Red Robin. Yum.

the soft hum of your desk lamp fills in on the silence of your apartment, light casting cross the scattered notebooks and open textbooks. your pen is scratching against paper, tracing over diagrams you already knew by heart.

the rest of the building is quiet in that oddly loud way. pipes ticking in the walls. the distant whir of someone's ancient fridge running, the occasional car rolling by outside. you sit back in your chair, stretching your shoulders until they pop, eyes scanning another sentence on your textbook that you're not really absorbing.

and then you heard it.

a distinct beep, sharp and familiar, followed by the heavy slam of a door next to your own.

you glance at the clock. 2 am.

right on time.

you let out a sigh, closing your books with a soft thud and packing everything away. you click your lamp off, plunging the room into darkness that only the streetlamp outside leaking through your blinds being the only source of light.

you move through the room, snaking into bed, familiar and worn in the, middle from too many late nights like this.

the routine has become so ingrained you could map it out by sound alone. you go to class, maybe grab a sad coffee or something from the vending machine around the corner. you come home, drop your bag by the bed, and slump at your desk for hours on end until you hear the faint mechanical beep of your neighbors door locking, followed by the heavy boots shuffling down the hallway until you don't hear them anymore.

for your neighbor, they're just leaving their apartment. for you, it's the signal to go to bed.

you've bumped into him in the halls on multiple occasions, in that awkward dance of two people trying to pass each other in a narrow space kind of way. but you were never able to his face, let alone a name.

always so quick to dip his head lower than it already was, adjust his cap, or turn away when people got too close.

you do however, notice the knuckles.

it's always the knuckles you see first. raw, split, and scabbed over in jagged patches. sometimes the skin were so freshly torn, angry and red. other times, they're just faded bruises that yellow at the edges. it was almost like it was a roadmap of bad decisions written across his hands.

then, about a week later, you're hearing more than just the normal door slamming shut and heavy footsteps.

it's the dull sound of him leaning against the shared wall between your apartments for a second like he's catching his breath. there was one time you heard a muffled curse, bitten off halfway like he's trying to stop himself from waking anyone else up. another time, it's what sounds like a low, pained exhale. the kind people make when they're holding back something worse.

you thought maybe he was just a delinquent obsessed with violence. a trouble maker who seeks out fights just to feel something. you know, the kind you were always warned about to avoid.

and yet, the next night, you're sitting at your desk studying like it was any night, same pattern but not... quite. you're mind constantly drifting somewhere else as your eyes read over the clock over and over again.

2:13 am.

you've been trying to listen to the familiar footsteps walking past your door, wondering where the neighbor with the bloody knuckles and 2 am door alarms is possible at.

you've strained your ears enough to the point it almost rings. the pipes still hum, the cars pass by outside, somewhere five doors down a toilet flushes.

but the hallway on your floor stays silent.

you couldn't possibly have missed it, have you? the walls in the building are so thin, you're almost confident that you could hear the neighbors on the floor below you as if they were in the same room as you.

by 2:27 am, your notes are half-finished sentences and underlines that don't really connect to anything. you're not even reading anything anymore. you're just waiting.

what if something happened?

you shake your head, annoyed at yourself. you don't even know the guy! it's stupid, you know that. he's a stranger. just a guy with bloody knuckles and a door alarm you've accidentally synced your sleep schedule to. but the absence of him feels loud in a way his presence never did.

beep.

your head snaps up towards your front door.

at first, you don't move. your mind telling you: he's okay, everything is normal. you can close your books, turn off the lamp, and go to sleep. just thirty-two minutes off from what you were used to.

but your body doesn't listen.

you cross the room quietly, heart pounding, cracking open your door just enough to see into the hallway.

and just like always, the same heavy footsteps draw closer to your door.

his shadow appears first, stretching long enough across the wall as he approaches. you watch the way his shadow moves so uneven, one step a little shorter than the other. then you see the line of his shoulders, hunched more than usual beneath a dark hoodie.

and then he's right in front of your door, in passing but it's almost like time slowed down.

the first thing you see is his hand.

his knuckles are worse.

bandages now poorly wrapped and already stained through in places. the skin around the edges is swollen, like it was angry. he lifts that hand to swipe at his face, and for a split second, the hood tilts just enough that you catch the faint outline of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the glint of a split lip.

he disappears out of your sight in seconds, but the brief vulnerability you caught in his demeanor replays in your head.

tired, bruised at the edges, and startingly, disarmingly alive.

and before you could talk yourself out of it, you're already throwing on a pair of shoes and following after him.

you kept your distance after him, footsteps muffled on the damp pavement yet every sound in the night is suddenly too loud. each turn down an empty street felt like stepping deeper into something you weren't supposed to witness.

well, you were supposed to be in bed right now. yet here you are. following after your neighbor like the psycho you were. you take another step after him before coming to a complete stop.

you shouldn't. you really shouldn't.

but you've spent endless nights seeing the wounds, and even more hearing the pain through the wall—all those moments where you pretended not to notice.

something twists in your gut, pulling you forward just before you lose sight of your blood-knuckled neighbor. you see the top of his hood disappearing down a flight of stairs, and you jog after him.

at the bottom of the stairs, sits a lone metal door framed by damp concrete walls drowned in graffiti.

it looked abandoned, no sign of life coursing through the walls. if you had come across it yourself on any other day, you would've turned around by now, but tonight you're following the whereabouts of your neighbor. there's no other way he could've gone, so ultimately you decide to make your way down the stairs and through the door.

heat was the thing that rushes out first, thick with bodies and hot breaths.

then it was the smell. sweat layered over something sharper like it was a handful of pennies left too long in your palm.

and the noise? its the way you instantly cover your ears in an attempt to regain your sense of hearing as voices slam into you from all directions. shouting, arguing, betting.

but what gets your heart pounding is when someone shouts "fresh meat!" and a pair of hands are on you before you're even ready.

"hey, get your hands off of me!" you scream, shoving unwanted hands off of you.

no one listens, of course. the frenzy of bodies continue to pass you forward, deeper into the basement of wherever you walked into.

you're basically tossed into a ring, your hands catching the fall before you could hit your head. you're looking down, damp down at the concrete flooring like it's seen a hundred men go down and none get up easy.

it doesn't take long to find where your neighbor disappeared off too, because when you look up to take in the rest of your surroundings, he's standing in front of you shirtless, chest bandaged in bandages streaked with dark splotches that hinted at old bruises and fresh strikes alike.

his head is tilted to the side, someone leaning into his ear but his eyes are on you. one brow lifts, lazy and sharp, and your pulse jumps in a way you wish it didn't.

“lost, sweetheart? or did you walk in hoping someone would finally pay attention to you? warm-up toys don’t usually last long.” his voice was so low that you almost miss it.

"excuse me?" your jaw drops, obviously taken aback at the way he was speaking to you.

but he's not even looking at you anymore—he's staring at the horde of people surrounding the makeshift ring in the middle of the room, almost basking in the attention.

the same ring that you've had the displeasure of being thrown into.

you hear the crowd buzz amongst themselves, a name from all over the room, to which you can only guess belongs to him.

"that's him? the park jisung?"

"my money is on him tonight."

"she won't even last the night against jisung."

park jisung.

you're finally able to put a face and name to the neighbor next door— the one who always comes home bloody and bruised, always quick to hide his battered face from curious glances, always wearing anything with long sleeves to cover the scarred knuckles he bore on his hands whenever he unlocked his door.

before you can even open your mouth to ask what the fuck you just walked into, hushed murmurs around you are so loud that it drowns out whatever sound bubbles in your throat. not in the sense of it being loud in volume, but in a way where it seemed like everyone was scared it might reach the wrong pair of ears.

"what the hell is she doing?"

"no shoes, no shirts. what are we even waiting for?"

"take it off already."

you gawk at the men to your right. "i am not stripping down to my bra, you psychos. i'm not a fucking stripper." "you're right, you're not." jisung points to his left, your eyes following to land on a faded out poster clinging onto the wall, somehow still readable. "you're in fight club."

You Do Not Talk About Fight Club.

You DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB.

Someone Yells Stop, Goes Limp, Taps Out, the fight is OVER.

Only Two People To A Fight.

One Fight At A Time.

No Shirts. No Shoes.

Fights Will Go On As Long As They Have To.

If This Is Your First Night At Fight Club, You Have To Fight.

these people are out of their fucking minds, you thought.

"i am not taking off my shirt." you repeat, clutching tightly onto your clothes as if that was going to make a difference.

it's so outrageous to hear and quite literally, embarrassing to strip half naked in a basement full of men running on nothing but testosterone. if you knew this was where jisung spent his nights every day, you would have never have followed him here in the first place.

“if you’re not going to follow the rules, then at least hurry up. you’re holding up men who actually came here to fight.” those in the crowd holler in agreement, and jisung is giving you a look as if to prove his point.

"i didn't even come here to fight!" you argue.

in fact, you don't even know why you're even here.

was it to check if he was okay? you already confirmed that when you heard him leaving his apartment. to see if he was a violence obsessed delinquent like you imagined? so far, that checks out too! the pattern of bruises and scars painting across his chest proving you right.

"the last rule of fight club: if this is your first night, you have to fight. i don't make the rules, sweetheart. you should've known what you were walking into when you followed me."

your eyes widen. he knew?

you open your mouth to explain yourself, but the roars that first welcomed you into the basement have twisted into boos and furious hollers.

back faced to you, he's egging on the crowd, and it was the most embarrassed, no— angriest you've felt in a long time. “hey, if she doesn’t want to take it off, i get it. not everyone’s built for being looked at.”

you're not one to really snap, not someone who lets adrenaline drag you by the throat; but every word coming out of his mouth was hitting multiple nerves. you've never felt more degraded in your life.

he wants a fight so bad? then he can choke on one.

you kicked off your shoes in one reckless motion, making your way across the ring before you're even registering the decision. your shirt is over your head and onto the floor, muscles so tight you don't even notice how cold the air is when it hits your skin.

the crowd erupts in cheers, hungry to get their fill of the newcomers' first fight against park jisung, the nation's (secret) newest boxing obsession.

you grab jisung's shoulder so roughly that he's facing you, and your first flies before he can open his mouth. the feeling of your knuckles crashing into his jaw was so satisfying that it hit deeper than the impact itself.

the hit must've had more power in it, because despite your small frame, it makes jisung stumble backwards and grab onto the ropes to catch his fall. you're about to take another swing on him, ready to shut him up for good, when he catches your wrist.

"i'm tapping out." he announces, lifting his hands in surrender. almost immediately the sound of a bell rings through the air, cutting through the crowd's murmurs and disappointed groans. you're barely even registering jisung guiding you out of the ring when you catch what he says.

"took you long enough to hit me."

you scoffed in response, yanking your wrist out of his grip but to no avail. "are you fucking kidding me? you humiliated me in front of all these people."

"that was the point, sweetheart. i was trying to get you to hit me." jisung tosses your belongings to you after he helps you slip past the ropes, "i don't hit girls."

you blink at the sudden confession, staring up at jisung as he moves to a corner of the ring, shadowboxing in preparation to fight, a new fighter already replacing where you just were. and even when you see him throw his fists hit air, you knew he wasn't one to hold back.

somewhere in the room, someone announce loudly. "ready, fight!"

you watched as jisung drove his fist forward to meet flesh over and over again. every hit so rough it stained his knuckles despite them being wrapped in bandages beforehand. it like he knew his fists were a weapon, each swing so razor sharp that it almost looked disciplined.

jisung fought without hesitation, without wasted movement, like every strike had already been decided.

his footwork was so quiet, almost elegant in a way that it was the calm before the storm before he would twist his body to snap his wrist forward.

there was something with the way he fought: fast, exact, obsessed in a rhythm beaten into him.

oddly enough, in the midst of all the brutality of your surroundings, jisung was dangerously captivating.

it's been almost a month since your first night at fight club.

with exams swallowing up what little free time you had (thankfully passing it), you quickly fell back to your routine easily enough.

go to class. drink a sad excuse of a coffee. come home and study. go to bed when you hear jisung's all-too-familiar door alarm as it locks.

you crossed paths with him once, in the hall the night after your first. you were coming back with a caffeine run, and he was on his way to who knows where—fight club was your best bet considering that was his favorite place to spend his hobby.

seeing him again only reminded you of how many questions you never got answers to. the bruises, the whispers, the way he became someone else in that ring.

you'd be lying to say you hadn't thought about going back. though your first night there wasn't exactly...welcoming, to say the least.

your dignity was ripped from your grasp the second you stepped through those doors. fighters stared you down, some of the betters even spat in your direction for making them lose money for winning against jisung.

you wondered if they would make you fight again if you were to show your face down there. you don't exactly fight people.

were you even allowed to call that a fight? jisung willingly tapped out the second you landed a hit on him. it wasn't even a win. it was charity.

you sigh, looking at the mess you call notes staring right back at you. maybe you should just forget about it. whatever happened that night in that basement was a one time thing.

but then you hear it—jisung's door alarm. but it's not the usual single chirp of it locking.

three sharp beeps, a pause, then a sound of the lock misfiring before finally clicking in place.

you've lived next door long enough to know his schedule like clockwork. tonight... something was different.

you get up before you can talk yourself out of it, peeking through the peephole just in time to see him appear through the glass. he's leaning his head on the wall across your apartment door— hood up, shoulders drawn tight, jaw clenched in a way you've never seen.

jisung wasn't just heading out. he was bracing for it.

then he's off, disappearing down the hall until you couldn't hear his footsteps.

you hesitate, heart pounding. you should mind your business this time. you should definitely not do exactly what you did last time.

but you're already slipping past your confinement of your apartment to really register what you're about to do.

you tell yourself you're not following him.

you just...happen to be walking in the same direction as him.

down the same street. at the same hour you definitely shouldn't be outside alone.

the wind feels colder tonight—sharper, pushing you forward like it knew exactly where you were heading.

second night, same boy, same bad decision.

whenever jisung steps into the basement and into the ring, something in him sharpens.

the damp concrete beneath his feet, the feeling of his knuckles cracking when he comes in contact with bone after throwing a fist, and that sharp metallic tang mixing with sweat—thick enough to taste—turns the establishment almost animalistic.

jisung feels like slipping back into a craving he's been starving. it's the way his pulse kicks up, or the way his fingers flexing like they've been itching for this all day.

he calls it focus, but if anyone else were to watch the way he fights, they'd see it for what it really is. hunger.

take the hit. give it back harder. he tells himself to keep moving until someone tells him to stop.

it's not just familiarity—it's regime.

a punch lands against his jaw, snapping his head to the side. the shock blooms across his cheek, warm and spreading like paint underneath skin, but jisung doesn't flinch. if anything, he almost welcomes it.

it reminds him he's alive in a way nothing else does.

his breathing evens out, steady and practiced.

the bruise forming isn't a deterrent. the blood on his knuckles—either his opponents or his own, he's not sure—anchors him. it's proof that he's doing what he's supposed to do.

to jisung, fight club is just the one place where he knows the rules well enough to survive.

like this is the one thing he can't walk away from. a place he returns to because he knows nothing else.

he rolls his shoulders once before he moves again and when he does, it's like watching a fuse catch fire.

jisung surges forward, closing the distance against his opponent in a breath. his fist connects with the other man's ribs first, a hit that forces air out of the lungs with a choked sound.

he doesn't wait to see the reaction. he never does. his body is already following through with another strike, a hook that snaps the man's head back.

then, he hits him with a third, fourth—even a fifth blow—knuckles slicing through the space between them like they're guided by something older than thought.

when the man stumbles, jisung sees his opening in the slight dip in his opponent's stance. he steps in, finishing the sequence with a sharp blow that sends the contender collapsing onto the floor with a dull thud.

the crowd reacts before jisung does. hell, the 'referee' doesn't even count, like they knew the fight was over long before they even announced who won.

jisung stands over the fallen body, chest heaving and jaw tight. there's a steady thrum beneath his skin—one that only quiets once he's proven again and again that nobody here can take him down.

to the members of fight club, park jisung isn't just a fighter who's good, but a fighter who needs it.

your eyes watched jisung's movements as he moves across the ring, you don't even realize you've stopped breathing until the crowd surges forward, pulling you with them.

he was moving in the ring like he was made for it. sharp, fluid and eerie in the way he never seems surprised by the hits thrown at him.

he takes blows to the jaw that you're sure would've taken out anyone else, but he just exhales.

every moment was so controlled it borders on compulsiveness, earning him the nickname everyone whispers: the underground's obsession.

because you've seen people fight before. this isn't that.

and then the bell rings.

the crowd erupts around you like they just won the lottery.

you blink, realizing that his match has ended and a new pair of fighters are already making their way into the ring.

"i thought i warned you last time to not follow boys who only look for trouble." a low voice called from behind you.

startled, you turn around. jisung stands there, eyes narrowed in that same sharp-edged presence as your first night. somehow he’s calmer than he should be for someone after a fight, but more dangerous for it.

he looks exactly like your first night in the ring: broad chest bound in stained bandages, fresh bruises worn like it was some sort of badge. only now, his wrists are bare, every knuckle sporting a shiny metallic red color in all it's glory.

his build was lean—abs etched just enough to catch the light when he moved. if he noticed the intense staring battle you're having with his torso, he chooses not to mention anything.

"park jisung." he introduced himself to you, extending his hand forward.

"y/n,” you managed quietly, shaking his hand carefully so as not to hurt him. “i live next door."

he hums in acknowledgement, like he knew. "so, why'd you follow me?" he asks, sensing you weren't going to answer his statement from earlier. "surely it's not because you want another go with me, is it?"

like hell you do. "god, no."

your first night was just you being stupidly, almost psychotically reckless, you'll admit that much. you know this place was a bad idea, a very BAD idea. yet here you are again, chasing something you can't name.

jisung huffs a laugh, amused. "didn't think so. you don't hit like someone who enjoys this place."

he pauses, and you watch as his gaze drags over your face, slower than he intends. "so why come back?"

"i...don't know." you admit. "i guess i just didn't understand why someone would want to do this more then three times a week."

something in jisung's expression ticks. barely, but there. "curiosity is a dangerous thing down here." he warns, voice lower than before.

"isn't this place just a place where people throw punches for ego?"

jisung's jaw flexes. "yeah."

your eyes narrow slightly, obviously not convinced. that "yeah" didn't even sound close to agreement.

you’re close enough now to see the faint tremor in his fingers, the way his breathing hasn’t fully evened out—not from exhaustion, but from the adrenaline still rattling through him, as if he hasn’t learned how to switch it off.

he shifts his weight—rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shrug something invisible off his back.

jisung's gaze is already being pulled away from you—to which you follow—drifting towards a man in the far corner of the room waving him over, an eager smile on his face.

you frown, eyes drifting back to jisung, confusion forming on your face.

his whole posture changes, like gravity just got heavier. jisung gives you one more look before he walks away, a quiet warning buried underneath.

"i wouldn't keep coming back if i were you," he mutters, his tone stripped down to something nakedly honest. "this place takes more than it gives."

you watch his bare, bruised back as he walks toward the older man, two others appearing and meeting jisung halfway. they greet him with claps to the shoulder as if to celebrate his win from earlier in the night.

one grabs his jaw, tilting his face left, then right, before shoving something to jisung's chest with too much enthusiasm for jisung's liking. he winces, stumbling backwards from the impact.

and despite the warnings jisung is giving you since following him down those stairs, you're too intrigued to really listen.

you quickly learn that jisung in the ring isn't the same boy you see up close. for someone that screams relentless and powerful, he's surprisingly...gentle.

you think back to the first night you ever waited for him outside.

"y/n? you shouldn't be out here alone this late." he frowns, checking the time. it was almost half past three. he thought you already left.

"i was going to, but i figured i'd get a little something to celebrate your win from earlier." you say, twirling the bag between your fingers.

you dig into the bag and pull out two yogurt flavored lollipops. "i don't know what you like but i figured everyone likes a sweet treat to celebrate."

jisung stares at you blankly.

the lack of reaction is starting to make you think that maybe you should've just went home after all.

"if you don't take the candy, i'm going to eat both." you say stubbornly, already in the process of unwrapping one so you weren't just standing there awkwardly.

to your surprise, jisung plucks the other candy from your fingers, popping the sugary treat into his mouth before he gestures that the two of you start walking.

jisung walks beside you in silence, the lollipop stick shifting from one side to the other in his mouth. he doesn't look at you, but he slows down his pace just enough for you to keep up.

maybe that's why—without really meaning to—you start to slip into the crowd to watch and make sure he's okay (much to his dismay).

"you're not very good at listening, are you?"

you freeze on the spot, because you already know that tone. it was more tired than it was angry; the kind of exhaustion that comes from fighting everything but the thing he wants to say.

when you spin around, jisung is at the top of staircase, hand on the railing like he was holding himself up. his hair was damp, a few strands stuck to his forehead, and there's a fading bruise at the corner of his mouth that wasn't there the last time you saw him.

he descends the stairs slowly, not like he was trying to corner you, but like his legs seemed heavier than usual. like he hoped you wouldn't actually come back tonight and doesn't know what to do when he realizes that's not going to happen.

his eyes flick to the door behind you, the sound of a crowd buzzing, fighters cracking their bones with every swing, the sharp bell cutting through the air. then his eyes land back to you.

you offer a small, unapologetic smile you always give when you know you've stayed away but couldn't. "i just wanted to make sure you were okay," you start, quiet. "after the last fight—"

jisung huffs a breath that isn't quite a laugh, but more like a surrender. "yeah," he murmurs, reaching the bottom step. "that's the problem."

because of course you came.

despite pushing you away with words, his actions always pull you right back in.

you stand frozen at the edge of the crowd, heart thudding as fists blur in front of you. every hit sounds too loud, too real. the crack of knuckles, each swing landing with a force that makes your stomach twist. it feels wrong, watching someone get hit like that, but your body won't move, and you can't tell if you're more afraid of looking away or looking too long.

you don't even realize you're drifting awfully close to the ring until a hand clamps onto your wrist and yanks you back.

jisung.

he's breathless, jaw tight, eyes scanning you like he's expecting to find blood.

"you can't just disappear like that." he says, voice sharper than he meant to.

when you just blink at him, startled, the tension in his shoulders collapses into something more exhausted than angry.

he sighs and steps closer, hands landing on your shoulders. "if you're going to wander around," he mutters, adjusting your stance. "at least keep your back to the wall."

his grip tightens for half a second, just long enough to give away how scared he actually was. you hear his breath leave him before he lifts his chin toward the left hallway.

"don't turn your back to that hallway. ever."

there's no heat in his voice now. just a warning shaped like fear.

other nights, you find yourself knocking on his door on impulse, like something in you already knows he'll open it.

jisung opens his door, hair flat on the side, clearly not ready to be expecting guests.

"i brought food," you blurt. "i ordered too much food and i'm not going to finish. if you want some."

he blinks at you, staring at the take out bag in your hands like it was some alien artifact. "you're...okay with sharing?" he asks, genuinely confused.

"no, jisung, i actually don't. i poisoned the food because the thought of sharing makes me homicidal." you deadpan.

there's a flicker in his eyes that you miss, before he shrugs and steps aside to let you in. "i don't know, you did punch me that one time."

the longer you're around him, the more you start to notice the things he doesn't say—little moments that give him away.

the walk back to the apartment complex from the convenience store was more of a comfortable quiet than an awkward one. streetlights, buzzing, the air cool and a half-finished snack in your hand.

nothing dangerous. nothing unusual.

that's why the noise startles you both.

a metal pipe hits the ground with a sharp clang, somewhere behind the construction fence across the street.

you jolt a little and jisung's already stepping in front of you before you could register what was happening.

his arm is in front of you automatically, blocking you, body angled like he was expecting someone to come rushing out. you hear his breath catch harshly—too sharp for a noise that came from a perfectly safe work site.

you look up at him, gentle but confused. "are you okay?"

"sorry," he mutters, pulling away when he realizes he's standing too close. "didn't mean to."

"it's okay." you say. and it is. because the street settles back into the same comfortable quiet from five minutes ago.

jisung swallows, nods once, and walks again. not beside you this time, but half a step ahead, like he's clearing the path.

and somehow, despite everything, he's clumsy in a way that feels almost endearing.

you get startled when jisung nearly trips over his own feet while the two of you are walking home. you catch his arm, and he mutters something underneath his breath before sneaking a look in your direction.

"are you okay?" you ask, a small smile creeping on your face.

the boxer looks away, suddenly realizing how close you are to him.

"yeah-yes, uh, yeah," he stutters.

a laugh escapes you, soft and warm. "you know, you fight better than you walk."

his shoulders sink. "don't remind me."

when you keep smiling at him, he looks away—the eye contact physically being too much for him. not flustered, just unsure how to keep the conversation going without sounding strange.

he walks a little straighter after that.

it becomes a pattern. him softening in small ways that don't match the boy you first met. nothing dramatic. just a quiet awareness like he keeps waiting for you to show up again.

and you do, hours later, jacket half on and grocery list in hand, jisung appears in his doorway just as you step out.

"where are you going?"

you turn, facing a messy haired jisung, with his hoodie half zipped.

"grocery store," you say. "i'm running out of food."

he hesitates, then he's fully stepping out into the hall and locking his own apartment. "i'll go with you."

and then you're off. the both of you fall into step automatically, like you've done this a hundred times instead of never.

the automatic doors sigh open as you both step into the glow of the grocery store. it's nearly midnight, aisles half empty with soft music humming above your heads.

jisung keeps close behind you, hood up, hands in the pockets of his jeans like he's afraid to take up too much space. you watch as his eyes constantly dart around—over the shelves, the signs, the people.

"do you always shop here?" he asks, after a scratch of silence.

you nod, humming. "mh-mm, it's close to campus." you spin around, walking backwards so you're looking at him, a smile on your face. "and they have good strawberries."

he nods like that's deeply important information, a feeling in his stomach that he can't decipher from what.

he watches as you walk into an aisle, plucking items off the shelf to inspect them before placing them in the cart you had grabbed earlier.

walking behind you, he keeps staring down into the cart like it's a foreign language.

"do you usually just pick anything you want?"

"that's how shopping works," you laugh. "you buy what you want."

he nods slowly, slowly processing what was happening right now.

when you reach the produce section, you hand him a container of strawberries. "check if they look okay?"

jisung stills for a moment but cups the plastic box in both hands without question.

"they look fine," he says finally, but then frowns, opening it and inspecting each one like he actually wants to get this right. "this one looks...weird. is it supposed to look like that?"

you take a peak at the strawberry jisung singled out, and laugh softly. "it's just a little dented, it's okay."

his mouth forms into an 'o', slowly placing the fruit back into the container and into the cart.

in the snack aisle, you hold up two different ramen flavors. "pick one."

he's staring at his options like they were a trick question. "for you?"

"for us," you correct. "nothing beats a good bowl of ramen when you're finished with a fist fight." you cup the side of your mouth and add quietly, "and when you're deprived from sleep of studying all night. that too."

jisung swallows and finally ends up picking the simpler one, after three full seconds of internal warfare. you pretend you don't notice how nervous he is about it.

when you guys reach the freezer section, jisung is too invested in the different types of protein and processed foods that when he blindly reaches for the cart, his hand brushing yours by accident and he snatches it back instantly.

"sorry—"

"it's okay," you say, voice soft. "you can relax, you know."

"i'm trying." he says quietly, not embarrassed, just honest.

you smile and don't say anything else. you continue on with your shopping, letting jisung in on the decision making process.

and that's how the night ends.

four plastic bags, a shared walk home and jisung looking at the world like someone just opened a door he didn't know existed.

it isn't until two months later after meeting jisung that you realize you're starting to feel something for him.

it's technically friday morning, though it still feels like thursday to you, when you and jisung walk the path back home after his match at fight club.

when the two of you walk, you don't usually say much. so when you see jisung taking a right turn instead of going straight like you normally would, you can't help but call out to him.

"earth to jisung, i don't know where you think you're going, but home is this direction."

his response is a simple "i know" as he continues to walk forward. when he stops in his tracks and looks back in your direction, you realize he's waiting for you to follow him.

you raise a brow at him but ultimately follow; where he doesn't begin walking until you're beside him.

and you're glad you do follow him, because he leads you to a park.

the park is washed in a low silver glow, the moonlight catching on the leaves. the pathways are empty, but not lonely—just peacefully still.

"this is the park i come to from time to time to practice boxing." jisung says, hair blowing messily in the faint breeze that moves through the trees.

you hear dogs barking in the distance, the lamps along the trails casting a warm halo over the pavement in soft gold circles.

jisung walks over to an open area before he gestures for you to stand in front of him. "come stand in front of me."

you don't ask questions and follow orders, and jisung softly takes your wrists and lifts them beside your face. "fists closed, arms on the side of your face like you're about to block a sneeze."

"are you really teaching me how to box right now?" you ask, not annoyed, but amused.

jisung shrugs, nudging your feet further apart to get into the perfect stance. "i won't always be there on time."

"one foot slightly ahead of the other and keep your knees loose," when he holds your chin to tilt it down, you stop breathing. "chin tucked."

jisung steps away, nodding. "good. that's your stance. stay loose."

he taps your front hand. "this one—jab. just a quick flick."

he gets into position, demonstrating. "it's the simplest punch. use your front hand and just extend your arm straight out and bring it back like i did. it's quick, light and more about speed than power."

you nod, following his actions. jisung nods in approval. "good, now the next one is called a cross. turn your hip. more."

you punch forward, and he exhales like he's biting back a remark.

"your hip," he says. then he steps behind you, one hand settling at your waist and the other on your hipbone. "you're not turning it."

he moves with you, guiding the twist of your body. his hands fall away a moment too slowly, like he forgets to let go. "there we go. power comes from here."

you spend the next twenty minutes learning some basic boxing moves: your stance, basic moves; to which some needing further instruction with how awkward you were being.

"i have no clue what i'm doing." you say, laughing.

"that's okay." jisung reassures you, being patient with you as he walks you through each step.

"now you're going to guard."

"guard?"

he nods. "not getting hit. it's the baseline of defense." he brings your hands back up to your face into position. "hands up, elbows tucked, and keep your face protected." he demonstrates again. "and keep your head slightly turned so you're never a still target."

when you try it, jisung steps closer. "not that far." he murmurs quietly.

his fingers curve lightly around the back of your neck, turning your head the way he wants it. his thumb grazes your jaw as he nudges you back to center. "just enough to miss the hit."

you tell yourself it's only the cold night air that is making you aware of the close you are, but your heart seems to know something you don't.

on mondays and wednesdays, jisung likes to hover inside your apartment while you study. he reasons that it's to make it feel less lonely for you, but you suspect it's more for him than yourself.

so when you open your door, it's no surprise to see him standing there—the culprit of the knocking, stepping aside wordlessly to let him in.

he never intrudes, letting you work without distraction. he fidgets or paces while you study, trying his best to keep himself occupied without getting in the way of your studies.

every now and then, he'll hover over your desk, watching as you scribble notes on multiple passages that you read over. he'll even pass you a pen or a different colored highlighter, as an excuse to stay closer to you.

occasionally, he'll watch you hum softly, his posture shifts, tension sliding up his shoulders the moment your eyes lift, gaze dropping to his hands as if they're suddenly fascinating.

and you stare at him, a question bubbling in your throat you've been wanting to ask since meeting him. "how did you get good at boxing?"

his eyes widen, and he shifts in his seat to lean back, not expecting the sudden change of interest.

you notice his hands clench and then relax, wiping his hands on his jeans from how clammy they were getting. "uh, it's been a hobby of mine since i was a kid." he starts, gaze skimming over the room, never settling long enough to land on you.

you tilt your head, surprised. "since you were a kid? really?" there was something about the way he said it, like he didn't want to admit it but couldn't help himself.

jisung nods, leaning forward as if to examine your notes though his eyes aren't following the words. "people around me always said i was good. like really good. i ended up learning about fight club through an... acquaintance." he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. "it was just a hobby of mine that i stuck with, i guess."

"and fight club? when did you join?"

he shoots you a brief look. "you want a full biography? it's mostly boring."

when you nod your head for him to continue, the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly. "do you remember the first rule of fight club?"

"that you don't talk about fight club..." you say, pouting, but you can't hide the small smile tugging on your lips.

your eyes meet, but he looks away almost immediately, jaw tightening. you turn back to your notes, fingers fidgeting with your pen.

you tuck your hair behind your ear, flipping back to the page you were on, focusing your brain into study mode.

and for the next few minutes, he lets you go back to studying.

jisung stretches in his seat, hooking a foot around the leg of the chair to ground himself. he presses his thumb to a raw spot on his knuckle, worried about distracting you but can't quite sit still.

for a moment, you wonder if he even realizes how calming it is for him to be here, quietly occupying space without interrupting.

silence stretches between you two, comfortable yet expectant, before he returns the same curiosity. "what about you? do you even like it here?"

when you don't answer right away, he softens his question. "i mean... are you happy?"

you blink, thrown off by the sudden shift.

he clears his throat, eyes darting away to look at your picture frames—friends, family, awards—fixated on none in particular.

and when you take a peek at his face, your heartbeat skips, a quiet stutter you hope doesn't show.

how strange, you think. you spent several weeks pretending he was another friend but there's something about the way he hovers near you—careful, gentle—that makes a tiny, impossible hope curl in your stomach.

"i would say so," you murmur. "why do you ask?"

jisung shrugs. "there's not much to do here, and you're all by yourself."

"i have you." you say, smiling without thinking.

the words linger longer than you expect.

for a moment, jisung goes still, almost like the sentence hits him somewhere he wasn't guarding. he doesn't comment on it, but he doesn't need to.

because after that night, something shifts.

he stays a little longer on mondays, shows up a little earlier on wednesdays, and his knocks become familiar, almost expected.

until one night, he shows up again, but the knock is different—it's harder, more uneven.

when you open the door, he isn't composed or careful. he's bruised, breathing hard, his eyes searching your face with a kind of quiet urgency.

"can i..." he says, voice cracking. "can i come in?"

you rush him inside and sit him down onto your couch. "wait here, i'll go get the first aid kit."

and when you come back, you're kneeling in front of him, eyes searching his. your hands pause just above his skin, waiting for any sign of discomfort.

his hands are still trembling, bandages soaked, eyes distant.

when he doesn't flinch away as you place your hands on top of his, you take it as your sign to start cleaning him up.

you start with unravelling the bandages around his wrists, heart hurting when you see the injuries underneath: his knuckles are torn open. you grab a warm towel, wiping away old and fresh blood.

you drag the warm cloth over his cheekbones, washing away the smear of someone else's blood. his breath catches, and you quickly apologize. "sorry," you whisper.

"it's okay," he murmurs, voice rough. "it doesn't hurt." and it doesn't, because you're being so careful with him.

the cut on his eyebrow is shallow but messy, bleeding more than it should. you clean the split and jisung stays perfectly still—not from the pain, but from how close you are.

when your gaze traces the line of his cheek, the swelling making your heart twist. "do you want to talk about it?"

jisung shakes his head and you nod, not wanting to push it.

his breathing comes in uneven pulls, gaze fixed on your hands. his shoulders are tense under your fingers, no matter how gentle you are with him.

you smother a thin layer of ointment over the open cuts, careful not to put even the slightest of pressure to make it hurt.

when your fingers brush his jaw, it's like the world stops.

his gaze drops to your mouth without meaning to, and he swallows like the air is suddenly too thick. he tries to lean back but you're quick to call his name softly. his breath hitches.

"jisung, don't move too much, i'm almost done."

"y/n..." he says, your name sounding like something he isn't sure he's supposed to want.

you look up.

and it's over. the distance, the pretending, the pretending-not-to-stare.

jisung doesn't move closer, not really. he just...leans. like his body decided before he had time to think himself out of it.

"jisung—" you start, but the words dissolve because he's already there, brushing his lips against yours so gently you almost wonder you imagined it.

when you don't pull away, he breathes out shakily and kisses you again, this time real. still soft, still careful, but with something warm and terrified behind it, like he's afraid the moment will disappear if he presses too hard.

he pulls back slightly, the loss of warmth feels immediate. his eyes stay on yours, wide and conflicted, the kind of look someone wears when they've done something instinctive and only now realized it. "i...didn't mean—" he begins, his voice coming out hoarse.

he exhales sharply. "shit..."

you sit back on your heels, heart still hammering, your fingers curling against your knees. you're so stunned that you don't move.

"...can we pretend that didn't happen? just for tonight."

you nod, even though your chest tightens. "yeah," you whisper. "for tonight."

but the way his eyes drop to your lips again—quick, involuntary, betraying him completely—tells you both the same thing:

he won't be able to pretend forever.

the next few days pass in a strange, fragile kind of normal—or your best attempt at normal.

you and jisung don't talk about the kiss. you don't look at it, breathe near it, don't let yourselves say anything that might detonate the quiet truce you made.

he still comes over mondays. still knocks twice on wednesdays. still sits in the same chair beside your desk, fidgeting with the same nervous hands.

but everything about him has changed.

every time you brush past him, he stiffens. every time he passes you a pen when you study, he snatches his hand back immediately. and every time you look at him a little too long, he looks away a little too fast.

you still come to watch his fights on tuesdays. still practice with him every other saturday. still buy him yogurt-flavored candy to celebrate every win.

and just like jisung, everything about you has changed.

when he finishes a fight and heads straight for you, your heart trips over itself. when he walks too close on the way home, you hate how much it affects you—shoulders brushing his—the heat radiating off him. and when he brushes a stray hair out of your face without thinking, your stomach flips so violently you feel stupid for pretending it doesn't.

you both pretend that the kiss never happened, but it's the only thing echoing through your head.

does he regret it? is that why he avoids your eyes on purpose or is it because he really can't meet them?

if you were to be completely honest, these past few days have been absolute hell for you. a constant ache, a constant wonder of what will happen to the two of you if you were to even breathe a word about the kiss.

the way he reacts with you now is enough to make your heart sting.

it's gotten to the point that even ordinary things feel strange now. when he hands you a water bottle, he sets it down instead of passing it to you. when he laughs, he cuts himself off too fast. when he stiffens around you, every inch of space between you feels charged. everything feels so rehearsed—like he's trying to avoid a mistake he already made.

he's a fighter, but your fingertips make him retreat.

why did he look so sure about kissing you then, but so terrified now?

that uneasy flutter hits your stomach again, heart beating too fast for comfort the more you think about your reality. was this the beginning of him closing off?

and that's exactly what ends up happening.

when the next week comes, jisung's visits on mondays are less frequent. he comes by noon and ends up leaving after an hour, not really elaborating why. you've tried offering to keep him company, but he would always decline.

wednesdays come by in a blur with unfinished homework and a room too big for your liking. you glance at the clock out of habit, waiting by the door longer to admit, listening to the soft pair of knocks that end up not coming. the silence consuming your apartment is so complete it almost feels intentional.

you think saturdays are when it hurts the most. for the past few months, your weekends have carved around the same rhythm. go to fight club, practice, the long walk home with jisung where he always walked a little closer than he meant to. you tell yourself you were fine without it, but when saturday comes, you find yourself staring at your ceiling instead of the stars you normally would see in those brown eyes you couldn't help looking into.

you try to smother the ache by focusing on school. bury yourself in assignments. highlight lines in your textbook even if you don't need to.

but your thoughts won't stay where you put them.

you've thought about going to fight club, but a single question was enough to stop you every time.

what if showing up makes it worse? that even if you came just to see if he was okay, to see if he was hurt, if he was avoiding everyone or if it was just you.

and maybe worst of all: what if he acts completely normal?

you're more afraid of that possibility than the brutality in that damn basement—of the smell of sweat and spit, the echoing roar of the crowd and the metallic taste of adrenaline that always lingered on your tongue. you'd rather face that than have him look past you.

still, that anxious energy was building in your chest, buzzing, restless, like your body hasn't stopped expecting him to show up at any moment.

so you decide that boxing might be a good way to release it.

you lace up your sneakers, throw on a jacket and grab your keys before walking to the park that feels too familiar. you'd step on the cracks in the pavement, skipping out on hopping on them like you normally would just to hear him laugh. you pass the convenience store you normally buy that stupid yogurt-flavored candy, but you don't let yourself look too long through the windows.

the air is colder than you expected, but maybe that's because you're alone.

when you reach the park, the sight hits you harder than you prepare for.

because you find the cause of all your anxiety sitting on a patch of grass, hands tangled in his hair like he's trying to hold himself together.

the park lights paint him in a dim gold, soft enough to make him look almost harmless—almost like the boy he keeps insisting he isn't.

your feet move automatically, the crunch of gravel underneath your shoes is so loud you're afraid it would scare him away.

he doesn't look up when you approach him.

he just says, voice tight, "i'm trying to not fuck things up."

