew that in their older years, your grandparents had a lot of help on the farm. Although they never went as far as to hire official farmhands, they would enlist the help of locals and neighbors whenever they needed it. Your only condition for taking over the farm was that you would still have that help. But you didn’t expect that help to be knocking on your door at eight in the morning. 

The smiling face that greets you is way too cheery for so early in the morning, but you try your best to match their expression. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, rubbing the residual sleep from your left eye. 

“Good mornin’, ma’am. You must be Y/N. I’m Sungchan. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but I wanted to come introduce myself. I used to help your grandparents ‘round here sometimes.”

You are almost taken aback by the thickness of his drawl, country accent oozing from his every word. You try your best to conceal your surprise, opening the door wider and motioning for him to step inside. 

“It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you come on in? Any friend of my grandparents is a friend of mine.”

You lead Sungchan through the house and into the kitchen, motioning for him to have a seat at the small breakfast table. There’s a bit of silence, only filled by the occasional gurgle of the coffee maker. Sungchan looks conflicted, as if he’s mulling over his words. It isn’t until you pass him a steaming mug that he chooses to speak. 

“I’m sorry about your grandparents, by the way. It really is a shame what happened to ‘em.”

You sigh, fighting the wave of sadness overcoming your chest. “I appreciate that. And it is, but they lived great lives. I don’t think either of them left us with any regrets.”

“They were lovely souls, the two of ‘em,” Sungchan states, round eyes seeming a little glassy. “They really treated everyone in the town like we were family. We all appreciated everythin’ they did for us.”

“And I'm sure they appreciated you all too. Thank you, by the way, for always taking care of them.”

Sungchan smiles prettily, wide eyes no longer seeming so dreary. You easily note how remarkably handsome he is, suddenly regretting not changing out of your pajamas and taming your hair into something better than a frizzy bun. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t the city. Fancy looks and spotless appearances don’t mean a thing out here. 

“It was my pleasure, always. And I’m lookin’ forward to doing the same for you. Anytime you need anything, just give me a holler. My boys and I will roll around here every so often just to do the regular upkeep. But if there’s anything that comes up, we’d be happy to take care of it.”

Relief floods your chest. “Thank you, really. I’ll see to it that you guys at least get paid for what you do.”

Sungchan cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart. We do these things because we want to, not for the money. Plus, your grandparents would never forgive us if we left their pretty city-slickin’ granddaughter with all of this to take care of.”

“City-slicking, huh?” You can’t help the chuckle you let out, pointedly ignoring both the petname and the compliment. “Well still, I’m going to try my best to be useful and help you guys, too.”

Conversing with Sungchan is easier than you expected, even though he spends the next hour or so trying to assure you that you won’t have to lift a finger on the farm. There is a certain warmth that overcomes you at the thought of being taken care of. Despite having always prided yourself on your ability to be independent, a trait that was absolutely vital to surviving in the city, you would always daydream about having people to lean on. The daydream would always suspiciously end up having inky black hair and a too-wide smile. 

Sungchan leaves with a hug and a request for you to join him at the local bar later that night. He seems all too giddy at the knowledge that the two of you are close in age, insisting that you meet all of his friends. You had always known that young people were hard to come by in the town, so you agree with the hope that you could maybe make some friends of your own. Succumbing to loneliness is the last thing you need on your plate. 

The only pair of flared jeans you own mock you in the mirror, hugging the curve of your hips a little too tightly. They’re long enough that only the tips of your boots are shown, which are also the only pair of cowboy boots you own. You silently thank your city friends for convincing you to not throw out your older country clothes, insisting they’ll make a fashionable comeback in the next few years. As much as you doubt that, they are coming in handy for tonight. With one last twirl in the mirror, you deem yourself ready to go.

The Crawl is an old dive bar off the main road in the center of town, the only bar within miles. It’s been a local favorite for years, often considered the grimiest pride and joy of town. You have vague memories of your family members heading here after they put the children to sleep, not returning until the wee hours of the morning. You and your cousins always said that you would have your first legal drinks at The Crawl, planning to convene once everyone turned twenty-one. Of course, it never materialized, and the taste of liquor has always been inexplicably bitter ever since.

There’s loud music playing when you walk in a little after 9pm, the newest Shania Twain having attracted quite a few people to the dance floor. Through the crowd, you spot Sungchan’s towering figure by a booth, easily one of the tallest in the room. He looks to be surrounded by a few people, most of them men around their age. 

You slink closer to the group slowly, avoiding bodies as they twirl around you. It’s only when someone nods his head your way that Sungchan notices your approach, quickly turning to greet you with a wide smile. You do your best to return it, pointedly avoiding the stares from the rest of the people around the table.

“Y/N! I’m glad you made it, sweetheart.”

You just nod tensely, suddenly shy under the weight of everyone’s gaze. With a gentle hand on your arm, Sungchan nudges you to face the rest of the occupants of the table. There’s a whirlwind of greetings, but your eyes are fixed on one face in the crowd. You would be able to recognize those bright eyes anywhere.

“Wonbin?”

“Hey Ducky. Long time no see.”

Before you can blink, Wonbin is standing from the table and pulling you into a hug. It’s an odd feeling, to be embraced by someone that you haven’t seen in at least thirteen years. He’s much taller, shoulders broader, and arms lightly muscled, strength evident in the way he squeezes your middle. His inky black hair is much longer now, hanging down in front of his eyes and curling around the base of his neck.

“You look good,” Wonbin says once you part, eyes sweeping over your figure.

“You do too,” you breathe out. “I didn’t know you still lived here.”

Wonbin chuckles, prominent cheekbones making an appearance. “Never left, actually. Unlike some people.”

Before you can respond, someone pipes up from the table. “This is Ducky? Your first love?”

You blanch at the question, but Wonbin just smiles, never once breaking eye contact.

“Yep, sure is.”

.          .        .

You wake up with a raging headache. As the world around you spins and the sunlight burns your eyes, you regret letting the boys teach you how to shoot whiskey. Apparently, you were the only one in the group who didn’t enjoy a good brown juice, and they were determined to change that. But after the fourth shot, your memory gets a little hazy.

You vaguely remember being tucked under Wonbin’s arm at some point, letting him recount the story of how you got the nickname Ducky. Rina, who had Seunghan’s cowboy hat perched on her head, kept laughing about your reported clumsiness as a child. She emphasized that the minute you two fell into nickname territory, you and Wonbin should have known you were in love. You tossed back another glass without second thought at the remark, letting your mind fall peacefully blank for the rest of the night.

Bile burns in the back of your throat at the memories that surface from the prior night. You were touchy, much more than was polite, probably. You danced and made a fool of yourself to country songs you had never heard before. You laughed and joked with Wonbin like you were still friends, like nothing had changed in the thirteen years you were apart, like you hadn’t claimed the title of his first love—like he hadn’t claimed yours. 

The heavy click of machinery outside the window is what snaps you out of your reverie. With squinted eyes, you peek beyond the blinds, surprised to see a tractor plowing through rows of raised beds. A large brown hat obscures the driver’s face, but the black hair that flows beyond it is a dead giveaway. 

You get dressed in a whirlwind, quickly tugging on your only pair of cowboy boots before making your way out to the back porch. Wonbin seems too absorbed in his work to notice you, though, maneuvering the tractor to dig neat rows for crops. It takes a few moments, but eventually he powers the machine down and hops out, startling when he notices you looking at him a few paces away. 

“Gosh, Ducky. You scared me.”

You bite back a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just…you’re here early?”

“Huh?” Wonbin checks his watch. “No I’m not. It’s ‘round half past ten. That’s honestly a little late for when we normally start.”

“No, I mean, after last night.”

Wonbin chuckles, prominent cheeks pulling upwards. “Oh Ducky, last night was nothin’ for everyone else. You clearly had a time, though.”

“It was Sungchan’s fault! He made a big deal over the whiskey.” You don’t have to see your face to know that there’s a pout pulling on the edges of your lips. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with being a lightweight, sugar.”

You choke a bit at the pet name, thankful that the heat flooding your face can be blamed on the sun beating down on you both. You have to remind yourself that this is normal for the people down here, letting pet names flow from their lips without it meaning anything. It’s a futile attempt to try and calm yourself, but you try and remind yourself that this isn’t flirting, this shouldn’t make you feel anything. Even still, Wonbin seems to know the effect he has on you, full lips twisted into a satisfied smirk. You take a deep breath, attempting to regain your composure. 

“Whatever. But, uh, do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Some food?”

Wonbin smiles. “Some coffee would be lovely, Ducky.”

When you return with two mugs, Wonbin joins you on the porch, thanking you softly as he settles into the rocking chair beside your own. The chairs are older than the two of you combined, the wood creaking with every sway. The once white paint is chipped in some places and faded in others, leaving everything a splotchy gray. The worn wicker seats have been covered with faded cushions to hide the holes. You don’t think you’ve ever sat in a comfier spot. 

“I never thought this would happen,” Wonbin murmurs after a moment of silence. “I thought you were gone for good.”

You sigh. “As I got older, there couldn’t be any more summers spent out here. Life just happens, I guess. I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“I was born here and I think I’ll die here, Ducky. It’s not like anyone in my family has known anything else.”

The warm April breeze blows across your faces, your hair swaying in the wind. You look out to the vast plot of land in front of you, some places completely barren while others teem with blooms and buds. It’s not quite the lush summer you are used to, but you know that you’ll have to learn to embrace the farm in all seasons. 

“What Seunghan said last night, about me being your first love. Was that true?”

Wonbin takes a long sip from his mug. “I’m a lot of things, but a liar’s not one of them.”

“Oh, well,” you mutter, fighting the awkwardness crawling up your throat. “You were mine, too. Just for the record.”

“And now?”

“And now what?”

“You have some fancy boyfriend waitin’ on you back in the city or somethin’?”

You snort at the ridiculous thought. “No, I definitely do not. And you?”

“And me what?”

“You have some country girlfriend wearing your hat in The Crawl or something?”

Wonbin hides his smile in his mug, taking another long sip before answering. “No, Ducky, I definitely do not.”

.          .         .

Warm spring eventually settles into a hot summer, intense heat slowly settling over the farm day by day. Despite slowly settling into life on the farm, the heat is enough to have you restless, never feeling cool enough from the small window air conditioner in your bedroom or the plethora of fans across the house. Rumor has it that it’s the hottest summer in history, almost bordering on dangerous territory. 

So, when Sungchan’s pickup truck rolls into the driveway with four other bodies seated in the bed, talking about heading to the lake for the day, you can do nothing but accept. 

The lake is beautiful, but small, slowly drying out over time. As a kid, you and your family would often spend the hottest days by the lake, adults sharing beers from an overly packed cooler while disco hits streamed from the radio. You find yourself smiling as you lay out on the familiar lakeside, almost able to hear the Donna Summer hits that your family would blast. 

“When’s the last time you’ve been out here, Y/N?” Seunghan asks as he helps you set out a blanket on the rocky shore. 

“Hmm, probably about thirteen years ago.”

Wonbin chuckles from the truck bed as he helps Sungchan unload the cooler. “We were babies last time you were here, Ducky. Remember when I threw you in and you nearly lost it?”

You smile at the memory, it popping vividly back into your mind. You had been in the beginning stages of puberty, feeling awkward in your changing body and the pimples that began to adorn your face. The awkwardness had you refusing to take off your outerwear and sunglasses, not wanting anyone to see your figure or your face. Wonbin didn’t care, though. He simply used his newly developing muscles to haul you over his shoulder and drop you into waist-high water. 

You remember crying for so long and so loud that Wonbin himself began to cry as well, both of you still submerged in the water. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t cry too, Bin.”

Wonbin grins, pearly white teeth almost reflecting the bright afternoon sunlight. “Sure did. My Ducky bein’ upset made me upset. What can I say?”

You fight not to roll your eyes at the admission, trying your hardest to take it as anything other than a confession. Hearing all about how Wonbin used to feel shouldn’t matter to you. It’s all in the past. But there’s something gnawing at you, something chipping away at your calcified exterior, telling you to melt into your past. After all, if country fashion can make a comeback, then maybe you can too.

.         .         .

You have only received flowers from one man, and they were peonies. At seven years old, a few days shy of Fourth of July, you were sitting on your porch when Wonbin approached. He had a shy smile on his face when he held out a tiny bouquet of only 3 flowers, light pink peonies. You grinned from ear to ear, missing teeth creating holes in your smile. Wonbin tipped his hat to you, comically large for a child, and left with a blush poised high on his cheeks. Apparently, his mother grounded him for cutting the flowers from her garden, but the boy refused to apologize, knowing that it was worth it to see you smile.

What you don’t expect is the next time you receive flowers to be from the exact same man, seventeen years later. 

Wonbin’s knock at the door is an insistent wrap of knuckles that seem to shake the whole house. You wipe your sticky fingers on a faded dishtowel, leaving your attempt at canning apricots unattended on the kitchen counter. You know that you probably look a mess, face shining with a thin layer of sweat. The scent of apricots lingers around you, but the aroma is quickly replaced by that of peonies when you open the door to reveal Wonbin. 

“They’re still your favorite, right Ducky?”

You blame the blush that overcomes your cheeks on the oppressive southern heat and nothing else. Even as you accept the bouquet and usher Wonbin deeper into the house, the heat of your face feels permanent. Wonbin has a similar blush painting his cheeks, although it darkens once he sees the mess strewn across the kitchen counter. 

“Apricots?” The question comes out slightly breathless. 

You smile sheepishly. “I know how much you loved my grandma’s apricot jam, so I was trying to make some. I know it won’t be as good as hers, but it was worth a shot! I’m new to the whole canning and jam thing but it never looked that hard, so I thought, why not? Especially since you know—,”

“Ducky,” Wonbin cuts you off with a breathy whisper. “Sugar–.”

He encroaches on your space minutely, backing you into the counter. You blink at the sudden close proximity, struggling to keep eye contact. Something about the intensity of his dark irises makes it impossible to return his gaze. He reaches a hand out to rest on your waist, right underneath the strings of your faded apron. The contact makes you shiver despite your entire body being on fire. 

“Can I…damn, I know this isn’t polite, but I need to…Ducky, can I kiss you?”

Your breath stutters in your chest. With Wonbin so close, you’re sure he notices, especially as his gaze falls down to your lips. All it takes is a minute nod of your head before Wonbin surges forward to capture you in a kiss. 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t dream of this, of kissing the object of your affection since you knew what affection even was. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t dream of the way his plush lips would feel against yours, slightly chapped from the dry heat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t dream of the way his callouses would feel rubbing circles into your waist as he pressed you into the faded countertops. 

You’d be lying if you said you expected Wonbin’s kisses to taste of anything other than apricot jam, made sweeter by time spent in the jar, tucked away from the world. 

Taeyoung is nice enough, albeit a little cocky. He kisses your forehead after he finishes, whispering how you did so well for him. Little does he know that you were putting on a performance of your own, fucking as a means to an end rather than a genuine experience. He smiles triumphantly as he shrugs on his jacket, leaving you with barely a glance back.

It’s easier this way. It’s easier to have bad sex and warm your bed than to sit in your solitude and listen to the way your college town echoes outside the windows. You’re not sad, and you’re not lonely. You’re pulling more men than you ever have in the entirety of your life, a new face disappearing between your legs just about every week. It doesn’t matter that none of them seem to be able to strum up the right melody to make you sing. 

You’re fine this way. Because anything is better than thinking about Sungho.

Sometimes, it’s hard not to. At times like this, when the random man of the week has left you unsatisfied, body tense and brittle to the point of breaking, you can’t help but let your mind drift back to Sungho. You feel the phantom touch of his fingers on your skin, of him inside you, of his lips pressed to the column of your throat. You hear every gasp and moan, every sound that you reciprocally pulled from each other in the throes of passion. It’s a melody played on repeat until you finish yourself off.

It’s only been about two months since you last saw him, but the loss feels like it’s been going on for years. Enough time has passed that you should be moving on, at least that’s what Dongmin says. You always tell him that you have moved on, that a new man is playing your fiddle every week, that you’ve never been this active before and that it’s great. Even though you can both see right through your lies, Dongmin doesn’t have the heart to call you out on it.

As you lay in bed, you think about all of the times Sungho has pressed you into it. At a certain point, you were used to your sheets constantly smelling like him, like that musky cologne that was always the strongest in the dip between his collarbones. Now it just smells like stale sweat. You cringe at the thought that it’s not even yours. Instead, you’re surrounded by the stench of a man who you don’t even know, a name you’ve already forgotten, an unsatisfying tryst that has already been buried in the back of your mind.

You close your eyes to sleep, knowing that you’ll dream of fingertips gliding across your skin, dancing perfectly. There won’t be a single misstep, a single beat missed. You know that when you wake up, a melody will be playing on repeat in your mind like a broken record.

.         .         .

The bars on campus are boring. There’s a series of three small spots that are all lined up on the same block, packed to the brim for their $2 shot nights each Wednesday. Most people like to rotate between the three, always making an attempt to either dodge someone or catch them. Tonight, you’re doing the former.

You’re not sure if Sungho even frequents the bars on nights like tonight, but something about his extroverted nature has you realizing that he would thrive here. A pretty boy amongst the masses, charismatic and charming as he opens his wallets to buy the closest beautiful face a drink. He would give them his signature smile, maybe laugh too loud, but it would all work in his favor, like everything does.

Steph’s, the smallest of the three, is where you find yourself stumbling into at a fresh 11:30pm, not even one drink in, but drunk off exhaustion and desperation. It’s crowded, like it always is, but you still have enough space to maneuver your way through the bodies to end up at the bar. The crowd means it takes a second for the bartender to reach you, shooting you a bright smile as he does.

“Y/N,” Intak grins. “I would have thought you’d be next door on a night like tonight.”

You simply shrug, trying not to recoil at the fact that you’re now here enough for him to know you so well. “I wanted a cozier vibe, I guess.”

Intak chuckles, his nose scrunching cutely. “I’m not sure if there’s anything cozy here on a Wednesday night, but maybe you know something I don’t. What can I get you?”

Your order is pretty straight forward, a simple tequila soda with a lime. It’s bitter enough to sting the back of your throat, the bubbles doing little to soothe the sensation. The sourness of the lime is the icing on the cake, the final bite of pain to remind you that you’re real. You’re here, even if you don’t want to be.

Unlike a normal night, you choose not to babysit your drink, instead downing it in a few quick gulps. It’s easy to stare off into space as the bar buzzes around you, your mind staying occupied until Intak appears once more. 

He’s quite handsome like this, hair tousled and a bit of sweat beading on his forehead. It’s hot in the bar, even for Intak, who is clad in a white tank top. It’s hard not to eye the flex of his muscles as he preps drinks, wondering if that’s enough to lure all the girls in. Maybe you’re just easy. 

Scratch that. Right now, you’re definitely easy.

“That was fast,” Intak quips with a smile. “Want another?”

With a simple nod, the man gets back to work, acting oblivious to the way you’re eyeing him. You’re sure it comes with the territory.

You don’t hesitate to knock back the drink when it’s placed in front of you, trying not to wince as the bitter concoction slides down your throat. It does little to warm your insides, but you’re sure that right now you’re harboring a chill that not even the strongest liquor could warm. Even the heat of other bodies has proven to be useless.

“Seems like you got some things on your mind,” Intak says sagely, clearly concerned. “You want to talk about it?”

You open your mouth to reply, but a call from down the bar cuts you off. A group of girls is waving Intak over frantically, drunkenly calling for another round of shots. Intak at least has the decency to look apologetic as he excuses himself, promising to return to listen to your woes.

It’s probably futile to belabor the point. Talking about the hole that Sungho has left inside you won’t do anything to bring him back, to bring back whatever it was that you had. Even trying to convince yourself that all you’re missing is the sex isn’t working. You don’t need a listening ear, you don’t need a body caressing yours, and you certainly don’t need alcohol. You need Sungho. But in his absence, you guess you must turn to other vices, hoping they’ll make you feel a fraction of what Sungho did.

The heat of the bar begins to feel suffocating, despite the fact that you feel far from warm. It’s quickly starting to grow fuller as everyone trickles in for their own quick escape from the woes of college. As the bodies begin to press in closer, you hope that it will make you feel something. You hope that the kick of the bass in the song blaring over the bar’s speakers and the chatter of those around you will quiet some of the noise in your head. 

As expected, it’s a futile thought. 

You take in the bodies around you, scoping the scenery for a new flavor of the week. You’ve been seeking the same thing recently, not too tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, a pretty face. It’s kind of like the guy across the bar. It’s kind of like Sungho. 

You’re used to seeing the ghost of him everywhere, in the library, on the green, in the gym. Of course, it’s never him, just some random look alike that couldn’t even hold a candle to Sungho. But this guy is handsome, if his side profile is anything to go by. He looks almost exactly like Sungho, from the slope of his nose, to the fullness of his lips. In a Park Sungho lookalike contest, he would definitely come in first. But obviously, it’s not him. 

Then he turns, allowing you to get a full glimpse of his face. 

It can’t be. But it is. 

Sungho looks both incredibly different and exactly the same as when you last saw him. He still has his same angelic face and shaggy brown hair, but there’s something off. His undereyes house the faintest purple hue, a few lines creasing their usually flawless surface. He’s smiling at something someone next to him is saying, but it’s not reaching his eyes. Something about him seems superficial, hollow. 

You find yourself entranced as you watch Sungho interact with the person next to him, some girl with a terrible red box dye job. Despite the bile rising in your stomach, you can’t seem to tear your eyes away, watching her flirt and fawn over Sungho as if he were the last man on earth. The rush of blood in your ears blocks any chance you had of hearing what they’re saying, but you imagine that their words would only make the chill in your spine run deeper. 

“So, are you ready to talk about it?”

Intak’s voice is enough to shock you out of your stupor, his tall frame completely obscuring the view of Sungho across the bar. Instinctively, you find yourself craning your neck, not caring about the lack of subtlety as you try and keep an eye on him. If Intak notices, he doesn’t say anything, waiting patiently with a calm smile on his face. 

“Yeah, uh,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect yourself. “It’s, um, a boy.”

Intak chuckles. “It’s always a boy. Or a girl. But it’s always someone else. Let me guess, relationship troubles?”

“We were never together,” you bite back, not sure where the sudden itch of irritation is coming from. 

“And that’s the problem, I’m assuming.”

It’s a bit embarrassing, to be so transparent. But you’re sure that Intak has dealt with plenty of stories like this from his customers. In an odd way, it makes you feel a bit less alone, to know you’re not the only one to have felt this way. 