"what do you mean?"

you carefully sit beside him, the fresh wet grass soaking into your jeans. the silence settles between you, as if you were letting him decide if he wants to run again.

he doesn't.

instead, he lifts his head, eyes finally meeting yours. they're dark, raw and honest in a way he's never let them be.

"you have no idea," he starts quietly. "how hard i'm trying not to think about that kiss. but every time i do, i just...get more confused. i don't know what i'm doing."

your heart picks up.

he exhales shakily. his fingers twitch against the grass, like he's fighting himself. "i'm scared," he admits. "every time i thought i was doing the right thing, i ended up wanting you more. i...i can't stop thinking about you."

his voice breaks a little, but he leans a little closer anyways.

the heat between you is immediate, familiar, terrifying.

you whisper, "jisung."

and just like that, just his name on your lips undoes whatever restraint he was clinging to. he fully turns toward you, knee brushing yours, breath warm against your cheeks.

"if this is too much," he murmurs. "tell me to leave,"

your heart starts to race, so fast that you swear you could feel it in your own fingertips. when you shake your head—barely a motion, barely anything—his shoulders loosen.

jisung leaned in slowly, like he was approaching something sacred. his hand hovered over your cheek first—not touching, just asking. when you don't pull away, he exhales and lets his fingers settle against your skin. he pauses there, eyes flickering to your mouth, giving you every chance to stop him right then and there.

when you don't, he dips his head and presses his lips to yours, gentle but unmistakably firm.

every moment after that was slower, more sure, like he was memorizing the exact shape of the moment as he created it.

your chest tightens, not from fear but from the sudden, dizzying relief of finally knowing you weren't imagining any of it.

it hits you all at once. the loneliness of the past week, the confusion, the ache of thinking you were the one who cared. now he's here, saying everything you were too afraid to hope for.

you didn't think it was possible to feel so safe and so exposed all at once.

and for the first time since that night, he doesn't pull back.

weeks slip by, each one folding into the next. you and jisung settle into a rhythm that feels almost ordinary (if ordinary can include someone who likes to fight as a hobby).

jisung's visits become more frequent again, and there's a lightness to his presence that wasn't there before. the tension that used to coil around his shoulders has softened, though not disappeared entirely.

now the two of you cook together sometimes—more you than jisung, share music over lazy afternoons, and walk through the neighborhood without feeling like you're bracing for something. you seem to notice that jisung laughs more freely now, letting his gaze linger on you longer than it used to, and you catch him watching you, quiet and unselfconscious, in moments that make your chest tighten in ways you're happy to feel.

you watch him train in the evenings with a steady focus, calloused hands and sweat-slicked hair, and yet he leaves the brutality at that damned basement when he comes home. mostly, at least.

you still notice the way he flinches at sudden noises on the street, in the small, almost imperceptible pauses before he answers your question you asked earlier, and sometimes in the distant look that crosses his eyes during quiet study sessions. it's a reminder that fight club isn't gone, just contained.

and yet, life still goes on. it softens around the edges. moments pile up, small ones, stupid ones, ones that make you think maybe this fragile calm is becoming something real.

like the evenings he reads your textbook upside-down just to see how long it takes for you to notice.

or the afternoon he tries to fix a broken faucet and somehow manages to break it even more. (you didn't even know that was possible. he stands over the sink, desperately trying to stop the water from flooding your bathroom. "how did you even—" you start, but jisung is quick to cut in. "i don't know. i followed the instructions. probably." he in fact did not follow the instructions.)

or maybe the way he steals your snack you bought on the way home, then denies it in the world's worst poker face. you think he does it just to get a reaction out of you.

or just maybe, it's the quiet, almost domestic rhythm of him staying the night, brushing your teeth at the same time, bumping elbows at the sink, both of you pretending it's not weirdly intimate.

it becomes a string of small, ordinary days. warm, unassuming, easy enough to believe in.

so when dinner goes wrong one night, like spectacularly wrong, jisung is staring at the smoking pan and you both end up laughing harder than you should.

"we should go grab take-out," you decide.

"obviously," he mutters, waving smoke away with a towel.

it feels normal, stupidly normal. almost like you could stay this way if only for one night.

you two walk along the street, the city quieter tonight that made jisung's breath feel less heavy.

your eyes light up, spotting a familiar neon sign. you tug in jisung's sleeve, urging him to quicken his steps. "this place has really good kimchi udon. delicious, cheap, and won't poison us."

he laughs, small but real. "that's reassuring."

when you two get your food, you fill the silence in-between bites with small pieces of your childhood.

you don't notice the way jisung's eyes linger on you as you talk, too caught up in the conversation of how your mother used to make you kimchi udon when you were a kid, but was too busy with work to continue making it.

he watched as your hands moved as you spoke—expressive, soft and utterly unconcerned with how ridiculous you may look to others around you.

he didn't realize for the past hour, he has never felt this way before.

it was nothing like the world he knew.

not the underground pit. not the shouting. not the tension that lived in his bones like a second heartbeat.

and for a terrifying moment, he knew he wanted this.

by eleven o'clock, you're walking next to jisung, arms linked as you guys make your way back to building, where your doors face the same hallway, turning onto a quieter street because a neighborhood cat caught your attention.

that's when they appeared. three men stumbling out of a bar doorway, loud, slurring. at first, it was nothing, but one of them bumps into you and instead of apologizing, they look up and smile too wide for your liking.

"hey sweetheart," the man said, voice sticky. "where you headed?"

you stiffen when another man steps closer. "you're cute, y'know that?"

the third laughed. "c'mon, don't be shy. join us." lifting his hand up to your face, almost carelessly, but to jisung, it's something else entirely.

and suddenly he's too close, stepping in-between you and the tipsy man, his hand shooting out in front of you like a barrier.

"back up." it wasn't loud, but was colder in the way it was said that not even the night air makes you shiver.

the first guy scoffs. "what, you her boyfriend or something?"

jisung's jaw flexes, fists curled. his stance lowered half an inch. he didn't notice he'd done it, but the men did.

"that guy's gonna swing," one muttered, already attempting to drag his friend away from a nasty blow.

and jisung almost did. every nerve in him begged for it. the impact, the adrenaline, the clarity that came. that familiar rush surged up his spine, drowning out your voice behind him.

"jisung, it's fine," you whisper, but his breathing goes shallow, and his eyes narrow.

the familiar rush of adrenaline drags him backward without permission, and suddenly the street lamps become a single buzzing overhead bulb, the sidewalk molting into that grimy slate-colored canvas that caught every drop of sweat. like he was back in that concrete hallway again, shouts he can't hear clearly.

then it was your hand on his back that snaps him back to reality. soft and slow.

"jisung," you say again, barely audible. "it's fine. they're just drunk, let's go home."

he doesn't even realize the three men have already backed up and left. but his body doesn't relax.

something settles behind his eyes. not anger, not fear—acceptance.

because even if he wanted normal, normal didn't want him back.

and that's how it ends up: two days without seeing him. two days of worry gnawing at you like a bruise you can't stop pressing.

now you're back in fight club because you've decided enough is enough—you need to see him.

and tonight, you learn very quickly who the next fight is through the chorus of murmurs rippling through the crowd:

park jisung versus fight club's favorite prodigy.

that's how jisung ends up back to the place beneath everything else.

the crowd whispers about the other fighter like he's inevitable, like park jisung is showing up just to bleed.

the lights flicker for a second, then lock steady, revealing two figures in the ring. the crowd's mumurs swell into a low roar, an animalistic buzz that prickles jisung's skin, but he barely notices.

his focus narrows, every movement in the air, every muscle becomes part of a single rhythm.

across from him, the prodigy smirks, bouncing lightly on their toes, eyes bright, fists poised. this isn't someone jisung underestimates; the club has built legends out of them, but he's not here to play games. not tonight.

keep breathing. eyes. hands. timing.

but his ribs still ache from the last fight. his right hand throbs inside the wraps. and under it all is the fear from two days ago, the shove in the street and the echo of a soft, familiar voice replaying in his head.

not now. don't think. just fight.

the bell rings.

and the prodigy lunges first.

the first hit jisung blocks. the second cracks against his jaw. jisung counters on instinct, landing a jab, but his opponent only grins.

another strike comes flying—a hook. jisung ducks, his vision pulsating at the edges.

it's fine. breathe. i've fought worse. i—

a blow to the ribs knocks the air from his lungs.

jisung gasps, stumbling back, guarding low, chest burning. everything he knows slipping from his mind. usually he reads opponents like an open book, but tonight—

focus, damn it.

a hook grazes jisung's cheek, staggering but recovers, swinging a cross with a calculated precision. he's been here before. he knows how to dictate the fight.

round after round, they trade blows. each strike from the prodigy is sharp, aimed to provoke. each counter from jisung is defensive yet punishing.

the crowd cheers, but jisung barely hears them; all he feels is every nerve alive, each breathe burning, every heartbeat hammering.

another uppercut snaps jisung's head back. he's hurting, but he's still relentless. he feints, dodges, and lands a solid jab to the prodigy's midsection. the boy grunts, but keeps pressing.

the bell for the next round feels like a reprieve. jisung leans against the ropes, chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes.

round four: fatigue creeps into jisung's shoulders, slowing his reflexes just enough for the prodigy to land a brutal combination—a hook to the temple, a cross to the jaw, an uppercut snapping his head. he stumbles, chest heaving, one hand brushing the ground to keep him upright.

jisung starts to feel stars behind his eyes, ribs screaming. he throws a desperate flurry, but his body tremble under the strain. the prodigy wastes no time to counter, finding openings that shouldn't exist.

and finally, a sharp right connects squarely on his temple. the world tilts, and jisung falls to one knee.

the referee steps in, quick to announce the winner. the crowd is a mix of cheers, groans, murmurs, but jisung knows that throughout the fight, he left his mark despite the loss.

jisung struggles to his feet, every muscle burning and every nerve screaming.

the roar of the crowd fades into a distant echo as he steadies himself. for a heartbeat, everything is just ringing and sweat and the taste of blood.

then hands grab him.

jisung doesn't get a chance to breathe before he's being dragged out of the ring.

a hand clamping around his upper arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. not out of malice, just thoughtlessness. like he was something to move out of the way, not someone to apologize to.

"back up," someone grunts, and before he can react, jisung is yanked a half-step sideways. his feet scrape against the hard floor as another body shoves past, shoulder checking him without even looking.

"watch it, he's still bleeding," another one mutters, but no one slows down.

these were the days when jisung felt the smallest, not because there were other fighters here who were bigger and meaner, but because he felt like no one here bothers to see him.

another guy reaches from behind, steering him like an obstacle. "move."

it doesn't take long for a tall man step in front of him, looming over him like a wall. he doesn't punch first; he doesn't need to. instead, he inspects him, circling slowly, eyes sharp, hands twitching like he's mapping the quickest way to break him.

everyone in the crowd watches with a hunger that has nothing to do with the sport. the kind of silence that isn't respectful, but expectant. they've seen this happen before. threats aren't theatrics here; they're currency. and the man in front of jisung? he's someone whose words are followed.

the man grabs the younger fighters' jaw, fingers digging into the fresh cut on his cheek. "see these?" he murmurs, twisting just enough to make jisung wince. "all that pain, all that effort... what's it worth if you can't even win me a fight?"

the man's grip on his jaw tightens, and before jisung can even brace, a sharp backhand cracks across his cheek.

it's not rage-fueled punch. it's worse.

it's casual.

jisung barely reacts, swallowing and lowering his gaze because he knows better to make it worse.

this is world he's used to.

not with yogurt-flavored candy. not with late-night study sessions for a subject he's never taken. not a girl next door who makes him feel something he can't name.

"pathetic."

the taller man doesn't lift his hand again. instead, he jerks his thumb toward the crowd—toward someone just barely visible at the edge of the ring, eyes focused on him, face pale. you.

"you lose the next one," he hisses, voice low enough for only the boxer can hear, "and that girl over there ends up like you."

his breath stutters. for a split second, his eyes flicker toward you—quick, terrified, apologetic—before he forces them back to the older man in front of him. he nods once, and a bundled item is shoved into his hands so abruptly that his fingers curl on instinct. the weight familiar and unmistakable.

the crowd presses closer, hungry to see violence, but their noise fades into a background when jisung's eyes lands on your figure rapidly approaching him.

he doesn't hesitate. his body moves before thought does. too many eyes are on you now. his hands finds your wrist, and before you can process the look on his face, he's pulling you into the nearest dark corridor.

the first thing out of your mouth comes out panicked, almost angry. you've seen him bruised before. but never manhandled. "what the hell was their problem?"

the crowd behind you roars at something—no, someone—hitting the ground. a wet, meaty crack echoes through the room, followed by a choked sob and the scrape of shoes dragging across concrete.

jisung's hands land on your arms, as if to keep you in place while he glances over his shoulder. when a figure passes by, jisung is quick enough to shield your body with his, away from any more attention you've gathered tonight.

"not here. please."

you on the other hand, were too angry to notice his intentions. "seriously jisung, what the hell was that back there?"

"what was what?" he asks, though he already knows the answer to his own question.

you catch the shift in his expression, and you see it. his shoulders locked, panic flashing across his face.

"why were those peopl—"

your eyes flick between him and the group of men slinking into a hallway, before they settle back on jisung; eyes traveling down to the contents settled in his hands.

"why do you have a wad of cash in your hands?"

your neighbor's jaw tightens. he looks everywhere but at you, shoving the cash into his pocket as if hiding it can undo what you saw.

when he refuses to answer, you look at him—really look—and it hits you.

the bruises, the trembling, the exhaustion, the sharp edges of his posture.

they weren't from just fighting, they're the weight of everything this place demands.

from the men who grabbed him when he slowed down, from the threats whispered into his ear, from the hands that forced him back into the ring whether he can stand or not.

suddenly, the money being shoved into his chest after every fight doesn't look like a reward—it's permission. a pass to use him again next week.

you realize he's not fighting because he wants to.

he's fighting because someone decided he doesn't get a choice.

"is this..." you start, your voice barely carrying over the distant shouts. "is this what you meant that fight club took more than it gave?"

for a moment, he doesn't answer. he just lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a second before he finally looks at you in a way that you finally see the cost that he's been paying.

"stop coming here. please." his voice is steady, but the strain is there if you're listening.

jisung never cared what happened to him in this place.

he could have the crowd boo his name. his opponent could break his ribs. his handlers could beat him until he's half-conscious.

none of it scared him.

but he feels fear for the first time once he sees you.

one moment he's staring at the wad of cash in his hands, the threat echoing in his skull like gunfire—you lose the next one and that girl ends up like you—and the next, his gaze catches on movement at the edge of the crowd.

you.

your eyes wide. confused and hurt.

his stomach drops so fast he feels sick.

you're too close, too visible, too fragile for a place like this.

jisung doesn't decide to move, his body just..goes. his hand reaches for your wrist before he can think if that's crossing a line, but he needs you gone. hidden.

his pulse is a roar in his ears, every shadow feels like a threat. he pulls you into a nearby corridor, barely registering the words coming out of your mouth. when he feels you yank your wrist out of his grasp, he blurts out the only thing he can manage. "not here. please."

but you don't listen—of course you don't—and he doesn't blame you. "seriously jisung, what was that back there?"

his eyes snap to yours, narrowing. for a split second he hopes—no, prays—that deep down you didn't actually see what happened. that maybe you were asking about the fight, not the men who had their hands on him afterward. "what was what?" he forces out, voice tight.

but then your eyes drop to the cash he's still holding, and he feels it before he thinks: shame crawling up his throat, and underneath it, terror, because this is it. this is the moment he knows he failed to keep you out.

"why do you have a wad of cash in your hands?"

please stop. please don't get pulled into this. please don't see me like this.

he can't breathe properly. he tries to, but the air sticks, shallow and sharp.

your gaze travels all over him—his bruised cheek, his shaking hands, the open cuts on his knuckles—and he sees you putting it all together.

and then you say it.

"is this what you meant that fight club took more than it gave?" the words were so soft, but they cracked him clean in half.

because you're right. because you were never supposed to know what it cost him. and because he never wanted you to ever understand just how low this basement can go.

being seen like this. like property.

his jaw locks before he can stop it.

and he finally looks at you—really looks—and it almost breaks him. the worry, the anger, the fear swimming in your eyes all at once.

"stop coming here," he says, but the words scrape his throat raw on the way out. he tries to make his voice steady, but he hears it anyways—the strain, the fear pressing against each syllable.

he wishes he could tell you the truth. to have the ability to hold your hand again not because he's pulling you into a corner to hide.

but all he can manage—all he's allowed—is, "please."

the one word he only ever learned how to use when begging for mercy.

and right now, he's begging for yours.

park jisung grows busier and harder to reach, but somehow, you never stop feeling the warmth of his presence lingering at the edges of your day.

for once, you decided to listen to your neighbor and stop attending fight club. you tell yourself it gives you more time to focus on school—less stress, fewer close calls—and thankfully jisung still puts in an effort to come see you despite the unspoken ban hanging between you.

sometimes it's quiet check-ins between his errands. other times, it's the quiet comfort of the two of you sharing a couch, your head resting against his shoulder until he inevitably falls asleep sitting up. or it's the days where it's something small but thoughtful—like buying you a cup of coffee far better than the instant stuff you usually settle for, handing it to you before your first class with a soft, "don't be late."

lately, though, you've noticed he slips away at odd hours.

tonight, you hear the scrape of his chair against your floorboards and glance up from your notebook, you catch him tugging on his hoodie, hood up, the motion casual but purposeful.

"where are you going?" you ask, curious but not accusing.

he pauses long enough to lean over and press a kiss to the top of your head. "i'll be back in a bit," he murmurs. "but if you're asleep by the time i come back, i'll make sure to see you tomorrow. promise."

and then he's gone.

and despite having class early in the morning, you find yourself fighting sleep anyways—lights low, pretending to review notes, hoping to catch one more moment with him. even it it's just hearing him whisper a tired "goodnight" on his way past your door.

almost daily, around the same hour, he slips out, never telling you exactly where, only murmuring: "just clearing my head".

by morning, you cross through the living room on the way out, and you don't miss a steaming cup of coffee waiting on top of your entryway table, his jacket casually hanging on a hook beside it.

a small note rests atop the cup, written in his signature messy writing that you somehow are able to decipher:

"don't stay up too late again. see you tonight."

you can't help but smile, the warmth of him lingering in the air, even as he's nowhere to be seen.

over the course of the next few days, subtle signs begin to emerge that something is shifting. it's not in the dramatic moments you might expect, but in the quiet details that only someone paying close attention would notice.

his bruises are different now. they're cleaner, sharper, not the chaotic marks left by handlers or underground chaos. they speak of control, of calculated endurance rather than dissociation and desperation.

he seems sharper, more present. when he speaks to you, his focus is unwavering.

a neatly wrapped bandage covers his knuckles, and sometimes a water bottle in his bag instead of the usual blood-stained towel.

there's a faint, dry scent clinging to him sometimes, sharp, earthly, almost metallic, and it lingers under the familiar smell of his hoodie.

you catch a glimpse of his posture changing over the days. the way he leans into movements, balances his weight differently. you can't name it exactly, but something about him seems...more deliberate.

he keeps the mystery close to his chest, and you know better than to pry.

even in these small ways, you sense he's not spiraling anymore. his exhaustion is physical, not mental. his posture is steadier; his steps measured. and yet, the history of what he endured leaves you uneasy. you wonder if he's back in the ring, somewhere underground, somewhere you'll never know.

he enters the ring with a steadiness that feels wrong to the people watching and painfully right to the person he's becoming.

it's subtle at first. the way he rolls his shoulders, the way he adjusts his stance with small corrections: tightening his guard, grounding his weight, lifting his chin just enough to see without inviting a hit.

it's nothing dramatic or flashy, but it feels like watching a wolf that's learned not to chew its own leg off.

and the crowd hates it.

"where's the old park?"

"why isn't he swinging?"

"what's he doing?"

whispers ripple around him, irritation edging their excitement like they're watching a familiar beast behave all wrong. like he was cheating them of the spectacle they came for.

that wild reckless kid who threw himself into hits just to keep him awake.

the kind of fighter that made crowds lean forward in anticipation of blood.

jisung never used to think in the ring. he used to dive headfirst, fists flying, as if pain was a currency he could buy freedom with.

but tonight? he dodges instead.

the first blow that comes toward him, one he would've taken to the jaw without flinching, he slips under with a smoothness that startles even him. his muscles scream at him to follow it up with a reckless lunge, to chase that familiar sting of impact.

but he doesn't.

each dodge is a battle with muscle memory, a fight against the craving for pain. it's exhausting in a way nothing physical has ever been.

he counters only when he needs to. he doesn't chase openings; he waits for them.

his fists no longer fly with adrenaline, they land with intention. because he's no longer trying to tear through someone; he's trying to outthink them.

and for the first time since he was fifteen, jisung fights like someone who wants to see tomorrow.

that alone makes him unrecognizable.

he could care less if the crowd hates it, or if his handlers beat him for it. there's irritation in their eyes—something close to offense—like he's breaking an unspoken contract.

but he isn't performing for them anymore.

truth is, his ribs ache from holding back instincts he's spent years obeying.

but for jisung? he's choosing himself, even if he doesn't know where that choice leads to yet. and the more he fights this way, the more obvious it becomes that something in him is shifting.

across the ring, his opponent grows frustrated. he swings harder and angrier in an attempt to draw out the old park jisung. but jisung keeps slipping away, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

a missed punch sends wind rushing past his cheek. a blocked jab thuds harmlessly into his guard. a reckless hook is met with a simple step back.

then jisung lands one clean strike, a sharp cross to the jaw that sends his opponent stumbling and the match ends not in an explosion, but in quiet.

not the kind of win that makes money or draws attention. it's the kind that ends anticlimactically.

so by the end of the week, the new version of himself has become impossible to ignore.

at the end of one of his fights, a handler steps into jisung's path before he can wipe the sweat from his jaw, a fist into his hair, yanking him close.

"you think i don't notice when one of my fighters starts acting cute?" his breath is sour, hot against jisung's cheek. "all that dodging. all the patience. that's not you."

when the young boy doesn't answer, the man's eyes narrow. "do i need to bring in that girl to remind you how this works?"

and something in jisung snaps into focus.

his voice is low, steady. "you said if i lose the next fight, you'd drag her into this." jisung lifts his chin just enough to meet the man's eyes. "i haven't lost a single one since that night."

the handler scoffs, shoving jisung back into the concrete wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.

normally, this is where the old instincts would kick in: drop your gaze, apologize, and promise to do better. promise to bleed more next time.

but instead, his hands curl at his sides, not in defiance, but to stop from shaking. because the fear he feels now isn't the kind they trained into him. it's sharper, smaller, lodged directly under his ribs. it's fear of you being anywhere near them.

he hates that he's still a boy they molded, even while trying to climb out of shape they forced him into. but he also knows one thing with terrifying clarity: if he goes back to the way he fought before, he's dead. and if he doesn't, they'll look for new ways to break him.

either way, there's something that stubbornly whispers he might finally be fighting for something that's his.

"careful, park," he mutters, already walking away. "you're starting to forget who you belong to."

but that's the thing: jisung hasn't forgotten. he's just realizing he doesn't belong to them at all.

so over the course of the next few days, frustration among the handlers like rot in the walls.

jisung barely makes it two steps off the mat before someone grabs the back of his hoodie and yanks him sideways. his shoulder slams into the concrete wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, but he doesn't fight it.

"cute performance out there," one of the handlers says, voice low and sharp. "real disciplined."

another snorts. "crowd hated it."

"you think people pay to watch you dance?" a third voice chips in.

a fist slams into the wall beside his head, close enough that the vibration rattling his teeth. "you used to give us something to sell."

jisung doesn't answer. not because he's being brave, but because his body moves before his mind can stop it.

his shoulders tighten, his chin dips a fraction, his gaze sliding away from the handler's eyes and fixes somewhere safer: concrete floor, peeling paint, anywhere that isn't a challenge.

a slow smile curls at the end of the handlers mouth, his grip tightening painfully in his hair, yanking his head back until the ceiling blurs. "there he is," he murmurs. "there's the boy we raised."

"i'm still winning," jisung says, but this time his voice shakes.

another shove sends him tumbling forward, a loud mocking laugh behind him. "you think winning is the point?" a voice sneers. "people don't come here to watch control. they come to watch you break."

jisung presses his palms flat against the wall to steady himself.

"i don't want to fight like that anymore," he says, and the words terrify him just as much as they feel right.

silence. then a sharp exhale.

"you hear that?" one handler says. "he's grown morals." a hand grips his chin, forcing his face up, meeting his eyes despite himself not wanting to.

"in case you forgot, you don't get to decide when this ends."

jisung's heart hammers, his mind flashing not to pain, but you. your apartment, your coffee cups, the way you look at him like he's not already ruined.

"basements don't forget faces," the man adds lightly. "and accidents happen when stop caring."

the handlers step back, already bored and walking away. "next match," one says over his shoulder. "remind us why we even bothered to keep you alive this long."

jisung slides down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, head tipped back, staring at the flickering light above him.

they're realizing park jisung might be more trouble than he's worth. and if he's no longer profitable...they might finally let him go.

that night, he comes home late.

not bleeding or limping, just tired in the deep, bone-heavy way that settles after holding yourself together too long.

you're half-asleep on the couch when he lets himself in, a blanket tangled around your legs, some muted show paused on the screen. the apartment smells like detergent and something warm, like leftover comfort.

jisung pauses in the doorway longer than usual.

he watches the slow rise and fall of your chest. the way one of your socks has slipped halfway off your foot. the soft, unguarded way your face looks when one is demanding anything from you.

he moves quietly, toeing off his shoes, setting his bag down without letting it thud. when he drapes the blanket back over your shoulders, your hand curls instinctively into the sleeve of his hoodie.

the contact almost knocks the breath from him.

for a second, his body reacts the way it's been trained to, muscles tight, mind bracing, waiting for the cost of touching something good. but nothing happens.

you just murmur his name, barely awake, and tug him closer like it's the most natural thing in the world.

he sits there longer than he should, letting your warmth seem into him, memorizing the room: the chipped coffee table, the faint hum of the fridge, the quiet safety of being wanted without conditions.

this, he thinks suddenly. this is what they'd ruin first.

not the ring, not the money, not the bruises.

they'd start small. missed visits, broken routines, a coffee cup left untouched before he didn't make it home. they'd poison it slowly until even being here felt dangerous.

the thought settles heavy in his chest, because if this is the thing they can use against him, then this is the thing worth fighting for.

when he finally stands, easing your hand free, he already knows what he's going to do next.

and he knows it's going to cost him something.

the next match doesn't feel different when it starts.

same basement, same flickering lights, same sour smell of sweat and metal that never quite dies. if he closes his eyes, he could pretend nothing has changed, but the handlers are watching him closely this time.

he feels it in the way their attention presses against his spine. assessing like men deciding whether a tool is worth repairing or whether it's cheaper to toss it and find another.

his opponent is aggressive, younger, loud.

all sharp elbows and reckless confidence, swinging before the bell has even finished. it's exactly the kind they think will drag the old jisung back out of him.

the bell rings, and the first punch comes fast and ugly—wide and sloppy meant to hurt more than land.

jisung steps aside just enough for the glove to cut past his shoulder, air rushing where his face used to be. a year ago, he would've let it connect, letting the crowd feel it through him.

a murmur ripples through the room, but he keeps his guard tight, feet grounded against the concrete like he's anchoring himself to the earth instead of floating above it.

every instinct in his body screams at him to answer pain with pain, to trade blows, to buy silence with blood. but just he breathes, slow in through his nose, out through his mouth.

now his opponent grows more irritated; swinging harder and louder. he tries to bait jisung, dropping his guard on purpose and throwing taunts between punches, clipping his ribs just enough to sting.

but jisung absorbs it without chasing. just enough to learn the rhythm. the hitch in his shoulder before a hook, the way his weight shifts too far forward when he commits.

then jisung moves.

a clean counter snaps the man's head back. another step, another strike. he's already gone by the time he retaliation comes, feet thudding softly against the floor.

and just like his previous fights, the crowd doesn't cheer.

near the ring. one of the handlers scoffs. "this is boring."

another clicks his tongue. "the kid's not listening."

and jisung hears them. he always does. and for the first time, he looks at them while he fights. just once, just enough for them to know this isn't an accident. that he's not choosing to listen to their recycled threats.

there's no fear on his face, but there's no challenge either.

he finishes the match the same way he's fought it—controlled, quiet and undeniable. when the bell rings, there is no roar to follow up. just an uneasy silence and a few disappointed groans.

the handlers don't rush him this time. no hands in the hair, no fists to the ribs, no barked threats delivered inches from his face.

one of them exhales slowly, irritation thick in the sound. "he's not worth it anymore," he says.

and that is the moment jisung understands he might finally be free. because to them, he's stopped being profitable.

and that's the most dangerous mercy they know how to give.

your break from classes feel like the first real breath you've had in weeks. you spend the whole afternoon cleaning your room, catching up on laundry, even making a proper meal instead of whatever you could microwave between assignments. the apartment is quiet and you're halfway through folding a pile of shirts when the door clicks open.

jisung steps in, shoulders slightly hunched, hoodie damp at the edges from outside fog. he looks tired in the way someone looks when their body is tired, not their spirit.

there's something else too, something alert behind his eyes, an energy that didn't exist a month ago.

"you're back early," you say, glancing over the pile of laundry.

he toes off his shoes, eyes flicking toward you and softening instantly. "yeah, thought i'd check in. make sure you weren't buried under homework again."

you roll your eyes. "it's break, genius."

he grins, one he reserves for you. "right. break."

he crosses the room and sinks onto the couch beside you, falling backward like gravity personally offended him. his head lands near your thigh, close but not quite touching, as if he's checking if you'll let him. you push a folded shirt aside and brush a hand through his hair.

he melts instantly.

"long day?" you ask.

he hums. "something like that." his eyes slip shut, breathing slow and even, like bearing near you is the only moment he lets himself actually rest.

you think he'll nap (he looked like he needs one), but after a few minutes he sits up again, rubbing his face and exhaling like he's trying to shake something off him.

"i should...take care of something before it gets too late," he mutters, straightening his hoodie.

you pause folding your laundry. "already? you just got here."

"i know," he says quickly, almost apologetic. he leans down and presses a warm kiss to your cheek. "i'll be back in a bit."

you frown. "you always say that."

"and i always mean it." his voice is soft, careful like every word is placed down instead of spoken.

by the time he leaves, you're staring at the door with a strange ache, half worry, half longing.

jisung slips out like he usually does, hood up, footsteps quiet on the damp pavement. he walks past the alley behind the old gym, the one where the the underground fighters linger after matches, talking, smoking.

only tonight, it's empty. quiet.

for the first time in years, the absence of the men who had always haunted him doesn't feel like freedom. it feels more like a countdown ending. the cages, the cheap lights, the cheers for blood. they're fading, losing power over him, and with that fading comes something sharper: clarity.

he realizes he doesn't want to hide anymore. not from them, and certainly not from you.

and that night, even after he returns hours later and drapes a blanket over you as you pretend to be asleep on the couch, something in his movements feel different.

like he's standing at the edge of something, and he already knows which way he's going to jump.

the following evening, you're finishing dinner when there's a knock on your door. two light taps, then one heavier one. jisung's signature pattern.

you open the door expecting the usual—hoodie, exhaustion, an attempt at a smile.

but tonight, he looks wired. not anxious or panicked. just full of something he's been holding inside for too long.

"hey," you say softly. "everything okay?"

"yeah, i—can i come in?"

you step aside, and he walks in, pacing once across your living room before stopping in front of you. his hands hover like he can't decide whether to clench them or reach for you.

"okay," he starts, voice thin, "i don't want to keep you in the dark anymore."

your eyebrows lift, confused by where this was coming from. "about...?"

he takes a breath, and when he speaks, it sounds like tearing something open.

"i want you to be at my match tomorrow."

you blink. "your match? jisung, i haven't gone to fight club since—"

"no, not that," he shakes his head quickly, a frown on his face but doesn't last long. "not underground. not that hellhole."

he meets your eyes with something raw. something hopeful and scared at the same time.

"i've been training at a real gym," he says." with an actual trainer and everything. i'm taking on my first match tomorrow." a shallow breath. "my first real match."

the words feel unreal in your eyes. "wha—you—" you blink, not sure what words should come out. "... jisung? since when?"

he runs a hand through his hair, pacing again. "two months," he admits. "almost three. i didn't want to tell you until i knew i could stick with it." his eyes lift toward yours, and there's something uncertain in them you're not used to seeing: the quiet vulnerability of someone who's never been allowed to want more.

"i didn't want you to get your hopes up," he murmurs.

when you step closer, jisung hesitates for a moment before reaching for your wrist, fingers gentle as if asking permission.

"fight club...they're phasing me out. because i'm not giving them what they want anymore." his jaw flexes, frustrating flickering across his face. "i'm not bleeding for people who don't care if i make it home."

your chest tightens. "jisung..."

he shakes his head before you can interrupt. "i know it doesn't magically fix the last ten years of my life, but i want a shot at something real; at something clean." his voice cracks just slightly, but you feel his hands squeeze yours. "i want a future i don't have to be scared to let you see."

he swallows, like the words are scraping as they come out. "i...i want this to be real."

and there it is. the truth he's been choking on.

you reach up, cupping his cheek and he leans into it with a quiet, almost boyish need. "what time is the match?" you ask softly.

"eight." he whispers.

"then i'll be there."

inside, the gym is brighter than anything you've seen him fight under. bright lights, real referees, people who paid to watch techniques instead of blood.

for the first time, you don't feel like prey the second you walk through a door.

jisung spots you almost immediately. he's across the room, hands wrapped in clean white tape, wearing a uniform that fits him. his trainer speaks quietly besides him, adjusting the elastic of his glove.

and since the night you first noticed your neighbor in the hallways of your shitty apartment complex, jisung looks alive.

when he sees you, something in him softens so fast it borders on heartbreaking. he doesn't approach—he's mid-prep—but he gives you a small nod, one that says stay there, i see you, don't look away.

"i want a clean fight."

and the match begins.

jisung's stance is different from the underground—measured but unapologetic. he uses footwork instead of instincts, precision instead of self-destruction. when he dodges, it's intentional. when he counters, it lands clean.

he's not fighting to entertain anymore. he's fighting to win, and it shows.

his opponent is larger, more experienced, but not mean or cruel. this is a sport, not a pit. and jisung rises to the level of every expectation placed on him.

in the third round, he lands a decisive combination—left hook, cross, clean foot pivot—and the referee steps in as his opponent stumbles.

the bell rings, and the match is over.

a real win. a real crowd cheering not for blood, but for him.

and jisung's eyes find yours instantly.

he doesn't stay long in the ring, making his way down and rushing to your side.

he takes your face in the palm of his hands, lifting your face to meet his lips.

when he pulls back, he leans his forehead against yours. “turns out i'm better at fighting for my life than fighting in the ring.”

you look up at him, eyes crinkling. there's something gentle that swells behind your ribs. not loud, just full—as if your body hasn't quite learned what to do with this kind of feeling.

you laugh, and you take his wrist in your hands, raising his arm in the air like you were the referee declaring the winner.

"the winner is: the nation's newest boxing obsession—park jisung."

taglist ⌲ @jwilous @reveries01 @stormy1408 @yesohhsehun @hyori2 @jenodunno @palmkisses @klowiishere @voucearse @lil927

You wouldn't call yourself a desperate girl. You never needed or craved attention, because that just came naturally to you your whole life. You grew up being the cute, kind girl that everybody adored. Soft spoken but firm, a natural leader who invited everybody to her birthday parties and it was the event. Good at sports but never the captain, more like the glue that kept everybody together, often praised for being a good teammate who was the spirit of the group and went home with a medal for amazing sportsmanship.

Teachers talked good about you, you were super friendly to all of your classmates who had nothing to say about you but good things, your parents were smug and proud about your reputation and of course, your grades at school. It wasn’t about popularity, because that came and went, eventually. Everything would come to an end sooner or later. It was about being remembered. It was about being a presence in everybody's lives, positive and reassuring. A name that leaves a sweet taste, a girl who never hurt anybody. 

You feared that everything would change after you moved to another city with your family for your father’s work, but luckily that didn’t happen. It was a new beginning for your family and you knew that being the new girl brought its benefits, like a new wave of people wanting to meet you, interested and curious, as your life was settling back in. But also it had its challenges for sure, you were flesh meat in a place you didn’t know a single face and high school felt like a jungle sometimes. Things could go south real fast. You had something to prove and worked hard for it: you studied a lot to catch up, you won your place into the fencing team, not without gaining some unfriendly glances from the competition. Your grades didn’t suffer nor did you in the end, and your social life started functioning again when a new group of friends gathered around you once you were approved. Things just escalated from there. 

As time passed and you matured even more, you started noticing how you could play with people. Well, maybe play it’s a ugly word. More like you started noticing how people wanted to make you happy. Or at least make you smile, or gain your sympathy, hopefully waiting for you to wave at them in the hallway as you walk to your class. 

It was easy, really, how you could make them do things. First, starting with just simple favors like boys holding your books, girls bringing you water after fencing practice or somebody telling you the best books for the upcoming exams. It didn’t come from malice, really, but it was so easy, they were happy to win a minute from you, even just a glance. A soft ‘’thank you’’.

Your teenage years came and so did your stable position in the reign at high school, even if you pretended it didn’t exist. The power was there, but you weren’t an evil, manipulative person. With years and experience you realized that it wasn't the route you preferred or worked in your favor, center in the middle of the spotlight, a pretty doll for everyone to whisper about and pull your parts until you broke. A sort of queen enemy to the public, a tyrant so pretty it caused distrust. No. You knew better than that. You knew what it worked and what not. 

You weren’t hiding from the spotlight exactly, but you knew when and how to take a step back and let someone else bathe in the glory and the lights. To you, it was better to sit and observe, starting to collect strings and stories like an ambitious puppeteer. 

You created and manipulated people’s trust and so the secrets started coming to you: who hooked up with who, how your best friend Yeji rigged the coronation of the spring princess into her favor, who bought the exam’s answers, how Mrs Kim was fucked in her office for a good grade and an even better recommendation letter, who paid the school to kept the bully case buried. You weren’t hunting for the information, it just came your way and of course, you were a tomb. You didn’t leak anything. You had tons of weapons but chose peace, just looking at your puppets and dusting them with a soft smile, giving them a moment of life.

You didn’t need the queen B title, to be honest. You didn’t care. Your power came from another source, as you realised when you grow up. Men's eyes lingered in you with interest and barely contained lust, girls looked at you up and down and smiled at you, friendly but cautious of your beauty. You were used to enter a room, a class, a coffee shop and the whole world would tilted to your favor; classmates saved you a seat and passed you notes, a kind stranger would pay for your order - hell, you were sure the cute barista from the place you always go was a free coffee away from making the company bankrupt. 

But you weren’t a show off, nor all the attention went to inflate your head into an insane ego. You knew that wasn't the most intelligent thing to do and it would just deteriorate everything. You just lived your life, taking all the privileges that came your way silently with soft eyes and a kind smile. At least, until someone really dared to cross you. That was another story. 

So, yeah, you wouldn't call yourself a desperate girl. Except you fucking were. And the culprit had no idea, so that was worse, lost in his head with those big headphones and his eyes devouring a book, acting like you weren’t making holes in his head with your eyes.

‘’What about it?’’ You said nonchalantly as you could, trying not to open your jaw and bite at her head. You stole another glance at Jisung. ‘’Weren’t you supposed to be my friend, Yeji? Support me without judgment and all that?’’

Both of your friends shared a look, but it was Yeji who dared to talk after a moment. 

‘’Did you hit your head? This is not a judgement free zone, babe. Like at all,’’ she gave a small nod at Jisung’s direction with a frown. ‘’That guy is weird, always alone and has no social life. He’s just a ghost that goes to class and disappears. You think I want that for you?’’

‘’We don’t really know anything about him’’, Seonyun whispered, big eyes full of conspiracy and gossip, ‘’like, he doesn't go to parties, doesn't do any sport… He’s not in any team, not even in the loser's one! Like, he could be in the chess team or something at least.’’

You weren’t impressed. You shrugged with no effort to hide your boredom, lips pressed. ‘’So? Maybe he’s shy or introverted. Just because he’s not an alcoholic jock doesn’t mean he’s a freak,’’ you defend him, feeling protective. ‘’He’s just some guy, Seonyun.’’

Yeji rolled her eyes, giving Seonyun a look that screamed listen to this dumb bitch. ‘’Well, I was classmates in elementary and high school with him. So I do know things about him.  Little Jisung was a freak then too. Quiet and always in the corner alone, no wonder nobody liked him.’’

That picked Seonyun's interest. ‘’But Yeji, if he went with you that means he’s rich, right?’’

‘’He was on a scholarship, Seonyun. And that ungrateful rat threw it away when he left in the middle of the year. Guess he couldn't take the pressure,’’ Yeji scoffed.

You were barely listening. 

Your obsession started when you saw him at campus a few months ago. And holy fuck. Jisung, with his height, his deep voice, his perfect jaw and that mysterious aura turned you into a pervert. Really. You had your fantasies just like everybody and a normal sex life, but you weren’t a horny monster full of hormones. At least that was what you thought. You didn't believe it was that healthy to spend hours thinking about Jisung’s large and veiny hands on your neck while he railed you. Especially not in class, where you were literally disconnected from the world just to have your horny thoughts in peace. But there you were, your head completely full of images of him.

You tracked him down campus, gained information about his classes and what he was studying, and so you learned he was a future physical therapy doctor. Perfect. He would blend perfectly in your family of doctors. Maybe he could work in your father’s clinic after you two get married. 

Since you two shared some classes you couldn't control the way your mind would float and fantasise about him in a series of different scenarios. Like him fingering you under the table in the middle of an exam or him fucking you in the farterst and darkest corner of the library. You were often planning your life together and wondering what his favourite colors were or if he would agree to have the walls of your shared house painted juniper green. And then fuck you against them.

But there was one problem. Park Jisung was completely unaware of your existence. 

At first you thought that maybe he had a girlfriend or was another fuckboy who played hard, but you were completely shocked to know that he didn’t had a file of pretty girls waiting for a turn to fuck him. And that, to you, was completely ridiculous. He was just or even more handsome like other popular guys on campus. There were athletes, fuckboys and regular students that belonged in frats, but Park Jisung made them all look so… common. Boring. 

And you were going insane. 

You didn't get it. Anytime you would see him on campus he was alone. Sometimes he would talk with Zhong Chenle, the captain of the basketball team and a member of Neo Center Tech, but Jisung wasn’t a pledge there or in any other frat. So your only opportunities to see him were in class, at the library or maybe in the hallway, where you obviously gave him the flirting eyes with no success. 

To make things worse (on the verge of being catastrophic), you couldn't just forget about him. Bury him in the back of your brain and continue with your life. You tried, of course, but you knew yourself and knew that it wouldn't work. Your sorority was sister to NCT, so big parties were common in your life and a pretty big part of it. Chaotic, funny, wild parties that were legendary on campus started to mean nothing to you. It was background noise that annoyed you. Not that you loved them before but now being surrounded by people, especially drunk people, just made you too agitated. Like there was something missing, or maybe you weren’t supposed to be there. You sat on these parties pouting and falling into a silent pity party for yourself just because Park Jisung, the ghost of the campus, didn't look in your direction? Yeah. A lot of times.

You weren’t discreet at all in your interest for him and of course, Yeji and Seonyun noticed with horror. You were one of the popular girls and Yeji was mortified that you just even thought about involving yourself with such a lame loser, as she called him. She called it an early life crisis and even considered you were on drugs too. One night your friends organized a very drunk attempt to play seven minutes in heaven in the middle of a party and pushed you and Na Jaemin into a closet, thinking that it was a natural solution.  

That was when you remembered that inconvenience.

Jaemin had been chasing after you since high school. He was popular and wealthy, the kind of rich with so much power and influence that life to him was as easy as breathing. Things were just given to him. The perfect golden boy that was good at everything and controlled every corner of the world with his sharp smile, calculating eyes and a cruel brain. He was intelligent in a twisted way. He reminded you of yourself sometimes, except he was cold and his armor showed cracks, a fake smiling persona that enjoyed spreading fear on people. Everybody knew what he was capable of and kissed his ass anyways.

If you managed to get some puppets on stage he was the owner of the theatre. And that’s the thing with kings and queens and reigns and power: someone else could have a bigger army and more horses than you. And that meant that sometimes you had to bow. 

So you entertained him. Gave him your firsts, kissed him so hard until he believed you were his and moaned his name everytime he was between your legs trying to sew himself into your soul with no success. You weren’t his girlfriend and Jaemin never asked, not even once, because he was smart enough to never put himself in a position of weakness and he was good at reading you too. It takes one to know another, right? He knew you weren’t the pretty and caring princess you painted yourself to be and he actually liked that. Jaemin liked the chase and honestly, that you gave him freedom. He knew that with the right amount of time and pressure you would bend, if you knew what was good for you and your family. He would call you a game, but you were more than that. He was keeping you out of your cage for the moment, but not forever. Nobody would dare to touch Na Jaemin’s girl anyways. 

Jisung was still in your mind and it cost everything in you not to scream his name when Jaemin fucked you so hard in that closet you actually cried tears of pleasure. 

‘’He’s always wearing black and don’t get me started on that annoying sad boy vibe. One time I had to sit next to him in class and he was listening to Radiohead,’’ Seonyun implored you with her eyes, whispering like it was a huge terrible discovery. ‘’You can’t find that hot.’’

‘’It’s giving serial killer,’’ Yeji joked and Seonyun agreed with a small laugh. ‘’He checks all the boxes, if you think about it. A solitary loser ignored by the world, he only needs a prom and then boom.’’

‘’I think you guys have seen too many slasher movies. Just because he’s not in a damn frat and listens to rock doesn't mean he’s weird,’’ you rolled your eyes, wishing for more patience. You were exhausted from having the same chat over and over for weeks. ‘’Or a serial killer.’’

‘’Alright, babe, whatever you say,’’ Yeji laughed, looking at you a little defiantly. Her pretty eyes sparkle condescendingly, like a mother dealing with a rebel child that will come to her senses. ‘’But you have to admit that he has totally that vibe.’’

‘’Listen, we get it. You like your men tall, all Michael Myers-ish and looking like a catatonic Victorian child. No judgement here,’’ Seonyun added, trying not to laugh but failing miserably when her eyes found Yeji’s and both started giggling making you eye twitch. 

‘’Don’t come crying to us when he stabs you,’’ Yeji warned you. 

You said nothing as you just stared at them blankly waiting for them to finish, except that they found that cute and more laughable, cooing at you and your annoyed expression. 

‘’No judgment here!’’ Seonyun repeated, smiling. ‘’I mean, Yeji hooked up last week with Hendery so do we actually have a saying on who’s weird or not?’’ 

Yeji snapped her head at her, giving her a pinch in her arm and hissing as she looked around hoping that nobody listened to that. She huffed and looked at Seonyun between mortification and fury. All traces of mockery gone. ‘’Jesus fuck. Can you keep your fucking voice down? Nobody needs to know that.’’

‘’Especially not Jaehyun, right?’’ You asked Yeji, smiling down at her all fake. She tensed a little and reciprocated your smile, knowing that his boyfriend wouldn't find that threesome very funny. Poor Jung Jaehyun was one of the big fish on campus, a handsome lacrosse player with connections so good that Yeji actually had to work very hard for months to finally entangle him in her nets successfully. 

She recomposed quickly, adjusting her long hair with a sigh, ready to change the subject. ‘’I just don’t get it. You have Jaemin behind you since we were like sixteen. Na Jaemin. Why the hell are you acting like a lovesick puppy for Park Jisung?’’ 

You didn't say anything, the tension slowly building up between two queens who didn’t fear each other. History with you was all the way back since being teens, both knowing everything from the other. You liked Yeji or at least liked that she didn’t feel like interfering in your life and annoyed you, but sometimes tense moments will arise when she encountered that you weren't the obedient right hand of hers. And that, sometimes, bothered her. Maybe Yeji felt threatened by you or envious of your situationship with Jaemin and maybe you didn't like that Yeji thought she called the shots. You could knock her down from her tower if you want it to. 

Poor Seonyun was in the middle of it, a little uncomfortable but also knowing that these moments of crossed fire were pretty common. And her part was to cool things down as the good friend and peace maker she was, so Seonyun broke the tense silence with a cute laugh as she showed you both her phone in an attempt to distract the two dobermans in front of her from ripping their throats. 

‘’Oh my God, Jeno just texted me! He’s asking about the Halloween party!’’ She squealed, writing a response fast. You didn’t say anything but the tension calmed a little, a crisis averted. ‘’I can’t wait, I wanna show him what I’m wearing so bad.’’

A moment of silence passed and Seonyun watched you both with a frozen smile, waiting for any of you to catch the bait. Expecting.

‘’Nana texted me earlier, he wanted to know what we’re gonna wear too. But we don't even know that, hmm? Are we going to the store tomorrow, right?’’ Yeji asked you, a picture of calmness and diplomacy. Calm enough to be the first to give an olive branch.

‘’Sure,’’ you said, turning your head to watch Jisung again and noticing he was packing his stuff too. ‘’Tomorrow.’’

You were tired of wanting and not having. He wasn't doing any move and you started plotting another plan, a plan he couldn't resist. You noticed that the last couple of weeks Jisung had started to look at you. Dead in the eyes. Something had shifted and you wouldn't let it pass. So you had to initiate the approach slowly but surely. First, you advanced some seats in class which wasn’t easy because you were a late student and most of the seats that Jisung used - the first rows - were obviously occupied. 

Then, the little smiles and softs ‘’hi’’ started purring out of you and then questions about some paper or book or whatever, answers you didn’t listen to because you were busy staring at his cute mouth moving and his soft but deep voice that actually made you blush. Next part of the plan was your revealing but cute outfits to catch his attention. Nothing extreme or obvious, just enough to make your tits really good, short enough to show your soft legs and thighs. You would lean on your table and push your tits while you played with your pencil and kept your eyes on him. 

Jisung realised and looked, as sometimes you felt and even caught his eyes eating you. And then, he would barely smirk in a knowing way and you would end completely disarmed by that. Waiting for him to make a move, but you kept waiting. You were getting frustrated, all horny and bothered. But no more.

You didn't say goodbye as you left your friends, following Jisung out of the library with decisive steps. 

‘’Jisung!’’ You called after him, walking fast down the hallway to catch him. He wasn't wearing his headphones anymore and so when he heard his name being called, he turned around doubtfully. 

Once he realized it was you, his soft eyes traveled up and down your body, focusing on your pretty top that showed a good amount of cleavage. You smiled at him feeling like the cat that was about to eat the mouse. 

‘’Hi, Jisung,’’ you said, a little shy, blinking at him. He muttered something you didn’t quite catch under his breath, averting your eyes as he moved a little nervous. A soft pink colored his ears. 

‘’H-hey. Do you need anything?’’ Jisung asked, clearing his throat. You could see his hand tightening in the strap of his bag, wary and tense.

‘’Well, actually, yes. I need your presence,’’ you explained to him, taking a step closer to him. You smiled at Jisung, thinking how cute he looked being a little startled. ‘’There’s a Halloween party this weekend and… wait, do you have any plans?’’

‘’Uh— I… Halloween?’’ He murmured, playing with the strap of his bag nervously. He looked like a tall deer lost in the middle of a fucking speed highway. 

You giggled and took something out of your purse: it was a black envelope with a red wax stamp sealing it. You dared to take his hand and pushed into his palm the invitation to the party. ‘’Yeah, Halloween. I would love it if you come,’’ you whispered, staring deep into his eyes. ‘’To the party.’’

Jisung was a second from combusting from awkwardness or anxiety, you didn’t quite know. But, against all odds, Park Jisung finally studied the invitation with curiosity for a moment that felt close to eternity to you, until he nodded a little. Still, there was something unreadable in his eyes, maybe suspicion? It sparkled so fast it may be you just imagining it.

‘’It’s a costume party, so you’ll have to find me that night,’’ you bite your lip, trying not to smile too much and explode right there. ‘’I won’t tell you what I’m wearing.’’

‘’How I’ll know it’s you?’’ Jisung stared at the invitation in his hand scanning it and then at you again. He played with the envelope between his fingers, indecisive. Like he expected to explode at any second and burn him.

‘’That’s easy,’’ you chuckled, holding his gaze. ‘’I will be the one who doesn’t look away,’’ you whispered to him, slow and deliberate. Your words lingered in the space you two shared.

Jisung swallowed. ‘’Then how you’ll know it's me?’’ 

You blinked a little taken aback, but actually thought about it. Jisung wasn't flirting or teasing you. He was actually curious, waiting for your answer. You tilted your head and stepped into his space, smiling softly when you heard him inhaling sharply. You leaned in slightly, and he didn’t step back. 

‘’I’ve been watching you, Jisung. I see you. I’ll know if it’s you.’’

Jisung stayed still, eyes fixed on you, like he was trying to find or resolve something. His expression wasn’t one you were used to. Intensity shined in his eyes and for a second, something dark crossed his face and left just as fast. A black shadow that made him look more like a wolf than a deer, but It didn’t scare you, it lured you. You wanted to see it again. 

But then his posture sagged a little and took a step back, looking away from you. 

‘’You don’t know me,’’ he muttered, a touch of defiance in his tone. ‘’How could you know?’’

You smiled up at him, no mask. Not pretending, not trying to grab at his strings and making him another pretty puppet to play with. A sincere smile that lights up your pretty face. Heart beating fast just from standing in front of him, dying to touch him. You looked at him like you were about to whisper a life secret, just for him to hear.

‘’I know exactly who you are,’’ you said, lifting your fingers to trace his cheek gently. ‘’And I know what you can become.’’

You felt him shudder a little under your touch, his eyes didn’t leave yours until the moment broke when more people came out of the library, students you didn’t know. You smiled at Jisung again, this time, more playful and flirty, taking a step back. The hallway was spinning from the rush you felt, heart jumping from excitement. 

‘’Don’t get lost, yeah? I’d hate to go looking out for you,’’ you said softly, passing by Jisung to leave, your body brushing his like a whisper. A soft trace of your perfume engulfed him.  ‘’Don’t make me wait.’’

You didn’t see him crumpling the card in his closed and shaking fist, staring at you until your figure disappeared with burning eyes and his jaw pressed tight. 

In life, sacrifices had to be made. And you supposed one of them was shopping with your frenemy in a random, old costume shop. You liked the place and thought it had his charm, but some find it creepy. And well… it kinda was. Mr Lee’s Costumes and Mascots apparently froze sometime in the eighties as it was obvious from the decoration and the vibe, but time kept going outside the store so it turned into a weird combination of really old and very new items. It had a lot of racks of costumes spread throughout the store, going from classic and cute costumes for kids like clowns and skeletons to the most wild and modern, like a sexy Pokemon. 

There were mascot costumes displayed too and even the first one ever from your high school behind glass, like the precious piece of history it was. The place was poorly lit and full of old stuff that no one ever buyed, mirrors and nostalgia buried in dust. Old mannequins wearing costumes full of spiderwebs and long hallways where the fittings rooms were. Shelves were full of masks, wigs and accessories that had seen better decades. 

There were clowns everywhere too, and that was indeed creepy. Life size clown figures. You wondered what crossed in Mr Lee’s head to think that was a good decoration theme. Sometimes you thought maybe Mr Lee had cameras in their eyes from preventing stealing, because every time you moved you felt watched. You came close to one of the clown figures in the corner, staring at his face up close and studying his empty eyes, holding your breath. Waiting for something to happen. 

‘’Shit,’’ you said, jumping startled when your phone made a loud noise. You took a step back and frowned at all the messages from the Devil accumulating.

dickhead na jaemin: are you trying on costumes without me? i'm hurt dickhead na jaemin: i’ll paid for it so let me pick. dickhead na jaemin: are you ignoring me now? dickhead na jaemin: do us both a favor and don’t wear anything innocent it doest fucking fit you anyway. dickhead na jaemin: im starting to think you like making me wait. you: jesus go bother somebody else dickhead na jaemin: i like bothering you. let me pick your costume. i’ll behave you: you’re disgusting and im busy dickhead na jaemin: and yet you still answer me. cute. dickhead na jaemin: busy doing what exactly? 

You rolled your eyes and moved to the next rack of costumes, actually not knowing what to wear. Halloween was a special night to you and you wanted to use the best and most beautiful costume. What would Jisung like? Sexy? Classic? Bloody? You were scanning the options when your phone rang again, making you tighten your jaw. 

dickhead na jaemin: im being dead serious. i don’t want anybody staring at you. don't dress like a whore.

you: i’ll dress to make whorever i want stare

dickhead na jaemin: let me fucking guess. Tall? quiet? freak? 

You almost dropped your phone, staring at the screen with a shiver down your spine. The three dots on the screen moved and another text from Jaemin came. You could imagine him grinning triumphally, thinking he set a game and was about to win it.

dickhead na jaemin: ding ding ding! your little friend can't keep quiet, doesn't she? 

Your eyes snapped to Yeji across the shop, where she was trying on a pink wig and taking photos in the most clean mirror that was.

you: i don't know what are you talking about but leave him out of this  dickhead na jaemin: why? can’t take a joke? he never could either. you: leave me alone and stop texting me dickhead na jaemin: god you’re so dramatic and fun. enjoy your shopping princess.

The air around you felt colder, suffocating. You watched her looking at her photos and giggling, so unaware of the chaos and fury inside you brewing slowly. You stepped forward towards her, seeing red. Hands itching to hit her against the mirror and taint it with her betrayal until she cried bloody tears. You stood behind her, watching her silently in the mirror until she lifted her eyes and smiled at you.

‘’Did you find something slutty?’’

You ripped her pink wig and threw it at her face, seething. 

‘’You told Jaemin about him,’’ you said, voice cold. Yeji's face didn’t fall, just keeping her smile in place and shrugging. She didn’t deny it. She rolled her eyes in the mirror and turned around, facing you smugly with zero intent of hiding it. 

‘’Don’t act like it was a secret. You go around acting like a slut and you think your boyfriend won’t find out?’’

‘’I don’t have a boyfriend,’’ you reminded her, taking a step further into her space and pushing her against the mirror. ‘’Don’t try to spin this on me, Yeji. What’s your damn problem? Why do you care so much?’’

‘’Ohhhh, not the serious face,’’ Yeji purred, pushing your buttons when she wrapped her arms around your neck. She watched you get more furious with a satisfied smile, giggling. ‘’You should be grateful, you know? You have everything but of course you don’t play by the rules. Oh, no, you’re so different and good.’’

‘’Don’t push your luck, Yeji,’’ you said, smacking her arms out of you, voice dripping with venom and barely contained rage. ‘’You really fucked it up.’’

Yeji booed at you, laughing a little and then pouting mockingly. She tilted her head and dropped her smile, turning a little serious. ‘’Why? Because I don’t want you to fall from grace or because I warned Jaemin you’re a cheater slut?’’

‘’If you want Jaemin so much just fucking take him and leave me alone,’’ you snapped, fisting your hands. ‘’You’ll be making me a favor anyways.’’

‘’Please, I could have him if I wanted it, babe. Don’t need your permission. What I want is for you to stop acting like you’re better than us,’’ Yeji hissed, pushing her off the mirror to come close to your face. ‘’You’re as fucked up like me, but you love playing the good girl. And now what? You wanna get the nerd and pretend you’re above us?’’ 

You laughed bitterly, huffing. ‘’Oh my God, so that’s it? That’s what bothers you, Yeji? You can’t control something and you think you have a say in my life? You are really something.’’

‘’I do have a say in your pathetic life because I’m your friend and you’re being reckless.’’

You turned around and took a breath, trying to control yourself from strangling her. You didn’t want to do that in Mr Lee’s shop but things were getting difficult and your patience was thinner by the minute. You just didn’t get it, how she couldn't back off and leave you alone. You snorted and shook your head.

‘’I’m being reckless with what? My taste in men?’’

Yeji’s body came closer to your back, soft breasts against you. She moved your hair back and rested her chin on your shoulder, looking at you with those sharp, vixen eyes that softened just enough. She hugged you from behind and you didn’t move. 

‘’Don’t want you to drag Park Jisung back into our lives,’’ she warned into your ear, venomously. ‘’He’s in the past and belongs there. This is your last warning. Don’t piss me off, babe.’’

You didn’t say anything as you stared in front of you, a slow smirk forming on your lips. With a short snort your body relaxed a little and you looked over your shoulder, your nose brushing hers. ‘’I think you’re really confused here, so let me be clear,’’ you said softly, staring at her eyes. ‘’Don’t get in my way, Yeji. I don’t wanna fight with you, just like I don’t wanna show Jaehyun’s family what you do in Professor Suh's office. Getting on your knees for a better grade…’’ you sighed, shaking your head, ‘’I don’t think Mrs Jung will appreciate that, Yeji. It’s a little vulgar.’’ 

Yeji’s face fell and she paled a little, but still maintained her composure. You could see how the wheels in her mind were speeding in panic and confusion, the way her body trembled with anger gave her away. Your smile got bigger, enjoying how her determined exterior was crumbling right in front of you like a house of cards hit with a strong wind. Your threat hung there, cold and mocking. ‘’How do you know that?’’ 

‘’Girls!’’

Mr Lee appeared from behind the counter with his coat on, looking in a hurry but wearing his characteristic kind smile anyways. He couldn't sense the tension between you and Yeji, both smiling at him like nothing, separating like a bomb wasn't about to go off just seconds ago and take the store down. He jogged a little to the door, watching you both with a frown.

‘’I have to go home, our cat climbed to the roof again and my wife is worried,’’ he explained with a sigh. ‘’I swear that animal wants to bet his nine lives and gave us a heart attack at the same time.’’

You smiled politely and Yeji did the same, but it was forced and stiff, like you both were hiding a mess behind your backs. Mr Lee pointed at you and Yeji with his keys and gave both a stern look, like a dad scolding his daughters. 

‘’I’ll come back in ten minutes, max. Don’t burn the place down, no drama and boys while I’m gone, understood?’’

‘’Yes, Mr Lee,’’ both you and Yeji replied. Mr Lee stepped outside and left with the bell of the store ringing behind him, leaving the store in charge of two very mad girls.

Yeji picked up the pink wig from the floor and threw it on the counter as she passed by, making a bee line to the door, fuming and red.

‘’You’re leaving? You didn’t pick a costume,’’ you called her, standing in your place.

‘’I won’t waste my precious time dealing with you,’’ she huffed, not looking back. ‘’Jaehyun is waiting for me. Have fun finding something that fits your pathetic ass,’’ Yeji taunted you, sending you a flying kiss before closing the door with a loud bang that made the shop windows shake. 

You stood there, alone, in the middle of the still and silent store. You enjoyed the loneliness of it for a while, shopping quietly and trying to dissipate the tension that seemed to follow you like a shadow, heavy at your shoulders. Luckily, no other customers entered the store but you could see through the big windows that people started filling the streets, buying and preparing for Halloween, stores giving free samples of new candy and coffee that tasted like pumpkins. A group of people dressed as Ghostface passed by the costume shop and they hit the glass with their plastic knives, running away afterwards they caught your attention like it was the most funny thing in the world.  

You went deeper into the store, to the racks in the back where there were the long dresses. Some mannequins lined the hallway wearing antique costumes, dresses with masquerade masks and porcelain decorating their faces, like they froze dancing in the middle of a mysterious ball. A gown caught your attention and you took it, feeling how soft the black velvet was in your hands. It was vintage and kinda gothic, something created for a woman that wanted to torment her lover. The fabric cascaded to the floor, dark and dramatic, creating a smooth silhouette. You studied the dress with a smile forming on your face, imagining how it would look on you and how it fitted with Jisung style. You moved back into the store and to the change rooms, when the sound of the bell on the door stopped you before you could get far.

‘’Mr Lee? I was gonna try on this dress,’’ you called, walking again. The old man hadn't answered you and made you frown, a little worried. ‘’Mr Lee?’’

You stopped on your tracks. 

A man was standing in the middle of the store. Tall and silent, wearing all black and a mask on his face— a clown mask. It wasn’t like the ones you saw in the store. This one seemed really old, a vintage mask, the kind that looked like it belonged to a circus maybe hundred of years ago and filled kid’s hearts with laughter back then. But now, in the present, it caused an unsettled feeling, uncanny and intriguing. It gave the impression that it didn’t belong there, in the present. It was both haunting and wrong.

The mask was broken with black cracks from use, maybe a little dirty too. Like it was just picked out from a forgotten box filled with dust and time. The clown wasn't smiling but not serious either, frozen in a strange expression, closer to nostalgia. To you, it almost looked sad, a lost Pierrot waiting for the last applause, like the end came too fast and was confused by it. A quiet rage. 

So you were in an almost empty costume shop at night and a stranger was blocking your way. The realistic feeling was for sure to panic, or felt definitely in danger, but you weren’t someone who fell into fear like that. Instead you breathed in and out and kept your head cold, remembering how common it was for frat boys to run around scaring girls, luring people into their parties, doing mischief and pranks on everybody. This was just a customer and you were overreacting a little, startled by his disturbing, silent presence. 

Still, your pulse was accelerating and your throat felt dry, feeling his eyes on you. 

‘’Uh, are you… looking for a costume?’’ You asked, holding the gown onto your chest like it was armor. Your voice quivered enough to make it obvious that you were a little taken aback. ‘’Mr Lee isn't here.’’

The stranger moved his head. No. Silence filled the store and you didn’t dare to say something else. He started to walk slowly to you, moving through the racks and getting closer and closer, not rushing. But there wasn’t hesitation either, those black eyes from the mask fixed on you. 

‘’Well, Mr Lee should be coming soon, so,’’ you vacillated a little, turning around quickly. ‘’Wait for him, I guess.’’

You went into the last fitting room, the one that was at the end of the aisle, far from the world. You catched a glance of you in the huge mirror that decorated the aisle and gave you a vision of the whole store, seeing not only yourself but the man with the mask not far behind you. He followed you. The velvet curtain shut behind you and you stared at it, waiting. But nothing happened or moved, the curtain still and the store silent. You started to undress slowly, skin tickling with anticipation, your heart pounding heavily. 

You sensed his presence behind the curtain, slow steps taking the stranger there. A flash of fear stroked you, your senses sharpening with each second. The only sound was your breath and every rush of the clothes you were dropping to the floor, just standing in your white lingerie, lace innocent and angelic, delicate. You were pretending that the stranger wasn't right there. Waiting and listening. Breathing behind the mask. 

Maybe it shouldn't be making you wet and you shouldn't rub your thighs together with a sigh. It was wrong to feel a little thrill when you should be shuddering with fear or screaming, but you didn’t care. You were listening to your body and not your mind, trying to imagine what the stranger was thinking outside. What did he wanna do to you? How would he touch you? Your questions were interrupted when you saw long fingers peeking from outside, like crawls trying not to scare a prey, moving the curtain aside unhurriedly, the dark figure stepping into your space not long after. He filled the small fitting room and towered over you.

Your eyes stared at him in the mirror, feeling his warm body glued to your back. You gasped when the stranger raised his hand suddenly and something shone on it, something sharp and dangerous, too fast to stop it. Not that you were quick enough to even try to stop him. Your body froze as the masked man traced the lines of your collarbones with the end of his knife, moving it slowly to your chest, like a lover’s caress. A sharp feather exploring your sensitive skin, kissing it with softness. You held your breath, biting on your lip to not make any sound, not that you trusted your voice. Or what you were capable of saying to him. You let him explore your body and your curves, his knife tracing your stomach and your belly button like he was testing the limits. How far would you let him go?

You pushed back your ass tentatively, testing the waters as you rubbed his cock slowly, feeling him hardening against you. A breathless moan left you when his hand closed around your throat and he moved his knife precisely, too easy for him. He cut the straps of your bra and exposed your tits, giving them a hard squeeze with his hand. With a firm push he cornered you against the mirror and pushed your face there, now rubbing himself more freely in your ass and making you moan while he played with your tits. He pinched and twisted your nipples until you whined and pushed against him, feeling how your pussy was dripping and throbbing. 

The stranger tore off what was left of your broken bra roughly, like he was personally offended by the lace against your skin. With a firm movement of his hands he stretched the fabric and used it to cover your eyes, tying a tight knot at the top of your neck that sent you into darkness.

‘’W—what are you doing?’’ You whispered a little breathless, bringing one of your hands back to try to touch it, but the stranger slapped it off fast. 

Both of his hands folded your arms behind your back and gave them a firm squeeze, and you understood immediately: don’t you dare move them. You heard him moving behind you but couldn't see anything from the position and the blindfold, heat pooling in your stomach. The man grabbed your ass cheeks and squeezed them roughly and possessively, giving you a hard spank that made you gasp loudly and the mask drowned his chuckle. You parted your legs and bended a little, offering yourself to him, letting him see the sticky mess between your thighs. His long fingers caressed your aching pussy over your panties, making you clench around nothing. 

‘’Are you gonna do something or are you just keep haunting me?’’ You said mockingly, pushing onto his hand, whining. You swear you heard him saying something, but when he moved your panties aside and his fingers pushed deep into your dripping cunt, your mind went blank. 

The stranger moved them in and out slowly, opening your hole with two fingers that reached deep, making you moan loudly. He curled them and stroked the point that made you tremble and curse, the stranger fucking your cunt more quickly and hard, making wet noises everytime he thrushted his fingers inside you, daring to add a third. He relentless his thrust, now taking his time to stretch your hole slowly. You were making a mess in his hand, dripping and moaning without a care, feeling a delicious pleasure fill your veins and mind. He took his fingers out and slapped your ass again, making you whine and jump when suddenly you felt something different— wet and soft against your warm core. 

‘’Oh my God,’’ you gasped, his hands grabbing at your hips and pushing his face between your legs, mouth lapping at your folds like it was a dessert. ‘’Yes.’’

His tongue moved in circles around your clit, mouth slurping licking your sticky folds like he couldn't get enough. The stranger’s nose bumped into your hole every time he dived in and ate you like a starving animal, pushing his tongue and flattening it, recollecting your juices with it. You were dying to grab his hair and ride his face but you obeyed and didn’t move your arms, but that didn’t mean you didn't try it. He caught you fast and growled against your pussy, sending vibrations that weakened your legs, making you whine when he spanked you again in punishment. The stranger shoved his fingers inside you, ruthless and rapid, using his other hand to circle your clit at the same rhythm, making you shake from the pleasure and the pressure forming inside you. 

Your cunt throbbed and wetter even more, letting the stranger push your limits when his tongue licked your ass. You jumped a little but melted quickly, pushing your ass to his face and whimpering, craving more and feeling how the stranger’s spit was leaking down your slit. His finger caught it and shoved it into your hole with his fingers, creating a damp mess from his saliva and your slick, making you combust on the spot with a breathless moan when it was too much.

You came hard as you grinded the stranger's face and rode his fingers, pushing your throbbing pussy against him, whimpering with need. He removed his fingers and replaced them with his mouth and his flattened tongue, using him to prolong your orgasm until it made you feel overwhelmed. He gave you soft and long licks, making figures with his tongue on your soaked folds and thighs, like he couldn't get enough of tasting you. 

The stranger drove his fingers still wet from your slick past your lips, until you closed around his knuckles and sucked them. He moved his fingers on your mouth slowly and profoundly, making you taste yourself and gag a little when he pushed his veiny fingers too far up your throat. His other hand traveled down your body, barely rubbing your clit, your body twitching from the sensitiveness, moaning around his fingers.

‘’Girls, I’m back! Did you find something you like? I see the store still standing, so that’s good.’’

Mr Lee's voice ruined the dream you were floating and you whined a little in panic still sucking the masked man fingers. Holy shit. You stumbled a little when you straightened up in a hurry and tried to take the blindfold off, only to be stopped by a pair of firm hands. You both waited a moment, hearing Mr Lee was far away still and that’s when he let you go, pushing you softly against the mirror again and retrieving the knife forgotten on the wooden floor. You took off the blindfold just in time to see him leaving like nothing happened, mask on and walking out of the store without Mr Lee realizing as he was hanging his coat behind the counter. Just like a ghost unnoticed, taking advantage of the shadows of the night that engulfed the old store. 

You stood in the fitting room, breath caught and body tingling with desire, aching for more.

If hell existed on Earth, for sure it was located exactly between Jaemin and Lee Donghyuck, drunk and annoying. 

You sipped from your cup of coffee with too much sugar, not really in the mood for drinking in the middle of the week like your friend group. It was a pre party, something to give a taste of what’s coming for and pass the time. Meaning, a reason to get drunk in the middle of the week, not that the frat actually needed an excuse for it. Music pulsated loud, drowning conversations and smoke filled the room, but your mood didn’t fit the other’s, students coming with Halloween costumes, making out in the corners, playing beer pong with vodka. 

Yeji’s techno house playlist was giving you a headache and the smell of liquor wasn’t doing any good either, nor the loud laughs that sounded like a bunch of crows. You were more silent than normal, maybe a little nostalgic, body still imagining the masked man tongue on you. Reviving it over and over like a dream, like if you concentrated enough you could feel his hands again on you. A wave of longing hit you and you sighed, which caught Jaemin’s attention next to you. You weren’t on talking terms with him or Yeji and it was for the best, not in the mood to be annoyed by them.

Even if he was pretty high the sharpness didn’t disappear from his eyes or his smile. You weren’t fooling anyone, but especially not him. You were the image of a statue, tense and looking more like you preferred to be anywhere but there, pretending to listen Donghyuck talking about the last girl he fucked at some party with blank eyes blinking at him. Maybe your body was reacting on its own, because you were sitting on the edge of the couch like you were about to run out of there at any minute. 

‘’Are you bored?’’ He wondered, palm coming to rest on your tight and making you flinch slightly when he squeezed it. Jaemin took a sip of his beer without taking his eyes off you. He had his look on his face, slightly annoyed from being ignored for too long and a little playful, and that meant trouble. That meant he was about to start a game with you.  

You forced yourself to relax more and shrugged a little. Still, you nodded and everted his gaze like it was nothing, taking another sip. ‘’Mmm, yeah, kinda,’’ you fake yawned, stretching your legs a little. ‘’It was a long week and I’m tired. I think I’m heading out.’’

Donghyuck stared at you frowning. ‘’Awww, what? It’s not even midnight,’’ he whined, shaking your arm. He looked around the room lazily, like some king choosing some interesting paws to entertain him and his friends. ‘’We should play a game!’’ 

‘’Let’s play questions!’’ Some girl squealed excitedly, coming to sit on the arm of the couch. You didn’t even remember her name. Soojin? Sooya? Your brain gave up and didn’t function enough to recall her name, easily forgotten in some dusty storage in your head. 

The girl came to sit in the arm on the couch next to Donghyuck, giving him a flirty smile that he matched right away, stealing a glance at her pretty legs crossing. 

‘’That's a good idea, baby,’’ Donghyuck smirked, putting his arm around your shoulders and giving you a little shake, like he was trying to wake up. ‘’C’mon, don’t be so boring. This is my party and you’re hurting my feelings.’’

‘’Don’t bother our girl, Hyuckie, she’s not in the mood these days,’’ Yeji warned him, joining the group, followed by her boyfriend. Her pretty dress sparkled when she moved to the other couch to sit there, next to Seonyun and Jeno. Jaehun stayed behind her, smirking and fixing his disheveled hair. ‘’You should know better than mess with her.’’

Donghyuck listened and tilted his head, moving his eyes to you more scrutinizing. ‘’What is it, pretty girl? You can tell me. This asshole isn't making you cum lately?’’ Hyuck sent a mocking sympathy look from above your head to Jaemin, who responded by simply pulling his hair until he yelped and twisted in his place trying to get away. ‘’Alright, man! Chill, I’m sorry, fuck, it was a joke!’’

‘’Wait, are you still with her, Jaemin?’’ The girl from before asked, looking at him with so much unhidden hunger. She played with the straw from her drink with her tongue flirty, completely ignoring that you were sitting right next to him. ‘’I thought you were single, you know.’’

‘’Oh my God, is that true?’’ Another girl squealed, eyes gleaming from the juicy gossip unraveling right in front of her. She looked at you with curiosity and a little glint of envy, eyes scanning the figure of Jaemin sitting on the couch like the king he was, legs parted. ‘’That’s like, crazy. You’re totally boyfriend material, Jaemin.’’

You resisted the urge to laugh at their faces and instead sipped from your coffee again, drowning your thoughts with the oversweet taste of cold brew. If they only knew. 

‘’Hold on, you’re actually single?’’ Jeno asked Jaemin, settling on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees, suddenly interested in the conversation. He raised his brows, smirking slowly. He barely glanced at you. ‘’So she’s fair game now?’’

Seonyun smacked his arm and her expression turned sour, trying to remind Jeno that she was still there, glued to his side. Trying to pretend that she wasn't bothered by his comment. ‘’That’s so dumb, everybody knows they’re together since always,’’ she insisted, sending a look your way. ‘’Right, honey?’’

Yeji snorted, laughing to herself a little too drunk to notice your murderous eyes on her when you heard her. 

‘’How about we hear it from the bachelor himself?’’ Donghyuck proposed, opening another bottle of beer. He took his heart dramatically, looking at Jaemin with hooded eyes, completely drunk. ‘’Tell us, Romeo, is there true love there in your tiny heart?’’

‘’There is love, Hyuck. And it burns just for her,’’ Jaemin said, brushing some hair from your face, tricking your ear with a low chuckle when he came closer. ‘’But I’m heartbroken. She doesn’t want me.’’

The group gathered around went crazy. The girls giggled and screamed with delight, envious but enjoying the gossip. Jeno laid on his back lazily, tracing your body with his gaze like he was planning to put a bet on your head and get the prize. Donghyuck was hardly sober to catch quickly on the drama and looked at you like he expected to laugh it off and joke about it too, but you stayed there silent and fuming. Jaemin enjoyed the little chaos he caused, smiling like he was actually a sheepish little boy rejected by his first love. He loved your irritated face and wanted more. 

‘’I know a lot of girls that would want you, Jaemin,’’ another girl chimed in, barely containing her excitement or intentions. ‘’I can take you to—’’

‘’I only want her,’’ Jaemin silenced her fast, tone sharp, smile tight. You recognized the anger and the mocking burning in his eyes, too familiar and calculating. Like he didn’t know if to play with you or cut your head first. ‘’But she has a crush on somebody else. I bet you can’t even imagine who he is,’’ he taunted, laughing. ‘’It’s so sad.’’

Another explosion of laughter and chaos erupted. Jeno and Donghyuck roared with laughter, completely entertained with the mess Jaemin was making. Yeji and Seonyun shared a somewhat worried look and then looked at you, the first shrugging a little like saying you know this was coming. They weren’t about to throw you a life jacket, that was for sure. Thinking that they were capable of defending you was ridiculous. You tried to stand up but Jaemin’s hand shot up too fast, yanking down with strength, so smooth that nobody noticed how his hand squeezed your wrist with warning. You said nothing as you kept your composure knowing that there was no exit, squeezed between Jaemin and Donghyuck.

‘’Who’s the lucky bastard?’’ Jeno asked. He was too interested, ignoring how Seonyun snuggled to his side. 

Jaemin smiled slowly, showing all his perfect teeth. He basked in the atmosphere, delaying the drama and making himself a shot before answering all the attention on him. He sighed loudly while looking at you, then a Jeno. ‘’Fucking Park Jisung.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up,’’ Jeno wheezed, shocked. A loud laugh escaped him, staring at Jaemin like he couldn't believe it. ‘’Park? Dude… that’s the most crazy downgrade. You gotta be kidding.’’

Donghyuck frowned, too drunk to catch on the name. ‘’Uh? Who the fuck is Park Jisung?’’ 

‘’You know who he is, you dumbass,’’ Yeji rolled her eyes, laughing a little. ‘’He was our classmate, remember? That tall, pale kid, the one who always cried.’’