“The problem is that he rejected being more, I think.”

Intak stops drying the glass in his hand, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted in puppy-like confusion. “What do you mean ‘you think?’”

“I mean,” you sigh. “He overheard me saying I had feelings for him and then told me that he made it clear that he wasn’t looking for more when this started.”

“And then…?”

“And then I walked out and haven’t spoken to him since.”

The look on Intak’s face is enough to have embarrassment coloring your cheeks. It’s not often that he drops his sweet demeanor, but when he does, it’s jarring every time. Right now, he’s looking at you as if you’re the world’s biggest idiot, an imaginary dunce cap placed firmly on top of your head. 

“Why wouldn’t you ask him what he’s looking for now?”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What?”

Intak rolls his eyes, picking up another glass to begin wiping down. “If he said that’s what he wanted then, why wouldn’t you clarify what he wanted now. You know people can change their minds, right?”

You try to reply, but find yourself with no words. Of course, Intak is right that things change, but that’s not the case here. Sungho didn’t change his mind. He couldn’t have! And that’s why he’s with someone else at the bar. That’s why he hasn’t spoken to you. That’s why everything turned out the way it has. 

You go to tell Intak as much, but he’s been whisked away to the other side of the bar to pour another drink. It leaves you in an odd bout of silence, the kind that comes from being alone in a room full of people. 

By now, the bar is buzzing with a familiar tune of people, still less than some of the bars down the street. Instinctually, you find yourself searching again, craning your neck to see if you can get another glimpse of Sungho and his choice for the night. Despite roaming every face and body ten times over, though, you’re unable to spot him.

The buzz of bodies in the bar, the uptempo melody of whatever’s playing through the speakers, and the clinking of ice against glasses harmonize in your head, culminating in a melancholy mix that reminds you of everything that you’re missing. For the first time in a while, you crave nothing but silence.

.         .         .

You curse the fact that Dongmin doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s oddly persistent when he wants to be, despite his nonchalant demeanor. What makes it worse is that he’s no stranger to insisting, no, demanding your presence when he needs it. Why he would need you to accompany to a house party is beyond you, but one overexaggerated pout is enough to have you folding immediately.

It’s been a while since you have attended an actual house party, usually preferring the warm, impersonal atmosphere of a bar or club. Something about the idea of being trapped in a house with a bunch of strangers and acquaintances seems like hell. The notion of exchanging fake pleasantries and divulging drunken secrets is enough to make your skin crawl. But the way Dongmin is buzzing with excitement has you taking a deep breath, forcing yourself to suck it up for the sake of your best friend.

Sure, it takes pregaming with a few shots to get there, but eventually you make it out of your apartment and into town.

The house that Dongmin leads you to is deceptive in its size, a row house that opens up to a labyrinth of rooms filled with bodies. What strikes you first is the intensity of the sounds, the bass of music that was audible from the sidewalk only growing impossibly louder as you navigate the sea of people. You can barely hear Dongmin as he leads you to the drinks, no doubt gushing over the slew of people he’s going to see or the great taste of whoever’s on aux.

It’s only when you two enter the makeshift bar area that he finally leans forward to speak to you properly.

“I need to tell you something.”

You’ve known Dongmin long enough for the short phrase to have your stomach dropping. It’s not quite panic, but a bit of anxiety is beginning to swim through your veins, already mixing with the thrum of the bass of the music, leaving your whole body vibrating.

“What is it?”

Dongmin smiles nervously, shoving a small cup full of clear liquid forward. “Take a shot first.”

Before you can protest, the man just levels you with a look, gesturing towards the cup. He knows you too well.

You make a noise of displeasure before knocking the shot back, trying not to wince as it burns its way down your throat. Without a chaser, you’re almost gagging, but it does the trick. Dongmin waits until you’ve fully recovered before leaning close to your ear once more.

“Do you want another before I tell you, or do you just want to know?”

You take a long hard look at your best friend, trying to find something in his expression. To anyone who didn’t know him better, he would seem like a clear picture of stoicism. But you can see the tiniest glint of mischief in his eyes, something fun, but contained. It’s enough to calm a bit of your initial anxiety, while also leaving you with a bit of intrigue.

Right as you go to answer, the song changes, going from something deep and dirty to something fun and nostalgic. The shift in energy is immediately tangible throughout the whole house, conversations turning lively as people let the music move them. Even Dongmin’s gaze softens the slightest bit, letting you relax even more into the atmosphere.

“Fuck it,” you shrug. “Give me another.”

Dongmin’s face splits into a grin as he goes to pour you another shot. This time, he doesn’t let you drink alone, taking one right alongside you. While he’s never been the best at drinking, he does his best to maintain a straight face. Of course, he fails miserably, causing you to burst into a fit of quiet giggles. 

“Shut up,” Dongmin whines, barely audible over the music. “You weren’t much better!”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Whatever. Just tell me what it is you had to tell me.”

“Oh, yeah. So, I brought you here because someone specifically asked for you.”

You’re sure that you do a terrible job hiding your surprise, eyebrows meeting your hairline. “Who?”

“You have to find that out for yourself.”

“Dongmin—!”

“Don’t worry,” Dongmin interrupts. “They’ll be looking for you too. I promise.”

It’s difficult to not believe the man when he seems so sure of himself. It’s even more difficult when he’s grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you through throngs of people to where a makeshift dance floor has been formed in the living room. It’s even more difficult to think about it when you’re packed between sweaty bodies, dancing to the track that’s blasting from the speakers, chest warm from alcohol. 

The music continues to vibrate its way up your spine as you dance, moving you before you get a chance to move yourself. Something about the beat forces you to sway one way, but then the melody pulls you in the opposite direction. A nasty guitar riff forces you to grind your hips while the lyrics tell you to roll your body. 

All you’re able to do is feel the music and let it move you. 

It’s only after a couple of songs that Dongmin places a hand on your shoulder, tilting his head towards what looks like a back door. You simply nod, following behind your best friend as he journeys out to get some fresh air. 

The cool breeze feels lovely on your overheated skin, the beads of sweat forming along your hairline slowly being whisked away by the wind. For a moment, you just close your eyes, feeling the air rustle your clothes and hair, noting the way that the vibration beneath your feet has dwindled. 

When you finally decide to take a look around, you’re surprised to see that the outdoor space is fairly empty, just a few bodies strewn around the deck and the lawn below. Between the darkness and the haze of alcohol, it’s hard to make out exactly who everyone is, but you find yourself uncaring of who’s around.

It’s only when you hear excited calls of your best friend’s name that you care to take the time to focus, four figures unmistakable where they’re moving across the lawn. Unsurprisingly, there’s one figure that stands out amongst the others. It’s a silhouette that you’d know anywhere, becoming clearer and clearer as it makes its way up to the balcony.

First, broad shoulders come into view, then a tiny waist, accentuated by a boxy crop top. Then comes the shaggy brown hair, having grown longer since you last saw it. And finally, he’s standing before you, a complete person rather than just a collection of features. Nausea swirls in your stomach, leaving your mouth dry.

“Y/N,” Sungho calls softly, voice being carried away by the wind. “Long time no see.”

There’s a tightness in your throat that’s preventing you from responding. You didn’t expect such a wave of emotions to hit you all at once, leaving you frozen in place without a word to say. 

Like this, face to face with the one who’s been plaguing your thoughts for the past few months, it’s easy to let everything else fade into the background. The sound of Dongmin socializing with his friends blends into the deep bass of the party’s music, culminating in nothing more than the buzzing of a distant fly. Like this, all you’re able to hear is the pounding of your heart, the rush of blood in your ears, and the awkward chuckle Sungho lets out.

“I, uh, was hoping Dongmin would bring you.”

“Why?”

The short question is tumbling from your mouth before you have the chance to stop it, sounding like a breath punched from your gut. In a way, it feels accurate. Your diaphragm has collapsed in your chest, leaving you struggling for air that you know won’t find you. Across from you, Sungho looks pained, as if he, too, were gasping for breath.

“I wanted to see you…I, just, I—. Can we talk?”

Sungho has always been too transparent for his own good. His face gives away his every emotion, every twitch of his brow telling the story that his heart is feeling. Right now, though, under the haze of alcohol and dim lighting, every micro expression blends into nothingness.

You must have nodded, because Sungho leads you over to a pair of chairs situated on the far side of the deck. It offers you both a sense of privacy that isn’t quite necessary, as you were so caught up in your non-conversation that you didn’t realize that the others had gone back inside to the party.

The alcohol makes your movements somewhat clumsy as you sink into the deep chair, but your spine remains a certain rigidity that has Sungho eyeing you warily. Of course he would be overly in tune with your body even months after last playing it. For a moment, you feel an overwhelming desire to be his instrument once more, to be played in a melody, rather than strummed in a series of minor chords.

“I’m not drunk,” you blurt, probably undermining the statement itself. “I just wanted you to know that, if we’re really going to talk.”

Sungho smiles softly and something in your throat burns.

“I didn’t think you were,” he shrugs. “Honestly, I didn’t want to do this here. But I didn’t know where else I could see you.”

Something itches in the back of your skull, a nagging tingle that has you speaking before you can even process it. 

“I actually saw you, you know.” When Sungho looks confused, you continue. “At Steph’s the other night. You were with a girl.”

“Oh, you mean Yuna?”

A shrug is all you can answer with. Sungho at least has the decency to look flustered, cheeks reddening even further from their naturally pink hue. You don’t know why your pulse is racing just looking at him, body humming with anticipation. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t have to matter. But somewhere, deep in your tequila-tipsy thoughts, you know it does.

“Look, I won’t lie to you. She and I had a thing, but…”

So much hangs in the air as he trails off, the breeze unable to blow any of it away. Sungho can’t meet your eyes as he speaks, twirling rings around his slender fingers as he gathers his thoughts.

“But...” you goad, the suspense settling heavy in your gut.

Sungho sighs, finally meeting your gaze. “But she wasn’t you.”

It could mean a lot of things. It could mean that she didn’t have the expectations you had, or the burdens you came with. It could mean that she was fine with what you had issues with. It could mean anything. But something in Sungho’s eyes tells you that it means exactly that. She could have been anything, but between all the things she was, she wasn’t you.

“I thought that the whole ‘no strings attached’ thing would work with anyone, which is why I let you go that day in the cafe,” Sungho runs a hand through his hair, biceps flexing where they’re on display. “I didn’t realize that it only worked because it was you, because there were strings attached, whether I wanted to admit it or not.”

Your thoughts are moving so fast that they manifest in a sort of amorphous blob in your brain. It’s hard to parse through every emotion that’s lighting up your spine, every sensation that’s coursing its way through your veins. Because unsurprisingly, Sungho doesn’t need to touch you to make you feel.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask quietly, hands shaking from the restraint of not yelling. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sungho’s face drops, distraught to a degree that seems out of place outside of a party. Something in you yearns to fix it, to take that sadness and morph it into something lighter.

“I didn’t know, Y/N,” he insists. “If I knew I would have done something, anything–I don’t know.”

“But you didn’t.”

Sungho shakes his head. “I didn’t, but I know now.”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing down the thick lump that has lodged its way into your throat. “I think I know now, too.”

.         .         .

Many people compare sex to a dance, a physical movement that relies on give and take. But there’s something so profoundly wrong about reducing intimacy to an experience to the body alone; it’s more than skin on skin and grinds and sways. It’s much more akin to a song, a score, a soundtrack, a series of vibrations that penetrate deeper than the surface. 

Sungho moves like a bow against the strings of a violin, fingers gliding against your skin in a way that makes your cells dance, their movements back and forth culminating in a full body hum. There’s pressure against your hips, as if pressing on the keys of a piano. A rhythm that rivals a drumbeat is tangible in your core, the blood swimming in your ears serving as its melodic overlay.

You make sure that Sungho sings his own song, rolling your hips in a way that has him harmonizing with you. A stroke of a hand through chestnut locks feels much more like the strumming of a harp. A wet slap bounces off the wall like the clap of a cymbal. It’s an intense melody, the kind that would have anyone else running for the hills.

But then Sungho looks into your eyes, letting his lyrics flow directly from his brain to yours. The needle hits the record without you having to do much, letting the melody course through your body in a way that’s both novel and familiar. It reminds you that this isn’t simply touch.

This is feeling.

You’ve always loved how everything feels so easy with this group. Ever since you all met three years ago, in various stages of your career, you knew that you found your people. Despite the fact that you were only mere coworkers, the ten of you clicked in a way that you never quite expected. Over time, they became a sort of family, helping you adjust to life in a new city after college. 

The familiarity has its benefits at work, too. You all take extra time to give each other pointers, covering each others’ asses when someone makes a mistake, and lending each other a listening ear in times of need. It’s comfortable, cozy in a way that you have never really experienced before. 

It’s just as cozy tonight, as you nuzzle into Euijoo’s side, breathing in the scent of his cologne that lingers in the fabric of his hoodie. He’s giggling in that way he always does, mouth wide open with his nose scrunched. His cheeks puff out adorably, flushed from the alcohol he has been consuming all night. He raises his glass to his mouth, letting the red wine stain his lips to the point where they look just kiss bitten. 

“Hey, that was one time!” Taki exclaims. “She just looked really good that day.”

Yuma snorts at the outburst. “So you decided to flirt with her by the printer like the start of a bad porno?”

As the entire group bursts into drunken giggles, Taki groans. He finds the nearest throw pillow and chucks it in Yuma’s direction, laughing when it hits him square in the face. 

“Don’t be mad because you don’t have anyone to flirt with,” Taki teases, sticking his tongue out. 

“Clearly I don’t have any trouble with that,” Yuma retorts. “There’s only one virgin in the group and it isn’t me.”

What? Your head instantly rises from Euijoo’s chest, eyes locked on the man across the room. There’s no way that Yuma really meant that. You are all nice, fairly attractive people in your twenties. It can’t be the case that anyone hasn’t had sex before…right?

“Good one,” you scoff, trying your best to suppress your surprise. “Like anyone would believe that.”

There’s an odd silence that settles over the room, only to be undercut by the music still playing through the speakers. The vibe of the room instantly turns frigid, as if someone had covered the entire space in a layer of ice. If it weren’t for the awkward way that most of the guys are avoiding your eyes, you would think they were joking. But there’s something about this stillness that can’t be faked. 

“Uh, Y/N…” Nicholas murmurs, eyeing you warily from where he had been spread out across the floor. “Yuma’s not joking.”

Oh? Oh. 

Never been the best at controlling your facial expression, you’re sure your shock is evident. While the polite thing to do would be to drop it and never speak of it again, the alcohol floating through your veins has decimated your ability to maintain boundaries with your friends. That, and you’re a bit nosy. 

“Wait, so who’s the virgin?”

You’re too busy scanning the group to notice the way that a body goes stiff against yours. While your eyes float from Yudai to Nicholas, over Jo, Maki, Harua, Taki, and finally Fuma and Yuma, you can’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Sure, most of them are pink cheeked and pointedly ignoring your gaze, but you assume that’s just the liquor. 

Eventually, you crane your neck upwards to eye Euijoo, the last possible culprit in the room. As you scan his face, you notice that his ears appear to be on fire, sporting a bright red that’s ten times deeper than the flush on his cheeks. He swallows thickly as you continue to take him in, making brief eye contact with you before immediately looking away. 

No way. 

“No way!”

Euijoo groans, seemingly snapping the group out of the awkward silence that had taken hold of the room. “Please don’t start.”

“No,” you rush to assure him, grasping onto his arm. “It’s not a bad thing or anything to be ashamed of! I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Can we please just drop it?” He pleads before downing the rest of his wine. “And Yuma, fuck you dude.”

“Hey, it was just a joke!”

As the two devolve into a childish bicker, you feel your head begin to grow heavy again. It’s second nature to lean back into Euijoo, snuggling up to him as if a bomb hadn’t just been dropped on you. You’re sure that the haze of the alcohol will lessen the intensity of this information for you. By morning, you won’t remember a thing about Euijoo and his virginity. 

.         .         .

Euijoo’s a virgin. 

It’s the first thought that pops into your mind when you peel your eyes open the next morning. Luckily, you’re not too hungover, just sporting a mild headache from the bright sunlight streaming through your curtains. But nausea instantly rolls through your stomach when you think about it again. 

While being a virgin is nothing to be ashamed about, you must admit that Euijoo is the last person you’d assume to hold onto his modesty. 

It’s not like the man has had a shortage in partners to choose from. Euijoo has always been extremely handsome, his cute features sometimes countering the serious way he presents himself. He’s extremely amicable and kind, the sort of genuine kindness that is rare in a man these days. In short, Euijoo is just about the perfect man, and you’re sure you’re not the only one who can see that. 

So why is he still a virgin?

Your first thought is that maybe he’s asexual, but something about that doesn’t seem quite right. He’s never been shy in engaging in some of the tipsy conversations between your friend groups detailing their fantasies or laughing over past experiences. Maybe it’s the language barrier, as Euijoo mentioned his struggles in transitioning from Korea to Japan a few years back. Or maybe he just hasn’t found the right person yet. 

It seems nearly impossible that in a city as populous as your own, Euijoo wouldn’t be able to find someone he was interested in getting physical with. 

You find yourself pondering all of the possibilities throughout the rest of the week, determined to figure out exactly why a man like Byun Euijoo is a virgin well into his twenties. It seems like a scientific impossibility, a happenstance that’s beyond reason, and yet it’s a truth staring you right in the face. 

The fact that Euijoo’s cubicle is only a few down from yours doesn’t help your admitted obsession. Every time the man passes by your desk, legs looking impossibly long in his pressed slacks, you fall back into the same pattern of thinking. Seeing his rounded cheeks pull up into a bright smile has you wondering why that’s never been enough to charm someone into his bed. Even listening to him brief the team at work has you inquiring whether anyone has even had the pleasure of hearing him moan. 

Part of you wonders what he sounds like in the throes of passion. Would he moan loud and unabashed or groan quietly in an embarrassed attempt to muffle his sounds? Would his chest rumble in deep vibrations as his hands kneaded the skin of his partner’s hips? Would he encourage his partner to be vocal, craving praise the same way he does at work?

“Any questions?”

The inquiry instantly snaps you out of your daydream, scanning the room to see if anyone noticed you zoning out. Your face feels like it’s on fire despite the fact that your fantasizing seemed to go unnoticed by those around you. The temperature only increases when your eyes land on Euijoo, arms positioned behind his back as he politely waits for feedback. He’s so good, so wholesome, a fact that would surely come through in bed. 

Fuck. You’ve got to stop thinking about it. 

.         .        .

You can’t stop thinking about it. 

Thoughts of why Euijoo’s a virgin are one thing, but it’s another thing entirely to think about what it would be like to take said virginity. You hate yourself for it, the way you can’t stop eyeing the pout of his lips and imagining what it would feel like pressed to yours. Any slight irritation he expresses in the office instantly sparks a daydream about whether or not he’d be strict in bed, or if he’d maintain his sweet, calm demeanor.

Your mind refuses to think of anything else but what it would be like to sleep with Byun Euijoo.

Things only get worse when you see him outside of the office, your crew of coworkers gathering to grab a few after work drinks at a bar down the street. Trips to Jay’s are something that you’ve embraced over the years, loving to unwind with your favorite people after a long work week. It’s only second to hanging out at Fuma and Yudai’s place, but for once, you’re actually grateful for a less intimate setting.

That gratitude only lasts for a matter of minutes, however, until you spot Euijoo from across the bar. The sleeves of his dress shirt have been rolled up to expose his forearms, muscles flexing where his long fingers are wrapped around a glass. He looks like a dream where he leans on the bar counter, smiling softly as he listens to Harua ramble. His hair has been brushed off his face, eyes framed by those slim glasses that have become the bane of your existence.

Your mind instantly floods with images of Euijoo’s forearms flexing where they grab onto hips, clumsy as they scramble for purchase. His cute glasses would slip down the bridge of his nose, beginning to fog up with the heat brewing between two bodies.

The Euijoo in front of you takes a sip of his drink, tilting his head back to expose the long column of his throat. Your eyes instantly roam the expanse of tan skin, chin and jaw dusted with a thin layer of peach fuzz that just catches the light. He doesn’t seem like he’d be a person who enjoys marks. He’s too prim and proper for any display of debauchery…but maybe that’s exactly why he’d like it. Maybe he’s into the subtle signs of possession, of ownership, of control–

“Why are you staring at Juju like that?”

The voice next to you instantly has you snapping to attention, heat beginning to scorch your cheeks. You hope you’ll be able to pass it off as having one too many drinks, but Yuma’s knowing look tells you otherwise.

“I’m not staring,” you deny. “I just zoned out a bit.”

A half truth, one that Yuma can definitely see right through.

“Sure,” Yuma purrs, playing with the straw of his drink. “But it looked to me like you were thinking about something very specific.”

In an effort to delay your reply, you take a long sip of your drink. But Yuma is nothing if not patient, keeping his eyes locked on you the entire time. Curse him and his forever smug gaze, always looking like he knows more than he lets on. What’s even more infuriating is that it’s always true. Yuma knows everything, even when you don’t want him to.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap.

“Then don’t look at Euijoo like that.”

“I wasn’t looking at him like anything!”

Yuma scoffs out a small chuckle. “Just like I’m not looking at you like anything.”

A small bout of silence settles between the two of you, the lively atmosphere of the bar filling in any gaps. Somewhere to your left, you can hear Taki squawking about something to Yudai. Behind you, Jo is speaking softly, no doubt fumbling over his words. Next to you, though, Yuma hums.

“So,” he starts. “Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about or…?”

The heat on your face intensifies as you down the rest of your drink. Tequila burns as it slides down your esophagus, pooling warmth in the bottom of your belly. You let it simmer, then feel it boil over as the words tumble out of you.

“Why is Euijoo a virgin?”

Yuma smirks, as if he knew what you’d been thinking all along. You imagine he probably did, the proof written all over your face.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Before you can object, Yuma is calling out Euijoo’s name at the top of his lungs, cutting through the chatter of the bar. You don’t even get a chance to stop him as Yuma beckons him over, pulling him away from his chat with Harua. With his long legs, he’s crossing the space in seconds, giving you both a calm smile.

“Y/N has something to ask you,” Yuma announces slyly before instantly moving away, leaving you and Euijoo alone with a smirk.

“What’s up?” Euijoo asks, unsuspecting of the war that’s currently being waged in your mind.