Recognition flashed through Donghyuck's face, like he suddenly put a face on that name. Jaemin said nothing but his silence did, making Donghyuck straight up laugh even harder, covering his mouth, still shocked. ‘’Oh, shit. No way. Pee Pants Park?’’ 

You straighten up a little, frowning at Donghyuck. What?

‘’Your girl left you for Pee Pants Park? This is the best fucking day of my life,’’ Donghyuck wheezed, clapping his hand on Jaemin’s shoulder like he was consoling him. 

Everybody ignored you, but that comment made all the group laugh again, sharing knowing looks and grinning like they were replaying a shared joke in their heads. You tensed and waited, an odd feeling tightening your stomach, making you feel anxious. This little scene wasn’t over.

‘’Oh my God, I forgot about that one,’’ Yeji gasped, grinning. She baited her eyelashes to Jaehyun, who was close to her, listening. ‘’You gotta hear this, baby, it’s so funny.’’

‘’That shit wasn’t that funny,’’ Jeno said, getting himself a new cold beer. He smiled anyway, snorting. ‘’Okay, it kind of was.’’

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You asked suddenly, making everybody go silent for a second. Your sharp tone made everybody share some looks again, smiling behind their drinks and acting like you were out of their little sphere. It made you grind your teeth, irritated, knowing that they weren’t up to no good. 

Jaemin was the one who finally spoke, his face a mask of mock sympathy. ‘’Oh, right, you weren’t here around that time,’’ he murmured, pretending like he realized that just in that moment. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, frowning. ‘’Ah, poor little Jisung. Someone thought it be funny to prank him, push him inside a gym locker and leave him there for the weekend.’’

‘’That’s too much,’’ Jeno said, pouting a little. He chuckled. ‘’And fucked up. I bet he cried a lot when he heard the lock closing.’’ 

‘’He begged like a little bitch,’’ Donghyuck cleaned fake tears, acting like he was sobbing. ‘’Nooo, don’t leave me here! Come back! It was so sad, guys.’’

A new chorus of laughter erupted around you, sick and maniac, crawling at your skin like millions of needles. The realisation hit you like a punch. They locked him up, they left him there for days. Confined, alone and scared in the darkness.

‘’He always cried, like, take a joke for fuck’s sake,’’ Yeji added, huffing. ‘’Have some sense of humour, you know. It’s not that deep.’’

Jaemin chuckled and nodded, moving his attention to you again. ‘’When the janitor found him, he was drenched. This loser actually pissed himself,’’ he laughed, unable to continue. He took a deep breath. ‘’He couldn't even speak! He broke or something.’’

‘’It’s not like he was the biggest talker in the world anyways,’’ Yeji snickered. ‘’Not a loss, if you ask me.’’

‘’Park didn’t show up the next day, or the next, or the next,’’ Jeno explained, ‘’just disappeared like that. He left a mark on the locker and left,’’ he joked.

‘’He lost the scholarship and everything,’’ Donghyuck whistled, faking pity. He clicked this tongue, taking a sip of his beer. ‘’Damn. Poor dude. It must suck being a little bitch,’’ he added. ‘’That couldn't be me.’’

‘’Don’t be so sure,’’ Jeno joked, laughing when Donghyuck gave him the middle finger and fake-threatened to throw his bottle at him. 

Your knuckles were white from holding onto your skirt, barely listening to what they were saying. Disgust and sadness dripped down your body, engulfing you in a sea of something thick and cold that made your heart freeze and break. The repulsing feeling was too strong, filling your eyes with tears, not able to stay there no even a second longer.

‘’You’re all sick,’’ you started, standing and throwing what was left on your coffee on the table. Everybody went silent, one of the girls yelped when coffee splashed her a little. ‘’The most disgusting people I’ve ever met,’’ you snapped, voice steady even if your boy was shaking a little. 

Donghyuck broke the silence with a wheeze of laughter and everybody followed him, staring at you like you were the most ridiculous thing in the world. Jeno couldn't even form a sentence, doubled over in laughter with Seonyun. 

Nobody tried to stop you when you stormed to the door, seeing red and heartbroken, fists shaking with the desire to punch them and erase their horrible laughter. You didn't see Jaemin coming after you, nor did you expect him to throw you against the door and close it with a bang, preventing you from leaving and making you yelp with surprise and pain. 

‘’Don’t fucking touch me!’’ You seethed, pushing him hard. 

‘’Yah, are you mad for real? We were just telling a little story,’’ he smiled, holding you tightly. ‘’Just remembering our school days, princess. I didn’t think it would bother you like that.’’

You stared at his wide, fake innocent eyes, seeing how they shone with mockery and something darker and evil. You knew right there it was him the culprit, the one who was enjoying it even after so many years passed. ‘’How could you do something like that?’’ You whispered.

Jaemin frowned, tilting his head confused. ‘’Like what? It was just a joke. You’re overreacting,’’ he said, voice still tainted with amusement. ‘’Just like him.’’ 

‘’Don’t ever touch me again,’’ you spat, pushing him again until he finally let you go. ‘’Get your fucking head checked and leave me alone, Jaemin.’’

Jaemin's smile deepened, all unhinged and entertained. His jaw was tight, traces or anger in his eyes, not enjoying your challenging tone. ‘’Shit, you do like ruined stuff, don’t you? Maybe Yeji was right and you’re too pathetic for me.’’

‘’Fuck you,’’ you responded, staring face to face to him. ‘’And make your miserable head understand this— stay away from him too. Don’t even try it, Jaemin.’’

He chuckled, slamming his hand next to your head with force. He leaned in, smug but menacing. ‘’Or what? What are you gonna do, huh?’’

‘’Don’t think I won’t ruin you, Jaemin,’’ you warned him, low. ‘’I know too much shit.’’

‘’You think you can threaten me over him?’’ He laughed in your face, scoffing. Jaemin’s expression faltered slightly, enough to make any trace of fun disappear. ‘’You’re more lost than I thought. Don’t start something that will end you, princess. I don’t wanna play like that, you know what I’m capable of.’’

He came closer to you, brushing his lips in your clenched jaw, barely kissing. His other hand cupped your cheek and caressed it with his thumb, staring at you with more of a soft expression. Jaemin tried to kiss you and you shierked, pushing him and turning your face to the side, filled with disgust.

‘’I know exactly what you’re capable of, Jaemin,’’ you whispered, grabbing his wrist and moving away from his touch like it burned it. ‘’That doesn't scare me. The thing is, you don’t know what I’m capable of.’’

‘’We both know you can’t let me go, not for long,’’ he insisted, turning serious. Lighting flashed in his eyes, a storm that made him quieter but deadly. ‘’You always come back. You belong to me, not to a ghost. A freak with a pathetic past and no future.’’

You chuckled tired, opening the door. ‘’That freak is more human than all of you combined, Jaemin,’’ you muttered, not bothering to close the door when you stepped out.

He called your name but you didn’t turn back, steeping into the rain and walking fast, wanting to leave everything behind. Your body was shaking a little but the cold rain wasn't the culprit, something inside you was setting, heavy and icy. Tears fell on your face, blending with the rain, heart tormented thinking about what they did to Jisung, what other things you didn’t know? Why couldn't you have arrived earlier in the past and protected him, made things different for him? It hurt you knowing how alone he surely was back then, betrayed and pranked with cruelty. 

You weren’t that naïve to believe that things ended with your exit, because you knew them all too well. Jaemin wasn’t someone to have as an enemy. Stepping out was just out of order, and sooner or later they will make sure to tighten your strap to learn your lesson. But when that happened, you would be prepared. Waiting. 

Protecting. 

The day before Halloween you were on a mission. 

‘’Oh! I found you!’’ You smiled out of breath from the stairs, staring at the man sitting on the floor. ‘’Here you are, Ji.’’

He looked up from his book, brushing the bangs that fell into his vision. The black hoodie was too big for his body, hanging and drowning him. Jisung didn’t seem surprised, more like he was waiting for you to appear. He went back to his book, unimpressed. ‘’You followed me.’’

You fake gasped, stepping more into the book aisle. ‘’That’s a little rude,’’ you defended yourself while you studied some books, reading their titles one by one, humming low until you found something you liked. You grabbed Carrie and you flipped the yellow pages, barely reading some sentences. ‘’You make it sound like it’s bad.’’

Jisung was tucked away in a far corner of the library, too quiet and dusty. The place where people didn’t go and some whispered that it was haunted and others suggested it was the best point to make out. It was where the old books were sent to die of forgetfulness, close to the system ventilation that hummed nearby like a continuous low lullaby. The distant hum accompanied the rustle of old pages and distant conversations in the library, creating what to you seemed like a cozy corner, warm by the sundown that entered by the big window. 

Sitting cross legged on the floor, Jisung watched you come closer until you settled down next to him. ‘’I don’t like people cornering me,’’ he said with a sigh, a little annoyed. But he didn’t tell you to leave, nor did he move away. He closed his book and leaned back, careful. ‘’What do you want?’’

Funny. ‘’Keep you company,’’ you simply responded, your arm brushing his. You peeked closer. ‘’What are you reading, Ji?’’

Jisung smothered his palm over the old cover that was barely holding on from the use and time, stitched everywhere with pieces of tape trying to keep it together. ‘’Why did you invite me to the party?’’ He blurted. 

His expression turned unreadable, pressing his lips like he regretted asking that but couldn't control his curiosity. Jisung didn't look at you when scoffed quietly, opening his book again. 

‘’Nevermind—’’

‘’Because I want you there,’’ you answered, trying to catch his eyes. You stretched your legs and smoothed down your perfect skirt with an unknown sensation that made you a little fidgety, needing to do something. Nervousism. ‘’I already told you, Ji. I wanna spend Halloween with you, is that so terrible?’’ 

‘’You should spend it with your friends,’’ Jisung disagreed, unable to disguise the bite in this tone. Like saying left a sour taste in his mouth. He huffed tiredly. ‘’I don’t know if they sent you or what—’’

Jisung stopped talking suddenly, a weird tension settled between you and him, his posture stiff and cautious, like a cat about to run away at the first movement. You released the remaining air in your lungs until you deflated against the wall. You bit your lip, thinking of the best way to express what weighed on the tip of your tongue, not quite sure how to face the fragile situation in your hands. 

‘’Jisung, nobody sent me,’’ you said, looking at him. ‘’I know everything that happened, what they did to you—’’

‘’Stop.’’

‘’I heard it all and I’m sorry. They’re not my friends,’’ you reassured him, eyes begging for him to believe you. ‘’I wish there’s something I could—’’

‘’So that’s it? You pity me?’’ Jisung accused, jaw tight and closing the book with force. His ears were red from the growing anger, still he didn’t dare to look at you.

‘’What? No! Jisung— that’s not it. Just… I wish I could do the same to them. Make them pay.’’

That made him look. Really look. Jisung stared at you with too many emotions flashing on his face, fighting for dominion like his mind couldn't choose just one. Anger, surprise, vulnerability, relief, even pain. They break free from being caged away. Jisung’s gaze studied you, from your lips to your eyes, searching for something, maybe doubt or a lie. Relaxing a little when you didn't laugh cruelly or drove him to some kind of prank, but not trusting yet.

You covered his hand with yours carefully, sensing how cold it was. You stroke it gently, trying to warm it, outlining every vein and knuckle in silence. Just breathing with him, waiting. His hand twitched a little and you stopped the tremor holding his hand closer, moving it slowly to your thigh, fingers intertwined. 

‘’They’re untouchable,’’ he whispered with spite, bitter and angry. ‘’They believe they can get away with it forever.’’ 

Some heartbeats passed until you spoke again. ‘’Then maybe it’s time for some payback,’’ you pointed out, giving him a squeeze and smiling a little when he didn’t remove his hand from your grip. ‘’Don’t you know that nothing last forever?’’

You didn't see it coming, the way he pushed you and leaned over your body, caging you with a firm push. A gasp faded in your throat, still and silent when you noticed Jisung was too close and your body reacted immediately, lax and surrendered to him, looking at him even playfully. Well, well, he was exactly where you fantasised so many times. Your hands reached for his face but Jisung grabbed both your wrists, pushing them down to the carpet floor. 

‘’What are you playing? You think I’m the same kid they hit and bullied? The kid who cried and stayed silent? The one they pushed into lockers?’’ He asked you, low and with a calm that was too disturbing, dangerous. A mask with something dark hiding behind it, but still, you could see a small part of him wondering. Could he trust you? Asking for answers, begging for something or someone to believe him. To anchor him. ‘’You think you know everything about me?’’

You untangled yourself from his grip carefully and gently stroked his hair, brushing it back so you could see his black eyes staring back at you intensely. Jisung didn’t move, staring at you with a frown and a muscle in his cheek, like he was holding himself from snapping again. 

‘’No,’’ you whispered, playing with the black strands softly. ‘’You’re different, a stronger version. And they should be scared of it,’’ you pushed his nape down, trying to kiss him. 

‘’I told you I don’t need your sympathy,’’ Jisung sneered, brushing your lips with every word. ‘’You’re not my savior.’’ 

You chuckled amused and dragged him down roughly, heart fluttering with butterflies. ‘’I’m not here to save you, Jisung.’’ 

Jisung frowning a little, doubtful and hissing when you pushed up your hips, grinding slowly against him. You kissed and bitten along his jaw, holding him prisoner between your legs, trying to relax him, to make him understand. Your tongue circled his ear and sucked the earlobe, biting under it and making him suck a breath. 

‘’I’m here to stay,’’ you continued, tracing his neck with more kisses and love bites, trying to mark his pale skin. A low sound left him and you smirked, dragging your nails down the nape of his neck and sending shivers down his spine. ‘’I’m here to hold you.’’

His mouth crashed into yours, hot and consuming, taking you by surprise. He wasn't gentle nor soft, just taking ownership of your lips with possessive kisses that took away your air. His tongue moved deeply, playing with yours as his hands roamed down your body, squeezing your waist and thighs, rubbing himself shamelessly against your clothed pussy. A small part of you, maybe a tiny piece of common sense reminded you that you were in the library still, open to whoever wanted to see you and him grinding in each other and kissing until your lips were swollen in a lost corner.

‘’Ji—’’ you moaned, silencing yourself when Jisung suddenly flipped your positions. You ended up sitting on top of him, a little breathless, with his hands slipping under your soft cotton shirt. You didn’t waste a second, kissing him again eagerly and holding onto his hoodie as you licked his mouth and tongue, desperate for more. 

‘’You tempt me this whole time, acting like a pretty slut,’’ he mocked you, chuckling low. His hands were quick, unbuttoning your shirt until your pretty and pink lacy bra was in sight, making him groan by the view. Jisung pushed his face onto your chest, licking and biting your smooth skin, pushing your bra down with a harsh tug. ‘’Offering yourself to me like a needy girl.’’

You pressed your hips down, rubbing yourself on his cock, feeling his length under his pants. A whimper left you, too soaked and hot to care if somebody listened. You moved back and forth, grinding on the shape of his dick slowly and torturing. 

Jisung’s mouth latched into one of your nipples and sucked hard, tongue wrapping around it. He made a low content sound and you pushed him closer, moaning just for him as he flipped his tongue and sucked over and over, fine lips closing around the bud. ‘’What would Jaemin think if he sees you like this? Dripping and desperate for another man?’’ 

‘’I don’t care,’’ you gasped, opening your legs even more to rub faster, but it wasn't enough, you needed more. You were glad from his sweatpants and how easily it was to slide your hand inside it, mouth watering at the feeling of his hard, warm cock in your hand. The slow strokes made Jisung moan, muffed by the way he was pressing his face on your chest, kissing and licking your tits until red marks appeared. ‘’I’m not his. I just want you, Ji, please—’’

‘’You’re just an easy slut, don’t you? So easy and desperate,’’ he clicked his tongue disapprovingly, hands reaching to grab your ass and give it a firm squeeze under your skirt. ‘’Dying for me to fuck you. Take my cock out,’’ he gave you a spank and you barely held your loud moan. ‘’Now. Don’t make me wait. Now you’re shy?’’

‘’Mmmh! Somebody could hear us,’’ you panned, looking behind you. The sundown had ended long ago and the library was plunged into darkness, with only a few traces of warm light from a few lamps on the tables downstairs. Even so, they didn't reach the corner where you and Jisung were, but you didn't know if anyone checked these places around closing time. That sent you a thrill and you stroked his cock faster, mouth watering for him. ‘’I’m not shy.’’

‘’Then keep quiet,’’ Jisung rasped, smirking. He leaned his head back and looked at you so boldly and confident it made your pussy throb, your grip on his cock strengthening. Your hand moved up and down more quickly, making him groan and moan, breath stuttering when you let a string of split fell on it. ‘’Fuck— that’s it. Keep touching me.’’

You pulled down his pants enough to free his cock, staring at it with big eyes, moaning softly. He was… huge. Long and thick, with a pink head and veins, one of the prettiest cocks you've ever seen, just for you. You lifted your gaze back to his face, pouting a little. ‘’I don’t know…,’’ you fake hesitated, rubbing your thumb on the tip delicately. ‘’You’re too bossy for somebody who acted like he didn’t want me.’’

He grabbed your arms and held them behind your back with a groan, making you arch for him. His mouth descended to your neck, sucking biting hard, not a trace of gentleness. ‘’And you’re too mouthy,’’ Jisung said, moving his free hand down. His fingers moved your panties and slid through your folds, soft and wet with your arousal. ‘’Dripping too much to pretend you don’t need my cock.’’

You bit your lip when he brushed his fingers on your clit, massaging it slowly, making circles. Jisung bit and licked your collarbones hearing your soft moans every time he applied just the right pressure, rubbing your clit faster until your thighs tightened around him. 

‘’So soft and pretty,’’ he whispered, moving his touch and pushing his fingers inside you too easily, slow and deep, chuckling when you took a shaky breath. You tried to free your arms but it was impossible, Jisung could hold you down with just one strong hand. 

Your eyes closed and your forehead touched his, inhaling. ‘’Mhm, Ji— feels so good.’’

‘’Let me open your little hole,’’ he whispered against your cheek, feeling how you coated his fingers with your slick. Your gummy walls clenched around his fingers moved faster, searching so deep it made you squeal a little. He kissed you and ate your moans, a war of tangues and spit, exploring and conquering. A dirty kiss between you too that made you crazy with need. Jisung sucked and played with your tongue as the wet noise your pussy made every time he shoved his fingers into your hole echoed around, too obscene, so loud. ‘’That’s it, let me in, just fucking gave it to me.’’

Jisung curled his fingers, so far inside you you could barely think. Your body was hot and burning, crying against his lips when he pushed too quickly, too deep, just right, making you chase that feeling. Your hips rolled, needing to push him even further, moaning as you fell into his chest, breathing in his neck. The pressure was building deliciously and heated, the pleasure mixing with the adrenaline of somebody hearing how you soaked Jisung’s fingers. 

‘’You're gonna cum like a good girl, don’t you? Opening yourself to me, giving me this pretty pussy,’’ he muttered with a raspy voice, kissing your cheek and jaw, pumping his fingers fast and deep, making you moan again when he added another. The stretch was too good and your hips moved against his fingers, riding them urgently. ‘’That’s it, make a fucking mess. Keep going,’’ he demanded.  

‘’Jisung— fuck, don’t stop,’’ you moaned, still chasing the pleasure. The tension inside you broke and you crushed under it, whimpering when your orgasm hit you and you clenched around his fingers, overwhelmed when he didn’t stop. Jisung made sure to prolong your orgasm, still bumping his fingers in and out lazily until you whined and tried to push him apart, making him chuckle. 

‘’Don’t run from it,’’ he said as he fastened the pace, fucking your pussy again. He let you go off your arm and you didn’t doubt a second to hug him, shifting in his lap. You hold onto him whimpering but keeping your thighs apart, hole clenching and dripping, sensitive and pulsing. ‘’You’re gonna take it and make a mess on the carpet.’’

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. ‘’I can’t— Jisung, stop, I never done that—’’

His big palm pressed firmly against your mouth to quiet you. You never saw that look on him, so mean and hot, dominant, only able to blink a little surprised by it. You knew Jisung wasn’t what he was showing to the world, but this side was everything you could dream of and exactly who he was. Suddenly you were pushed on your back, spread on the carpet. Jisung towered over you and shoved his fingers inside you again while his other hand closed around your throat, keeping you down while he thrusted inside you ruthlessly. 

‘’I didn’t ask you,’’ he taunted you, coming closer to your mouth and licking it. ‘’You're gonna squirt around my fingers until you drench the carpet,’’ Jisung shifted closer, staring at your eyes. ‘’And if you don’t, I’ll keep going until you do. Don’t make a sound, yeah? We don't want somebody finding you like this, skirt up and legs opened, letting some freak use your pussy like he wants.’’

His words made you moan his name, hole tightening when he loosened the grip on your throat, just to move it onto your lower stomach. He pushed his palm there, curving his fingers inside you until he reached the point that made you whine and go crazy, bumping it over and over. Overstimulation wasn’t enough to explain how your body felt, burning and clenching, a sensation accumulating inside you that you tried to control but failed when Jisung moved a fourth finger inside you, dilating your cunt with no mercy. It was too much, too deep and fast, your mouth opening with no sound and nowhere to run. 

Your pussy pulsated and gushed, both of your hands pressed in your mouth to control your moans and whines when you cummed again. Jisung’s fingers were relentless, claiming you and leaving no other choice than to obey him, back arching and a wet feeling exploring inside you. 

‘’Fuck, that’s it, let it go,’’ Jisung commanded you, smirking at the liquid bursting out of you. You were lax on the floor, breathing heavily and spent and too sensitive to respond. He licked his fingers looking down at you, an arrogant glint in his eyes when he hummed your name. ‘’You taste so good.’’

Your eyes were teary from the pleasure and bliss, blinking dumbly at him, so cute and used that made Jisung smile. Steps on the stairs made him pause and listen, straightening up enough to spy from the bookshelf hidden in the shadows. A student was there, leaving a book where it belonged and lingering in the aisle, searching for another title. 

‘’Don’t make a sound,’’ he whispered in your mouth, kissing you as he pressed you to the carpet. He kneaded your tits and kept your legs apart, making you whimper softly. His touch was gentle but possessive, kissing you deep but soft, your body melting against his. ‘’We got company.’’

‘’Don’t care,’’ you responded, kissing him and rubbing your body against his. Your hands found his cock and you kept stroking it with swift moves, smiling when he shuddered and gripped you tightly. ‘’I need you’’, you complained. He hissed and he dropped his head on your shoulder, inhaling your smell and brushing your hair back to bite onto your neck. A low groan left Jisung when guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing it in your folds and slapping the tip on your clit. ‘’Please Ji. Just the tip?’’ 

Another voice joined in and Jisung groaned when another student joined the other, helping him looking for a book. Jisung sighed and held you close, driving his length onto your hole and covering your mouth with his hand as he slid the tip in. ‘’Fuck, your pussy didn’t loose, did it?’’ 

You were tight and warm, too inviting and tempting. You held a moan as he pushed a little more than just the tip, making your cunt stretch around him, barely taking it. ‘’It’s too big,’’ you whimpered, holding onto him. You loved the feeling and the burn, getting wetter because of his size, feeling small. 

The two students turned their heads around, thinking that they heard something, maybe a whisper or a step. Totally unaware that you were being stretched out a few aisles back, trying to keep silent. They found the book that they needed and quickly left the place, hurrying to the stairs and hushing about how maybe those old aisles were indeed haunted.

‘’You can take me,’’ he whispered in your ear, hands cupping your tits and leaving kisses there, tongue circling your nipples. He squeezed them and kissed your neck next, letting you get used to his thickness before sliding in more, making you moan again. ‘’Fuck, you’re so tight, let me— I know you can take more.’’

Jisung pushed his cock further and way past the tip and your mind went blank, just feeling his cock opening you completely. He thrusted a little and you arched, body burning and drowning in the intense sensation, never felt this close to anyone. You creamed around him and clenched, too desperate to take it slow. ‘’Just fuck me. Put it all in, Ji.’’

He thrusted again, burying himself inch by inch until you whimpered and took him— too deep and big, overwhelming you. Your fingers circled your clit lazily, staring up at him with blurry eyes and lips swollen from kissing so hard. 

‘’Mmh, fuck, Ji— you feel so good,’’ you moaned, sobbing when he pressed his cock deeply, thrusting slowly and eyes focused in the way your pussy was tightening around his lenght. ‘’Keep going baby, use my hole, use me.’’

Jisung groaned and slammed himself in, holding your tights up and opened, keeping his moves slow and profound. The sensation of being inside you was too much, so tight and warm and his, it made him lose his mind. It was impossible not to fuck you harder, no when you were so opened and begging for him, for his cock. You were moaning and babbling, eyes rolling back every time he hit that spot inside you fast and hard, your pussy dilatating and creaming. The sight destroyed Jisung, who was ramming into your pussy like a mad man, too gone to even care if someone listened to him fucking you raw and deep, balls slapping. 

‘’Tightest fucking pussy in the world, you’re sucking me in,’’ he moaned, shoving his cock with no mercy onto you. ‘’This is what you wanted? Now take my cock like a good slut.’’

A new orgasm hit you and you sobbed, hearing the wet sound you were making and the way his balls hit your ass every time he shoved his cock onto your pussy. You clenched around him and made him groan, fastening his pace. The pleasure swirled in your body driving you insane, too full and opened, swearing you felt him in your lower stomach. Your wildest, filthiest dreams were coming true and you couldn't help the lazy smile that formed in your lips, an intense desire to mark him forever and made him yours. Knowing that he was just where he belonged and you planned on keeping him there with you.

‘’Cum inside me,’’ you whispered, holding his gaze with imploring eyes, lips searching for him. ‘’Please Ji, fill me up, I want your cum dripping from me,’’ you begged, too stimulated and mind cloudy from the pleasure. ‘’Please, please, please.’’

Jisung’s pace faltered a little and his thrust turned sloppy, ears red and sweaty, just as destroyed as you were. ‘’Yeah? You want me to fill you up? Make you mine?’’ 

You nodded with another moan when he pounded your pussy harder and fast, taking everything from you. ‘’Need your cum, baby,’’ you panned, ‘’fill me up until it flows.’’

He slammed his cock deep and his body jerked when he came, buried inside you with a low groan. His cock twitched and you whimpered at the sensation of being totally full, your pussy milking every drop of his cum eagerly. You never let anybody cum inside you and the warm, wet feeling made you moan. Just knowing that it was Jisung breeding you made everything better and you hold onto him with a smirk. He thrusted again, lazy and slow and you whimpered when you felt how some of his cum leaked from your hole, thick and warm. 

You held his face and kissed him, caressing his back and shoulders as he enjoyed the aftershocks of his orgasm, caging you to the floor with his weight. ‘’Mmmm, don’t pull out, Ji. Don’t move, just stay like this.’’

‘’We’re in the middle of the library,’’ he replied, but obeyed nonetheless. He stayed buried deep, pulsing, making you feel filled and happy. Too tired to move, you kissed his jaw and lips, smiling softly as you both came back from the high, breathing together. A silence settled between you and Jisung, but it wasn’t awkward or tense. He stared back at you, moving a strand of your hair out of your face too gently. ‘’You’re really pretty,’’ he whispered. 

You stole another kiss, soft and featherly. ‘’Does this mean you’re going to the party?’’ 

Jisung let out a quiet laugh, hiding his face on your neck, rubbing his mouth where your pulse beat quickly. ‘’I'll make time.’'

You were alone in your room doing your makeup too concentrated, listening to your favourite playlist, humming to the songs while you painted your face. You were buzzing with energy and excitement, eating way too much Halloween candy during the day to try to extinguish your nerves. Fucking with Jisung in the library didn’t mean that your crush on him calmed a little, it was more like throwing gasoline at an uncontrolled fire. Just because he rearranged your insides didn’t mean that you were calm about seeing tonight and you wanted to cause an impression on him and eat him up completely after, dress prettily and make him go crazy. You sighed and stared at your wall with stars in your eyes, studying the pictures decorating it like every time you felt a little anxious or sad. There were a lot of different pictures in different locations, like the campus, buildings, the library, even the coffee shop or him in his car. But your favorite was the one where Jisung was attacked by a blast of wind and his dark hair was everywhere, him frowning cutely with his nose scrunched and holding onto his coat. He was just so cute. 

Maybe you should give some kind of late bonus to the photographer who followed and took all your precious photos of Jisung during the year. You were almost done with your makeup, studying yourself in the mirror, comparing it with a photo of Morticia Addams you downloaded to your phone looking for perfection. The foundation shade was way too much lighter, almost white. Your cheeks were contoured with a grey color and your lips painted a deep shade of red, eyes sharp with dark eyeliner and too much eyeshadow, looking theatrical and dramatic. The dress hugged on your body tightly, elegant and royal, a velvet dream created to seduce and kill. 

You were ready and giving yourself the last touches, applying perfume and admiring your dress once again on you in the mirror with intern giggles when your phone ringered. Messages from Zhong Chenle were there, coming one after the other, new and urgent.

CXZ: you there?? yo i heard your friends after practice talking shit about jisung CXZ: jaemin was saying something about old school traditions? whatever that mean. i dont have a good feeling about this CXZ: theyre looking for an empty locker now  CXZ: why im the only one panicking i see you reading my texts you: thank you. turn off the cameras please and go to the party x CXZ: 👍

You replied instantly, your fingers trembling as you hit send. A wave of silent fury surged through you, violent and hot, still your chest felt icy with a quiet rage that slowly took over you. Stay calm, breathe. They were really going to do it. They were going to touch him. After everything. After all the warnings. They had chosen to cross a line so deeply carved in you it might as well have been bone. Your ex friend group was dead set on testing you and daring to touch Jisung, and what was worse, you didn’t know where he was. A shaky breath left you like a sob, wondering all the possibilities, could they grab him before you? What if they already did? The thought cut deep, pure panic that sent you running through the door.

You did know where they were. 

The campus was deserted, obviously, as it was a Saturday night and everybody was in parties all around town, costumes and cheap liquor and a promise for a good Halloween eve. No witness could see the way you were walking like you owned the place, stepping into the corridors with your wheels clicking loudly in the silence, the darkness swallowing your black figure like a veil. The cameras weren’t running thanks to Chenle, you didn’t want any trace or proof of you or Jisung there, making sure there were blind spots everywhere. You never went to the locker room before or the sports building, feeding your nerves when it took you some minutes to finally reach the place, now stalking the corridors like you were the one chasing them. 

You stopped suddenly as if you had crashed into an invisible wall, shocked. Your eyes followed something on the floor, dark and gross, moving across the ground like a snake. It was a puddle coming from the girls' bathroom and extending down the hallway with a strong flow. Blood. You ran towards it, dodging the puddle of blood although the hem of your long dress caught some of it, heart threatening to leave your body. No, no, no. Please, they can’t hurt him.

The moment you pushed the bathroom’s door you thought you were actually about to die. The idea of seeing Jisung hurt like that, bloody and alone, was too much for your mind to handle, sending a chill down your spine. Tears filled your eyes, imploring whoever god was listening to you not to take Jisung away from you when you stepped into the bathroom. 

A scream threatened to leave your throat when you saw somebody on the floor, broken and spread in an awkward position. Her long, red hair floated on the floor like a doll who fell from a shelf, waiting for someone to pick her up. Her witch costume was drenched in blood but untouched, covering her delicate and stiff figure. Her neck was slided open, clean, a wound you never saw before and it made you tremble. The worst part was her mouth, wide opened and empty, her tongue laying next to her head like a forgotten piece.

‘’Oh my God,’’ you whispered, taking a breath. Relief filled your body and you leaned on the wall, huffing. ‘’It’s just you.’’ 

The mirrors in the bathroom were all broken, some parts on the floor or fallen on the sinks. But one was intact, the one behind Yeji. You read what was written on it, red letters that were dripping with blood that didn’t dry yet. Fresh. 

Silence suits you. 

You went to the main corridor, determined in your search of Jisung. A part of you knew that he was there, somewhere, but you couldn't hear anybody. When you turned a corner you spotted the door gym, half closed, like it was inviting you. Your principal plan was to find Jisung and get the hell out, but curiosity was a strong attraction that you couldn't control. You weren’t so much in a hurry now, feeling more cautious as you walked there, knowing that it was obvious that you weren’t alone in the building. Jaemin and the others could still be there. 

You entered the gym slowly, expecting something to jump out in front of you, but there was no noise or anyone. The place was too dark to see anyways. When you turned to leave a sudden noise stopped you in your tracks, a loud one. The scoreboard came to life out of nowhere like a game just began, music echoing the place and its red and green lights flashing the bodies of Donghyuck and Jeno hanging from the basketball hoops. Tied and beaten, blood pooling below each hoop, still wearing their hockey jerseys, now completely ruined and tainted. 

Their eyes were opened and frozen forever, like they couldn't still believe what came to them. Donghyuck’s head was slumped to the side, showing a huge hole in his head, part of it missed it. Jeno was different, just as broken but his face was carved, ugly cuts everywhere like they were a last thought, ruining his beauty. Both of them hang slowly, balanced by their own weights like forgotten puppets. 

You didn’t look back when you left, feeling the air grow cold and heavy, still not a trace from Jisung. You knew that the principal stage was what Jaemin most likely wanted to repeat and you went straight to it. The locker room wasn’t far from the gym, and surprisingly, it wasn’t immersed in darkness. 

The fluorescent light bulbs were on, humming a little with their annoying buzzing sound. The place was what you expected, wood branches and trophies behind glass, the coach office closed, a faint smell of sweat and the floor scraped from being walked on so many times, missing some pieces of paint.

‘’Jisung? Are you here?’’ You called softly, stepping more into the room. Your voice was too calm to compare to what was going on inside you. Fear and anxiety filled your veins, making you fidgety and nervous. You hated playing hide and seek when you were little. 

You started seeing the signs of what happened there. A branch was thrown, blood droplets started to become large stains that made a horrible trail towards a locker, like somebody was dragged there. The red, syrupy blood flowed like a river from the locker’s base, slow and haunting. Your whole body froze, heart stopping for a whole second when panic filled you so hard it gave you whiplash.

You reached out, trembling, not caring if your dress was caught in the pool of blood. You pulled at the locker trying to open the old metal, trying several times until the door gave way and suddenly opened. 

You blinked your tears and sniffed when you encountered the body inside it or well, what was left of him. Jaemin was… ruined. Broken in a way so brutal and wild it was difficult to know what actually killed him. His body was twisted and pushed into the locker in an unnatural way, blood everywhere. His throat was opened with a deep slice, face blue and violet, cut from maybe hard punches and jaw too wide, like it was yawning. It fell too low, broken and out of place. 

You swear, this little game was giving you a headache and a little heart attack every time you entered a room, stress and discomfort tugging at your body. 

Inside the locker were scratches and hand-shaped bloody marks, like he was trying to escape even if there was no way out. You stared at Jaemin’s dead body, turning your head when you heard a door opening slowly.

Your breath was caught when you saw someone coming from the coach office, standing not far from you and just looking at you. He was wearing the same outfit from the costume store, but now the delicate and old mask was tainted with blood everywhere, ruined. It was a shame, really. You didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe for you to run and scream, still like a statue waiting for you to make the first move. It felt like an invisible clock was ticking, or maybe it was just your heart fluttering. The stranger’s hand was gripping a knife, low but firm, shaking a little. 

Your eyes traced the killer’s figure slowly in silence, like a warm caress. A scoff left you and you shut the locker’s door, caging Jaemin there again. 

‘’You’re lucky I like you, because this was expensive dress.’’

The masked man tilted his head, cautious and unsure. He was still grabbing the big knife, dripping blood from its edge, twirling it on his palm like it was still alive and hungry for more, for another victim. You came closer, calm and steady, trying to show him how open you were, reaching surely. Still, you doubted a little, remembering how he didn’t like to be cornered, trying to give him space and don’t come too fast to him. You dared to cover his fist with your hand and your thumb brushed the skin of his wrist, smiling up at him softly. 

‘’If you kiss me right now, I might forgive you,’’ you whispered, your fingers tracing his mask and wiping away a red spot. ‘’I’m a little jealous, you know. You were chasing another girl while I was home getting pretty for you.’’

His chest trembled and you heard a little scoff, like he was laughing under his clown mask. He dropped the knife and grabbed at your waist with both hands, pressing you against him. It felt a little surprising, yet not quite doubtful, but his touch relaxed and turned more slow and deliberate. No hesitation, no doubt, touching you with a hint of possessiveness he dared to set free. His hands were warm against your bare back as he brushed his mask against your cheek, trying to catch your perfume.

‘’You were looking for me?’’ He asked, voice low and rasp, muffled by the mask he still was wearing.

You hummed. ‘’I’m always following you, Ji.’’

With a tentative move you lifted your hands, carefully taking off his mask and smiling when his bangs fell onto his eyes. The embrace was intimate, charged with tension and desire. You wrapped your arms around his neck, staring at him like he was your everything, so obsessively in love. Jisung smiled a little timid, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“Where’s the other one?” you asked, after double-checking the room number. You remembered clearly that room 16 had an extra inhabitant. 

The volunteer worker walking next to you stopped as well. “What?”

“The orange cat,” you clarified, remembering the sharp eyes of a cat hybrid glaring at you whenever you came too close to that room. “The one that hates people.”

“Chenle?” The volunteer seemed to know who you were talking about. “He doesn’t hate people! He’s just picky. Someone adopted him last week, actually,” she said with a sweet smile.

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, thinking about that one time he tried to scratch a loving family that wanted to approach him.

“I know,” the volunteer laughed at your incredulous expression. “We were all surprised! There was this woman who came here looking for a hybrid to keep her company, and she made it very clear she wanted to adopt a dog, but Chenle clung onto her and, after a few visits, she ended up taking him home.” 

“Ah…” you nodded awkwardly and glanced over at the lonely occupant of the room. His fluffy, dark ears were folded down, and his lips almost formed a pout as he sat on the floor, staring at the floor cheerlessly. “Is he sick?”

“Jisungie?” the volunteer asked, lowering her voice when she saw his ear twitch at the mention of his name. “He’s probably just sad,” she whispered. “It’s hard for him to get adopted. He’s not exactly what people expect of his breed…”

“Well, his ears are not as pointy, but other than that, he seems like a healthy cat hybrid to me…” You said, trying to defend him.

“Cat?” the volunteer echoed, surprised. “Oh… oh, no, Jisungie is a cricetulus barabensis.”

You stared back at her blankly before you finally admitted you had no idea what that was. “A what?”

“He’s a hamster hybrid,” she explained. “A Chinese striped hamster.”

“Then what is he doing in the feline zone?!”

“A few of our cats took a liking to him as soon as he arrived. They took care of him like he was their baby, so we let him stay here… but now that everyone in that group has been adopted, he’s been by himself. We tried to have him move to the rodent zone, but other rodents don’t get along with him…they find him…different.”

“...Why?”

“The same reason people don’t adopt him. When you think of a hamster, you picture someone small, chubby, and cuddly. He’s tall, awkward, and skittish. He’s not what hamster people are looking for, and neither does he match the description of an ideal companion for dog or cat people. Someone who came yesterday said he was not cute-”

“He’s cute!” you said without thinking. “Was that person blind? Were they even that pretty themselves? There’s nothing wrong with him! He’s adorable!” you ranted angrily. You were a softie inside. The type who watched compilations of people being nice to each other online and cried herself to sleep. Hearing about someone having their feelings hurt just because they didn’t fit the standard someone set for them made you want to either fight or sob uncontrollably. Maybe both. 

“I agree with you,” the volunteer said. “But we can’t change what potential owners want…”

“They have to be dumb not to want him! Who in their right mind wouldn’t want this cutie?!”

“...Do you want him?” she asked cautiously.

“Me?!” 

“We have known you for a while, so the background check would go smoothly and you could take him home in less than a week,” the excited volunteer explained. 

“I’m not here to adopt. You know that,” you replied curtly.

“Right,” she hesitated. “I just thought… Well, if you change your mind–”

“I won’t. I do my part, donating more than enough for you all to keep this place afloat.”

“Hybrids need more than money…” she mumbled. “They need someone to care for them.”

“And you are great at it!” you assured her with a pat on her shoulder.