You’re at a loss for words as you simply stare at the man before you, mouth opening and closing with all the intents of saying something, anything. But what could you possibly say to him? Why are you a virgin? Why are you a virgin when you look like that? Tell him that you’ve spent the last few weeks spiraling over what he’s like in bed??

You’re not sure if it’s the tequila or the embarrassment that has heat flooding your face, but the words tumble out of your mouth anyways. “Why not sex?”

Wow. Great going.

Euijoo just stares at you like you’ve grown a second head, eyes sparkling where they’ve gone round. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you ramble. “That was so weird and inappropriate! Just ignore me.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Euijoo soothes, placing a hand on your arm. You instinctually shiver at the touch, his palm cool from cradling his icy glass. “I’m just confused.”

“Yeah, I am too.”

Euijoo smiles, cheeks going impossibly round. “What are you confused about?”

Fuck it, you think. It’s now or never.

“A couple weeks ago, when Yuma said you were a…” Euijoo cocks an eyebrow. “A virgin.”

The man’s face finally flashes with recognition before instantly flooding red. He tries to hide his obvious embarrassment by taking a sip of his drink, which is no more than a few sad ice cubes floating in a watered down, peachy-hued concoction, but Euijoo gulps it down like water after a week in the desert.

“Um, what about it?”

“I was just, um, curious,” you manage. “As to why…because it’s not like you’re ugly or anything. Far from it, actually. But like it kinda doesn’t make sense that no one would be into you. But, maybe that’s not the issue! I mean…what is the issue?”

You immediately cringe at your long babble, not understanding why the filter between your brain and mouth refuses to work at this moment. It makes it hard to even look at Euijoo, knowing that he’s probably put off by the intensity of your ramblings. Fuck, this is not what you should be discussing with your coworkers.

Euijoo lets out an awkward chuckle. “I didn’t know you thought so much about it.”

“I don’t!” You shoot back, trying not to recoil at your obvious lie. “I’m sorry, this is so inappropriate. I should have never asked. Please don’t report me to HR!”

Euijoo laughs again, for real this time. “Y/N, I would never report you. I mean, if you really want to know, it’s more just that I missed my window. I never dated or hooked up in college because I was too focused on school and by the time we got out and started working, it just felt too late, you know?”

You don’t, in fact, know, but you nod along sympathetically.

“So now, I’m just waiting for someone who I feel comfortable with who would be willing to do it with me. Even just a one night thing to get it out of the way would work,” Euijoo sighs. “But until that comes along, here I am. Virginity still intact.”

As Euijoo knocks the last of his drink back, you struggle not to eye the bob of his throat. You feel your fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch, to see if his skin would be as smooth as it looks. Instead, you ball them into fists by your side, steeling your nerves as you make your next inquiry.

“What if I helped you?”

The stare that you’re met with surprises you with its intensity. Euijoo looks at you like a complex problem, one he can’t quite figure out with pure intelligence alone. His mouth opens and closes a few times, clearly waiting for his brain to catch up before he speaks. It would be endearing in any other situation, but right now, it scares you to your core. 

After what feels like a lifetime of silence, but is likely only a few minutes, Euijoo’s face hardens with determination. His problem, you assume, has finally been solved. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Euijoo nods once, tossing back the final contents of his drink before placing the glass on a nearby bar table with a heavy thud. 

“I want you to help me,” Euijoo says confidently, despite the brilliant red dusting the tops of his ears. “Let’s do it.”

The assuredness in his voice throws you for a loop. Never did you think it would be that easy. 

You owe Yuma big time. 

.         .         .

The walk back to Euijoo’s place is heavy, tense with an awkward silence that has never existed between the two of you before. You have never been shy about being affectionate with each other, always filling any silences with teasing and banter. Casual touches and playful pushes constantly set the tone between you two. But for the entire ten minute walk, that dynamic has seemed to crumble. 

It isn’t until you’re both in the elevator that you begin to truly worry. Euijoo is fiddling with his fingers, jaw so tense that you’re worrying about him cracking a tooth or two. The rigidity of his posture seems to be more than your average nerves, signaling something you can only assume is staunch regret. 

He’s slow and methodical as he pulls his keys from his apartment and twists the lock. He stands stick straight behind you as you enter, shuffling his shoes off in a way that’s too practiced to be natural. 

The soft shutting of the front door seems as loud as a thunderclap in the silence between you two. You’re just about to crack a joke to lighten the mood when a hand wraps around your arm, dragging you backwards until your back hits the front door. All you’re able to do is let out a soft yelp before lips are blanketing yours. 

Euijoo kisses just like he works, practiced, methodical and determined. He’s gentle as he moves against you, but thorough as soon as you catch up, wasting no time to deepen the kiss with a gentle swipe of his tongue against your lips. His hands remain respectful where they’re planted on your waist, even as the kiss grows deeper, needier. The taste of vodka is strong on his lips, but you drink it down like the nectar from the sweetest peach.

The movement of his mouth against yours is rhythmic, if not a little desperate. Little by little, he lets himself go, truly devouring you in a way that has you gasping. It offers you a small reprieve, the tiniest bit of air entering your lungs before Euijoo is back at it once more.

Despite the fact that he may be a virgin, you’re struck with the fact that this is far from the first time Euijoo has kissed someone. Either that, or he’s just a natural. With the way that Euijoo seems good at absolutely anything he does, you wouldn’t be surprised if it were the latter.

“Wait,” you gasp, finally pulling away from the insistent press of Euijoo’s mouth against yours.

The man is wide eyed and pink-cheeked where he stands before you, eyes darting across your face in an attempt to catch up. He’s breathing heavy, holding onto the dip of your waist as if it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. A flash of heat strikes the pit of your stomach as you take him in. He’s so undeniably sexy, and you’re sure he doesn’t even know it.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, genuine concern seeping through his panting breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” you rush to reassure, letting your fingers play with the short hairs at his nape. “Let’s just–not here. Bedroom?”

Euijoo nods resolutely before lacing his fingers through yours, quickly leading you through his apartment. It’s a familiar space, one you’ve spent many afternoons and evenings traversing during group hangouts and individual time with Euijoo. But never have you moved through it so quickly, with such purpose. Euijoo is bringing you to his bedroom to have sex, not just to watch a shitty Netflix movie or argue over the strength of anime characters. The revelation hits you like a ton of bricks, the heat in your core growing searing.

It seems like a switch has flipped the minute Euijoo crosses the threshold into the bedroom. Gone is the brazen confidence from earlier. Instead, it has been placed with someone shyer, an awkward, bumbling man that you’re all too familiar with.

You fight the urge to coo as Euijoo drops your hands, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. He’s sitting stick straight, looking down at the hands folded in his lap like a scolded child. It’s a sharp contrast from the wrinkles in his white button up and the ruffle of his hair where your hands had been running through it.

“Euijoo,” you whisper softly, shutting the door behind you. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

Wide eyes turn to yours, an emotion swimming in them that you can’t quite place. “Yeah, I just…what if it’s bad?”

Your nose crinkles with a muted chuckle. “I hate to break it to you, Juju, but first times tend to not be the best. It’s just me, though. We’ll figure it out together.”

Euijoo still looks unsure, but nods despite himself. It’s at that small hint of reassurance that you cross the space, plopping yourself right down in the man’s lap. He seems startled by the sudden position, hands hovering awkwardly in the air before finally resting on your hips. Like this, inches away from your face, Euijoo looks younger, softer, a sharp contrast from the debauchery that you are both waiting to occur.

“So, um, w-what now?” Euijoo stammers.

You fight a smile as you lean back the slightest bit, shucking off your blouse in lieu of an answer. You’re not wearing the cutest bra, just a simple black one that holds you throughout the day, but Euijoo eyes you like you’re wearing the sexiest lingerie. His eyes scan your chest slowly, taking in the miles of cleavage before dragging his gaze back up to yours. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead of letting him flounder like you want to, you take mercy on him and claim his lips once again.

It’s a whirlwind after that. You both lose yourself in sloppy kisses and sharp nips as you shed the rest of your clothing. You learn that Euijoo is a biter, worrying any inch of unblemished skin between his teeth before he soothes it with his tongue. His mouth traces the contours of your neck, down the slope of your chest, across the planes of your stomach, leaving little reminders of himself everywhere he goes.

It isn’t until he’s settled you on your back, nipping at the thin skin of your pelvic bone that he comes up for air. He eyes you with an intensity that you’ve never seen before, something dark and hungry swimming in his gaze. Something about it is deeply primal, almost instinctual in the way he licks his kiss swollen lips as he takes in your naked form. For once in your life, you fear that you will be truly devoured in every sense of the world.

Then Euijoo blinks, and he turns back into the man you know, gentle, patient, and slightly self conscious.

“Can I…? I mean, I’ve never…” He cuts himself off. “Can I try eating you out?”

The flash of heat that runs through your body is molten, akin to the way lava drips down the side of an erupting volcano. Your heart hammers in your chest, the pulse of it traveling all the way to your stomach, then impossibly lower.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Eat me out.”

Another blink, and the Euijoo you’ve always known is gone once more.

Unlike his earlier descent down your body, Euijoo wastes no time diving right in. What he lacks in skill he makes up for in enthusiasm, immediately licking broad stripes up your core that have your toes curling. He’s clearly experimenting, never quite sticking to one motion of his tongue before moving onto something different. 

Euijoo continues with a combination of syncopated licks to your core, continuously looking up at you to try and gauge your reaction. He’s attentive, studying your every twitch and breath like a textbook. When it becomes clear that he’s not quite getting the reaction he wants, he changes tactics, latching his lips around your clit and sucking. 

A loud moan tumbles from your lips before you can stop it, ending in a shaky gasp. 

Euijoo looks pleased for a fraction of a second before continuing with vigor, letting a finger just barely breach your entrance. You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were wrenched shut, fluttering open at the teasing sensation where you need it most. You groan at Euijoo’s dark gaze, simply nodding as a way of giving permission. 

After having spent so much time admiring Euijoo’s hands, you thought you could imagine what they would feel like inside you, but nothing compares to the real thing. You buck your hips into the repeated thrust of his finger, wailing when he adds another digit. Combined with the feeling of his mouth on you, the bubble in your core inflates, filling with the heat that’s been tormenting your body in the best way. 

“Wait, Euijoo. If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—.”

The man continues the rhythm of his fingers, curling them expertly. He pulls away slightly, ignoring the mess of juices staining his lips and chin. 

“I want you to,” he says, voice husky. “Please.”

Your orgasm hits before you realize it, white explosions blooming behind your eyelids. You can feel Euijoo’s fingers working you through it, attempting to match every buck and twitch of your hips. It isn’t until you’re whining from sensitivity that he finally withdraws, placing a gentle kiss on your hip as he rights himself.

When you blink your eyes open, Euijoo is staring directly down at you, face gleaming with a combination of your arousal and his own saliva, chest heaving as if he were the one to just climax. “Was that good?” He rasps.

Your breath trembles as you scoff out a chuckle, trying to reconcile the man before you with the Euijoo you’ve always known. Euijoo whose slim glasses are always slipping off his nose. Euijoo who is constantly on top of every deadline. Euijoo who seldom jokes out of fear of an HR violation. Euijoo who just made your toes curl. Euijoo who just gave you a mindblowing orgasm. Euijoo who is kissing you again, all tongue, teeth, and arousal. Euijoo, Euijoo, Euijoo.

He pulls away with a wet sound, letting his hand roam the expanse of your side.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, finally feeling your brain catch up to the situation at hand. “It was so good.”

Euijoo lights up the praise, cheeks flushing impossibly pinker. “Do you still…?”

You fight the urge to coo at the way the man lets the question hang in the air, nerves obviously returning despite his own desperation. You can feel where he’s hard against you, the length of him hot and heavy against your hip. He tries to be subtle with the way he’s grinding against you, desperately seeking friction despite attempting to maintain composure.

It’s as endearing as it is pathetic. You want to ruin him.

“How do you want me?” He asks, voice small and unsure and so so alluring.

Fuck, you need to ruin him.

With a little bit of shuffling and some awkward clashing of limbs, Euijoo is finally splayed out on his back. His fingers tremble where they tear open the condom, insisting that he didn’t need you to do it for him despite the lack of experience. In that time, you take the chance to admire him, to eye the way his broad chest tapers into an impossibly thin waist, his trim v-line leading down to his own hardness. 

Euijoo’s beautiful, has always been beautiful, but there’s something about him like this, completely bare and aching that is particularly enticing. His fingers somehow look graceful as they roll the condom down, his kiss bitten lips pursed in concentration. Something in your chest swells, an odd contrast to the pure arousal that has been clouding you for the past few moments.

A quick glance to his face reminds you that this is Euijoo, your coworker, your friend. For some reason, none of those labels feel appropriate anymore.

Euijoo holds his breath as you slowly sink down onto him, the strain evident in the tight set of his jaw. It’s a sharp contrast to the way you unabashedly moan, letting your head tilt back as he fills you. You watch through lidded eyes as Euijoo eventually releases a measured exhale, hands rhythmically clenching and releasing where they grip your hips.

“You okay?” You ask softly, letting a hand stroke the plush highpoint of his cheek, embracing the tickle of his peach fuzz against your thumb.

Euijoo breathes once more, shaky and unmeasured. “Yeah, just—fuck. You feel so good.”

The rush of blood roars in your ears as you take that as your sign to move, slowly lifting yourself up before grinding back down. The noise Euijoo makes borders on pitiful, a low moan that takes on the pitch of a whine as it leaves him. He sounds pathetic as you continue your movements, hands still twitching as if they wished to control your hips. Of course, you don’t let him.

Your gentle grinds turn to full on bounces, teasingly swiveling your hips so that Euijoo reaches all of the perfect spots inside you. It’s hard to remember that this isn’t about you when it feels so perfect, like Euijoo is carving a space for himself inside you. Instead, you force yourself to focus on Euijoo’s pleasure, eyeing the soft “o” of his mouth where it hangs open and the pinch between his eyebrows. It’s an addictive sight, one that makes you go harder, faster, all too eager to please.

After a few moments, it’s clear that Euijoo is unraveling, hips twitching upwards to meet yours on their own accord. It’s almost like Euijoo doesn’t even know he’s doing it, matching your thrusts to hit your g-spot every time. The sticky sounds of skin against skin rival the wet squelching of him disappearing inside you, harmonizing with Euijoo’s aborted whines and uncontrolled groans that only grow deeper as he nears his climax.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re barely doing any work anymore, Euijoo’s grip on your hips being used to pull you down to meet his thrusts. It’s as if something has taken over him entirely, the instinctual need to come overriding his nerves. With his eyes wrenched shut and mouth hanging open, Euijoo looks like a dream, arms and thighs flexing where he fucks into you.

“Juju,” you wail, collapsing forward onto the man’s chest.

It’s just enough to bring you face to face, hovering right above Euijoo’s blissed out expression. You manage to wrangle your arm out from underneath you, grasping his chin to pull him into a filthy kiss. The man can barely respond, too busy chasing his high to do much more than tangle his tongue with yours.

“Juju,” you moan into his mouth, barely pulling back as you speak. “Look at me.”

It takes a moment for Euijoo to process your request, too caught up in your heat to focus on anything else. Eventually, though, his eyes flutter open, deep irises boring straight into yours. That’s all it takes for Euijoo to release a loud moan, hips twitching randomly as warmth fills you in short spurts.

His fucked out expression is enough to tip you over the edge as well, a familiar heat rushing through your body as your orgasm overtakes you, albeit much milder this time. You’re both unable to do much more than hold each other as you ride the sensations out, only parting when you’re both fully spent.

Euijoo winces when you slide off of him, clumsily freeing himself and tying off the condom. He flings it in the general direction of the trashcan, an action so out of character that you can’t help but giggle.

“Trash was too far away?” You tease, still trying to catch your breath.

Euijoo nods before he flops forward onto the bed, snuggling into your bare chest, uncaring of the sweat drying on your skin. His arms tighten around your midsection, bringing you into a cuddle. He can no doubt hear your slowing heartbeat, ear pressed right above your ribcage. As much as you and Euijoo have cuddled before, it’s never been quite like this, but you suppose tonight is a time for firsts.

“I’m not a virgin anymore,” Euijoo mumbles, as if the realization just dawned on him.

You chuckle, watching as Euijoo’s head bounces slightly from the movement. “You’re not.”

His response isn’t much more than a vibration that you feel more than hear, reminding you of just how connected your bodies are in the moment. The shared body heat is the only thing protecting you from the chill of Euijoo’s bedroom, the blankets long discarded in the mess you’ve made of the bed. Despite it, it’s comfortable, Euijoo serving as the only blanket you could ever need.

You’re confused on why the thought sends a rush of warmth through your chest.

“W-was I good?” Euijoo asks after a moment of silence, finally turning his gaze to yours. It’s in moments like these that Euijoo reminds you of a puppy, constantly wide-eyed and eager for praise.

“So good,” you say truthfully. “I’m honestly starting to doubt that you were a virgin at all.”

Euijoo’s face flushes again. “You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”

You ignore the sharp pain beneath your ribs at the sentence, choosing to send a soft smile his way.

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Euijoo nods slowly, attempting to hide his smile in your chest once more. “You were good too, if that means anything.”

It does, but the lump in your throat won’t let you say it. Instead, you just shoot Euijoo a small smile, letting your eyes flutter closed.

“Sleep,” you say softly. “That’s usually what people do after sex.”

Euijoo yawns, as if the sheer mention of rest were enough to make him sleepy. He doesn’t respond to your command, instead just extracting himself from you. He flips onto his other side, letting his broad back face you as he gets comfortable.

“Good night, Y/N,” he mumbles, sleep already taking over.

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, trying not to shiver at the loss of warmth.

“Good night, Juju.”

You met Myung Jaehyun in the fall semester of your senior year in college, jaded from too many parties gone wrong and all nighters pulled to finish assignments. But Jaehyun was the exact opposite, bright eyed and optimistic as if he were still a freshman. He had an energy that surrounded him, so bright that people couldn’t help but be drawn towards him like a moth to a flame. At first, you found him so bright that you chose to avert your eyes. 

But Jaehyun didn’t let your initial rejection hurt him, still attempting to linger by your side whenever possible. He sought you out in the library, dropping a coffee on your table with a soft smile. He joined you on walks to your classes, doing everything in his power to make you smile. It was rare, but it eventually worked. Before you knew it, he was softening you like ice cream in the heat of a summer day. 

Myung Jaehyun first kissed you in the dingy corner of the Ancient Civilizations section of the library. It was almost closing time, only a few students lingering in the main studying sections. You told Jaehyun that you needed to find a book for a research project, trying not to smile as he followed behind you like an obedient puppy. 

The book was placed higher than you expected, having to stretch to even let your fingertips graze it. A soft palm placed itself on your lower back, warming the skin where your shirt had ridden up. Jaehyun’s breath was warm on your neck. 

“I got it,” he whispered, plucking the book from its high perch. 

When you turned in his hold, you gasped, much closer to the man than you expected. His cheeks were dusted with a rosy pink, plush lips coated in a fresh layer of balm. You imagined that he was looking at you with something akin to longing, but you couldn’t be quite sure. You were too busy tracing the curve of his pout to decipher the emotions swimming in his eyes. 

He kissed you with a gentleness that didn’t match the energy he always had. It was smooth and slow, drawing you further and further into his orbit until you exploded into your own supernova. The book was long forgotten as you tugged him closer, kissed him harder, loved him deeper. 

You loved him. 

The lights in the library flickered once, twice, forcing the two of you to pull away. It was closing time, but something between the two of you was just opening for business. 

When the months turned warm again, your relationship with Jaehyun turned solid like ice. The two of you existed practically attached to the hip, never letting much time pass before you were back in each others’ arms. The ever looming threat of the end of the year remained as a distant worry, always soothed by your boyfriend’s kisses. 

It’s okay, we’ll figure it out. 

You crossed the stage with a bright smile, immediately knowing who the loudest cheers in the crowd were from. You did it. It was finally over. 

It was finally…

over. 

It was that night when Jaehyun broke the news. Yes, he was moving across the country for a new job. No, he didn’t want to do long distance. Yes, of course he loved you. No, not enough to stay. 

You didn’t believe in the concept of right person, wrong time until you met Myung Jaehyun. But as months bled into years, you found yourself accepting the idea that the two of you fell victim to circumstance. Love is always at the mercy of circumstance. Love only exists where you can find it. Love is—

“Y/N?”

You turn around at the call of your name, breath stuttering in your chest the same way it did in the library, all those years ago. Cheeks are still dusted with a rosy pink and lips are still plump with freshly applied chapstick. You can’t help but trace the shape of his pout with your eyes. 

“Jaehyun?”

It must be some kind of cruel joke. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you, creating a sick illusion that has your heart racing in your chest. The hollow feeling that overwhelms your gut is enough to have you taking a few steps back, the breath quite literally knocked out of you. It can’t be. He can’t be. 

But he is. 

Jaehyun steps closer despite your small retreat, smiling in that way he always did when he tried to mask his hurt. He clutches a few books in his left hand, his right fiddling with the pocket of his jeans. 

He still looks painfully similar, time clearly being kind to him. His cheeks have thinned out a bit, giving way to a sharper bone structure, but still endearingly round. His hair is shorter now, his honey brown curls abandoned in favor of his natural black. The newfound breadth of his shoulders is emphasized by the oversized jacket he wears. He looks mouthwateringly good; it feels like a dagger to the chest. 

“W-what are you doing here?” You ask, trying your best to seem more composed than you feel. 

Jaehyun lets out an awkward chuckle, right hand coming to scratch at the back of his neck. “I, uh, just moved back to town, actually. Sanghyuk—you remember Sanghyuk, right? Well he mentioned that this bookstore was new and had good stuff, so I thought I’d check it out.”

His voice sounds the exact same as it always has. This time, however, it’s tinged with a nervousness that you’ve never quite heard from him before. You’re glad that you’re not the only one who has been knocked completely off-kilter. 

“You moved back, like, permanently?”

Jaehyun nods, and it burns like a fresh bee sting. Four years ago he up and left, not even making an effort to stay with you, to stay for you. And yet, all of it was for nothing because he’s back now. Here he is. Myung Jaehyun, standing before you in the flesh. Myung Jaehyun who ran away from you just to turn around and sprint back into your life at full speed. 

A sour taste blooms on your tongue. You try your best to swallow it down despite your mouth feeling like sandpaper. 