“It’s not the same,” she shook her head sadly. “They need undivided attention and companionship–”

“And I can’t offer that,” you declared. “Not with the lifestyle I have. I don’t want an extra responsibility taking up my time.”

The volunteer’s sad eyes looked away from you and at the hybrid. You followed her gaze and saw Jisung’s dark eyes boring into yours, before he quickly looked away. Then, he stood up slowly and dragged his feet towards his bed, where he lay on his side, with his back turned to you.

“I didn’t mean to pressure you,” the volunteer said, guiding you away from the feline zone. “I just thought you liked Jisungie.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” you said quickly. “I just don’t want to adopt him.”

“That’s understandable,” she said, trying not to show her disappointment. 

 It bothered you. You felt like she was trying to make you feel guilty because you didn’t want to adopt. Not wanting to own a hybrid didn’t make you a bad person. You were giving them money, weren’t you? That already made you better than those people who didn’t care at all. 

Some people called you selfish for not wanting to form a family or have any type of companion. But was it really wrong to be selfish? You weren’t hurting anyone. You had worked really as an actress for years to build your current luxurious lifestyle. You wanted to enjoy it, have brunch with the girls, party until dawn with your friends, and take spontaneous trips to the beach. If you had a pet, you wouldn’t be able to do all that freely. 

You cringed at your own thoughts. You tried to train yourself to treat hybrids as equals, but you found yourself, once again, referring to them as pets. Maybe you weren’t making donations because you were a good person, but because you wanted to feel better about yourself.

You remembered the hybrid’s sad eyes when he looked at you. You wondered how many times he had been rejected. Judging by his behavior, it had been too many to count. 

You drank shot after shot and laughed at your friends' jokes at the club, but the image of the pitiful hybrid kept haunting you. 

“I’m not a bad person!” you yelled drunkenly for the fifth time that night.

“Shh!” Seungkwan hissed. “Do you want another scandal?”

“The last one wasn’t even my fault!” you huffed.

“We know, we know,” Seungkwan said dismissively, switching your shot for a glass of water. “The director from your last movie was an asshole. But you still have to be careful with what you say in public.”

“Why are you so worked up, by the way?” Vernon asked. “You never let people’s words get to you like this.”

“I don’t care about what the volunteer said… But why did he look at me like I stabbed him in the heart?!” you insisted.

“The volunteer?”

“No. Jisung!” you exclaimed, frustrated at your confused friends.

“Who’s that?”

“The hybrid!”

“If it bothers you that much, go back and adopt him,” Vernon said, drinking your shot.

Seungkwan glared at him. “Are you crazy? Look at her! Do you think she can take care of somebody else?”

Now you glared at Seungkwan. “I totally can.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Drink your water, girl,” Seungkwan said, pressing the glass against your lips.

You gulped the liquid down and turned to Vernon. “I totally can, right?” you repeated.

Vernon shrugged. “I see no reason why not.” 

Seungkwan shook his head. “You know you can’t get crazy drunk like this every week if this hybrid depends on you. What are you gonna do, leave him alone at home the entire time?”

“With food and TV,” you deadpanned, like it was enough.

“You’re just gonna keep him inside watching TV,” he paraphrased, unamused. 

“He could party with us,” Vernon offered.

You nodded and looked at Seungkwan, looking for approval. 

“You’ll adopt a hybrid and get him drunk so that you can feel better about yourself?”  

“You’re making it sound like I would be a terrible owner,” you scoffed. You waited for him to contradict you, but he silently took a sip of his cocktail. “Seungkwan!”

“Y/N. A hybrid is a responsibility for life. And you are terrified of commitment.” 

“I’m not terrified! I just don’t want to commit!”

“Then why are you talking about adopting a whole hybrid?!”

“I just want you to say I can do it!” 

“You can’t!

“Vernon said I can!”

“Vernon!” Seungkwan scolded the handsome man who, once again, shrugged and stole a sip of his cocktail. 

“I’m adopting him,” you declared, standing up, but the world immediately started spinning. Vernon caught you right before you fell, and with Seungkwan’s help, he carried you out of the club. “Gonna… gonna adopt Jisungie….,” you babbled. 

“You won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow, Y/N,” Seungkwan sighed.

But Seungkwan was so wrong. 

When you woke up after a few hours, your first thought was Jisung. You got up, wore something comfortable, took an aspirin, and got in your car with a clear destination: the hybrid shelter (with a short but necessary stop to get coffee). 

Your heart was beating fast by the time you reached the shelter. You took a deep breath in and opened the door, quickly spotting the same volunteer you had talked to the day before. 

“I want Jisung,” you declared.

The woman almost dropped the box she was carrying when she saw your disheveled appearance. She scanned you before putting the box down and approaching you slowly.

“A-are you okay?” she asked.

“You said there was no need for a background check, right?”

“Uh…I said it could be faster…”

“So I get to take him home today.”

“Today?!”

“Is he awake?” you asked agitatedly, walking towards the feline zone where you knew he was mistakenly staying.

The volunteer quickly caught up and stood in front of you, making you stop. “What are you doing?! You can’t just take him!”

Her outraged yelp worsened the sharp pain in your head, so you massaged your temple, irritated. “You wanted to give him to me yesterday,” you reminded her.

“And you refused!”

“I changed my mind,” you said simply, walking past the stressed woman, but you barely took a step before she grabbed your forearm. You turned around, feeling insulted by her behavior. “WHAT?!”

She glared at you defiantly. “If you take him, you can’t change your mind. You must treat Jisung like family, not a trophy to display your altruism.” 

That stung. “I…I know that…”

“Then please go home and come back only when you’re absolutely sure you can do this,” she demanded firmly. “And make sure you’re sober.”

You sighed with relief when you got back home. Now that you were sobering up, the idea of adopting a hybrid seemed as ridiculous as Seungkwan pointed out. You dodged a bullet thanks to that annoying volunteer. 

It was better to forget about Jisung.

And his fluffy ears.

…And his sad eyes.

…And the way he flinched when you said you didn’t want him.

But you just couldn’t stop thinking about him. After two weeks, you found yourself filling out the necessary paperwork to register him under your care. The annoying volunteer was being nice to you this time, which led you to think that previously she was being cautious to ensure the safety of the hybrids. 

When Jisung came to the reception area, carrying only a backpack with his belongings, he had the look of a lost child. He stole glances at you before looking at the floor nervously, and his hands were visibly shaking.

He also kept looking at the volunteer to confirm that this was indeed happening, and when she gave him a thumbs up, his eyes widened a little before squinting to accompany his timid smile. He mentally repeated your name a few times when you officially introduced yourself to him, and then he nodded enthusiastically at everything you said.

You started to get nervous when you noticed he hadn’t said a single word while you went on about the room you had prepared for him, the phone you had bought him, and how you hoped you two would get along.

“He’s just overwhelmed,” the volunteer quickly assured, noticing your concern. ”Give him time and he’ll be yapping non-stop…” she trailed off when she caught sight of a familiar face entering the shelter. “Haechan, again?!”

A cat hybrid with beautiful caramel skin sighed and dropped his backpack on the floor. “Stop acting surprised. You keep giving me away to shitty people and then blame it on me when they send me back.”

“Where’s your owner? I’ll talk to her and maybe–” the stressed volunteer walked to the door to solve the problem.

“She’s not my owner anymore. Bitch kicked me out of the car and drove away. I’m not going back to her.”

She groaned. “Haechan… what do I do with you?”

“How about a welcome hug? Didn’t you miss me?” he pouted, opening his arms as an invitation.

“I did not,” she grumbled.

“Yeah… yeah, you did,” he affirmed with a sultry tone you doubted was appropriate for the workplace, and when his gaze lingered on her body for a little too long, you decided to clear your throat in an attempt to speed up Jisung’s adoption process.

Both the volunteer and Haechan jumped and looked at you. Haechan was the first to speak.

“No way! Our Jisungie finally got picked?” the cat hybrid asked cheerfully.

“Hi, I’m Y/N!” you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. “Are you Jisung’s friend?”

“Mhmm, you can call me Haechan. Hopefully, you won’t send him back like they did to me.”

“NO!” you exclaimed, scandalized. “I would never–”

“Yeah, you’re right…” he purred, patting the hamster hybrid’s back. “You won’t want to send him back when you see what he’s packing.”

Jisung’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and he clumsily covered his crotch with his hands despite being fully dressed.

“HAECHAN!” the poor volunteer shrieked, pushing the mischievous cat towards the feline area. “I’m so sorry about him. Just ignore him! You’re all set! A staff member will visit you after a few weeks for the first evaluation. Good luck!” she said, disappearing into the corridor with Haechan.

Jisung was silent on the ride home, and he remained quiet as you gave him a tour of the penthouse. When you finally heard his voice, it wasn’t what you expected.

“Master…” a deep voice suddenly called when you were leaving him to unpack his stuff in his room.

You turned around, speechless. 

That was his voice?

“You haven’t told me the rules, master,” he pointed out. This time, you saw his lips move as the words left his mouth, which helped your brain accept that such a soothing voice came from this cute creature.

“T-the rules?” you echoed confusedly.

“Yes, master. Please tell me what I can and can’t do in your house.”

“Jisung, this is your house too. Just make yourself comfortable.”

He visibly malfunctioned. It felt like a trap, but he wouldn’t dare question your instructions.

“Okay. Thank you, master.”

“And don’t call me that,” you requested. “Just call me by my name.”

He nodded. “Master Y/N.”

“No…I mean– just call me Y/N.”

His mouth opened and closed, and then he shook his head.

“No?” you asked. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

He bit his lip and looked at you nervously.

“Okay,” you sighed with defeat. “Just call me whatever is easier for you.”

“Thank you, master,” he whispered.

It may have been easier for him to call you by that title. But for you, it was mortifying when you took him shopping and he said it out loud in front of other people. Other than that, Jisung was an incredibly well-behaved hybrid. He always did as he was told, obediently accompanied you whenever you took him out to run errands, thankfully accepted every luxurious item you bought for him, and patiently waited for you at home when you went out by yourself. 

And the best part was that you could continue living your life the way you liked. You still went out to parties until late at night, and Jisung didn’t seem to mind. He simply stayed at home, watching TV like you told him he could and asking you about your day as soon as you arrived. What you didn’t notice was his growing anxiety, the longer it took you to come back to him. 

But how would you notice? He never said anything.

One night, you came back very late, taking off your shoes at the entrance and trying to find your way to your room in the darkness.

“Master,” his deep voice called out of nowhere, causing you to yelp in shock.

“Jesus–fuck, Jisung!” you exclaimed when you saw him standing in the corridor. “What are you doing awake?”

“I’m sorry– I…I have a question…” he mumbled.

“A question? This late?” 

“Uh…I can wait until the morning…”

“No, no…” You sighed. “It’s fine. What is it?”

“I was uh…I was wondering if it would be okay for me to eat something…”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?” 

His stomach growled loudly, and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to grab anything without permission, so…”

That’s when you realized that in the couple of weeks Jisung had lived with you, you had always given him clear indications whenever it was time to eat.

‘Dinner’s in the microwave’, ‘Shall we have pizza?’, ‘Breakfast ready!’, ‘You can heat up some soup if you want’, among other verbal confirmations that it was okay for him to eat something, were always there, but he didn’t hear anything like that today. You had left early in the morning, spent the day outside, and returned past midnight. 

“Jisung, have you eaten anything at all today?” you asked.

“I wasn’t sure what was okay–”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the kitchen. “I told you this is your house! You can use everything in it, and you can eat whatever you want!” 

He mumbled a weak ‘Sorry’ as you took out a package of instant ramyun from the shelf and started preparing it. 

“I want you to eat even if I’m not here. Understood?” you said once you were both at the table, and he started eating. “You can cook too, if you want. Do you know how to cook?”

He shook his head.

So you decided to buy more frozen meals that he could heat up when you’re not around.

Another week went by uneventfully. A staff member from the shelter showed up to check on Jisung and decided you were doing a good job since he was clean, well-fed, and had his own spacious room. Jisung tried his best not to cause any trouble. Even if that meant he didn’t do anything all day.  But he felt uneasy…

Each passing day, he saw you less, and he was starting to think that maybe… you didn’t like him.

He tried waking up earlier in the morning to spend more time with you, but as soon as you got out of bed, you dressed up and left to who knows where. So he tried staying up until very late instead, but as soon as you arrived, you went to bed. He didn’t want to be ungrateful; after all, you had given him a home. 

…But he felt even more lonely than when he was at the shelter. 

“How are things with your human?” Chenle asked while videocalling.

“Uh… she’s nice,” he mumbled.

“Nice or… nice?” Chenle stressed the last word with a teasing smile.

Jisung’s face turned red. “It’s not like that…”

“Oh…” Chenle’s smirk dropped. “Haechan said she was your type…” 

“WHA–?” Jisung cried out and then covered his mouth, looking around and then remembering he was–once again– alone. “What does he even know about my type?!”

“Jisung, we raised you,” Chenle deadpanned.

“We’re almost the same age!” he refuted, offended.

“But we’ve known you for a long time. He said he saw your ears twitch at the sound of her voice.”

“That’s…! I was just happy to be adopted…” he replied.

“Okay, maybe he got the wrong idea,” Chenle conceded. “Relationships between hybrids and humans aren’t all the same.”

That’s when Jisung got curious. “What about your owner?”

“Hm? What about her?” Chenle asked nonchalantly. 

“Is she…nice like that?” he asked, lowering his voice at what he thought was a scandalous question.

But Chenle’s eyes lit up, and the corners of his lips curled. “She’s very nice.”

Jisung gasped. 

“D-do you have that type of relationship with her?!”

“No, not yet,” Chenle sighed. “I’m working on it, but she acts more like a mouse than you… she gets all jumpy and shy when I get too close…” he added, chuckling.

“You’re going to scare her,” Jisung warned him.

“Nah, she just follows this dumb moral code that makes her think it would be wrong to let me fuck her stupid,” Chenle shrugged.

Jisung blushed, but not only because of his friend’s obscene choice of words. For some reason, his brain decided to create a visual representation of himself fucking you stupid. A tiny, surprised moan escaped his mouth, and Chenle heard it.

“Thinking about something naughty?” he teased.

“N-no!”

“Are you thinking about your owner?”

“I… our relationship is not like that!” he whined.

“But do you want it to be?”

“No– I just… want to be friends...”

“Okay…” Chenle said. “Then what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem.”

Chenle raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Jisung.”

“...Fine, I… I think she may not… like me very much…” the hamster hybrid finally admitted.

“Why would you think that?”

“We never do anything together… She’s never home, and when she is, she goes straight to bed… I don’t know, she may be avoiding me…”

Chenle hummed, processing this information. “I don’t think she’s avoiding you, Jisung. If she didn’t like you, she could just return you, like they did to Haechan.”

Jisung gulped. Going back to the shelter was the worst that could happen to an adopted hybrid. He felt bad for Haechan.

“Maybe she’s actually busy,” Chenle continued. “What does she do for a living?” 

“Hm… she’s an actress… Have you heard about Y/N L/N?”

“WHAT? YOU WERE ADOPTED BY Y/N L/N?!”

“Uh…yeah…”

“First of all: wow. But secondly, and more importantly, that means she is busy, Jisung. Celebrities have a lot going on.”

Jisung shrugged. “I guess…”

“And I bet she’s tired when she gets home too. Why don’t you do something to help her relax when she gets home? Maybe that would help you two become closer.”

Jisung nodded slowly, but he couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. “...Like what?”

The cat hybrid stared back at him, blinking slowly. “That’s up to you. What would you like to do for her?”

Jisung thought hard about it all day until he eventually came up with something he thought was a good idea.

…And that’s how you came home to your kitchen being a mess, with your hybrid looking like he had committed a crime. 

“Y-you’re home early…” he stuttered, avoiding your questioning eyes.

“Were you hungry?” you asked with a small laugh. “What were you trying to make?”

“Lasagna…” he replied, embarrassed. His sauce-covered clothes confirmed that cooking wasn’t one of his talents. “Saw it on tiktok.”

“You could have just ordered some, or text me to buy some for you on my way back,” you said, shaking your head and starting to clean the kitchen.

“I, uh… It was for you…” He said, barely above a whisper.

“Huh?” You looked at him, surprised. “For me?”

He shrugged, but then you noticed something weird. He kept one of his hands behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” you asked, teasingly.

“Nothing,” he said, but he took a step back.

“I promise I won’t laugh, Jisungie!” you said, thinking he was hiding the results of his cooking attempt. You took a few steps towards him until he was cornered against the counter. “Show me, come on!”

“It’s nothing!” he insisted, trying to escape, but you reached for his hidden hand, and he winced in pain.

“Jisung?” you asked worriedly, finally managing to take a look at his reddened hand. “What happened to your hand?”

He bit his lip, still looking anywhere except your eyes.

“Did you burn yourself?!” you insisted.

He shrugged, but his cheeks were red and his eyes were glossy. He wanted you to see he could be dependable, but he ended up making a fool of himself. Could things get any more embarrassing?

“Why didn’t you call me?! I gave you a phone for a reason!” 

“It wasn’t an emergency,” he mumbled.

“What?!”

“You said to call you in case of an emergency.”

“Burning your hand is not an emergency to you?!” you asked.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said, trying to pull his hand away with a humiliated sigh, but your grip remained strong.

“Inconve–What are you even talking about?” you asked. “Jisungie, I’m supposed to take care of you!”

“Yeah, since I’m just a useless pet…” he spat, breaking free from your grasp and walking away.

“What did you say?!” you asked incredulously.

“Nothing. Just leave me alone, ok?”

You saw red. This wasn’t like him at all. He had never talked like that before.

 So you followed him.

“Don’t you walk away from me! Where is this attitude coming from?”

“I don’t get it,” he yelled back, ignoring your order and walking towards his room. “If you don’t like me, why did you adopt me?”

You gasped. “What’s gotten into you today? Of course I like you!”

He stopped right before his bedroom door, turning around and glaring at you. “Yeah? Is that why you’re never home since I started living here?”

“I’ve always been like that! Even before you got here! I have things to do!”

“And I have nothing to do!” he exclaimed. “I stay home all day, waiting for you like an idiot.”

“You can do anything you want, Jisung,” you repeated the words you had told him so many times before. “You don’t need me here to have fun.”

“I don’t want to be alone!” he finally admitted. “I–... I hate it,” he added softly.

Despite his quiet voice, the words landed like a dropped plate. Silence followed the unexpected confession.

And then, he sniffed.

It started as a small broken sound, but it soon escalated into sobs that let out the sour feeling he had been repressing for so long.

“Oh…” you mumbled, astonished. He always said everything was fine… This was the first time you heard him voice his feelings so strongly. “Jisung, I– I’m sorry…” You cooed, pulling him into a hesitant hug, praying it didn’t make him feel more uneasy. Thankfully, he welcomed your touch, and his arms immediately pulled you closer. You had no idea how much he needed physical touch right now. How much he craved being close to you, the person whom he had hoped would be his new family.

Still clinging to each other, you slowly sank to the floor,  as he cried loudly on your shoulder. 

“I w-wanted to do…something f-for you,” he managed to say between hiccups. “But y-you already have… you have everything you want and I– I’m j-just here… dumb and useless and u-ugly–”

“NO!” you refuted, pulling away and holding his face with your palms. “You are none of those things, Jisung. You are smart, loving, and beautiful. Do you hear me?

His reddened, sad eyes avoided yours. “You’re just saying that…”

“I’m not! I’m sorry I made you feel like this, Jisung. I’m just… too used to being alone. I… don’t know how to live with someone. But I like you. I really do.”

He sniffed, and his rounded ears twitched. “Really?”

God, he was adorable.

“Really,” you insisted, and before you could stop yourself, you kissed his forehead softly. “Now, let’s go to the hospital,” you said, smiling and pulling his arm to guide him to the front door.

Jisung thought going to the hospital was a great idea, but not because of his hand. His heart was doing weird flips in his chest, and he felt his face burning after your lips touched his skin. There was surely something wrong with him. 

Time blurred since that moment. He followed you without hesitation and let you take him to the hospital. Then he heard you explain everything to the doctor before he could say a word. He looked at you in awe as you took care of all the paperwork, paid the bill, and drove him home. He then waited obediently for you to cook a meal for him, shaking his leg excitedly and replaying the memory of the loving kiss in his head again and again. It felt so tender, and he just knew you weren’t faking it.

‘She cares,’ he thought. ‘She likes me at least a little bit.’

“Is it good?” you asked as he devoured the stew.

For the first time, you heard him giggle. The gentle sound escaped his mouth before he cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you,” he said, trying to act normal, but his eyes squinted slightly, the corners crinkling as he fought back a smile. 

It was contagious. Seeing his efforts to keep a straight face made you break into a wide grin.  

You reached out and ruffled his hair, laughing at how happy he looked despite his injured hand.

“What you said earlier…” You spoke carefully, trying not to ruin the moment. “About hating to be alone…”

His smile instantly dropped. “Sorry about that…I was just upset…”

“Did you mean it?”

“I know you like your independence.”

“But you don’t,” you guessed.

“I’ll get used to it,” he assured you quickly.

“But you don’t like it,” you insisted.

He licked his lips nervously and hesitated before nodding. “I don’t like it…”

“Good to know,” you sighed, much to his surprise. “I want to know these things. You never tell me what you like or don't like.”

“I didn’t want to impose,” he mumbled.

“You’re not imposing. It’s normal for two people living together to know things about each other. I have been waiting for you to open up.”

He blinked. “Open up?”

“Yeah, I want you to talk to me.”

His nose wrinkled, and he looked at you, completely lost as to what he could say.

“Let’s start with something simple. What do you do in your free time?”

“My free time?” he echoed blankly.

“Yeah, what do you do all day in this place?”

“I…I wait for you?” he replied.

“...And do what?”

“Uh…I watch TV.”

You resisted the urge to question whether that was really all he did or how he could watch TV all day. “Do you like watching TV?” you asked instead.

“Yeah, it’s…it’s okay…”

“But it could get boring,” you tried to reason. “Doing the same thing every day, I mean…”

He bit his lip. He wasn’t denying it.

“How about doing something outside? Do you like sports?” you offered.

“... I like soccer,” he admitted.

“Let’s find you a team to play with, then.”

“Really?” he asked with an unlikely high-pitched tone.

“Yeah! I’ll ask some friends if they could recommend–”

“Chenle–!” Jisung exclaimed excitedly, before regulating his voice to a calmer tone. “M-my friend from the shelter… he– he goes to this sports club and he said it’s fun and– and a lot of his teammates are hybrids and–” he rambled excitedly until a sudden thought crossed his mind and his ears flattened. “But he pays for a membership…”

“Yeah, all sports clubs require a membership,” you agreed. “I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh, no I– I don’t really need–” he stuttered, feeling guilty for suggesting something that would be a waste of your hard-earned money.

“But you want it.” 

His body tensed, and his gaze lowered. “It’s fine.”

But you weren’t having any of that. “Ask your friend for the club’s name. You’re going next week.”

His jaw dropped, and then he forced it shut, shaking his head. “No, master, I–...” he sighed. “I’m–... you don’t have to spoil me like that…”

You snorted, finally understanding why he kept choosing the cheapest stuff at the store.

“Jisungie,” you called his name gently. “I’m rich. I have money. I want to spoil you,” you clarified. 

He gulped. You wanted to spoil him? Fuck, that sounded so good coming out of your mouth.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice accidentally sounding deeper, raspier.

Unaware of the sudden shift in the air, you kept talking, thinking you were still talking about money.

“Of course, Jisung! I want to give you the best life you could ever have. Just tell me what you want,” you offered, reaching for his unwounded hand across the table.

“What I want…” he echoed absentmindedly, observing the way your thumb caressed the back of his hand. His brain was picturing exactly what he wanted from you, and Chenle had been so right about it. Seems like he didn’t want to be just friends after all…

You nodded. “I’ll give you anything you want,” you confirmed.

He exhaled a shaky ‘Oh…’. 

Now he was hyper-aware of your touch.

Stillness bloomed in the wake of his not-so-pure thoughts.

“Wanna try right now?” you asked suddenly.

“What?!” he shrieked. 

“Come on!” you giggled. “Tell me one thing that you want.”

He looked from your touching hands to your curious face, mulling it over cautiously. If he told you what he wanted, it would change everything. So he didn’t say anything.

“We can start with something small,” you suggested, sensing his uncertainty.

Small?

For him, everything that came from you was a big deal.

A kiss…

One like the one you gave him earlier.

Or maybe he could give you one instead. A loving kiss on your temple, or your cheek…

Would you let him kiss your lips?

He pushed those thoughts away. The last thing he wanted was you sending him back to the shelter because he crossed the line.

“Y-you are an actress, right?” he asked instead.

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “I’ve been acting since I was 7.”

“Can we…” he trailed off nervously. “W-watch one of your movies, or something? I mean… a movie you’re in…”

You were expecting him to ask for something you could buy, but this was a good start if you wanted him to be comfortable asking you for things in the future.

“Sure!” you nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Do you wanna watch it right now?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, not wanting to say goodnight and part from you just yet. 

You gently squeezed his hand before telling him to google a list of your movies and choose one while you made popcorn.

When the movie started, he sat in the opposite corner of the sofa, but as the story progressed and you both became more absorbed in the plot, he moved closer. He touched your arm clumsily, keeping the touch light enough to play it as an accident if you didn’t like it. Instead of questioning him or pushing him away, you opened your arms as an invitation to come even closer. He held his breath as he hesitantly scooted over, and he melted when one of your hands landed on his fluffy hair and scratched his ear carefully.

“Hmm…” he purred, leaning into your touch.

“Good?” you asked sleepily, with your eyes glued to the screen.

“Good,” he whispered, clinging onto you, resting his head on your shoulder, and letting out pleased little sounds.

“Should we do this every week?” you offered.

“Mhmm…”

That was the beginning of you and Jisung’s first routine as ‘roommates’, but more were soon to come. Now, having breakfast together was sacred; Jisung learned to make pancakes and other simple recipes, and he woke up excited to make something to eat together. You always found yourself waking up to the smell of coffee and the soothing view of your hybrid preparing breakfast and humming to little tunes. 

He was also getting more comfortable asking for things… and bolder with his words.

‘Is it okay if I decorate my room?’

‘May I go with you?’

‘Would it be too much if I ask for a laptop?’

‘Can some friends come over?’

‘I want to take singing lessons.’

‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’

“What?” you asked while you stood at the doorframe of your bedroom.

“Uh…I asked if… I could sleep w-with you…” stuttered your hybrid, having knocked on your bedroom door late at night.

You looked from him to your king-sized bed, confused. “You want to sleep here?”

He barely nodded, losing his confidence at your hesitation. “T-the neighbors are having a party and… and I hear everything from my window so I c-can-t… It’s kinda hard to sleep…uh… sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up, I… I’m gonna g-go…”

“Come in,” you murmured.

“What?”

Instead of replying, you opened the door wider as a silent invitation. Jisung’s pulse accelerated as he watched you walk towards your bed and lie down.

“You coming?” you asked when he didn’t move.

Your sleepy voice shouldn’t have made his heart jump like that. As he lay down on the opposite side of the bed, he began to question whether this had been a good idea. Your pillow smelled like your shampoo and he could feel the warmth emanating from your body. And to make things work, his anxiety decided to act up, making him tremble slightly.

“Are you cold, Jisungie?” you asked with a yawn.

“Y-yeah,” he lied. He wasn’t going to admit that the real reason he was shaking was that being in the same bed as you was making him spiral.

“Hmm… come here,” you mumbled, opening your arms just like you did to cuddle when you watched movies together.

Yes, this was no different than watching a movie with you. Just because now you were on a bed, he didn’t need to be this nervous, Jisung told himself as he moved closer. As usual, all tension left his body once he was hugging you. He let out something between a sigh and a moan.

“Thank you…” he breathed out, pulling you closer and impulsively kissing your cheek.

You froze, and you felt his face heat up through the fabric of your pajamas as he hid his face in your chest.

“G-good night!” he said quickly, wondering how believable it would be if he pretended to be snoring right at that moment.

But instead of being mad, you chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “Good night, Jisungie,” you murmured.

He fought the urge to kick his feet like a happy teenage girl with a crush and replayed the sweet interaction in his head until he fell asleep.

One thing about Jisung was that he was a fast learner, but that also meant that if you permitted him to do something once, he assumed it was okay to do it anytime. So he ended up sleeping in your bed so often it became the norm.

He was also more touchy. He caressed your hands and arms absentmindedly whenever you were hanging out, and he had developed the cute habit of kissing your cheek every night before going to sleep (although you could feel his lips trembling as they touched your skin).

You were so proud of how his timid requests became assertive. Now he sounded confident whenever he wanted something because he just knew you would always say yes.

The first time you regretted teaching him how to feel so empowered happened during one of your weekly movie nights.

“I look so dumb!” you whined, looking at yourself playing the role of a sexy spy.

“You look good! Stop saying that!” Jisung laughed, resting his head on your shoulder and hugging you tighter against his chest, between his sprawled legs. This was a cuddling position you naturally adopted when watching movies lately.

“I hated this movie! I never watched it after I finished filming it last year…”

“Why did you hate it so much?” he asked.

“Because it makes no sense! Why would I wear high heels and a tight dress to run and jump out of buildings?!”

He giggled. “But you look amazing,” he murmured sleepily.

You felt your skin warm up a little.

…And this wasn’t the first time.

Now that Jisung was more confident, he found it easier to compliment you when you least expected it. Each compliment made you feel a little hot and bothered, especially when he said them with that voice.

He had never done anything remotely sexual in your presence…

So why were you thinking about Jisung like that?

Was it because of that time he came out of his room shirtless, asking if you had seen his favorite hoodie, and you stared for too long?

Or maybe that one time you scratched his nape and he straight out moaned and asked for more, making you accidentally picture him in a totally different scenario?

Or any other time you kind of perceived him as attractive?

Jisung.

Attractive.

Oh god… 

You were attracted to your hybrid.

You were still coming to terms with that realization when you heard a moan–your own moan–coming from the screen.

Oh, no…

No, no, no…

You completely forgot about that scene.

“Shit. Let’s watch something else–” you quickly suggested, trying to stand up to reach for the remote, but Jisung’s arms kept you in place. You looked back as much as you could with the limited movement he allowed you, and you saw his dark eyes looking past you, glued to the lewd scene on the screen. “Jisung, nooo! Don’t look!” you begged, trying to cover his eyes with your hands.

“Stop,” he replied curtly, grabbing your wrists and holding them against your chest with one big hand, while his other arm kept circling your waist. “You said we can watch whatever I want. I want to watch this one.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

His agitated breathing was hot next to your ear, while he kept you still with a gentle yet firm grip and watched you fake pleasure for the camera.

“Wow…” he whispered when your character stepped out of the ridiculously uncomfortable dress to reveal a set of black lingerie. 

You had to look away when you saw yourself crawl on top of the middle-aged actor who played the detective. Jisung gulped.

You knew what was coming: An unnecessarily long scene full of close-ups of your tits bouncing with exaggerated screams to appeal to the male audience.

You let out a small whimper. “This is so embarrassing…” you mumbled, defeated.

“Shh. I told you you look good,” Jisung cooed, kissing your shoulder (something he had never done before) to comfort you. “Fuck…”

And that was the first time he ever cursed in front of you. He used to mind his actions and words around you, looking for your approval. But now, after months living together and you giving him everything he asked for and praising him all the time… he was letting loose.

“Oh…” he moaned quietly when you shifted awkwardly and something poked your lower back. He gulped before moving his own hips subtly, but too skillfully to be an accident.

“J-jisung!” you yelped when you finally snapped out of it and twisted your body around with difficulty to look at him. “Wait– No!”

“...No?” he repeated, the word sounding foreign coming from your lips. Since he first became part of your life, you had always told him there were no rules he needed to worry about. You never got mad at him when he accidentally broke something or made a mess in the kitchen. Neither did you deny him any of his requests. You had even gone as far as to promise him that you would give him anything he wanted.

Anything.

One time, he did some research on the most ridiculously costly PC equipment to exist and asked you to buy it for him. Hell, he didn’t even want it, but he wanted to see if you would follow through. You did. No questions asked. You just handed him your credit card and said ‘Sure’ like it was nothing.

And it wasn’t only about money. Whenever he had asked for other things, such as holding hands, cuddling, and napping together, you said yes every time.

Why would you say no to him now? You always let him do whatever he wanted, so what was wrong? He thought you two had a little something going on, even if none of you dared to say it. He had seen your ears turn red whenever he told you you were pretty. He knew you checked him out whenever he walked around with little clothes… that’s why he did it (Haechan’s idea).

He heard your voice crack when you told him to get dressed… and there was that time he was so sure you smelled aroused when he let you feel up the lean muscles he had been working out for.

Was he wrong?

Had he crossed the line?

His eyes went from lidded and dreamy to wide and panicked. 

“I mean–” you tried to calm yourself and him down when you saw his expression. “Okay, hold on. Let’s clarify: what do you want exactly?”

He bit his lip and looked down, just like he did when he had first arrived at your home and didn’t trust you enough to speak up.

“I won’t be mad,” you assured him. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Have I ever been mad at you?”

He shook his head slowly.

“See? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Now tell me, what do you want?”

For a few seconds, he was quiet, letting the lewd sounds of the movie fill the room.

 Then, he moved his hips only a little, just enough to chaff against your ass. Despite the lack of force, the gesture was clear.

“This,” he mumbled, thrusting again, this time a little harder, to make his point. “... No?” he asked again, like a kid who was being denied a cookie.

You opened your mouth in shock, but no words came out. What were you supposed to say when your cute hybrid, whom you had been secretly checking out, politely asked to hump you while watching a soft porno of you?

…To be fair, it was not his fault that he got hard. The movie was intended for a male audience, and Jisung was, after all, a man. It was your fault for letting him watch it.

If he was turned on because of you… It was only logical to help him feel better, right?

You were just taking responsibility for your mistake.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

It was easier than admitting you were doing it because you finally got some non-platonic physical touch from the man who had been making you feel flustered for weeks.

Instead of replying, you moved, pressing your ass against his hardened shaft and holding in a whimper at how hot it felt.

He gasped, looking down to see the point where thin layers of fabric stopped his cock from entering you.

“S-so… yes?” he asked hopefully. “Master, is that a yes?”

Of course. Your well-behaved hybrid always needed verbal confirmation to be sure.

“Yes,” you whispered. “But only this, ok?”

He sighed, and his hands reached for your hips. He looked back at the screen and kept rutting lazily. “T-thank you… Thank you, master…”

You pressed your thighs together and shut your eyes closed, embarrassed at the entire situation. His tiny gasps were making you so wet you worried you would leave a stain on the sofa. You took a deep breath in. All you had to do was stay still and wait for him to finish… by the way his hips stuttered, you knew it wouldn’t take him long.

“There’s one thing I find stupid about this movie,” he suddenly said, making your heart drop. You weren’t ready for him to tell you how ridiculous you looked now. Thankfully, he said: “That guy. He shouldn’t be part of the scene… he ruins the whole mood.”

You opened your eyes and stared at the still-going sex scene. There it was: a quick cut of your coworker grunting, covered in oil that was supposed to imitate sweat. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“How was I supposed to do that scene then?” you asked. “Should I have just bounced on an empty bed?”

He laughed too. It was the first time you two ever spoke about something like sex…and it was surprisingly chill, if you ignored his dick still humping your ass.

“Honestly? That would have been better,” he snickered, and then he groaned when the camera panned on the man again. “Gross, I don’t wanna see the sweaty dude. Can the camera go back to you?” he whined.

“Then don’t look?” you offered, suddenly feeling playful. “The actress is right here with you. You don’t have to watch the screen to see me.”

The sudden realization hit him. 

“Yeah…” he sighed, and he finally stopped watching the dumb movie to rest his forehead on your shoulder. “You’re right here…”

Your warm body against his, and your shampoo-scented hair tickling his cheek, made him feel at home. You were his home.

If he could feel just a little bit more, it would be perfect, he told himself, pausing his movements.

“Jisung?” you asked, trying to control your ragged breathing. You were enjoying yourself a little too much and were disappointed that he stopped… but the disappointment was replaced with a surprised yelp when you felt skin against skin, hot, hard, and wet. His member slid under your shirt. “Oh my god…” you breathed out. “Is that…?”

He hummed, nosing your neck and placing a chaste kiss on it before resuming his swift movements, letting you feel his cock on the bare skin of your lower back. “Master… this is okay too, right? It f-feels amazing…”

How could you say no when he asked like that? When he told you it felt that good? When he was spreading precum on your skin? When he was moaning and calling you ‘master’ with that insanely raspy voice?

“It’s...okay,” you panted and a little moan escaped you, which didn’t go past him.

“I like that sound…” he admitted, his thrusts still slow but sensual.  “Can I hear it again?”

“Jisung…” you whined instead, covering your face with your palms, mortified. 

“Please, master…” he begged next to your ear. “Please,” he repeated, and then he nibbled on your earlobe, successfully making you release something between a gasp and a moan. He couldn’t stop himself; he let out a small “Ah…!” and spilled on your back, hugging you tightly as his cock twitched.

He sighed and his hands caressed your hips in soothing circles… and then wandered to the hem of your shorts. Your breath got caught in your throat…

And your phone rang.

You jumped up and ran to the shelf where you had left it.

“Hello?” you answered nervously.

“Hey, girl. You busy? Sorry, I just really need your help…” said Vernon’s tipsy voice.

“Uh…” you hesitated, looking back at the disheveled appearance of your hybrid, with rosy cheeks, unfocused eyes, legs spread wide open exposing his…“Nope. Not busy at all. What’s up?”

“Thank god. Hoshi’s wasted, like… dancing on top of the table type of wasted and we can’t convince him to leave with us. But maybe you could? You know how every time he sees you he goes ‘Is this famous actress Y/N L/N?’ and follows you around like a puppy?”

You snorted. “Let me get my keys and I’ll pick you guys up.”

“Oh, no, I was thinking you could just talk to him on the phone. I know you’re having roomie time with Jisung tonight…” 

“NO! I mean… it’s totally fine, really. I’ll pick you up!” you insisted, and then turned to Jisung. “J-jisungie, I have to go out for a bit. You don’t need to wait up for me, okay?” you told him, using your acting skills to mask your awkwardness. 

“Uh… okay…?” he replied, like he was just waking up from a dream.

You did not convince Hoshi to go home. You didn’t even try. Instead, you joined the party, much to Seungkwan’s frustration, and you tried to make it last as long as you could so that you didn’t have to face Jisung.

You felt guilty when you entered your room at 5 A. M. and saw him hugging your pillow.

“Master…?” He mumbled sleepily when he noticed you, his arms reaching out for you. “You’re back. Did you have fun?”

“Mhm,” you nodded nervously and let him cuddle you, hoping he couldn’t hear your heartbeat.

“Missed you,” he whispered.

“Me too…” You admitted. 

That’s what you said, but then why did you start acting so distant after that? Jisung couldn’t understand: you had kissed his cheek, held his hand, cuddled and even let him hump you, but now you had started spending more time outside, coming home late (and sometimes not coming home at all), and sitting as far away from him as possible when you watched your weekly movie.

…Oh god…

Had he crossed the line that night??

You said it was okay.

You gave him permission.

You moaned.

What did he do wrong?

Was it because you didn’t cum or because he didn’t clean you up after he finished?

He was planning on taking care of those things, but you had left so fast–

“Jisungie?” your sweet voice made him jump.

“Y-yeah?”

“I was asking you what you wanted to eat this weekend. The chef is asking so they can prepare the ingredients in advance.”

“We… have a chef now?” he asked, confused. You had the money for a chef, but you preferred to cook your own food, so this was new.

“Uh… just for the weekend. I’m going on a trip, remember? I don’t want you eating more frozen food…”

“Ah… your trip…” he murmured, looking down at his now cold plate of pasta. “Tell them that anything is fine.”

“Are you sure?” you insisted. “You haven’t been eating much lately…”

Your worried tone made him cringe. You sounded like a pet owner again. Like when you first met and you weren’t close. It was almost condescending.

“I’m sure. Have fun,” he said curtly.

It stung. You knew he noticed your absence recently, and it broke your heart to pull away when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You were just awkward and didn’t know how to address… whatever that had been.

“Do you wanna come with me?” you asked before you could think about it.

“What?” he asked, looking up with surprised, wide eyes, but there was a tiny sparkle of hope in them.

“You could come with me. The hotel is fully booked, but my suite is big enough for both of us.”

For a second, he looked excited, but then his ears flattened. “No, it’s ok. I don’t want to bother you.”

No, no, no. You hated this. He was acting like when you first adopted him: nervous and distant.

“What, you wanna bring your girlfriends home while I’m not here? ”

His eyes widened. “NO! I don’t have–” he stopped when he saw you smirking.

“It’s fine,” you faked a sigh. “I guess you don’t wanna be seen with a smoking hot actress.”

He laughed. He finally laughed.

“I don’t know,” he joked, too, catching on. “What would my fans think?”

“I’ll help you prepare your statement for the press,” you shrugged. “I’ve been in all types of scandals.”

He pretended to mull it over. “Is there gonna be a jacuzzi?”

You nodded. “And an open bar.”

“Then I'd better start packing.”

Things were starting to go back to normal. You laughed and held hands during the flight, the awkwardness between you long forgotten. He wasn’t joking about wanting to use a jacuzzi; jumping in it was the first thing he did when you entered the suite, and, after some convincing (him giving you puppy eyes), you joined him.

There was no denying the closeness (and nakedness) brought your nerves back. You had chosen a one-piece swimsuit that didn’t cover as much as you had hoped, and Jisung was staring. You knew because your eyes kept meeting whenever you checked him out too, which was unavoidable when he was shirtless and wet and sitting so close to you. He looked like he belonged to this world, holding a glass of champagne and occasionally munching on some grapes that were on a tray next to the tub.

“So…” you joked, trying to break the ice. “How do you like traveling like the rich do?”

He smirked. “It’s alright. This room is decent. And the company is not too bad.”

“Not too bad?” you scoffed. “Should I be feeding you those grapes myself to be a worthy companion?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

You laughed. “Okay then,” you said, sitting closer and reaching for a grape. “Here, eat this.”

“Ask nicely,” he said, with a fake arrogant tone.

You let out a gasp, playing along. “Jisung!”

He laughed, but the sound got stuck in his throat when you grabbed his jaw and forced him to look your way. You were hovering, almost sitting on his lap, looking into his eyes and pressing a single grape on his lips.

“Open your mouth,” you commanded.

He parted his lips slowly, allowing the fruit to slip into his mouth. He savored it and licked his lips, looking at you with dilated pupils.

“Want another one, your majesty?” you asked sarcastically, relaxing the hand on his jaw to then brush the wet hair out of his face.

He nodded.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, master,” he whispered.

You fed him another one, and he sighed in delight.

“I spoil you too much, Jisungie,” you said, still caressing his hair.

“Love it when you spoil me,” he confessed.

“Do you?” you asked, reaching for another grape.

“Hmm… yes…” he moaned when you scratched his ear.

“Then why are you being such a brat?”

He shook his head. “Never! I’m good–hmph!” he managed to say before another grape was shoved past his lips.

“Is that so? Are you my good boy?”

His eyes almost rolled back at the nickname. “Y-yes…” he said after he swallowed.

You chuckled, reaching for another grape, but he stopped you by gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer.

He was breathing heavily, and you could feel his quick pulse where your hand was pressed on his chest. 

“W-what is it, Jisungie?” you asked, noticing your own pulse had accelerated too. 

He just gulped and stared at your lips hungrily.

And then you were kissing him. It started with a soft peck, and then you pulled back expectantly to see his reaction. His mouth chased yours unconsciously, and he gave you an equally sweet peck. Then your lips fit together for a kiss that became desperate, between moans and teeth clashing. You caressed his chest, and he whined, hugging your waist to force you onto his lap. He gasps at the weight of your barely covered body on his crotch, and he has to rest his head on the edge of the bathtub because the pleasure mixed with the hot temperature of the water was making him dizzy.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, kissing his jaw.

‘Baby,’ he thought to himself, trying to regain some strength.’That’s me. She’s kissing me’. 

“Haa… f-fuck…” he panted. “I’m… okay…” 

You hesitated. He looked like he was about to pass out. “Are you sure–?”

Knock knock!

You jumped at the unexpected sound, but Jisung was too preoccupied mouthing your neck between gasps.

“Yes?” you yell towards the door. 

“Y/N? Are you guys ready? We were supposed to meet at the lobby 20 minutes ago!” Seungkwan yelled back.

“Fuck,” you murmured. “Wait–hmph!” 

Jisung’s lips were on yours again, and when you tried to push him away, he bit your lower lip with a groan.

“No,” he breathed out. “Let’s… stay… haa… here…” he said.

… And then his body went lax.

“Ji?” you called. “Jisung?” you insisted, slapping his cheek gently. “Shit… SEUNGKWAN!” you shrieked,  stepping out of the jacuzzi clumsily. 

“What?!” he asked from the other side of the door, panic evident in his voice.

You tried to pull Jisung out of the tub, but he was heavy, and he seemed too dazed to cooperate. So you ran to the door and opened it quickly.

“SEUNGKWAN!”

“WHAT. WHAT’S WRONG?” he screamed, holding your arms as soon as he could see you, checking your body for any injury.

“JISUNG!” was all you could say, leading your friend to the jacuzzi. “Help me!!”

You got to the tub right in time to see him sinking in the water. With a shriek, Seungkwan grabbed onto him and, together, you managed to drag him out.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know!” you said honestly.

“Should I call an ambulance?”

“Master…?” Jisung whispered, blinking slowly.

“Oh, my god. Jisungie? I’m here, Jisungie,” you said, holding his hand.

“...Kiss me…more?” he managed to say, with a weak smile.

You blushed and slowly looked up to see your unimpressed friend glaring at you.

“You know what? I don’t wanna know. You have 10 minutes to get ready or I’m going for dinner without you,” he said with a huff before he stood up and left the room. 

Jisung was too weak to go out, so you ended up leaving him in bed, with some water and a sports drink. He pouted, but you promised him you wouldn’t be back too late.

“Finally!” Vernon said when you showed up at the lobby. “I’m starving!”

“Sorry! I had to take care of something–”

“Sure you did,” Seungkwan murmured.

“I’m starving too!” you exclaimed with fake excitement. “What should we eat?”

“Thought you ate already,” Seungkwan said sassily. 

You sighed. It was going to be an awkward dinner. 

“So, you and Jisung are official?” Vernon asked while munching on his food after Seungkwan told him everything despite your pleas.

“Maybe…? I don’t know… We just kissed a little,” you said.

“You got him so worked up he fainted,” Seungkwan said.

“It was his first time in a jacuzzi,” you mumbled.

Vernon snorted. “Sorry, your boy’s cute, but lowkey a loser.”

You and Seungkwan couldn’t help but laugh too.

“He’s adorable,” Seungkwan admitted with a sigh. “He was so sweet, asking her for a kiss when he could barely move. I need to get myself a man like that.”

“I’m literally here?” Vernon ( his manager and boyfriend) countered.

“So you’re not mad at me anymore?” you asked Seungkwan.

“I wasn’t mad at you… you scared the shit out of me, that’s all…” Seungkwan took a sip of his margarita and then he added: “And, well… to be honest, I was afraid you were taking advantage of him…”

The color drained from your face “...What?” you croaked.

“Bro…” Vernon stopped eating and glared at his boyfriend, apprehensively. “What are you even saying?”

“I know! I know she wouldn’t… But you know how things are with hybrids in most cases. Too many of our actor coworkers have adopted hybrids to get them high and use them as fuck toys. I overheard this bitch saying she had given a heat-inducing drug to her cat hybrid to get him to fuck her. The hybrid refused to touch her, so she beat him up and sent him back to the shelter.”

You remained silent and Seungkwan quickly tried to fix it.

“I trust you! We know Jisung too, so we know he’s been crazy about you for a while now. It’s obvious that you both like each other and that your relationship has developed healthily– I just… got startled when I saw him so lost and weak… I’ve seen hybrids looking like that before and it’s always for terrible reasons… How was I supposed to know he got overwhelmed by a kiss and being in a jacuzzi?! What I mean is… Sorry for doubting you, Y/N.” 

You nodded slowly. “I get it. I know bad things happen to hybrids adopted by celebrities all the time…”

“Hey, Y/N,” Vernon said, reaching for your hand. “You are not like those people. Jisung is very happy with you, okay?”

Seungkwan nodded.

You smiled timidly. You knew what Jisung and you had was consensual. He was happy and he made you happy, so everything was okay.

“Weird question, does Jisung have heats?” Vernon asked casually.

You choked on your drink.  “I don’t… know? I don’t think so…”

“Ok, cool. Just curious,” he shrugged, calling the waiter to order another round.

You got back to the hotel a little later than expected and Jisung was sleeping comfortably on the bed. You climbed on it quietly, not wanting to wake him up, but as soon as you lay down with your back towards him, he hugged your waist gently.

“Missed you,” he whispered, like he did every time you came back to him too late at night.

“Missed you too,” you replied. “...Hey, Ji… Can I ask you something?”

He hummed.

“Do you ever… go into heat?”

He tensed behind you. 

“N-no… female hamsters do, though. Us males are sensitive to the females’ heat…”

“Oh…” you replied. Well, you weren’t a female hamster, so you probably had no effect–

“In your case…” he continued, folding under zero pressure. “I g-guess I’m a little sensitive to your uh…ovulation?”

“Oh,” you repeated dumbly. “...I’m ovulating now…”

“...I know…” 

“How does it affect you?” you asked hoarsely.

“...Makes me wanna… do things…” he murmured.

“W-what things?”

For a few seconds he didn’t reply. Just when you were about to tell him to forget you asked and go to sleep, he pulled you closer.

“If I tell you… will you let me do those things?”

“...Yeah…”

He  gulped before he stuttered. “W-wanna do that thing we did…”

“Kissing?”

You felt him shake his head. “ That too, but I mean—The thing we did… when we watched your movie…”

“Oh… Dry humping?” you asked, grazing his crotch with your ass. “Like this?”

“Hmm… y-yes,” he nodded. “B-but… can you turn around?” he asked nervously.

You swallowed a mortified groan. Yes, you were kissing with little clothes in the jacuzzi earlier, but that had been spontaneous. This was slower, which gave you more time to overthink what was happening.

“No?” he asked softly. “You don’t want to…?”

“I do!” you said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “I’ll… I’ll turn around…” you mumbled, clumsily turning to face his expectant pretty face. You looked into each other’s eyes as he carefully placed his palm on the small of your back, moving his hips to meet yours. You gasped when his clothed member grazed your clit.

“Like this it feels good for you too, right?” He asked hopefully.

You nodded, moving your body experimentally to match his movements and he let out the tiniest moan.

“Can I kiss you?” he panted, dangerously close to your mouth, his question a mere fromallity. “You said… haa… I c-can…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to form a coherent answer so you fulfilled his wish and kissed him. He sighed shakily and kissed you back, snapping his hips against your crotch. Though the stimulation was more than gratifying, the position was a little awkward. At least that’s what you assumed went through Jisung’s mind when he grabbed your leg and pulled it over his waist, allowing for a better angle.

You let out a surprised moan and he halted his thrusts and kisses.

“S-sorry, I should have asked…” he swallowed and spoke with difficulty. “Can I…uh… touch your leg?” he asked, but is fingertinps were digging into your thigh, unconsciously refusing to let go. “I uh… understand if you wanna stop… though I really hope you don’t because I really like doing these things with you—” his incoherent explanation was cut short by his shocked gasp when you flipped both of you so he was on his back with you on top. 

He looked like the perfect prey like that. His glossy eyes widened, his mouth slightly ajar letting out aroused little sounds, disheveled hair and ears perked up expectantly. His hands rested on each side of his head obediently, not daring to touch anything until you explicitly allowed it.

“Shh, Ji…” you breathed out, trying to regain some composure. “There’s nothing to be anxious about. Have I ever been mad at you?” 

He shook his head quickly.

“Good boy,” you praised sweetly, feeling his clothed cock twitch under you. “Just enjoy this, okay?” you instructed.

He tried to nod, but as soon as  you started gyrating your hips slowly  he became a babbling mess again. “M-master… yes, master…”

You chuckled. “You keep calling me that, even in this situation?” 

“Huh?” he asked dumbly.

“When are you gonna call me by my name?”

The red in his face became darker and he shook his head energetically. “I c-could never… disrespect you– ah! Like…that… haa…”

“Using me for pleasure is not disrespectful?” you teased.

He gasped, trying to sit up, but you pushed him back, placing your hands on his chest and rutting faster.

“AH! M-mast— so sorry… not using…haa.. I’m n-not using y- Oh!”

“Aren’t you?”

“No! Haa… haa… p-please, I– I respect you, I–Hmm… I love you so mu–Aaah!”

You almost lost your balance at the last sentence. You stopped moving and he whimpered.

“Master…” he sobbed, having his orgasm stolen from him. “I’ll b-be good, please don’t stop… don’t…”

You could think about his spontaneous confession later. First you really needed to see your beautiful hybrid cum. So you started moving again, this time grinding hard.

He arched his back. “Haa! Haa… Thank you… Master, thank y–Aah! Ah… haa… ah…” 

The view was beautiful: His veiny hands held onto the wrinkled sheets, and tears threatened to escape his eyes as he trashed under you, overwhelmed by pleasure. Something seemed to switch in his brain in these circumstances, because the usually timid hybrid, couldn’t stop running his mouth.

“S-so good… master’s warmth feels… ooh… amazing…” he mumbled as he tried to focus his dazed eyes on where your crotches made contact. “Ooh… yes, yes… h-harder…”

“A-are you trying to tell me what to do?” you asked, making a poor atempt of a dominant tone.

“No! Sorry, sorry…” he yelped, panicking. “I d-didn’t mean too… I’m just… so close…”

“Yeah?” you gulped, ignoring the constant pulsing feeling on your clit. “Wanna cum?”

He nodded. “Please?”

You kissed him lovingly so he wouldn’t see you smiling like an simp, and then you bounced on him harder, like he wanted.

“Ah! Ah! Oh… Oooh you’re so good to me, m-aah… master… haa….” he managed to say in between fervent kisses. “Gonna cum… f-fuck… master, I’m gonna cum…”

You gasped when at the new wetness in your pajama pants as he came with a silent moan, his cock and whole body spasming with pleasure. You slowed down, riding him slowly to help him come down from his high, caressing his face and kissing the tears away.

“How are you feeling?” you asked when he calmed down a little.

“Did… did you cum?” he croaked, instead of answering your question.

You chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, Jisungie,” you said getting up.

“Wait!” he said, fighting the dizziness to sit up. “Let’s keep going.”

You looked at his trembling figure and couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Jisung… You can’t keep going. You’re still too weak from what happened in the jacuzzi.” 

He whined. “Please, come back here.”

You ignored his request to go get him a wet towel and change of clothes. When you came back, he kissed your neck to get you in the mood again, but you pushed him away gently. “Ji.”

“I just wanna make you cum,” he pouted. “I can use my fingers. You like my fingers, right? You always stare at my hands.” 

You cleared your throat. “You have nice hands,” you conceded. “But they are shaking. It’s not that I don’t want you Jisung, but you need to rest. We can try another time.”

“Tomorrow,” he suggested quickly.

“I have a busy day tomorrow,” you reminded him.

“Then when?”

“I… I don’t know. Next time.”

His pouty face was adorable, so you giggled and kissed his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up, ok?”

“I can do it myself,” he mumbled, grabbing the towel. “You’ve already done way more than I deserve tonight.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Ji,” you laughed, walking to the restroom to shower. “If it makes you feel better, I was really close.” you said before getting in and closing the door.

Jisung stared at the restroom door blankly and then he groaned. That actually had made him feel worse. So that night he went to bed with a plan: giving you the most mindblowing orgasm as soon as you woke up. Exept that next morning you woke up before he did, leaving him alone with a note and a tray with breakfast on the nightstand.

Immediately he reached for his phone and called you.

“Morning, Ji!” you answered cheerfully.

“M-morning. Where are you?” 

“I had to meet with the director this morning.” you explained. “Now I’m having brunch with Vernon, waiting for Seungkwan to finish with his hair appointment.”

“Can I join?” he asked, starting to get out of bed.

“Oh, Jisungie… We have more meetings scheduled today. You know my new movie is coming up.”

“Oh… Yeah, I get it,” he murmured. “Then when can I see you?” 

“I’ll drop by before the the event at night to change clothes! I’m so sorry I didn’t take you anywhere fun…”

“No,” he said quickly.  “It’s ok. You’re here for work. I’m grateful enough you brought me along… and I got to try a jacuzzi, though it didn’t go as planned,” he joked. “I’ll see you later, then,” he added before he hung up.

He munched on his breakfast unenthusiastically as he came to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t get to spend time with you on this trip. He didn’t lie when he said he was grateful, but in the back of his brain there was a distant voice saying that maybe being a hybrid sucked. He huffed, pushing that thought away. He had no excuse to be bitter: last night you had literally made him cum so hard his fingertips kept tingling in the morning. So he would take what he could, and if that meant he had to stay in the room and watch a boring TV show while you were at some fancy event with handsome actors, then so be it.

But much to his surprise, there was a change of plans.

“Get up! You need to get ready,” you said energetically as soon as you walked in that evening.

“Huh? Ready for what?” he asked, turning the TV off.

“You’re coming to the event with me!” you exclaimed, showing him an expensive looking black suit.

He just looked at the suit, speechless.

“You don’t like it? I bought the black one because I wasn’t sure you would feel comfortable with other colors…”

“N-no! I mean, yes, it’s nice…” he said.

“But?” you asked apprehensively.

“Is it really okay for me to go? I thought it was only for actors…”

“Well…yes, but I asked the host and they said you could come… But if you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to come. I just felt bad I didn’t get to spend much time with you, and we’re leaving tomorrow…”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable!” he assured you, though his voice cracked. The idea of attending such an event made him a little anxious, but that meant he would be with you. “I want to go with you.”

“Yaay!” you jumped a little and kissed his cheek, giving him his new clothes and rushing him into the restroom. “I’ll change clothes too. We need ot be ready by 8, okay?”

“Okay!” he yelled back from the restroom, trying to match your cheerful tone, but god was he getting nervous, but god was he getting nervous at the thought of spending the night surrounded by rich and successful men who could steal you away. Actually, now that he thought about it, that was a good reason to go with you: to ensure your safety and that no other man than him (and Seungkwan and Vernon, because he knew them. And maybe that Hoshi guy, because he saw the video of him drunk and he seemed like a decent guy) would approach you. That would be his mission…

Which he forgot all about when he stepped out to see you wearing a a long backless dress.

“You’re so beautiful…” he blurted out.

“Ji… Wow… You… Do you know how hot you look right now?” you replied.

“I… look hot?!” he asked, astonished. You had called him cute a thousand times, but never hot. Holy shit.

“Yeah… I don’t think I want other actresses to see you now,” you teased.

“Then we could stay here,” he suggested.

“Nice try,” you laughed. “Let’s go. The guys are waiting.”

“You brought Jisung?!” Seungkwan hissed when he saw you two at the lobby. “Are you insane?!”

“It was my idea,” Vernon said.

Seungkwan couldn’t believe his ears. “And you thought this idea of yours was… good?”

Jisung’s ears flattened. “Sorry, I can go back to my room…”

“No!” Seungkwan said quickly. “Nothing against you, Jisung. You look fantastic by the way. I just worry about your safety.”

“My safety?”

“He’ll be fine,” Vernon said, rolling his eyes. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Baby,” in spite of the nickname, there was no sweetness in Seungkwan’s voice. “This is like introducing a girl to a forum of incel gamers, or a child TO THE VATICAN CHURCH!”

“I’ll keep him safe!” you said quickly, hushing your friend. “And we’ll stay for an hour at most.”

Jisung liked that plan. He could do an hour at a boring event. If he was lucky, you wouldn’t be too sleepy and you two could continue what you had started the night before. But one hour felt like an eternity when everybody was looking at him. Jisung kind of understood… he was after all the only one with fluffy ears. It hadn’t crossed his mind that he would be the only hybrid, and even if it had, he wouldn’t have thought it was an issue, because you had never treated him differently for it. Everything was so natural with you, he forgot that not everyone saw him… as a person.

“Jisung?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you would be okay if I left you alone for a minute. The director wants to introduce me to someone.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. I’m fine,” he said, fighting the need to cling onto your arm and beg you not to leave him alone. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden while you were working.

You squeezed his hand and bit your lip. You knew him well enough to know he was not okay. “Wait here. I’ll go get one of the guys to stay with you, okay? Don’t move,” you instructed, walking away quickly to find your friends.

Jisung nodded and mentally thanked you. At least he would be with someone he knew. All he had to do was avoid strangers for 1 minute–

“What a cute little thing,”a sultry voice said behind him.

He jumped and turned around nervously. “Pardon me?”

“Your ears are adorable,” a woman in a red dress said, smiling at him.

He tensed. He wasn’t sure if she was complimenting him or laughing at him. But he had to behave.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping the conversation would end there.

“What are you?” the woman asked casually, taking a sip of his cocktail.

“...What?”

“What type of hybrid are you?”  she clarified, scanning him, looking at his behind to look for, what he thought, was the small tail he was hiding under his clothes.

Jisung was sure what she was doing was considered rude. But again, he chose to be civile. “A cricetulus barabensis,” he said. “A hamster,” he paraphrased at the woman’s confused face.

“Oh! Delectable!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never tried one of those!”

“Uh…” Jisung looked around, looking for you or the guys, or anyone that wasn’t this lady really.

“Are you here with someone? Or did the host hire you?” she continued.

“Hire me?”

“Oh, you know,” she laughed. “For the after party,” she whispered into his ear. She either didn’t notice how uncomfortable he was or she didn’t care.

“No one hired me,” he said, taking a step back and trying to keep calm. “I’m here with my master.”

“Master? Oh, my!” she gasped and placed a hand on her chest. “I never got that bastard to call me that. You’re very well-behaved.”

Jisung didn’t know what to reply to that, so he gave her a short nod.

“I’m sure you keep your owner very satisfied,” she continued.

That got Jisung’s attention. He wasn’t loving the conversation, but he still felt bad about not making you cum the night before. “I…try to…” he said.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed. “It’s hard to know how to please someone at first, isn’t it?”

Jisung wasn’t sure they were talking about the same topic. And if they did, then he wasn’t sure it was okay to discuss it in public so casually. Still, he nodded.

“If they return you, you could always come home with me,” she offered.

“Return me…?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t feel too bad about it, sweetheart,” she said, grazing over his arm. “Some hybrids are not compatible with their owners. We acquire you because you have needs, and if those needs aren’t satisfied, then it’s for the best to end the agreement,” she explained.

Needs. Satisfied.

You had given Jisung everything for months, and he hadn’t made you cum once. He wanted to throw up.

“Oh,  dear, you don’t look too well. Let me get you a drink–”

“Back off, Camilla. He’s taken,” Vernon’s voice said, standing between the two.

She laughed. “You and Boo got a new toy?”

Instead of engaging, Vernon grabbed Jisung and walked away. “You okay?” he asked.

Jisung shook his head, so Vernon took him outside to get some air.

“Did she do something to you?” he asked once the hybrids cheek recovered their natural color.

“No…”

“Did she say something, then?”

Jisung shook his head. “She was just…weird, I guess…”

“She’s batshit crazy, that one,” Vernon agreed. “She returned her last hybrid.”

Jisung gulped. Returned.

“Guys!” you called. Jisung’s ears perked up immediately and he almost smiled, but then he saw you accompanied by a muscular guy who was too close to his liking. The annoying voice in Jisung’s head told him that such a man could surely satisfy you and wouldn’t be returned… because humans don’t get returned. The man told you something and hugged you before going back inside, and you made your way to your friend and your hybrid.

“Jisungie, are you okay? Vernon texted me–”

“I wanna leave,” Jisung said curtly. “Please,” he added, because he didn’t mean to snap at you.

You stared at him in shock, and then looked at Vernon, who gave you a sympathetic smile.

“I’ll call us a taxi,” you said, dialing on your phone.

“Thank you,” Jisung said in spite of the rage he was feeling. Because he was your good hybrid. He was well-behaved.

The ride to the hotel was uncomfortably quiet. You could tell Jisung wansn’t ready to talk about it yet, so you didn’t ask him anything, giving him space to cool down. You sighed, relieved when he grabbed your hand once you got off the vehicle, but his touch wasn’t the usual gentle one. He was holding your hand firmly, almost posessively, as he dragged you to the suite.

What was even more out of character was that once you both were in the suite he was all over you, not in a sweet cuddly way, but in a feral way. He had you pinned on the door, kissing you, devouring you like he owned you.

“Ji…haa… w-what…?” you stuttered, bewildered at the sudden change.

“Gonna make you cum,” he declared,  nibbling on your neck.

“Hold on…” you hesitated. Where was this coming from?

“Shh…”

“J-jisung… Are you drunk?” you whisper-shouted, trying to put some distance between you.

He scoffed. “I wish. If I was drunk I wouldn’t be so pissed.”

“Why are you angry with me?” you asked, nervously.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, reminding himself that you hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m not angry with you. Okay?” he waited until you nodded to continue caressing your body, sucking on your collarbones like he was starving. But right when he slid his hand under your dress, you stopped him.

“W-wait. Let me take care of you,” you offered. You had good intentions. Something was clearly bothering him, so you thought he needed some relief. Naturally, you would be happy to help him get that relief, but you didn’t get the reaction you were expecting.

The hybrid who would normally fold and beg for your touch looked furious. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them over your head with one hand, while the other continued its way into your panties, immediately getting his fingers soaked.

“Jisung!” you moaned.

“Feels good?” he asked, collecting your wetness to rub on your clit.

Your legs shook and you bit your lip.

“Tell me, master. I need to know how to please you,” he commanded.

You nodded urgently.

“Use your words,” he spoke through gritted teeth, suddenly inserting his middle finger inside, while still caressing your clit with his thumb.

“F-fuh…fuck!” you sobbed. “Feels good…ah…Jisungie…”

“See? You could have been using me all this time.”

“Wha– AH!” You screamed when he slid two fingers inside of you.

“Turns out everyone’s been banging their hybrids like blow-up dolls except you, huh?” he muttered more to himself than to you, fingering you at a pace that was bringing you close to your climax embarrassingly fast. “First you let me cum on your back and then you treat me like a baby. What the fuck are we even doing?”

“I wanted… oh… wanted t-to take care of y-you…”

“Can’t I take care of you too?” he asked, rhetorically. More like a challenge. Not like you could reply when you could taste your orgasm.

“Jisungie…” you breathed out.

“Shit, that’s it… gonna cum?”

You moaned the most erotic ‘yeah’ he had ever heard, so he had to remind himself that he was trying to make you cum so that he wouldn’t release a load in his new pants.

“Let go,” he commanded, though he sounded out of breath. “Cum nice and hard on my fingers, yeah?” 

You did. You even hit the back of your head with the door when you threw your head back because of the intensity of your orgasm. You kicked your legs and moaned pathetically as Jisung kept playing with your clit. He was dazzled feeling you squeeze his fingers like you couldn’t get enough. You really came while he was fingering you. He made you cum.

He let out a long, relieved breath, took his hand out of your panties carefully and let go of your wrists so he could hug you delicately.

“...Are you okay?” he asked, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m… okay…” you breathed out, hugging him back. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Sorry I was mean…”

“You weren’t mean,” you assured him. “Just… different. But I need to know what happened.”

He didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew you deserved to know why he had gone full beast mode on you. “Heard someone saying hybrids got adopted for…sex… got a little nervous that I wans’t being really useful… and you would send me back….”

“WHAT?” you shrieked, pushing his shoulders just enough to see his face. “I did not adopt you to be my fuck toy.”

“I know,” he said simply. “I just needed some reassurance.”

“Oh, Ji,” you cooed, kissing him with utter devotion. “I would never send you back.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said, bringing him close again for a hug. After a minute of silence and you scratching his nape, he spoke again:

“Did you actually cum?”

You bursted out laughing. “Yes. I did. Thank you for that.”

He raised his head and looked at you with a barely contained smile.

“Can I see?” he asked.

“...See what?”

“What I did,” he replied naturally, letting his hands find the hem of your dress to lift it again.

“NO!” you yelled as a reflex.

He halted, looking at you in surprise. “...No?”

“I mean…” you laughed nervously. “Jisungie… Why do you wanna see that?”

He tilted his head. “Can’t I?”

“It’s just embarrassing…”

“Why? Didn’t I do that?”

“Well…yes, but–”

“Did you lie?” he asked. “You didn’t cum?”

“I’ve never lied to you, Ji. But even if you looked, you wouldn’t know if I came or not,” you pointed out, laughing at his ridiculous request. But he wasn’t laughing.

“So… no?” he asked, barely above a whisper. 

Great, now you made him sad. He was happy just a second ago and you took that away because of your shyness.

“Fine,” you said. “Just a quick look, and don’t say anything embarrassing.”

He nodded and quickly dropped to his knees.

“Hold this, please,” he said, handing you the wrinkled fabric of your dress. You wanted to hide under a rock, but he looked so excited you obeyed.

“Don’t push them together, master,” he whined, pushing your thighs open. “How am I going to see?”

“Just hurry up,” you urged him.

“Wow…” he breathed out, tracing your panties with his fingertip. “These are ruined…”

“What did I say about saying embarrassing stuff– AH!” 

Your legs almost gave out when he licked you over the thin wet fabric with a soft ‘Mmm’.

“J-jisungie… haa…” he seemed to be ignoring you, because he suddenly sucked on your clit through your panties. “JISUNG!” you shrieked, letting go of the dress to pull his hair and get him off you.

He looked at you innocently. “What?”

“You said you would only look,” you reminded him.

“So I can’t taste you?”

“I’m not saying you can’t… I’m saying now is not the time–”

“I told you I loved you last night,” he said out of the blue.

Your jaw dropped open. “Uh…that…” so he meant it? He wasn’t just pussy drunk?

“You didn’t say it back,” he added.

“I… I do love you, Jisung. I just didn’t find the right moment to say it.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to hurt my feelings.

“No, of course not! I love you, Ji,” you insisted.

“Okay…” he murmured, though he didn’t sound convinced. “So… you won’t let me taste you?” he asked dejectedly.

It always broke you when he gave you those eyes. Hesitantly, you let go of his hair, and pulled your dress up again. “Just a little, okay?”

“Okay,” he said more enthusiastically, but when he was grazing your crotch he chuckled. Then he looked up at you with a smile. It was his usual sweet smile, but there was something else there. His eyes had a tiny spark of…mischief? “You’re right, master,” he said. “You spoil me too much,” he said before pulling your panties to the side and attaching his mouth to your pussy, lapping greedily.

“FUCK! Ji… aaah!” you gasp. He chuckled, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Did he just… manipulate you?? He had never done that be– Oh… or had he? Come to think of it, the interaction seemed familiar. Whenever you were about to deny him something, he looked incredibly hurt and worded your denial in a way that made you sound like a monster. He started with small, insignificant things, and made use of your promise to give him anything he wanted, until he had you like this. Not that you didn’t want him like this, but… fuck, you really had turned him into a spoiled brat.

“Wait, Jisungie– Ngh! I’m still sensi…haa… sensitive… it hurts… gently, b-baby, please.”

He listened, licking around your clit instead of on it to give you the chance to catch your breath.

“Oh! That’s it, baby. That’s a good boy.”

He hummed and nodded, accidentally stimulating you too much again. You hissed.

“Gently,” you reminded him with a gasp and he whined, but obeyed, once again circling your clit slowly. And then he had an idea: he opened his mouth wide and his tongue lolled out lazily, then he grabbed the back of your thighs and pushed you forward, bumping your clit on his hot tongue.

“Jisungie,” you moan and he looks into your eyes, mouth still hanging open. He gave your thighs another push, giving you another wave of pleasure.

“Do you want me to move, Ji?” you asked breathlessly. 

He nodded, tongue lolled out like a thirsty puppy, waiting patiently for you to fuck yourself on his mouth.

You moved carefully, and god did it feel good. You could apply the right amount of pressure to make it pleasurable and not painful. You sighed, moving your hips slowly and enjoying his soft tongue caressing your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck… a– ah!”

You felt it again. A new orgasm was approaching. Jisung must have known it too, because he grabbed onto your ass cheeks and pressed you firmly against his face, groaning and sucking, forgetting all previous instructions. 

“Ji– Oh! AH! Slow– slowly, g-gently haa.. Haaa. JISUNG!” you tried to reason, ultimately letting go of the ruined dress to grab onto his hair.

That only spurred him on more, making him moan and move his head up and down. Eventually, you switched from hair pulling, to pushing his head closer, renouncing to all dignity as you humped his face desperately.

“Yeah, Jisungie… y-your tongue haa.. Ah… ah, yes, yes, yes– Oh!”

Your legs trembled and your body almost folded over him when you reached your climax. He moaned like he had been the one cumming, drinking up your release desperately until you had to gently push him away, sliding down the door and landing on the floor in front of him.

He looked absolutely sinful, with his face covered with your cum as he giggled. You slapped his arm weakly.

“What the fuck was that?” you croaked.

“You didn’t like it?” he asked, giving you his best puppy eyes. But it was hard to unsee what he was doing once you discovered the trick.

“You’re a menace,” you simply replied.

“But you love me,” he smiled, kissing you and allowing you to taste yourself. “And my fingers,” he added between pecks. “And especially my tongue.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Can’t wait to try your dick.”

“On it,” he said, standing up and helping you stand up too, too then picking you up effortlessly and carrying you to the bed. It was crazy how strong hybrids were. They could take over the world if they wanted… No, let’s not imagine revolutionary apocalyptic scenarios right now… More importantly:

“I was joking!” you yelped when you landed on the mattress. “I didn’t mean now!”

He climbed on top of you. “So… No?”

“Stop that!” you slapped his arm again. “You know I can’t say no to you!”

He laughed, undoing his belt. “You can,” he said, pulling his pants and underwear down to reveal a long, veiny, beautiful cock. “But you don’t want to.”

“And you’ve been using that to your advantage,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he smiles shamelessly. “I guess I have–Ngh!”

He tensed when your hand grabbed his cock.

“My pretty boy,” you cooed, giving him a few strokes. “Can I lick it?”

“S-shit, wait, master– No!” he exclaimed, quickly pushing your hand away.

You blinked. 

“Ha! So now you are saying no to me?” you laughed. 

“I’m sorry, master,” he whined. “I’m too close already…” 

“I don’t mind…” you said, trying to touch him again, but he gently grabbed your hand again and intertwined your fingers.

“I do,” he murmured. “I was kinda thinking… I could uh… be inside you…”

You clenched around nothing. Just thinking about it was enough to have you ready to go again.

“W-would that be okay?” he asked, mistaking your silence for hesitation.

“I would love that, Jisungie,” you smiled at him, pecking his lips gently. “Lie down and let me take care of you, yeah?”

“...No.”

You scoffed.

“Jisung, how–?”

“I wanna be on top,” he said. It was supposed to sound assertive, but his voice trembled.

“Oh…” you gulped. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Okay,” you breathed out, caressing his arms reassuringly. “But if you get tired…”

“I won’t,” he whined like a kid being embarrassed in front of his friends. “I can do this.”

You chuckled. “Okay then,” you said, spreading your legs and allowing him to position himself between them. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” he said, holding his cock and placing it on your entrance. 

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself, but it never went in.

“Ji?” you asked after what could have been an entire minute.

“Y-yeah?”

“Are you gonna put it in or…?”

“I… don’t think it will… fit…” he trailed off.

You burst out laughing, and he looked at you offendedly.

“Ok, you are big,” you admitted. “But you’re not that big.”

“But you look… small down there…” he said.

“It stretches,” you deadpanned.

“I know that!” he defended himself. “But what if I hurt you?”

“Jisung,” you sighed. “If you don’t put it in yourself, I’ll flip us over and fuck myself on it.”

He groaned, squeezing the base of his cock. “That would be so hot,” he said.

“Then let me do it?!” you suggested, running out of patience.

“No! I get to be on top!”

“Then fuck me–Ah!” you yelped when Jisung pushed in.

He hissed. “M-master… you need to relax. It hurts…” 

“Easy f-for you to say,” you whined. “No one shoved a monster inside of you…”

He whined too. “You said I wasn’t that big!”

“No big deal… haaa… I c-can take you…” you insisted. 

“... You sure?”

“Y-yeah…” you sighed, almost fully used to the girth.

“Can I push the rest in, then?” he asked with a pained voice.

“... The what?” you asked dumbly.

“The… rest?”

“The rest of what?”

“Of… me…?”

“You’re kidding,” you half sobbed, half laughed. “That’s not all of you?”

He gulped. “... No…”

“Holy shit…”

“I– I’ll pull out,” he said quickly. “No! Don’t you dare, Jisung!” you warned him, circling his hips with your legs. “Finish what you started.”

He gasped when the sudden movement accidentally made him shove himself fully inside of you. His forearms landed on each side of your face, caging you under him and he peppered your face with loving pecks as you sobbed.

“S-sorry, master… Aaah…” he tried his best to apologize, but it was hard to feel truly sorry when your walls squeezed him so deliciously. “Fuuuck, you–ah… You feel so good– please… haa… c-can I move?”

You took a deep breath in and exhaled as you calmed down. Finally, you nodded.

“G-go slowly…”

You sighed, relieved, and nodded, but contrary to what he had agreed on, he started fucking you at a brutal pace from the start.

A choked moan left your mouth. Your nails scratched his arms and back in an attempt to ground yourself as he fucked your brains out. 

“Ji– Ah! Haa.. Jisung!” you gasped out when you finally found your voice. “Slowly. B-baby… go slow– Stop!”

He halted, breathless, his arms flexed as he held his weight while hovering over you. His wild eyes seemed to regain some of their original spark. He blinked and stared at you innocently. 

“O-oh… yes, slow…” he nodded. “Sorry, I don’t know why–”

“It’s okay,” you said, quickly. “Let’s try again?”

He nodded, leaning in for a tender kiss. You kissed him back with a satisfied sigh, but it turned into a shocked gasp when he once again started to jackrabbit into you like his life depended on it.

“Haah! Ah! Ah! Ooh! Ji! Jisungie, s-stop!” you exclaimed.

He once again obeyed. He sat up and looked into your eyes with the same feral glint he had a moment ago. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion at his own actions.

“I… I think I can’t?” he breathed out, sounding unsure.

“You can’t what?” you asked, out of breath too.

“Go slow… I can’t f-fuck you slow, master…” he said, fighting his hips' urge to snap into you again.

“...What do you mean you can’t?” you asked, astonished.

“I think it’s…” he gulped. “... A hybrid thing?”

You tilted your head. “I've never heard of hybrids having that problem…”

“It may be my breed…” he said, blushing. “Actually, I don’t know what it is… but even though I’m thinking about doing it slowly… my body just… doesn’t do it?”

“So…” you said, trying to process this information. “You’re saying… that you can only fuck me like a madman?” 

He was as red as a tomato. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “You won’t make me stop, right?” he asked, like the idea was terrifying for him. “Master, please,” he begged, making you shiver as his hands went up and down your still-dressed torso, landing on your breasts and playing with them obsessively. “Don’t make me stop, hmm? I’ll be good,” he promised, toying with your hardening nipples. “Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” he asked, thrusting once, twice, and then quickly gaining a harsh pace again. “P-please, mast–aah!” he kept begging like he wasn’t already doing whatever he wanted. Like he didn’t know he could get away with anything.

“F-fuck, ah! You’re s—aaah! So spoiled,” you spoke through gritted teeth, biting back the moans he elicited from you.

He nodded with a dumb smile. He took it as a compliment, because he was this way because of you. “Mmyeah… haaa, ah, ah…”

“Poor baby j-just… haa— wants to… feel good, yeah?” you asked.

“F-feels good,” he moans, pushing you into the bed with each thrust. “You feel s-ooh!! So good, so good, so good,” he repeated like a mantra, welcoming the pleasurable feeling.

“Is t-that haa… why you’re using… mmm… me like a… toy?” you teased.

He shook his head with a gasp. “N-nooo,” he sobbed. “Not using you…Ngh! Wanna make y-you… cum too, please master…”

“Want m-me to cum?”

He nodded, digging his fingers into your hips to keep you in place to take him. “Please?”