“Got it….Well, it was nice seeing you again. Welcome back.”

You barely give yourself a chance to acknowledge the confusion on the man’s face before you turn on your heels to all but run out of the store. You can vaguely hear a call from somewhere behind you, barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. Your legs just keep moving, putting as much space between you and Jaehyun as possible. It’s only when you’re about five blocks away that you finally slow down to catch your breath. 

A splash of wetness lands on your chest, startling you into looking up. But it’s not raining. Only then do you realize that you have started to cry. 

.         .         .

His face haunts you. Every time you close your eyes, you see Jaehyun’s face. It’s an odd mixture of the Jaehyun you used to know and the Jaehyun that you encountered a few days ago. It’s chubby cheeks, with a faint blush that matches his plush lips. It’s short black hair and bright eyes that water as they tell you that their mind is made up. It’s the Jaehyun that’s leaving and the Jaehyun that stays for good.

The ghost of Jaehyun doesn’t just stop at a mental image. It encompasses your nerve endings and brings goosebumps to the surface of your skin. It causes the hollow pit of your stomach to be filled with a rush of nausea. It makes your body tip over the edge as you touch yourself under the covers, phantom lips against your skin. There is no chapstick left in their wake.

You try your best to keep this new flurry of emotion to yourself, trying your hardest to smile in the presence of your friends and keep your mistakes to a minimum at work. But it’s as if those around you can see the image of Jaehyun that lingers over your shoulder—your own personal devil.

“So, is this about Jaehyun coming back to town?”

Leave it to Sohee to see right through you. He’s always known you better than you’ve known yourself, taking note of every twitch of your body and curl of your lip since you first met as freshmen in college. In any other circumstance, you’d be grateful for his attentiveness. Right now, though, it feels like you’re under a magnifying glass.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Deflect, deflect, deflect. You suppress a shiver at the thought that this is exactly what Jaehyun did to you.

“Don’t do that,” Sohee sighs. “Hanbin told me he was back. He told me that Jaehyun even mentioned running into you at the bookstore. And now you’re acting all weird and you expect me to believe that they aren’t related?”

“They’re not!”

“Y/N…” And there go Sohee’s notorious puppy dog eyes, the famous stare that makes you involuntarily spill all of your secrets. 

“Okay, fine! Stop looking at me like that,” you groan. “Yes, I saw him last week at the bookstore. And it’s no big deal! It was just…weird….”

“Weird?”

“Odd, freaky, unnerving, anxiety-inducing—how else do you want me to put it?”

Sohee sighs, momentarily removing his snapback to run a hand through his chocolate hair. “You need to talk to him again.”

The scoff that leaves you is automatic, crossing the space between you two in a millisecond. Sohee doesn’t even flinch, though, all too used to your stubbornness. It serves as a sharp contrast to his more mellow demeanor, making you the perfect pair of friends. 

“What would I possibly need to talk to him about?”

Sohee shoots you an unimpressed look. “I don’t know…maybe everything?!”

“It’s been years, Sohee. There’s nothing to say. He left, we broke up and that was that. The end.”

“Except it’s not the end,” Sohee insists after taking a long sip of his drink. “He’s back now for good. If anything, this could be the start.”

“Why are you so dead set on us speaking?”

The cocktail bar the two of you have decided to meet at seemingly goes quiet the moment you ask your question. It’s an odd, coincidental lapse of silence, but it speaks volumes. Sohee’s voice is crisp and clear over the newfound silence of the space. 

“Because you love him. And he loves you too.”

.         .         .

It’s not a welcome home party. But it’s also not not a welcome home party. At least that’s what Hanbin told Sohee who told you. 

Welcome home party or not, you don’t want to go. 

Nothing feels right about entering Hanbin’s home to celebrate a man who left you behind. If anything, you worry that you would ruin the energy in the space, as joyful and warm as it is. Despite the coziness of the apartment and the familiar faces that greet you, all of your hairs are standing on their ends, goosebumps pimpling your exposed arms.

It’s Hanbin who greets you first, charming smile on full display as he welcomes you in.

“I’m so glad you came,” he gushes. “I was worried that you wouldn’t show.”

You can only laugh awkwardly. “Yeah, well you know how persistent Sohee can be.”

“But still, it means a lot that you came. He’ll be so happy.”

Hanbin doesn’t have to specify who “he” is for you know exactly who he’s referring to.

The man of the hour is preening under the attention of his friends, smiling widely and laughing loudly as he interacts with everyone. It’s something you’ve always admired about Jaehyun, the way he can make you feel like an individual even in the world’s most crowded room. He never fakes a smile or a laugh and always tells it like it is. You loved how he talks to people.

You love how he talks to people. The acknowledgement makes your stomach swirl with nausea.

Despite the party not hosting more than 20 or so people, it’s surprisingly easy to avoid Jaehyun. Where he makes people laugh in the living room, you pour yourself a drink and giggle with Sohee in the kitchen. When it’s time for him to grab a drink of his own, you slip out onto the balcony, letting the warm summer breeze cool your burning face.

You’re admiring the faint lights of the city in the distance when you hear the sliding door open and close behind you. You whip around in a tipsy excitement, hoping to see Sohee and show him the city. Instead, you’re met with rounded cheeks and a full pout. The sheen of chapstick seems to glow in the dim lighting.

“When Sohee told me you were coming, I thought he was fucking with me,” Jaehyun jokes in lieu of greeting. Despite his tone, you can tell there’s some truth to his statement.

You just turn back to the view, not choosing to dignify him with a response. Even with the soft flutter of the late night breeze, your face doesn’t stop feeling like it’s on fire. The heat only intensifies when you feel a body approach, leaning against the balcony railing just adjacent to you. If either of you so much as breathed too hard, your arms would be touching. Jaehyun’s body heat feels like a scorching flame against your bare skin.

“Why are you here if you’re going to ignore me?”

“I’m not ignoring you,” you mutter. It sounds childish and petty even to your own ears.

Jaehyun’s chuckle comes out hollow. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

For the first time, you let yourself look at him, taking in the slope of his nose and the soft set of his jaw as he stares into the distance. Jaehyun has never not been handsome. Time has only been kind to him, highlighting his beauty in a more refined way. The slight flush on his cheeks serves as a reminder of the boyish Jaehyun you used to know. That was a lifetime ago.

“Why did you want me here?”

Jaehyun seems startled by your question, eyes flitting over to you before immediately looking back at the city. He inhales slowly, just to exhale heavily.

“I’ve always wanted you around.”

Blood swims in your ears, momentarily eclipsing the sounds of the party behind you both. The alcohol swimming through your veins adds a specific heat to your body, piling on top of the irritated warmth in your throat. It seems like your body is doing everything it can to suppress your voice, holding you back from saying something that would get you in trouble. But the reflex is futile, adrenaline and alcohol winning out over reason. 

“You’re a fucking liar.”

If Jaehyun’s shocked by your statement, he doesn’t show it. His jaw is tense, twitching rhythmically as you look at him. While he doesn’t meet your gaze, you can tell that his full body is attuned to the way you’re staring at him, hostile, hurt. 

“I’ve never lied to you,” Jaehyun replies after a heavy sigh. “Not back then, not now, not ever.”

You can’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes so hard that you fear they’ll be stuck. “Even that’s a lie. Look, I don’t care if you played me or whatever the fuck, but it’s been years at this point. Own up to your shit.”

At this, Jaehyun finally looks at you. “You think I played you?”

“Well,” you bite out bitterly. “It’s not like anyone who loved me would ever do that.”

“Y/N, I loved you. Fuck, I never stopped loving you.”

A sharp throb stabs through your chest, the earnest expression in Jaehyun’s glassy eyes making you feel as though you’ve taken a punch to the gut. It’s akin to a heart attack, like all of the blood has ceased its flow within your body. All that’s left is your heart suspended in an empty cavern, still pumping in hopes that something is left to fill it. 

“You don’t get to just say that!”

Jaehyun groans, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Why not? It’s true! You can’t act like I’m a liar or a player or whatever when the truth is that I love you.”

Just as you’re about to reply, the sliding door all but slams open, a rush of cool air reaching you both from the air conditioned apartment. It catches both of your attention, forcing you both to whip around and face the cause of that interruption.

Woonhak’s cheeks are deeply flushed, the collar of his shirt a bit wet and stretched out. The beer he’s holding sloshes over the rim of the bottle as he steps out onto the balcony. It’s clear that he’s trying his hardest not to stumble in an effort to put on an act of sobriety. But the lazy smile he sports and his glossy eyes give his inebriation away.

“You guys need to come back in and have fun,” Woonhak bellows. “Stop wasting the party arguing.”

Jaehyun goes to interject, but you cut him off, eager to end this quickly.

“You’re so right. I’m going to grab another drink.”

Your smile is forced as you squeeze past Woonhak, heading back into the apartment. It’s easy to make it look like you’re heading back into the kitchen, true to your word. Instead, you shuffle past drunken bodies and constant chatter, walking right out the door without the slightest glance back.

.          .          .

It’s hazy, the kind of thick fog that doesn’t allow you to see anything more than what’s right in front of your face. You can’t quite tell where you are, the darkness and fog working in tandem to obscure your surroundings.

Someone’s crying. No, someone’s sobbing. It’s almost deafening, with the sound of their heaving breaths and haunting moans. Your face is wet. You can’t breathe. Distantly, you realize it’s you who’s crying, unable to stop each choked sound as it tumbles from your mouth.

A hand strokes through your hair, fingers pulling where they get tangled in your knots. What starts as a gentle caress ends in an aggressive tug, so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you’re losing a few strands. Your hands remain firmly at your side, motionless as you let out a constricted sob.

Suddenly, a face appears right in front of your own, equally as wet. It’s a face all too familiar to you, even tear stained and warped by the fog. Jaehyun looks paler here, almost angelic as he’s illuminated in the darkness. It’s his hands that stroke through your hair, fingers trembling as he lets out stunted sobs.

You ache to speak, wanting nothing more to say something, anything, to the apparition in front of you. But your words remain stuck in your constricted throat, buried under a cry that seems to be perpetually at the tip of your tongue. Every time you open your mouth, nothing but desperate sobs come out.

“I know,” the apparition soothes, each stroke of your hair punctuated with a strong tug. “I know it hurts.”

You want to tell him that it doesn’t hurt, that you have no idea what he’s talking about. The tug on your strands mean nothing if they start out as a caress. You want to insist that you’d lose your whole head of hair if it meant he’d never stop touching you. All that leaves you is a pained moan.

“I’m doing this for you. I don’t want to be apart from you. I want a piece of you with me forever. I know it hurts. I don’t care. I know. I know. I know…Y/N…I know…”

A final tug, stronger than all the others, jolts you awake. Your chest is heaving as you sit straight up, struggling to take in your surroundings. Your shirt is damp, but you’re unsure if it’s from the heat of the midmorning sun or the stress of your dream.

Eventually, you feel your heart slow down its racing in your chest, leaving you to sag back into your bed. You let your head hit your pillow with a muted thump, sighing at the way your sheets welcome you. A steady throbbing begins to build behind your eyes, accompanied by a sharp stab of pain at your temples. With a groan, you swipe your hands over your eyes, as if you had the power to rub your headache away.

Your fingers come away wet, with a few loose strands of hair webbed between them.

.         .         .

Summer is in full swing by the next time you see Jaehyun. It’s the middle of an oppressive June heatwave, the kind of heat that radiates off the city pavement and blurs cars as they pass by. You can’t take more than a few steps outside without feeling sweat beginning to bead at your temples and upper lip. 

It reminds you a lot of the summer when Jaehyun left. There had been an unprecedented heat wave that year, forcing everyone into their homes for days on end. You had just moved into your own place, the place that you assumed Jaehyun would inhabit with you. Instead, you were forced to wander the space alone, stuck in a shoebox apartment that housed a silence that radiated off every surface in the same way the heat radiated from the sun.

You did everything you could not to go stir crazy back then, throwing yourself into your new job like you had something to prove. In some ways, you did. You were desperate to prove to your friends that you didn’t care about the way Jaehyun left. You could manage everything on your own; you could succeed; you could be your own person. It didn’t matter if you spent your nights clutching your chest and struggling to breathe as you choked on your own sobs.

You were fine.

Just like you’re fine now, with Jaehyun perpetually within reach. Just like you’re fine when you see him sitting inside your favorite coffee shop, the one you usually spend your weekends in, chatting with Sohee. Just like you’re fine when he meets your gaze as you wait in line, shooting you a small but sympathetic smile. Just like you’re fine when he moves to your table after you’ve settled in with your drink.

You’re fine. It’s all fine.

“I’m sorry,” is what Jaehyun opens with in lieu of a greeting. “It wasn’t fair of me to dump all of that on you at the party.”

You attempt to conceal your sharp intake of breath by taking a long sip of your iced latte, letting the creaminess of the beverage soothe the bitterness on your tongue. It’s the perfect temperature to combat the angry heat that’s coiling in your core.

“It wasn’t,” you agree calmly.

Jaehyun sighs. “But just because it wasn’t fair doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.”

There’s a sharp pain in your head, reminiscent of the pulling at knots in your hair. For a moment, you wonder if you’re back in your dreams, if Jaehyun is nothing but a figment of your imagination where he sits in front of you. But the cold condensation beading on your cup underneath your fingers reminds you that this is real, whether you want it to be or not.

“I don’t want to do this now,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut.

“If not now, then when?”

When you open your eyes, Jaehyun is looking right at you, eyes wide and glassy. The tip of his nose is beginning to take on a pink hue, not unlike how it used to get during the winter you spent together. For a moment, you see the old Jaehyun, the one with wavy brown hair that fell into his eyes and rounded cheeks that made him seem perpetually young. Then you blink, and that Jaehyun disappears.

“I don’t know.”

Jaehyun groans, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. You don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either! But why do you think I came back?”

Although you know the question is rhetorical, you can’t help but whisper a small “I don’t know” in response. Jaehyun’s frustration seems to melt away at the tremor in your voice. Despite the way you want to seem strong and sure, you can’t prevent the hot tears that begin to prick at the corners of your eyes or the wobble of your bottom lip. 

“I came back because I want to fix this. Y/N, I missed you so much. Being without you for all those years was hell.”

The heat in your gut coils tighter, a sudden strike of anger flashing hot like lightning through your veins. “You chose to leave.”

“And that’s a decision that I’ll always regret,” Jaehyun says resolutely. “But I also chose to come back. And I know that it may be too little too late, but I needed to try. I couldn’t live with myself if I never told you that I still love you.”

“I-I don’t know what to say–,”

Jaehyun cuts you off before you can continue. “And I’m not asking you to know now. I’m just asking you to think about it. I’m asking you to know and recognize and believe that I love you, and nothing else.”

“I–,”

“You know where to find me,” Jaehyun stands, gathering his drink and pastry as he moves to leave. “Just think about it. Please.”

You’re helpless to do anything but watch as Jaehyun leaves the shop, his figure instantly blurred by the heat of the day. You watch as he moves down the street, further and further until he’s nothing but a mere speck in the distance. Then a car passes, momentarily blocking your view. When it comes back, Jaehyun has disappeared.

.         .         .

A hand appears in front of your vision, making various contortions and shapes as if it were speaking its own language. It’s the only thing you can see in the hazy darkness that surrounds you. The hand inches closer and closer to your face, slowly revealing more of the being it’s attached to. Wavy brown hair falling over wide eyes is the last thing that comes into view, complementing rounded, rosy cheeks.

The hand is still moving towards you, even though the body it’s attached to is remaining stagnant. It’s coming at you faster now, the kind of speed that has you bracing for impact. You prepare yourself for a slap, punch, whatever violence may come your way.

Instead, the hand situates itself nicely on your face, cupping your cheek. The tension instantly melts from your body at its familiar warmth. It’s a nice contrast to the empty chill of the darkness, tethering you to something that doesn’t quite exist.

A thumb strokes over your cheekbone, soothing, grounding. The body the hand is attached to is saying something, its mouth contorting around silent words. Despite the lack of sound, you can vaguely make out the shape of each word.

I chose you.

You jolt awake, heart hammering in your chest and an unfamiliar warmth lingering on your cheek.

.         .         .

It’s devastatingly hot as you make the trek across the city. On days like this, most people would use public transit, not wanting to suffer through the heat that encompasses the streets. But for some reason, you find it pleasant, the heat exhausting you in a way that seems to drain your anxiety. It’s a weird paradox between nerves and sensation, one confined to your anxious brain while the other concerns your overstimulated body.

You don’t get any respite from the heat until you’re entering an unfamiliar apartment lobby, the man at the front desk only giving you a brief glance before turning back to his phone. The air conditioning is clearly set on high, goosebumps forming along your arms and legs as you step into the elevator. As it ascends each floor, your heart begins to beat a fraction faster.

You step out into a long hallway, checking the numbers on each door before setting off to your left. It’s not long before you arrive at the door of interest, checking the text that Sohee sent you one last time. This is it. You’re here.

Your hand shakes as you knock once, twice, before wiping your sweaty hand on your denim shorts. You’re dumbfounded by how your body can be both so hot and so cold at the same time.

Finally, after what feels like years of waiting, but was likely only a few seconds, the door opens, revealing a shocked face. After a moment, Jaehyun melts into a smile.

“You came.”

You feel the pair of eyes on you before you see them. It feels almost impossible to identify where the stare is coming from through the sea of bodies packed into the tight club. For a moment, you wonder if you’re imagining it. But a quick scan of the area shows that you aren’t.

A pair of feline eyes are adorned with a smoked out black liner, taking you in slowly. The makeup serves as a nice compliment to the shaggy black hair that falls over his face. The man smirks when you meet his gaze, shifting his weight so that he’s no longer leaning against the bar. The movement causes the material of his shirt to shift, giving you a flash of a pronounced collarbone bathed in purple light.

You let your gaze trail over the rest of the man’s figure, taking in a small waist emphasized by a tight tank top. His legs are concealed by a pair of baggy black cargos, pooling at the floor to almost completely hide the chunky black sneakers he wears. It’s almost predictable, the way his all black outfit gives off both a soft and dangerous vibe. You would laugh, if it weren’t for the way the man is looking at you.

A plethora of piercings glint in the man’s ear as he cocks his head, shamelessly scanning your figure in the same way you did to him. His smirk morphs into an expression of raw hunger the longer he stares, a plush bottom lip trapped between a row of white teeth. His fingers tighten around his drink as his gaze travels back up to your face, a subtle nod of his head beckoning you closer.

But you’ve played this game before.

Instead of approaching, you shoot the man a sly smile before continuing to sway to the beat. It’s easy to exaggerate the movement of your hips and the sway of your head to the tempo of the music floating through the club. Everyone seems to be moving in the same way, hips grinding and torsos undulating as they get lost in the seduction of the dance floor.

You’re only able to finish out the rest of the song, a mere minute before a pair of hands are snaking their way onto your hips. You bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling, knowing exactly who it is even if the black nail polish didn’t give it away. The long line of a body presses against you, instantly swaying in time with your movements as a new song begins.

The music turns impossibly dirtier, as if knowing exactly what the two of you need in the moment. The hips behind you chase yours in time with the beat, surprisingly fluid in their movements. It makes you wonder what they would be like without a backtrack, pressed to yours in a dirty dance on a mattress instead of in a club.

The hands on your waist remain polite, even as they tighten in an attempt to bring you closer. It’s easy to fall in line to his demands. You let yourself lose to the alcohol in your veins, the thrum of the bass of the song, the hips meeting your own in a filthy grind. Your head falls back onto the shoulder behind you as you continue to dance, a surprising amount of strength keeping you propped up despite the controlled fluidity in your shared movements.

As the song begins to come to a close, the figure behind you takes advantage of the momentary lull to lean forward just a tad. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks, barely audible over the sound of the music, even with your proximity.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he rasps.

You hum in agreement, although you’re not sure if he can quite hear it over the buzz of the bass. He seems to understand enough, pulling away from you just enough to grab your hand and begin to lead you off the dance floor. You struggle not to ogle the trim muscles that flex in his arm as he guides you forward. It’s only when the two of you arrive at the bar that you realize that you’ve been doing a terrible job of not staring.

“What are you drinking?” The man asks, voice surprisingly soft near your ear.

“Anything tequila.”

He pulls away just enough to shoot you an amused glance before beginning to flag the bartender down. It’s only when he orders two tequila sodas that he turns to look at you in earnest.

“You know, I normally like talking to people before dancing with them like that.”

You can’t help but smirk as you slowly sip your drink, letting your lips fiddle with the straw in a way that you know is enticing. The way the man’s gaze is locked on your mouth just proves you right. 

“Maybe I just like to dance,” you drawl in something akin to a coo. 

It’s just soft enough that the man can still hear you, only having to lean forward the slightest bit. You instantly love the newfound proximity, reminding you of your little tryst on the dance floor just moments prior. 

The man cocks an eyebrow in amusement. “I think you just like to tease.”

“And I think you like the chase.”

This startles a laugh out of the man, eyes widening in amusement. As he smiles, you realize that there’s something about him that’s kind of cute. Outside of the bad boy persona he clearly tries to promote with his heavy eye makeup and baggy black clothes, the man isn’t much more than the scrunch of his nose and slight flush on his cheeks.

Adorable. 

“Touché,” he finally concedes before taking a long sip of his drink. 

If the bartender made his drink anything like yours, you know it’s strong. But if it is, the man doesn’t show it, knocking back half of the glass in a long sip. It’s impossible not to track the bob of his throat as he swallows, a single bead of sweat trailing down the unblemished skin. All you can imagine is catching it with your tongue, wondering if it tastes as sinful as you feel. 

After a moment of silence between you two, the man extends a hand. “Nicholas.”

“Y/N.”

There’s a surprising strength to his grip as you shake the offered hand. Eventually, though, it morphs into a simple holding of hands, neither of you quite moving, but neither of you letting go either. Nicholas seems to notice that what would be an awkward position with anyone else is simply thrilling between the two of you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“Sorry if this is too forward,” Nicholas rasps before clearing his throat. “But do you want to get out of here?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, taking an exaggerated sip of your drink. Your other hand still hasn’t left Nicholas’s, but you let your fingers tap out the beat of the song currently blasting through the speakers. It’s another seductive track that you’d love nothing more than to grind to. But the hungry look on Nicholas’s face tells you that you’ll be getting much more than that tonight. 

Your heart pounds in your chest at the thought. 

“Yeah,” you respond slyly. “Take me home.”