You were so close he didn’t have to beg like that. Still, you decided to put on a little show for him, sucking onto two of your fingers to then slowly lower them until you reached your clit, rubbing it slowly under his hungry gaze.

With how good he was pressing all the right spots inside of you, and the added stimulation from your fingers, you came instantly. Your back arched, and you were sure you were crosseyed, but you felt too good to be embarrassed about it.

“Yes!” he gasped, crazed by desire. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck—Aah!” he let out a weak moan. His entire body trembled when his orgasm hit him. All strength left his body, and he lay on top of you, hugging you and kissing your sweaty skin with a sob. “I love you so much…”

“I…haa… love you too…” you said. Your entire body was still tingling.

“That felt so good…” he whispered to himself in awe.

“Yeah…” you admitted. “Wow…”

“...Can you be on top now?” he suddenly asked.

“Now?!” you shrieked. “You wanna go again?”

“You… don’t want to?” he asked pitifully, looking at you with sad eyes. There it was again. He was going to be the death of you.

“I can’t feel my legs, Jisung,” you replied. “Next time.”

“Tomorrow,” he suggested immediately. 

jisung pauses, then lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle, “intervention for what exactly? being too good at life?”

“you’ve become a menace,” jaemin says, shaking his head like a disappointed dad, “do you even know how many people on campus have a picture of your dick?”

haechan shakes his head, “you’ve singlehandedly skyrocketed the sales of morning-after pills…they’re probably gonna name a discount code after you.”

jisung smirks, “JISUNG69 has a good ring to it,” he laughs, cocking his head proudly, leaning against the nearest bleacher but he was the only one who found it funny, “come on hyungs, i’m just doing what you guys taught me. don’t be mad if the student surpassed the masters.” it was true. fuckboy101, they called it. a dumb joke at first. it started freshman year, when jisung found out the girl he’d planned his future around had been cheating on him for months. he was wrecked. could barely eat, couldn’t sleep. so the older boys took it into their own hands: teach him how to stop feeling. step one - hook up. step two - don’t feel. step three - repeat until you forget who hurt you in the first place. but somewhere along the way, jisung mastered the syllabus and rewrote the course.

“dude,” mark groans, “you got cheated on. we were trying to help you survive, not turn into a full-time asshole.”

“freshman year was different,” jeno adds, voice soft, always the gentlest with him, “back then, you were hurting. you needed the distraction. but now… it’s like you’re addicted to the performance.”

“it’s not a performance,” jisung argues, crossing his arms, the smirk returning like armor, “i’m just living my best life.”

“you’re living in denial,” chenle cuts in bluntly, no hesitation, “every girl you sleep with is someone you ghost and every time you laugh it off, you just look more hollow. it’s not hot anymore. it’s pathetic.” that one lands. jisung stiffens, the smirk faltering for a split second. the air tightens. then he laughs. it’s not light. it’s sharp and cynical, a little too loud for the room.

“oh, i get it,” he says bitterly, his voice dipping into something dangerous, “just because you’re all in love now, you think it’s real? you think it’s forever?”there’s a beat of silence. jisung’s lips curl into something venomous, “your girls are probably out cheating on all of you right now.”

the words land like a punch – ugly, uninvited, and way too personal. everyone freezes. the silence that follow isn’t just tense, it’s disgusted. the image he plants in their heads is too graphic, too cruel. he knows it. that’s why he said it.

“jesus,” jaemin mutters, jaw clenching, like he’s holding himself back from standing, “dude, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“stop projecting,” chenle snaps, his voice sharp now, nothing soft or understanding about it anymore, “just because she broke you doesn’t mean the rest of us are doomed to get screwed over too.”

mark holds up a hand before it escalates further, “that’s not you talking,” he says slowly, voice steady, almost sad, feeling very responsible, “that’s your hurt talking. and it’s turning you into someone we don’t even recognize.”

renjun’s voice is softer when he speaks, but no less pointed, “take it from the only other single guy here, you’re pushing everyone away before they can even get close, it’s like you want to prove no one sticks around so badly, you make sure they don’t.”jisung says nothing. just clenches his jaw, fists tight at his sides. his smirk is gone. what’s left is something colder, blanker. a shield he’s worn for too long. he turns on his heel and walks out without another word, footsteps echoing across the court. the door slams behind him. the court falls into silence again, except this time — it's full of guilt.

renjun exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, “god, i told you guys he was too far gone.”

“don’t say that,” haechan murmurs, still staring at the door, “he’s not. he’s just…lost.”

mark swallows, voice barely above a whisper, “and we’re the ones who handed him the map.”

the night air hits him. cold. damp. too real. jisung exhales sharply as he storms out of the gym, fists shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. the slamming door behind him does nothing to silence the voices ringing in his head: “you’re living in denial” “it’s pathetic” “you’re pushing everyone away before they can even try to stay.” he walks blindly, past the buildings, the trees, the vending machines that always ate his coins. the campus is dead quiet, except for the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement — it should feel peaceful. it doesn’t. it feels suffocating. like the silence is pressing on his chest. he stops beneath a flickering lamp post, kicking at a loose stone on the ground. it skitters away uselessly, just like everything else lately. he runs both hands through his hair, tugging hard at the roots. “fuck.” they were right. that’s what makes it worse. he knows he’s been falling. he’s known it for a while now – since the hookups stopped feeling exciting, since the girls started blurring together, since his own name stopped feeling like his. he doesn’t even know who he is anymore without the act. and the thing that scares him the most? he can’t remember the last time he was actually present. the last time he said something and meant it. the last time breathing felt like breathing and not just going through the motions. he used to be the kid who danced like his heart was on fire, who cried when he got the lead in his first showcase, who actually believed in things like forever and soulmates. who wrote love letters and had faith in fate — now he wakes up in strangers’ sheets and can’t remember what he dreamt. now he flirts like it’s a reflex and kisses like it means nothing. now he puts on different smiles and still feels the same emptiness every night. like something inside of him has died and no one noticed. not even him. but having them see it, say it, like they’re peeling open his chest and pointing at the hollow parts makes him want to scream. it makes him want to destroy something just so he can feel in control of the falling. because if he’s the one choosing it – this spiral, this recklessness, then maybe it’s not as pathetic as it feels. maybe it means he still has some kind of power left.

he sits on the low edge of a planter box, elbow on his knees, staring down at the concrete like it might give him answers. his jaw clenches so tightly it aches, “i’m not the one who’s lost,” he mutters to no one, voice hoarse, “they are.” but even he doesn’t believe it. he swallows hard. his throat burns. the back of his eyes sting. no tears fall. he doesn’t let them anymore. not since her. not since he realized that loving people only gives them the power to break you. not since he promised himself no one would ever get close enough to wreck him again. he laughs bitterly under his breath, wiping a hand over his face like he could scrub the shame off. they think he’s heartless, cruel, and toxic — they’re not wrong. but at least this version doesn’t get left behind. doesn’t beg. doesn’t hope. doesn’t play the fool. at least this version of him knows how to survive. even if it means never really living again.

🍒 DECEMBER 15 - THE ULTIMATE FUCKBOY.

your table was chaotic as usual. dongpyo was making a tiktok, sion was halfway through a rant about the new dance professor and sophia was trying to steal fries off everyone’s trays with zero remorse. and then there was karina, leaned back in her chair, sipping her iced coffee with a smug little smile on her lips. like she was the only one in the room who had the full picture. because she was —karina hadn’t meant to hear it. she was only there to pick up her water bottle from the locker room that she left behind after cheerleading practice. the gym had been mostly empty, lights dimmed for the night, except for one glaring row still on near the court. voices. she heard them before she even opened the locker room door. familiar. sharp. heated — you noticed that wicked glint in her eyes first. the one she only ever got when she was about to ruin someone’s life for sport. she waited until dongpyo finally finished his tiktok to announce it.

“i have your challenge,” she said, pointing at you with her straw, “it’s your turn.”

the whole table froze like a scene in a teen drama. sophia gasped, “wait, have we finally found the perfect challenge? she’s long overdue.”

“everyone else had one,” sion nodded, “mine was making that TA fall in love with me.”

“i convinced that film major to write a full short script about me, a tragic romantic lead,” dongpyo adds. they all turned to you now – smirking, expectant. you leaned back in your seat, “okay. hit me.”

karina’s smile widened, “make jisung fall in love with you.”

time stopped. then the table collectively reacted—“no,” sophia gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth.

“oh my god,” dongpyo whispered.

you blinked slowly, “park jisung?”

karina nodded, “the one and only.”

sion looked like he’d just watched someone propose public arson, “that’s insane. he doesn’t even believe in love.”

“that’s the point,” karina grinned, “he’s the final boss. the ultimate fuckboy. no feelings. no commitment. basically allergic to love.” she paused for dramatic effect, “and you have until new year’s eve, that gives you two weeks.”

“sixteen days,” sion corrected, pulling up his calendar, “sixteen days to pull of a miracle.”

dongpyo was already buzzing, “okay, but imagine if you do it. that’s legendary.”

karina raised her iced coffee like a toast, “get him to fall in love with you, actually say the word love and boom – you win. $125 from each of us.” you glanced around the table. that was a total of $500. on paper. easy money. and you were feeling a lot more confident because you knew something they didn’t. that night. two years ago.

FRESHMAN YEAR: DECEMBER 24

the dream boys had gone all out for their first ever christmas eve party. strobe lights bouncing off the keg. music pulsing hard enough to shake the floor. bodies everywhere, pressed into each other, grinding on the makeshift dance floors, laughing too loud. glitter stuck to sweaty necks and polyester santa skirts clung to thighs. someone was wearing a santa costume with way too much confidence. someone else was dressed up as a reindeer. it was all a mess and it smelled like regret. you were halfway through your second jungle juice, trying not to die in your red heels, when you saw him slouched against the wall, red cup in hand, hood up even though it was hot as hell inside. his eyes looked tired. not drunk-tired. sad-tired. like he hadn’t slept in days. not even trying to mask the kind of ache you learned to recognize. sadness hiding in flirtation. that’s what he was. someone trying too hard to pretend he was having fun. you hadn’t really talked before, but you recognized him from class — park jisung. dance major. first year. just like you. you’d danced together once during partner improv. he was light on his feet, good with rhythm, awkward when the music stopped. the first time you noticed him he was wearing oversized glasses that kept sliding down his nose. tonight, his hoodie was zipped halfway done, revealing a sliver of collarbone and the thin chain around his neck. his face had lost the softness from orientation week, jaw more defined, hair styled like he tried. he looked cooler. that fake kind of cool that didn’t quite match the awkward, lanky kid he still clearly was under the hoodie. he looked up, met your gaze, blinked like he was surprised you saw him. you stopped in front of him, tilting your head, “you look like you’re at the wrong party.”

he gave a short, humorless laugh, “i’m doing my homework.”

you raised a brow, “is that a metaphor or…?”

he shrugged, took a sip of his drink, “mark and haechan says i can’t graduate heartbreak until i finish fuckboy 101, apparently the final exam of the year is sleeping with someone hotter than your ex.”you didn’t even pretend to be shocked. you’d heard the story. his high school girlfriend. the one who wore a purity ring and promised they'd’ both wait for marriage. turns out she wasn’t waiting at all. not when there were upperclassmen willing to bend her over a desk three months into the school year. the video spread throughout the campus. she transferred schools. jisung had stayed behind, bruised but breathing. the dream boys took him under their wing immediately after. and you weren’t doing any better. you’d just gotten ghosted by someone who said “you didn’t care enough.” whatever that meant. so here you were, both cracked open in your own ways. both leaning against the wall at a frat party where poor decisions floated in jungle juice and strobe lights.

“how’s the course going?,” you asked.

he sighed, “stuck on the finals,” he tipped his beer, “cheers to losing your virginity after your girlfriend.”

“i’ve never done it either,” you said. calm. clear. “figured i’d wait then realized i didn’t actually care anymore.”

he blinked, “wait…you’re a virgin?”

you looked at him, nodded, “wanna pop each other’s cherries and call it a night?”

his jaw dropped slightly, “are you serious?”

you shrugged, meeting his eyes, “you want to pass your final exam. i want to stop waiting. neither of us wants romance. so?”

he stared at you like you just offered to solve climate change, “unless you’re still waiting for fate or whatever,” you added. he lets out a slow, disbelieving laugh, then held out his hand, “come on, cherry.”

you blinked, “what?”

he grinned like he just came up with the best nickname in the world, “if we’re popping each others cherries, the name fits, right?”

you groaned, “that’s the dumbest nickname i’ve ever–”

“too late,” he said, already leading you up the stairs, “it’s canon.” his room was surprisingly clean. the bed had actual sheets. straightened, even. the blue led lights running along his ceiling gave everything a hazy, aquarium-glow vibe. there was a single hoodie on the floor and an unopened can of monster on his desk, right beside his forgotten glasses. you hovered awkwardly near his dresser, heart pounding, skin already warm with nerves. the music from the party downstairs pulsed faintly through the door. jisung shut the door behind you with a soft click. his hand lingering on the doorknob like he was buying himself a few more seconds of courage. “so, uh…,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “should we like…set the mood?”

you blinked, “what?, you wanna light a candle and put on the weeknd?”

he laughed, a real one this time, “i don’t know! i’ve never done this before, it might sound better than dead silence and me panicking.”

you kicked off your shoes, “i guess music might help?,” you ask and he nods, immediately pulling out his phone, fumbling with the bluetooth. after a few taps, a sultry beat filled the room – the first song on a playlist that had clearly been curated.

i’m just a bachelor…looking for a partner…someone who knows how to ride…

you stared, “wait. is this—”

if you’re horny, let’s do it, ride it, my pony…

“don’t judge me,” he cuts in, cringing as he sits on the edge of his bed, “the boys made this for me, they said i’d need it once i finally…you know.”

“turn it off!” you said, already laughing. he scrambled to shut it off, almost dropping his phone in the process. you made your way to the edge of his bed, a full foot away from him, “do you have a condom?” he jumped up, pulled opened his nightstand drawer where he knew jaemin threw some in for him some time last month going on and on about how important it is to practice safe sex and how this frat house wasn’t ready to raise a child. he held it up, eyes widening a little bit at the words XL written on the packet, “uhhm, check,” he says, letting out an awkward cough as he made his way back next to you.

you raised an eyebrow, “do you know how to put it on?”

“...i watched a youtube video once. it was animated,” he stutters out.

“perfect. two virgins, one mission,” you try to joke around. there was a beat of silence. you looked at each other one more time. a mutual agreement. before finally leaning in — the first kiss was soft. hesitant. lips brushing more than pressing. a breath shared between nerves. the second was better. his hand cupping the back of your head, thumb brushing your cheek. his mouth was warm. you tilted your head, fingers tugging lightly at the fabric of his hoodie. you broke apart, cheeks flushed, a little breathless, “do we take our clothes off now? or is there a countdown?”

“i was just gonna start,” he said, tugging off his hoodie in one quick motion. his shirt rode up, flashing pale skin and the outline of his abs. you followed, pulling your shirt over your head. his eyes flicked to your chest then darted away, ears burning red. clothes peeled off with a mixture of clumsy hands and nervous giggles. there was no grace to it. at one point, he stubbed his toe against the bed frame and swore under his breath. you didn’t look at each other too long. too intimate. too real. better to laugh through it.

“left hook,” you muttered as he fumbled with your bra.

“i was getting there,” he grinned, flustered. but once you were down to nothing, the air shifted. you both froze, suddenly hyper-aware of everything – breath, skin, the heat rushing up your necks. he looked at you, all flushed skin and hesitation, and whispered, “you’re really pretty.”

you frowned, trying to hide the blush that was sneaking it’s way to your cheeks, “that’s dangerously close to romance.”

he smirked, “fine. you’ve got excellent tit symmetry.” you laughed then laid back. he hovered above you, knees braced on either side of your thighs, his hands sinking into the mattress beside your ribs. his skin is warm against yours. chest to chest, heartbeats out of sync. his breath feathered across your jaw, “is this okay?” he whispered.you nodded, “yeah.” he kissed you again — deeper this time, tongue sliding softly against yours before moving down. his lips trailed from your jaw to your neck, pausing with each inch like he was asking without asking. his nervous hands gently brushed over your breasts, eyes flicking up to meet yours for permission. you nodded again. and he lowered his mouth to your chest. warm. experimental. he was trying, earnestly. he took his time, sucking on your breasts, softly, reverently, a little too cautious, tongue flicking over skin clumsily before making his way down to your stomach, your thighs, fingers slipping between your legs with shy curiosity.

he looked up from between your legs, almost sheepish, “tell me if i’m doing it wrong.” you nodded. your chest rising and falling, excitement and nerves coursing through your veins. he slid a finger in slowly, your breath hitched. then his tongue followed through, tentative licks that turned sure when you gasped, “right there,” you moaned quietly, “that’s good,” he sucked carefully, learning your body like a choreography. he was a quick learner, adjusting to your sounds, every twitch of your hips, every short gasps but it was feeling dragged on and you just wanted to get this over with, “jisung, i’m gonna come.” he didn’t stop until you finished moaning, kissing your thigh, grinning up at you, “you’re better at that than i expected,” you say.

he laughs, “i would sure hope so, i had a couple lessons on how to eat a girl out.”

you laugh in disbelief, “get the condom.” he tore the packet open…the wrong way. the foil ripped straight down the middle, narrowly missing the actual condom, “shit,” he hissed.

“off to a strong start,” you teased.

“give me a break, i’m under pressure,” his voice trembled slightly as he pulled out the condom and stared at it like it was a high-level math equation. then he rolled it on with a shaky hand, trying to remember the way the boys told him how to put it on. he lined himself up, hoping to god he put the condom on correctly and his eyes searched for yours again.

“you ready?,” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“yeah,” you said, breath shallow, “you?”

he nodded, then added, “if i like…die mid-thrust, tell the boys i was brave.” you laughed, “just do it.” finally, he pushed in and the stretch made you hiss instantly, body immediately locking up. he was big.

“shit–are you okay?,” he asked immediately, freezing, barely halfway in as he tried to push away the groan begging to escape his lips. his voice was all panic and guilt, “d-did i do something wrong? am i–did i hurt you?”

“no.” you rushed to say, swallowing hard, gripping his arms, eyes shutting in pain, “it’s just…,” you suck in a breath, “you-re–uh…bigger than i expected.” his eyes widened, “r-really? like…in a good way or a what the hell is that kind of way?” he was trying so hard to talk. to ignore the way he feels like he’s about to bust any second now. you let out a shaky laugh, trying to calm yourself down and adjust to him, “i don’t know, i have nothing else to compare it to.”

“i-i can pull out,” he offered, like the gentleman he was, “we can stop. i’ll go put on pony again as punishment.”

“no–no, it’s okay,” you smiled, your grip on him loosening just a little bit, cheeks hot, “just give me a second.” he nodded, holding as still as a statue. his forehead was damp, his eyes were locked on yours like he was afraid to blink and every second that he doesn’t move is starting to hurt. you were so tight. so warm. it felt way too good. a few seconds passed and you gave him a small nod, “okay, you can move. just…slow, please.”

he nodded, resuming his movement with a delicacy of someone handling glass. he let out a breathless moan as he slid in the rest of the way, “oh my god,” he whispered, “i-i can’t…t-this feels…insane.” you both laughed breathlessly, even as your legs trembled slightly and he was panting really hard, trying to stay in control of his own body. he started thrusting. “fuck—holy shit—you’re s-so tight,” the pace was uneven, but there was something sincere about it. something that made your chest ache in the best way. he was trying and you were both figuring it out. he let out another strangled moan, hips stuttering, “i-i don’t think i’m gonna last.”

“it’s okay,” you said softly. you clung to him, breath hitching from the stretch and the closeness and the ridiculousness of it all. it was chaos. sweat. and genuine effort that was sweeter than you expected. the sounds he made were helpless and desperate, his grips on your hips tightening like he was afraid he’d float away. he managed maybe a few more sharp thrusts before he stilled completely, letting out the softest whimper as he collapsed over you, completely spent, chest heaving. “oh my god—that was…i’m so sorry. that was so fast, it just felt really good,” he looked at you with wide, apologetic eyes, almost like a shocked hamster, before flopping back against his pillows, trying to catch his breath. you laughed, turning your head to face him “at least one of us enjoyed it.”

“don't look at me,” he groaned, covering his face with a pillow, ears bright red, “this is the worst performance of my life, i’m gonna get roasted in the group chat if they ever find out.” you smiled, sitting up and hooking your bra back on, there was a slight soreness around your legs but it wasn’t bad, “want me to tell them that you were so good you made me cum twice on your first try?” — he peeked at you from where he lay sprawled on the bed, arm flung over his face, a smirk tugged at his lips, “nah, they’ll know you’re lying for sure. i almost cried when they asked a girl to give me my first ever blowjob.” you burst out laughing, tugging your shirt over your head, “well, at least you didn’t cry this time.”

“thanks for letting me fail sex in peace,” he reached over blindly and handed you your skirt, “are you okay?”

“i’m okay, i didn’t really expect anything else but that,” you grinned, putting it on, “thanks for lasting at least thirty seconds.”

he laughed, “brutal,” he grabbed his boxers off the floor and slipped them on, “round two is gonna blow your mind.” you grinned, poking his cheek and he scrunched his nose up like a kid, “i’ll believe it when i feel it.”

but round two never came. no rain check. no late night texts. no next time. you never talked about it again. not once. not during warm-ups in the dance studio. not even when you both got casted in the same contemporary piece sophomore year and had to press your bodies together in sync for eight straight counts. it stayed unspoken. like the bloodstain you left behind on his sheet that you were both too polite to acknowledge out loud. a mark that something changed. proof of the night you spent together. the line you crossed clumsily and awkwardly — jisung moved on fast and loud. girls left his room still fixing their hair. not one ever stayed the night. rumors spread like wildfire – his stamina, his smirk, his fingers, his massive cock that apparently left girls limping down the hallway and giggling behind their hands. there was always a new name, a new story, sometimes two in the same night. he laughed about it. shrugged when the guys teased him. told bold stories in the cafeteria like he hadn’t once looked nervous just unhooking a bra. like he wasn’t the same boy who asked if you were okay with wide-eyed panic and the softest voice. and you had your share of forgettable one night stands too. you tried to prove to yourself that it didn’t mean anything. that it’s just part of the college life. but you figured it out early on, that wasn’t what you wanted. and none of it was ever…fun. no guy ever made you come. not once. they were either too rough, too rushed, too distracted by their own performance. so eventually, you stopped trying to prove anything. stopped searching for something that didn’t feel right. you had your hand. your vibrator. that was enough. more than enough, really. at least with yourself, there were no disappointments. still, despite everything, you and jisung never ignored each other. it wasn’t that kind of silence. you shared a major. shared mirror space during warm-ups. ran across the same floors in the same studios. sometimes you traded banter in the hallway, complained about calluses and hip bruises, about professors who made you redo the same combo until your knees gave out. he still called you cherry when no one was listening. the name slipped from his lips like muscle memory. you never asked him to stop. there was a rhythm to it — the teasing, the familiarity, the way you orbit each other without ever colliding again. a quiet pact. unspoken, but always there. like a secret tucked into the back pocket of jeans you never wear anymore but never quite throw away either. and he always gave you this look. like he remembered. not in a guilty way. not even in a longing way. just… recognition. like the memory lived behind his eyes, blurry at the edges but still intact. you remembered too. the awkwardness. the fumbling hands. the sting — a little humiliating. definitely clumsy. not something you’d brag about. but still, it was yours. no one else knew. not your friends. not his. just the two of you. and maybe that made it even more intimate than if it had been perfect. more intimate than if you’d kissed afterward. or cuddled. or talked about how it felt. it was a secret — flawed, forgotten on the surface, but buried deep in the soft, silent place where your memory keeps the things you never say out loud.

END OF FLASHBACK – BACK TO DECEMBER 15

“earth to y/n?,” your eyes flicked up. karina was waving her hand in front of your face, her iced coffee dangerously close to spilling on your tray, “did you just disassociate mid-conversation?”

“sorry,” you said smoothly, settling back in your seat, “i was just thinking.”

“are we doing this or not?,” dongpyo asked, already opening his notes app to track the money, “because i’ve got venmo open right now and i’m ready to start collecting.” sophia leaned forward like she was presenting the final act in a very glamorous heist movie, “park jisung. sixteen days. make him fall for you before the clock hits midnight on new year’s. he confesses, you win $500”

“and you know the rules…if you lose…” karina added sweetly, the kind of sweet that always came before something evil, “if you fall in love with him—,” she smiled like she could already taste your downfall, “you pay all of us.” the table fell quiet. you paused just long enough to make them wonder. let it hang. like maybe you’d say no. like maybe you were scared. but the truth was – you weren’t scared at all. they didn’t know that you’d once shared something with park jisung that no amount of rumors or girls could erase. you had history on your side. the nickname. the secret. the fact that you were each other's firsts and you know what they say about that. a man never forgets his first. so you leaned forward, let a sly smile curl across your lips, and with every ounce of confidence you could muster, you said, “duh. i’m not a rookie, he’ll be in love with me by new years.”

the table erupted into cheers, giggles and the clicking of phones – someone already making a group chat to track progress. but your smile didn’t falter once. you straightened your posture. took a sip of karina’s coffee without asking, just to piss her off.

🍒 DAY 1 OF THE BET - NO REFUNDS.

jisung was not breaking. he’d heard every single thing the boys said. the intervention that was more a roast. but they didn’t get it. he was fine. perfectly, wonderfully fine. so what if he hadn’t had a real relationship since freshman year? so what if his hookups felt like reruns now? if the only real satisfaction came from the way people talked about him afterward, not during? he could be in a relationship if he wanted one. he just didn’t want to waste his time. that’s all. feelings? commitment? vulnerability? all messy. all pointless. love was a slow death and he wasn’t interested in dying twice. still, he had a point to prove. a simple solution — he’d find someone to date. publicly. casually. just long enough to get the guys off his back. just long enough to remind them, and himself, that he was still in control. that he was still unfazed, untouchable. it was the perfect plan. easy. controlled. safe.

jisung swiped his keycard, pushed open the door to dance studio 7 and froze. like some sick cosmic joke — you were there. he wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. that was the whole point of booking this time. 11:00 p.m. to midnight. the last hour the studios stayed open. it was quiet, empty, forgotten, most students too tired to care or too sane to drag themselves across campus this late. but for him, it was sacred. the hum of the building settling into sleep, the hallway lights dimmed, the mirrors fogged with the day’s ghosts. this was when he could breathe. no image. no professors. no voices in his head except the rhythm and the beat pulsing through his headphones. and he needed it. especially after the ambush from the guys. he needed to dance it out. burn it out. put the stupid idea of relationships in a box and light it on fire. yet here you are, already warming up in the studio. in his time slot. your airpods were in, stretching lazily, arms overhead and spine arched in a way that was way too distracting, oblivious to the way time seemed to pause the second he saw you. you looked good. like you always do. not done-up or dressed to impress, just… comfortable. effortless. his hand dropped from the strap of his bag. the word left his mouth before he could stop it, “cherry?,” he said, like maybe you were a hallucination, “what are you doing here?” you looked up mid-shoulder roll, pulling one earbud out with a smirk like you’d been expecting him all along, “what, i’m not allowed to be here?”

“just surprised,” he stepped in slowly, tossing his hoodie onto the couch, trying not to stare, “no one sane ever comes at this hour.”

“you’re here,” you point out. “exactly,” he replies, a smirk on his face. you rolled your eyes but smiled, brushing past him to grab a hair tie from your bag. he didn’t move. didn’t even pretend not to watch as you twisted your hair up into a messy bun. he sat against the mirror wall, arms propped behind him, legs stretched out like he owned the place. you caught the way he was looking. didn’t comment. but didn’t look away either.

“so…” you started, voice light but deliberate, “got anyone special these days?” he narrowed his eyes, a smug smirk on his face, “are you flirting with me, cherry?” you gave a little shrug, walked closer, sat next to him and dropped your voice like it was a secret just between you, “would it be so bad if i was?” he blinked at you, caught off guard. for all the teasing and casual conversations over the years, it had never quite been this… direct.

“that depends,” he smirks, almost deviously, “are you asking for round two?”

you laugh, shoving his shoulder, “round two of what? another thirty seconds?,” you tease him playfully.

“wow,” jisung clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him, “that’s crazy. you’re gonna say that to a guy who gave you the gift of his sacred virginity?” you just laughed harder, reaching to grab your water bottle from your bag. “just saying, if you’re gonna break a girl’s hymen, the least you could do is make her cum.” — for the first time since that night you talk about it. and instead of being awkward or tense or heavy, it was just… funny. honest. he laughed too, shaking his head, “in my defense, i was nervous as hell.”

“you were shaking like a chihuahua, jisung,” you grinned over the rim of your water bottle, “took you five full minutes to unclasp my bra.”

“it was an emotional experience!,” he argued, pointing at you, “and you stared at me like i was solving a rubik’s cube with my elbows,” he says.

“honestly, i should’ve asked for my virginity back,” you tease.

he shakes his head no, “it was a limited edition, no refunds kind of situation,” you both burst out in giggles — bright and unfiltered, shoulders shaking, the ridiculousness making the awkward memory feel lighter, easier. he watched you, something fond and almost too-soft flickering behind his eyes. when the laughter died down, he leaned his head back, flashing you that cocky smirk he’d perfected over the years, “well,” he said, “you’ll be happy to know i’ve had plenty of practice since then.”

you narrowed your eyes, unimpressed, “have you now?”

“i have, thank you very much,” he says, “the reviews have been overwhelmingly positive.” you laugh, rolling your eyes. he turned his head toward you, hair messy, cheeks flushed from laughing, “you really picked the worst time to show up here.”

you glanced down at him, amused, “why’s that?”

“because i was planning on being emotionally unavailable in peace,” he smiles. you tap his thigh, “too bad. i came to haunt your peace and cause emotional instability. you’re welcome.” — and for some reason, it made him smile.

🍒 DAY 2 OF THE BET - ALL KINDS OF LOVE.

you barely made it through the studio doors when you felt the shift in the room. excitement. buzzing. competitive energy sparking off the floor like static. the room was packed, more chaotic than usual for a morning class. water bottles clinked against the hardwood, sneakers squeaked, someone was blasting music in a corner until it abruptly cut off. and at the front of it all stood dance professor, taeyong, arms folded, head slightly tilted, looking far too pleased with himself — “good morning, my lovely dancers,” he greeted with that signature, slightly chaotic smile, “i hope you’ve all been stretching, hydrating, getting good sleep, because today i give you…your final project.” a collective inhale swept through the room. a few people stiffened. professor taeyong clasped his hands together, “a partnered piece,” he announced with relish. groans rippled through the room, followed by an explosion of whispers and movement. people were already darting across the floor, practically throwing themselves into pairings before professor taeyong could even finish speaking, “and!” he added, voice rising above the chaos, “before you all partner up, this won’t be just any duet.” the room stilled, everyone waiting for his next instruction. “your piece,” he said slowly, “must be themed around something simple. something unavoidable. something we experience in a hundred different ways, every single day.” he paused for dramatic effect —“Iove.”

“i want all kinds of love,” professor taeyong continued, “romantic. platonic. unrequited. obsessive. euphoric. intimate. joyful. destructive. longing so sharp it aches. lust so thick it stifles. i want it all.” some students side-eye him, “don’t look at me like that,” he scolded cheerfully, “this is a performance program! if you can’t sell a story with your body, you shouldn’t be here. and there’s nothing more complex, more magnetic, more devastating…than love.” he let that sit for a moment, soaking into everyone’s skin, then he added, “you’ll be choreographing your own duet,” he continued, “no solos. no excuses.”

you blinked. a duo project? about love? this was the universe handing you your early christmas present. gift-wrapped. on a silver platter. with a red bow on top. you already knew who your partner was going to be. had to be. this wasn’t just convenient – it was strategy. leverage. the kind of setup your friends would later call suspiciously lucky. except…the moment you turned around, looking for his figure, your smirk faltered. there was a line. like, an actual line of girls already circling your $500 – all bright-eyed and bouncy, some fluffing their hair, some fake-stretching in his direction like they just happened to be near. you stared in disbelief as one of them twirled. just…twirled. for no reason. karina slid up beside you, sipping her iced coffee with both hands like it was tea, “you’d better move fast,” she said, nodding toward the growing crowd, “looks like your man’s running a love island season over there.”

you narrowed your eyes, “relax. i’m not worried.

she grinned, “you should be, i can already smell that sweet $125.” you rolled your eyes but your gaze flicked back to the group. jisung stood at the center of it, half listening as one girl twirled a lock of her hair and asked if he preferred contemporary or hip-hop. another was already trying to show him her spotify playlist. but jisung wasn’t really listening. you didn’t notice the way his eyes kept scanning around the room. tracking every figure until they landed on you — because while you were plotting how to use this project to win the bet, he had made a decision of his own. sometime after midnight, when he couldn’t stop thinking about how fun you were to be around. he needed to get the boys off his back. they wanted him to take someone seriously? fine. he’d fake one. or start one. whatever. you weren’t obsessed with him like the others. and he already knows you wouldn’t get weird. you didn’t fawn or fake giggle. you were blunt. sharp. fun. safe. he just had to convince you. he spotted you and you caught his eye too. he broke from the crowd without hesitation. the girls blinked in confusion as he brushed past them like they weren’t even there. he walked across, calm and sure, until he stopped in front of you, “hey, y/n?”

you looked up, a smirk already forming, “yeah?”

“wanna be partners?,” he asked simply. no dramatic build up. karina choked on her drink beside you. “you sure you haven’t promised your thirty seconds to someone else?,” you asked, nodding at the group now staring daggers in your direction. he rolled his eyes though a light smile was tugging at his lips at the inside joke, “you’re never letting that go, are you?”

“nope,” you grinned, playfully shaking your head.

“i promise i’ll give you my thirty seconds and all the time in the world,” he deadpanned, almost too smoothly

“hmm,” you pretend to consider, “fine. i’m okay with that.”

he shake his head, chuckling, “so…partners?,” offering his hand out for a handshake. you shook it, warm fingers brushing. just for a second. but it lingered. “same time as last night?,” you asked.

“tomorrow, same studio, don’t be late,” he warned, smirking now, “i charge by the minute.”

you snorted, “then it’s a good thing you don’t last more than one.” he laughed, that easy, low laugh that made your stomach twist annoyingly, and walked off without another word. you stared after him for just a second too long. then you turned to karina and stuck your tongue out, smug. her mouth was already hanging open, “wait,” she blinked, “last night?,” she hissed, grabbing your arm, “you were together last night?”

you shrugged, very casually, “we just happened to be at the studio at the same time.” karina looked at you suspiciously but she looked genuinely impressed, “you sly bitch,” she gasps, “you don’t waste a second, do you?” you gave a small, nonchalant shrug, though your smile was too proud to hide, “i’m just being efficient. you guys didn’t give me much time.”

she leaned in, eyes wide, “what’s your plan now?”

“simple,” you said, smirking, not missing a beat —“we rehearse. we flirt. he falls. i win.”

🍒 DAY 3 OF THE BET - HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

the lights were low. just the mirrors lit softly by overhead fluorescents, making the whole room feel hushed, almost sacred. the kind of stillness that made every sound feel louder — every breath, every heartbeat, every shift in the air. the speaker sat idle in the corner, blinking silently like it was waiting for permission to speak. jisung sat across from you, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, legs mirroring yours. there was a gap between you, not far, maybe two feet. the silence wasn’t awkward. it felt different in here. because he was different in here. gone was the party-junkie persona, the cocky flirt who winked at girls in the hallways and laughed too loud during roll call. in the studio, with just the two of you, it didn’t seem like he bothered putting on the act. no charm, no smugness, just – jisung.

“so,” you said finally, stretching your legs out in front of you, “love.” he groaned immediately, dropping his head back with a dramatic sigh, “ugh. don’t say it like that.” you smiled softly, “we’re stuck with it. professor taeyong said all forms. that gives us options.”

“right,” he muttered, brushing his bangs out of his face, “options.” you tilted your head to one side, studying him, “have you ever been in love?”

he blinked, surprised you even asked, then he leaned back against his hands, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, like the answer was written up there, “yeah,” he said finally, “once. my ex.”

you nodded, “the one who cheated?” he nodded again, slower this time.

“yikes,” you winced, “that sucks.”

he shrugged, still looking upward, “it was a long time ago, i learned a lot, i guess, but i think…i never stopped feeling kind of dumb about it.” that quiet sat between you again until he broke it, voice gentler, “what about you?” he asked.

you shook your head, “nope. never.”

he didn’t tease. no smirk, no quip. just a thoughtful stare that felt too intimate for someone with a reputation like his, “never even thought you were?,” he asked, voice low.

you let out a small breath, “i think i wanted to be. a few times. but no. i was just bored. or lonely. or trying to convince myself i felt something because i wanted to feel something,” you take a pause, “and now…i don’t really care for it, it’s just…not my priority. besides i have my friends. they’re all the love i really need” you shrug, “just don’t let them hear that,” you smile, almost shy. he nodded slowly, watching you like he was seeing parts of you he’d never thought to look at before. he sat there, chewing his bottom lip for a moment, like he was carefully turning your words over in his head.

“so what now?” he asked, “if we’re both emotionally stunted, how do we do this whole ‘love-dance’ thing?”

you bit your lip, thinking, “well, professor taeyong said any kind of love.”

he nodded, “so…friendship?”

you laughed softly, “we’re barely friends.”

“yeah, but we have…history,” he said, with a careful smile. you didn’t deny it. “what about lust?” he asked next. the word wasn’t dirty the way he said it. it wasn’t heavy or loaded. it was merely just…a suggestion. you raised an eyebrow. he shrugged, mouth tugging into a crooked grin, “it’s familiar. easier to show onstage. i’ve got enough… material, let’s say.”

you fought a laugh, “yeah, i’ve heard.”

he cracked a smile but didn’t push the joke, “but seriously,” he said. “it’s just wanting. that’s it. and we’ve…done that, haven’t we?”

you smiled, nodding, “sure. let’s do lust.”

then he looked at you for a second longer, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes, “have you ever…slept with someone after me?”

you nodded, arms wrapping loosely around your knees, “of course, you weren’t the only one getting busy…but–,” you pause, not entirely sure if you want to open up to him about your failed sex life.

“but?” he asked, his voice a touch quieter. and something about the way he was looking at you – genuinely, earnestly – made you want to say it. you looked down, then back at him, “but… i’ve never really felt strong lust. not the kind people talk about. not the kind that takes over. drowns you…no one’s actually ever made me orgasm,” you added simply. like it was just another fact. like it didn’t need to be sensationalized.

he blinked “seriously?” you nodded, picking at a thread in your leggings, “i’ve faked it before. it’s not that hard. guys don’t really notice.”

his brows furrowed, not in judgment, more like guilt, “you faked it that night too, huh?”

you gave him a look, “obviously.”

he let out a breath, half-laughing, “damn. my ego’s never recovering”

“i mean,” you giggled, “you were sweet. nervous. a little shaky. but you weren’t that bad.”

he gave a low groan and covered his face with his hands “i was trying so hard,” he groaned, “you have no idea, i was ready to bust as soon as i saw your tits,” he confessed, earning another genuine laugh from you. you both smiled fondly at the memory. like it was a part of growing up. a little embarrassing. a little special. clumsy. human. and for a second, it felt like nothing had changed. two awkward kids. a quiet pact. a memory neither of you could shake. “we were so awkward,” he said.

“we still are,” you grinned. he didn’t try to touch you. didn’t slide closer. just kept sitting there, meeting you where you were. you hadn’t seen this side of him in so long — maybe ever. no armor, no performance. just jisung. honest. a little tired. a little bruised. but real. and weirdly, that felt like trust. you sat in the stillness a while longer. then stood, brushing your hands on your thighs, “come on, jisung. let’s figure out how to make lust look believable.”

he got up too, stretching his arms overhead, “cherry,” he said, teasing but gentle, “if anyone can sell it, it’s you.” but his voice held none of the usual flirt. none of the bite. just quiet admiration, and something maybe like respect — the music played low. something slow, a little sensual. you and jisung stood across from each other, bodies reflected in the mirrors lining the wall. his hoodie was gone, tossed onto the couch. you’d tied your hair up. this wasn’t your first time dancing with him. but this was the first time dancing like this. you stepped forward first, foot gliding into a slow drag as you raised your arms overhead. a quiet build in the music swelled beneath you and jisung moved in response — mirroring, but not copying. more like answering. like you were in a conversation neither of you had the words for yet.

“okay,” he murmured, half to himself, “show me what you think lust looks like,” he stepped closer, voice lower now, “make me believe it.” you took a breath, heart thudding. this was just a warm-up. just a way to familiarize yourself with each other. you reached out, fingers brushing against his collarbone. a ghost of a touch. his skin was warm, his breath steady, and he didn’t move away. instead, he stepped forward again, closing the gap. now you could feel it. the heat radiating off of him, the way your arms brushed his chest as you circled him slowly. you didn’t speak. just kept moving. letting the music guide your limbs. your palm found his shoulder. his hand hovered, then gently caught your waist. his fingers weren’t demanding. they were…tentative. careful.

“okay?,” he asked, voice just above a whisper. you nodded, “yeah.” then he twirls you, your back meeting his chest, your breath catching as his arm slid around your middle. you could feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you. the silence between you wasn’t empty anymore. it was dense. buzzing. “closer,” you said, surprising yourself. he obeyed, palm flattening against your stomach, pulling you in just slightly. enough that your hips brushed when you moved together. enough to feel the length of him against your back. you let your head tip back against his shoulder, hair brushing his neck — this wasn’t choreographed. not yet. this was just…trying. feeling. and it was too easy to fall into it. jisung’s voice was low near your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your spine, “you’re really good at this.”

you smirked, not looking at him, “faking lust?”

“making it not feel fake,” he murmured. you turned in his arms slowly, hand resting against his chest. his skin was flushed from dancing. his hand trailed down your arm. yours drifted across his shoulder. every brush of skin felt heavier than it should. he dipped you, hand on your back to steady you, the contact firm now, more certain. his thumb pressed against your spine and your breath hitched. when you rose again, your faces were close. he blinked slowly, like he was pulling himself out of a trance, “we’re gonna look good on stage,” he whispers against your lips. “yeah,” you replied, taking a step back and out of his arms. you looked at him, pulse high in your throat. his gaze dropped to your lips for half a second, then back to your eyes. the music faded. the room felt colder without movement — without him that close. he cleared his throat, walking to his bag and reaching for his water bottle, rubbing the back of his neck like he needed a moment. you grabbed your phone, pretending to check something. neither of you said it out loud. but the tension had lingered. and you both felt it.

🍒 DAY 6 OF THE BET - UR FAULT BTW.

the door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both in the quiet that had become familiar all too quickly. this studio, this hour — another thing that belonged to the two of you now. it’s been three continuous days of night rehearsals with jisung. he was already stretching at the center of the room. the lights were dim, casting both your reflections in the mirror like ghosts. he caught your eye in the mirror and smirked, “alright, cherry,” he said, voice lazy, teasing, “let’s start.” you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. you walked toward the speaker, hit play, and the slow, sultry beat began to fill the space. without hesitation, you let the music pull you under. a glide of your hip, a slow turn of your neck, your body moved with a rhythm that felt like second nature now. by the time you turned, jisung was already moving with you. he didn’t need a cue. he didn’t need a count-in. he just knew. falling into the dance like he’d been dancing with you for years. you met in the middle, your palms brushing as you passed, his breath warm when your faces crossed paths. then he caught your hand, strong and assured, and spun you cleanly into him. you landed chest to chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. his hand wrapped around your waist. it slid just slightly lower. you moved together in sync, every breath shared, every glance held just a little too long. the tension had been building for nights now, the kind that settled in the space between touches. accidental brushes that didn’t feel so accidental. stares that lingered long after the choreography stopped — tonight, it was boiling over. your hands curled into his shoulders and without thinking, without asking, you jumped. he caught you instinctively, hands sliding down to support your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist. he stumbled slightly, the contact jarring, electric, and before you could register it, your back hit the mirror. his hips pressed between your legs, firm and there. the breath left both your lungs. his forehead dropped to yours. your hands found his jaw, holding him steady, and for a long second, neither of you moved. just heartbeats. just breathing. just his eyes dropping slowly, deliberately to your mouth.

you finally did both of you a favor — you kissed him. his lips responded immediately. it was nothing like your first. this was all heat and friction and days, maybe years, of tension exploding at once. his mouth moved fast, hungry, messy. he kissed you like he wanted to ruin you. you bit his bottom lip. he cursed under his breath, hands squeezing your thighs, pulling you tighter. your hips rolled into him. his answer was instinct. thrusting back. the friction made you moan. made him kiss you harder, swallowing the sound. he kissed down your jaw, then your neck, each brush of his lips messier, wetter than the last. one of his hands dragged higher and higher and in one swift motion he yanked your tank top down. your nipples hardening in the cool air and jisung wasted no time.

“fuck–,” you gasped as he latched onto your nipple, his strong arms holding you up higher as he sucked hard — lips hot, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before sealing around it with a deep, lewd pull. the pressure sending heat shooting through your stomach. he groaned into your skin, shifting to the other breast with a noise that sounded too close to desperation. he tongued your nipple again and again, alternating slow licks with firm sucks that made your spine arch into him. “jisung–,” he hummed in approval, the vibration traveling straight to you.

“god, cherry, your tits are fucking perfect,” he praised, lips wet and breath hot against your chest, “didn’t even know what to do with these back then–” he licked, swirled, sucked, “but i do now.”your fingernails dug into his shoulders. he kissed lower, then back up, nipping lightly before pulling your nipple into his mouth again, sucking harder this time, drawing a loud moan from you. you were sure there were red marks all over your breasts in the shape of his lips. “jisung–fuck, please–,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for.

“look at you, cherry,” he murmured, “so fucking responsive. so sensitive right here,” he grinned against your nipple. you barely noticed him moving to the forgotten couch in the corner. but the moment you hit the cushions, he was on top of you, lips crashing onto yours. his hands didn’t hesitate now, they were confident, hot, everywhere, your tank bunched uselessly around your armpits. your chest was flushed, already marked red, your nipples glistening from his mouth. he looked down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. then he leaned down again.

“can’t believe i used to be scared to touch you,” he murmured against your skin, giving both your breasts the same worship – nipping, sucking, licking, pressing his tongue flat over your nipples, then flicking them back and forth in tight circles that made your stomach curl you swore you were about to learn that you could cum just from it. he sucked each one until they were tender and puffy and every brush of his tongue made you gasp, “now i don’t think i’ll ever stop.” you were breathless, your legs wrapped around him, hands fisting his shirt, hips starting to rock against his and then—

knock. knock. knock.

you both froze. his mouth still latched on one of your nipple, a hand frozen beneath your waistband. “sorry to interrupt!,” a cheerful voice called from behind the door, “just the janitor! it’s five minutes past lock up and i gotta mop!” you stared at jisung. he blinked at you. and then you both burst out laughing. he collapsed half on top of you, chest shaking with laugher, forehead pressed to your sternum.

“of course this would happen,” he muttered, voice muffled by your boobs. you were still laughing and he watched the way your eyes crinkled. the way the light reflected stars off of your eyes. “i think we should add this to our choreography,” he mutters, still in between your breasts.

“you’re insane,” you say in between your laughter as you push him off of you, a little too hard. he landed on the floor with a loud thud, both of your eyes widening before you break into laughter again. you catch your reflection in the mirror – half exposed, hair wild, marked-up, flushed.

“jeez, park, i’m gonna need a scarf tomorrow,” you say, fingers ghosting over the marks that were starting to bloom all over your chest. he smirks, looking way too proud of himself, before slotting himself in between your legs. he gently, carefully, pulls your tank top back up, his fingers ghosting over your shoulders, your nipples still tingling, “it’s not my fault your tits look too fucking good,” he says before kissing you again, slower this time.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

it’s way past your bedtime. your room was quiet. too quiet. the kind that makes you overthink. rewind. replay. you lay back on your pillow, eyes closed, your t-shirt brushing over still-sensitive skin. your thighs pressed together without meaning to. your lips still tingled from his mouth. your neck still wore the ghost of his teeth. and then your phone buzzed.

jisung: *sent a video* (author’s note: 18+ ONLY)

you opened it without thinking. then immediately sat up. holy shit. he was in those damn grey joggers, hanging dangerously loose around his hips. no shirt. just a black hoodie unzipped and hanging open, the sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms. his abs were sharp under the soft light of his bedroom, and then—like he knew exactly what he was doing—he dragged the joggers down. his cock slapped up into frame, already hard. thick. heavy. veins prominent. you couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. you knew the look he had on. that cocky, infuriating smirk that made your pulse skip.

jisung: can’t sleep. too hard. ur fault btw

you dropped your phone on your chest with a choked laughed, heat rushing down your spine. you were just telling him how you hadn’t experienced lust that makes you drown. and now you’re thinking you spoke way too fucking soon. you were supposed to be in control. you were supposed to be the one pulling strings, making him squirm—after all, this was just a bet. but now your thighs were pressed together, breath uneven, skin flushed and aching and you were the one spiraling. you stared at your ceiling, tried to think of anything not related to his cock, or his hands, or the way his tongue circled your nipple like it was fucking dessert. but your fingers were already twitching. and your memory was already playing tricks. maybe this was dangerous. maybe you were getting in too deep. but fuck it. you might as well have some fun while you’re at it. your phone buzzed again.

jisung: u there? did i kill u?

cherry: park. what the fuck?

jisung: u like it? u miss me?

cherry: go to sleep.

jisung: can’t. still thinking about ur tits. and ur hands in my hair. and the way u said my name. the way u arched into me.

jisung: help me my sweet cherry

jisung: please? 🥺🥺

your breath hitched. you bit your lip so hard it stung. your body was already moving before you could talk yourself out of it. you tugged your shirt off before you could second guess yourself. hit record. the camera was angled just right—only your chest in frame. you laid back, letting the light catch on the fresh marks he left behind. hickeys. faint bruises. the aftermath of his mouth. you squeezed them softly, your thumb flicking over your nipples, letting out a quiet moan just for him. then you hit send before you can trip yourself out.

cherry: *sent a video*

your heart was pounding, stomach doing somersaults. you threw your phone beside you like it burned and dragged the comforter over your legs, trying to calm down.

*11 minutes later*

jisung: fuck ur so hot

jisung: *sent an image*

you clicked. and groaned. he was on his bed now, hand still around his cock. his black hoodie was bunched up around his elbows. cum streaked up his abs and soaked into his sweatpants. his hips were still lifted slightly off the bed like he’d just finished. the angle was brutal. intimate. messy. you bit down a whimper as your hand slipped beneath your underwear. heat flooded your cheeks, your chest, down between your legs, your skin prickling with need. your fingers moved slowly at first, hesitant, shaky. but the ache pulsing through your core demanded more. and then the memory played vividly. his body, all heat and tension, pressing into yours like he couldn’t bear even a millimeter of space between you. his hips grinding just enough to tease, not enough to satisfy. the music playing in the background, the rasp of his breath, the soft groan he let out when your hand slid into his hair. the way his mouth moved around your sensitive nipples. your thighs had been slick then, just from the friction. from the way he moved against you. from the pressure building and building with nowhere to go. his fingers had curled into your waistband like he was trying to decide whether to ruin you right there or keep teasing you. you pressed your legs wider now, helpless against the memory, two fingers circling where you were already wet and throbbing. you let your other hand drift up to your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, already so sensitive from earlier. every inch of you was burning — your phone buzzed again beside you.

jisung: don’t hate me if i can’t control myself around u tomorrow night

jisung: let me suck on ur tits again 😛

you let out a soft gasp, hips lifting into your own touch. the words slammed into you like another wave. this is a stupid bet. but now you were touching yourself at midnight with your heart racing and his voice in your head like a fucking ghost. you swallowed hard, catching your breath, hand sticky, thighs trembling — this was a game. just a stupid, reckless game. and you might as well play it properly.

cherry: only if u behave.

jisung: no promises, cherry.

your lips curled into a smile as you typed your final message, still breathless.

cherry: goodnight, dream of me ;)

jisung: already did

jisung: and tomorrow, it won’t be just a dream 😏

your thighs clenched at his words. you set your phone down slowly, pulse still racing as your back arched, head tipping against the pillow, fingers slipping faster, circling, stroking, dipping in just enough to keep you right on the edge. you let your other hand glide over your chest again, catching on your nipple, rolling it between your fingers the way he did, until your breath hitched, sharp and shaky. the image of him was seared into your brain now. jisung, shirtless in low light, his abs tensed, cum streaking his skin, the mess he made for you. you whimpered, legs trembling. your fingers curled and pressed just right, slick, practiced, desperate, and it hit you fast. hard. blinding. your body locked for a moment as the orgasm ripped through you. a low moan slipped from your lips as your thighs squeezed around your hand. his name echoing inside your skull — jisung. jisung. jisung.

🍒 DAY 7 OF THE BET - THE REMATCH.

you stepped into class wrapped in layers. a hoodie zipped up to your chin. another jacket thrown over it. a scarf around your neck even though it was barely cold enough to justify it. your cargo pants were the only part of your outfit not screaming i’m hiding something. karina blinked when she saw you. then frowned. then slowly cocked her head to the side like a cat who just caught a mouse faking it’s death, “why is your jacket zipped up that high?”

you waved her off, “no reason. i’m cold.”

“in the middle of a packed dance studio?,” she says, voice filled with judgment. you didn’t answer. you looked everywhere but her. which only made it worse. she narrowed her eyes, piecing the pieces together, “wait a damn minute–” you groaned but before you could say another lie, she grabbed your sleeve and yanked you into the corner where no one else was paying attention. then, without warning, she tugged your zipper halfway down, “karina–!”her eyes immediately went wide. your chest was littered with reddish-purple bruises, peeking over the edge of your bra, all the way up to your neck, it was almost like constellations in the sky, “oh my god.” you shoved her hands away, zipping up frantically. “you’re a fucking freak,” she whispered, eyes huge with delighted horror, “those are hickeys. so many hickeys.”

“keep your voice down!,” you hissed, tugging your scarf back up over your throat. karina just stared, speechless for once. then she looked you up and down again, like she was recalibrating. then she groaned, dragging a hand down her face, “fuck. am i gonna lose $125?”

you patted her shoulder, smug, “you shouldn’t have been so confident.” just then, the door swung open behind you and in walked jisung. nonchalant. hoodie slung over one shoulder. hair still a little damp like he’d just showered and didn’t bother drying it properly. that stupid smug walk like he wasn’t just sucking on your boobs and sending you a thirst trap less than twelve hours ago. he greeted a few people, bumped fists with someone from the back corner, smiled at a couple of girls and plopped down in his chair. you didn’t even mean to look at him. but you felt his eyes on you before you turned and sure enough — there it was. that cocky little smirk. his eyes dipped, just for a split second, to your fully zipped hoodie. then he gave you the most infuriatingly pleased expression you’ve ever seen. his tongue poking his cheek. you turned away immediately, face warm. “yup,” karina muttered beside you, “i’m gonna be broke by new year’s.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖

you barely had time to step in and close the door before you were spun around and pinned – not roughly, but with purpose. the mirror behind you cooled your back, a sharp contrast to the body suddenly flush against yours. jisung. one arm braced the wall behind your head, his other hand cupping the back of your skull so you wouldn’t hit the glass too hard. he kissed you hard, nothing tentative about it, like he’d been holding it in all day. “jisung–,” you gasped between breaths, but he was already unzipping your jacket and lowering his mouth to your neck. he hushed you, breath hot, “can’t risk the janitor walking in again.” the reminder sent heat straight down your spine. you felt his teeth graze just below your ear and your fingers tightened in the hem of his hoodie. his lips were relentless, moving down your jaw, your throat, marking up every spot of skin that he missed last night.

“you’re not even gonna pretend to rehearse?,” you murmured but your voice was shakier than you’d liked. “this is rehearsing,” he answered, smirking into your collarbone. you meant to say stop. you should’ve said stop. but your hands had already found their way under his shirt. his breath stuttered when your cool palms touched his skin. smooth, warm, muscles jumping slightly beneath your fingertips. he hasn’t felt this magnetic thrill in a long time. not since he learned how to sleep with girl after girl like it was putting on underwear. but there’s something about you. he can’t explain it. and maybe there doesn’t need to be an explanation for everything. you simply just pull him in again and again.

“i couldn’t focus all day,” he admitted, “kept thinking about…this.” his mouth ghosted over the same spots he marked last time, kissing each one. you tipped your head back, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. he pulls it off quickly then unzipped your jacket all the way, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you in your black bra. he turned you around slowly, firmly, both hands gripping your waist as you settled in his arms, facing the mirror. the only thing that mattered now was the reflection in front of you — flushed skin, hungry eyes, and the man behind you who looked at you like he was about to ruin you, “i’m gonna make up for freshman year,” he said, voice low, mouth still pressing kisses to your neck. you blinked, already feeling dizzy, “are you now?”

“mmhm,” he reached behind your back and unhooked your bra with one hand, like muscle memory, then slid the straps off your shoulders and let it fall. the moment it hit the floor, his hands were on you, large, warm palms cupping your bare breasts, lifting them slightly like he was weighing them in his hands. you gasped, head rolling back against his shoulder. “look at you,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at your body. he was looking at your face in the mirror. watching your mouth fall open, your brows twitch, your body arch helplessly under his touch. then his fingers moved. he pinched your nipples slowly at first, deliberate and teasing, rolling them between his fingers, watching intently as your mouth parted and your thighs clenched. his thumbs swiped across the sensitive peaks, back and forth in tight circles until your breath hitched and your thighs squeezed together. “so pretty,” he smirked, tweaking them harder, dragging out a strangled whimper from your throat.

“—feels so good jisung,” you breathe, your hands flying to grip his hips. he kept playing with you like he had all the time in the world, alternating between gentle pressure and sharp, precise pinches that sent sparks straight to your core.

“you like that?” he murmured, tongue darting out to lick the shell of your ear, “these pretty tits… so fucking responsive.” you were panting, chest heaving, nipples aching under his relentless fingers. he twisted them again, and your knees buckled slightly. “gonna make sure you orgasm tonight,” his deep voice makes your thighs twitch but you refuse to give in that easily. you raise a brow, “aren’t you ambitious?”

he smirked against your neck, and before you could say anything else, he picks you up like you weighed absolutely nothing, and sits you on the couch. then he knelt on the floor, between your legs like he belonged there, fingers gripping the waistband of your cargo pants “these,” he muttered, dragging the fabric down your legs with one rough pull, your underwear along with it, “have been in my fucking way since you walked in.” he tosses them to the side, leaving you completely bare for him, the mirrors all around you making you feel a little self conscious. but before you could dwell on it, he ran his palms up your thigh, large hands covering half of your skin, slow and reverent, before spreading them apart with gentle pressure. the room felt suffocatingly hot, your skin flushed, your breath uneven. he paused, right there – his mouth hovering just shy of your center, teasing you with his breath. then he looked up at you, voice low, eyes locked on yours, “tell me how you like it,” he said, fingers gripping your thighs, “because i’m not stopping until i make you come.”

the words hit you harder than they should’ve. like a promise. like a challenge. like he doesn’t matter if it takes the janitor walking into this. you nod, trying to hold yourself together. jisung tilted his head, lips twitching in a smirk then his mouth found you slowly, carefully, like he meant it. like every second of contact mattered, tongue licking a slow stripe up your core before settling into a steady rhythm. no one has ever taken their time with you like this. your back hit the cushion with a whimpered sigh. “don’t fake anything with me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, “i’ll know. i want it real.” you tried to bite back your moan, but it slipped out anyway, raw, needy, “i’m not–,” your voice cracked as his tongue continued to swirl around your clit, “i don’t…i couldn’t fake this if i tried.”

his mouth paused just long enough for his next words to hit hard. “then watch yourself. i want you to see what i’m doing to you. see how your body reacts when someone finally gives a damn about your pleasure.” — the mirrors. wide and unforgiving, reflecting the wrecked mess of you bare, flushed, legs spread apart with jisung kneeling between them. and then he slipped a finger inside you. your breath hitched sharply, your thighs twitching as he worked it in slowly, deeply, curling it just enough to make your back arch, “fuck—jisung—”

“you’re so tight,” he groaned, eyes flicking up to make sure you were still watching, “look at what i’m doing to you.” he curled his fingers again, just right, hitting a spot inside you that made your hips jerk and your mouth fall open in a whine. “do you like this?” he said again, voice deep. “yes—fuck—just like that,” you panted, head tipping back, then forward again as he added a second finger, pushing in deeper, “ohh, right there jisung—please don’t stop—please.” he didn’t. he didn’t speed up or slow down. he kept it right there, just the way you liked it, hitting that spot that kept your toes curling and your moans increasing with every second. then he added his mouth again, tongue flicking against your clit while his fingers continued to move in that same torturous rhythm – slow at first. then deeper. faster. repeat. until your thighs tremble around him, “you’re shaking,” he murmured, voice thick, “you’re close, aren’t you cherry?”

“yeah,” you breathe, staring helplessly into the mirror, “so fucking close. no one’s ever—jisung–fuck,” you can’t even form a proper sentence anymore. the tension in your stomach ready to break at any moment. your fingers knotted in his hair as continued to move his mouth and his fingers. driving you closer and closer until you couldn’t keep your voice down, couldn’t pretend you had any control left. “i–i cant–,” your whole body was shaking, voice breaking into pieces.

“yes you can,” he commands, “you’re gonna come for me. right now. while you watch.” your eyes flicked up again, and in the mirror you saw it all. the way your chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. the way his shoulders flexed as he moved against you. the way your head tilted back as he worked you open like you were the only thing that mattered. and just as you were about to shut your eyes, his free hand slid up, and two of his fingers pressed against your lips. “suck,” he grunts. you didn’t hesitate. you parted your lips, letting his fingers slide in, your mouth wrapping around them. he groaned at the sight — at you moaning around him. his pace never wavering.

he leaned in, body close enough to steal your breath, “now look at how fucking sexy you are when you come,” you willed your eyes to keep open until you couldn’t, helpless moans vibrating around his fingers as your release slammed into you —harder than anything before. your body arched, shaking as you came around his hand and tongue, thighs closing in around his head until he had to hold them open, gripping your thighs like he’d never let go, every muscle locking up as your cry filled the night air. he felt it all. the way you clenched. the way your body trembled like it couldn’t handle it. and he kept going through every wave until you were gasping, body limp, completely unraveled.

when he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his fingers glistening with your slick, looking proud and satisfied. you were breathless, dazed, eyes half-lidded as you finally looked at him again. he kissed your knee, your thigh, then your lips, “taste that?,” he whispered against your mouth, his tongue dragging against yours, “that’s all you,” your body still felt like it was floating as he pushed you down against the couch, his frame hovering over yours, “and i’m not done.”

you were limp beneath him, thighs trembling, skin flushed, pulse pounding your ears, “i can’t wait anymore,” he rasped, voice wrecked, almost angry with restraint, “i’ve been hard since the moment you walked into the studio,” he rocked his hips forward, letting you feel the full weight of him pressing against your thigh. you reached down your bodies, pushing his sweats off, his large cock bouncing up like that night in freshman year, “i’m not that boy anymore,” he said suddenly like he’d read your mind, “i’m not gonna fuck this up.” you wrapped your hand around him and his breath caught instantly. he was so thick. so hard. so hot it pulsed in your palm, “i know you’re not,” you whispered, “so do it.”

he lined himself up, rubbing his tip through your slick folds, teasing, testing, and your hips arched up toward him, desperate, “wait,” he said, breath hitching, “do you have…?”

you shook your head, breathless, “are you clean?”

he nods his head, “yes, i’m clean.”

your thighs clenched tighter around his waist, “then fuck me already.”

he didn’t hesitate. but instead of pushing in right away, he paused and then his voice dropped, “turn over.”

your heart stuttered, “what?”

“i want you to watch while i fuck you,” he growled. before you could even react, he grabbed your hip and flipped you over. your chest pressing to the couch, knees sinking into the cushions. you gasped, breath caught in your throat, as he reached down, grabbed your ass and spread you open. the mirrors around you caught everything — your surprised gaze, your parted lips, his hungry eyes. then he pushed in. slow, deep, stretching you inch by inch, and it was nothing like the first time. no awkward fumbling, no nervous apologies. just heat and pressure that made your back arch and a breathless moan claw out of your throat, “holy fuck,” you gasped, bracing yourself as your fingers dug into the cushions, “did you–jesus, jisung did you get bigger?” — that pulled a groan from deep in his chest, primal and low, a filthy sound that went straight to you, “you remember how i felt?,” he asked, voice strained, still sliding in, dragging out your torment, “because i haven’t stopped thinking about what you felt like since then.”

“y-yeah,” you gasped, clawing at his thigh, “but you didn’t feel like this—you didn’t feel this—big.” his hips stilled halfway inside, then he grabbed your hair in one hand and yanked your head up until your gaze met his in the mirror, his mouth crashing to your temple in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, “that’s because i didn’t know what i was doing back then,” then he slammed the rest of the way in with one rough thrust that tore a moan from you, so loud it didn’t even sound like you, “now i do.”

he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that made your knees tremble beneath you. you could barely breathe, “fuck,” you whispered, “i didn’t know you could get this deep.” he didn’t move right away. not yet. he just let you feel it – how thick he was, how every twitch made your walls clench around him. one hand gripping your hip hard, the other still tangled in your hair, keeping your gaze locked in the mirror. he lets out a soft laugh, “i’ve been dreaming about a rematch for two fucking years,” he said through gritted teeth. then he pulled out almost entirely, pushed you back down and slammed back in, sharp and brutal. you screamed. he was in so deep you swore you saw stars. your back arched off, body locking up as he started to move, his pace steady but deep, brutal, like he wanted to ruin you from the inside out, “holy—jisung—,” you panted, “you feel s-so full.” each thrust dragged a broken sound from your throat. your body trying to adjust and failing —because every time he pushed back in, it was like your body had to learn him all over again. “you’re so fucking tight,” he growled out, thrusts growing faster now, his fingers bruising into your hips, “do you feel that, cherry? you’re fucking gripping me,” you nodded, dazed, unable to speak. your arms shook with the effort of holding yourself up. every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, every snap of his hips pushed you further and further to the edge.

“gonna make you come again,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple, “wanna feel you fall apart all over me.” his pace was relentless now. deep. dirty. loud. the sound of skin slapping and obscene sounds from the both of you echoing around the studio. your body couldn’t stop clenching around him, tight, warm, wet, and every thrust hit just right, “im not stopping,” he growled, “not until i make you forget every second of freshman year.”

“you already did,” you moaned. “jisung—fuck—i’m close again—,” his hand slipped between your thighs, fingers circling your clit in quick, perfect strokes, matching the way his cock pounded into you from behind. “come for me,” he said, voice frayed and guttural, “come while i’m inside you. let me feel it.” — and you did. it hit you like a lightning strike, your body tightening around him, toes curling, vision completely blurring, a scream tearing out of you as your orgasm tore through your entire body. you clenched around him hard, shaking, crying, falling apart with your forehead pressed against the couch. jisung’s groan was primal but he didn't stop. he kept thrusting, still fucking you through every wave, prolonging your high, making you sob his name over and over. “fuck—i’m gonna come,” he says, his thrusts getting messier and messier, “cherry–i’m–fuck–”

you reached back blindly, pushing at his abs, your voice raw, you wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him around your lips, “pull out.” he barely managed to obey, pulling out with a deep, shuddering moan, his cock flushed and twitching, soaked in both of you. before he could pump himself to finish, you spun around and wrapped your lips around him. his enitre body jolted, “oh—holy shit—,” his hand flew to your hair, eyes shutting in bliss as you sucked him deep, sloppy and perfect. your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. you tasted yourself on him and moaned around his cock, sucking harder, faster. he didn’t last. not after everything. “i’m—fuck—i’m gonna—,” he came with a cry, hips twitching as he spilled on your tongue, hot and thick. you swallowed it all, not breaking eye contact, until he finally sagged into the couch, pulling you into his arms. then, softly, through the haze of sweat and warmth, he laughed, “holy fuck,” he murmured, dragging a hand down his face, ”that was…”

you glanced over at him, still breathless, “yeah.” he turned his head toward you slowly, eyes heavy and warm, a proud smirk on his lips, “i told you round two would blow your mind.” you smiled, still trying to catch your breath, as your giggles filled his ears like music, “you really really did,” you share a smile until– knock. knock. knock. you both froze. another knock. this time louder. then a very tired voice, “are you two finished? it’s past 15 minutes of lock up.” your eyes widened in horror, “oh my god—” you hissed, scrambling upright, limbs like jelly, “the janitor.” jisung blinked, then burst into a laugh, dragging his shirt on, still breathless, “i completely forgot he existed.”

you stood up, way too fast, and immediately stumbled. your legs gave out beneath you, rubbery and useless. “whoa—” jisung caught you, arms around your waist in an instant, steadying you, “careful.” you shot him a glare, cheeks burning. he just smirked, looking way too proud of himself.“can’t walk straight already?” he teased, voice low, “should’ve warned you i was gonna break you tonight.” you swatted his chest, face flushed, but didn’t bother denying it. you could still feel him. you yanked on your clothes with shaking fingers, jacket barely zipped, hair a mess, and followed jisung as he opened the door.

the janitor stood just outside, arms crossed, mop in hand, expression unimpressed. you kept your eyes glued to the floor as you passed him, “i’m so sorry,” you muttered, barely audible. he just sighed and waved a hand, “college kids,” he muttered, “i don’t get paid enough for this.” you wanted to die. but when jisung’s hand found yours briefly, squeezing it in the hallway and whispering, “worth it,” in your ear, you couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips. because yeah. it really, really was.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

outside, the air was sharp and cool against your flushed skin. the sky had that deep, velvety black that only came after midnight, and the campus was nearly silent, save for the hum of the occasional streetlamp. jisung walked beside you, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, glancing at you every few steps like he wasn’t sure if he should say something or not. he waited until you crossed the street, until the night wrapped fully around you both like a secret, before he finally spoke again, “cherry,” he said, voice a little quieter now, “i hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

you glanced over, raised a brow, “hmm?”

he hesitated, “i’m… not looking for a relationship.”there was a pause. a heavy one. he was bracing for it. your face to fall, your voice to rise. the same thing that always happened after every hookup. every girl. except, unlike all the other girls, jisung actually enjoyed your presence. this friendship that wasn’t quite a friendship. he thinks he’ll be a little sad if you get angry. still, he was waiting for it. he’d heard it in different ways: “you’re such a dick.” “so you just used me?” “was this a game to you?”

he’d memorized every version. but then — you laughed. not a bitter one. not mocking. just light, genuine, almost amused. “yeah,” you said, shaking your head, “i know.”

he blinked, “you—what?” you looked over at him, hands stuffed into your own pockets, your voice teasing, “i wasn’t expecting a relationship from the school’s number one fuckboy. you don’t have to worry.” — another pause. longer this time. you weren’t mad. you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even disappointed. you were just… honest. and maybe a little dangerous for it. jisung didn’t answer right away. he stared straight ahead, jaw tight, processing that. all the girls before had wanted something. even if they’d said they didn’t. they’d always tried to mean more. push past what he could give. but you? you weren’t asking for anything. and somehow, that made you feel more real than anyone else he’d ever touched. in his head, the decision was final – this girl. you. his cherry. you were perfect. if he had to date someone just to get the boys off his ass about being a “cold-hearted fuckboy,” he thought it’d be you. no drama. no bullshit. you get it. you get him. you always have.

“still walking me home?” you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“it’s too late for any woman to walk alone,” he said easily, nodding, “i may be a dick, but i’m not that much of a dick.”

🍒 DAY 8 OF THE BET - BE MY GIRLFRIEND.

jisung hates liars. you can call him cruel, heartless, toxic but he draws the line at lying. he’d been lied to once, brutally, gut-wrenchingly, and it had been enough to last a lifetime. promises of forever. of waiting. of purity. all shattered when he saw his highschool sweetheart tangled up with someone else. since then, he didn’t lie. he omitted. he deflected. he joked. but he didn’t lie. — so when he decided you were the perfect girl to play his girlfriend, not for real love, not for real feelings, but to shut everyone up. he wasn’t going to lie to you about it. not even a little. last night had changed things. not in the way people meant. not hearts and roses and dumb love songs. last night something clicked. you got him. you weren’t clingy or emotional or accusatory. you didn’t read too much into his silence or expect to fix himself overnight. you laughed when other girls would’ve cried.

finally, during water break, when the others were too tired to care, he stood up, walked across the studio and grabbed your wrist. “i–jisung–what–,” you sputtered, nearly tripping over your bottle as he pulled you out of the room. karina’s wide-eyed stare was the last thing you caught before the door slammed shut behind you. he didn’t stop walking until you were outside, behind the building, tucked into the edge of campus where the lights didn’t quite reach. secluded. quiet. he dropped your wrist. then he looked at you, “i have a favor to ask,” he whispered, like it was some sort of secret.

you looked up, a little breathless, “sounds dangerous…what is it?” jisung rubbed his palms on his sweats, a little nervous, which annoyed him and then said, bluntly, “will you be my girlfriend?”

you stared at him, pretending to process it. letting the silence stretch, even though your answer was already cemented in your mind the second he said those words. he looked so serious. like this was some great moral weight. but he didn’t know about the whispered conversation with your friends. the bet. this wasn’t a decision. this was a win. you tilted your head, played innocent, let your eyes soften just enough, “i thought you weren’t looking for a relationship?”

“i’m not,” jisung said, like it should have been obvious, “not really. not like–,” he cut himself off, pacing once, realizing how ridiculous it sounded now that he’s asked, before facing you again, “i just need to sell it. make it look real. the guys think i’m spiraling. they had a literal intervention. i need them off my back.”

you feigned hesitation, “so what, you want to fake date me?”

“no,” he said immediately, voice firm, “no, that won’t work. chenle already did the whole fake dating thing with his girl. the guy’s will smell it from a mile away,” he exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets, “i need it to be real.”

you blinked, “real?”

“as in–,” he looked away, swallowing, “we date exclusively. in public. you stay the night. i walk you to class. we kiss and have sex even when no one’s watching. we act like we’re in love.”

you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, “let me get this straight,” you said, voice light, “you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend, but like, not pretend at all?” he nodded. dead serious. you raised a brow, “and what’s in it for me?”

that cocky little grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, the one that made girls swoon and your friends groan, “i’m pretty sure i gave you the best orgasm of your life last night,” he said inching closer, “be my girlfriend, cherry. i’ll make sure you get more of those. as many as you want.”

and there it was – the perfect hook. you let yourself smile this time. sweet. dangerous. like a girl who had no idea what she was doing. but you did. you knew exactly what you were doing. “alright,” you said softly, “let’s do it.”

his eyes flickered – surprise first, then something like gratitude. you added, teasingly, “but i’m not calling you a stupid nickname.” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. a small, boyish gesture that made something twinge in your chest before you could shove it away. because he really had no idea. no idea that the girl agreeing to this deal had a scoreboard in her head and a ticking clock to match. it wasn’t love. not yet. but if you had anything to do with it, it would be.

by new years, park jisung would fall for you. and when he does – you win.

you and jisung stood just outside the classroom door, his hand wrapped around yours. neither of you said anything. you didn’t need to. the second he squeezed your hand slightly, you understood. sell it. so you stepped back in, fingers laced. and just like you expected, the room went dead quiet. karina froze mid-sip from her water bottle. sion nearly dropped his phone. even professor taeyong raised an eyebrow but said nothing, merely adjusting his clipboard with a knowing glance. jisung didn’t let go. all he did was turn towards you, making sure every eye was still watching. then, with that same casual boldness that had driven all the girls insane, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. not rushed. not forced. just solid. real. then he stepped back, a little smug, a little breathless and shot you a wink before strolling to the other side of the room like he didn’t just drop a bomb on the entire class. you turned, trying not to laugh at the dozen dropped jaws around you. karina mouthed what the fuck from across the mirrors. you just gave her a small, innocent shrug. like oops, i guess i really am that good.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

when jisung walked through the door, the dream house was too quiet. he knew something was off before he even saw them. all six of them were in the living room, spread out like they’d been waiting for hours. no music. no snacks — just mark, arms folded like a disappointed older brother. renjun, sitting with his legs crossed on the couch, like he was at some important business meeting. haechan standing, arms crossed, weight shifting like he was barely holding back. jeno on the armrest, unreadable. jamin leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp. and chenle, uncharacteristically quiet, by the wall.

“...did someone die?.” jisung asked slowly. mark didn’t answer. just nodded toward the armchair, “sit.”

jisung gave a half-hearted chuckle, “what is this, another intervention?”

“don’t play dumb,” haechan said flatly, “word gets around fast.”

renjun tilted his head, “so…you have a girlfriend now? just like that?”

jisung didn’t flinch, “yeah. she’s my girlfriend.”

chenle’s eyebrows lifted, “if this whole thing is fake, i’ll have you know, i know the signs.”

jisung rolled his eyes, “we’re not fake dating…what? you think i’d recycle your trope?”

chenle opened his mouth to reply but haechan cut in sharply, “if you’re lying about this just to get us off your back–”

“i’m not.” jisung said. clear and final. mark leaned forward, voice level but stern, “we just had a serious conversation with you a week ago. you expect us to believe you’re suddenly healed and in love?”

“no,” jisung said, “i’m not in love. but i like her.”

jeno’s voice cut through, calm but laced with worry, “so why her? why now?”

jisung ran a hand through his hair. the easy answers were there. his usual lines. the charming grin. the shrug-it-off jokes. but he didn’t use them. instead, he met their gazes, one by one, and said, “she’s the only person who’s ever made me feel like i wasn’t completely faking it.” that quieted them for a beat. he kept on going, “she knows who i am. she doesn’t expect anything from me that i can’t give. she lets me breathe.”

there was a beat of quiet. jaemin broke it, “you sure you’re not using her to prove a point?” jisung’s jaw flexed. he knew this was coming. knew that the boys would see right through him. but still, it was annoying, “i’m not using her.”

renjun’s voice was quiet. the kind of quiet that made sure you listened, “you better not be. because if this turns out like every other fling, you’re not just hurting her. you’re setting yourself back again.”

“and you better not be lying to us, jisung,” haechan adds, a little tired, “because at this point? you’d only be lying to yourself.”

jisung inhaled through his nose, “i’m not lying.”

mark studied him, long and careful, “so…she’s gonna be with you at the christmas party tomorrow then?”

“of course,” jisung answered like it was obvious, “she’s my girlfriend. who else is she gonna be with?” — still, none of the boys nodded. none of them smiled. but none of them argued. the silence that followed wasn’t approval. it was conditional trust. the benefit of the doubt. and in the quiet of that moment, jisung realized something — he hadn’t lied. not once.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

the studio had gone quiet for the night. the music long stopped, mirrors fogged with the echo of movements that had faded into stillness. you were both flushed from rehearsal, sweat cooling on your skin, muscles pleasantly sore – but the energy between you was far from worn out. you were seated on the couch, twisting the cap back on your water bottle when jisung tugged at your wrist.

“come here,” he said, voice low but playful. you look at him suspiciously, “what?” he pulled again, stronger this time, until you gave in with a dramatic sigh and let him guide you into his lap, your legs sliding on either side of his hips. “jisung–,” you began, but he was already grinning up at you, smug and utterly relaxed with your weight on him.

“i just want you to sit here–” he said, hands sliding to your waist, fingers pressing lightly against your sides like he wasn’t even fully aware of how much he was touching you, “-easier to talk.”

“you’re touchy tonight,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. but your fingers were already curling into his hoodie.

“i’m your boyfriend,” he said with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “shouldn’t i be?” you leaned back slightly, bracing your hands on his shoulder, “oh right, the convenient boyfriend,” you smirk.

“exactly,” he smiled, but it was softer now, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your lower back, “and since i’m your boyfriend…you have to come to the dream christmas party with me tomorrow night.”

you raised a brow, “have to?”

“yup,” he said without hesitation, “it’s in the fine print.” you gave him a teasing roll of your eyes, “what else is in the fine print?”

he tilted his head, pretending to think, his fingers dipping just under the back of your shirt, “you show up, make me look good, we go upstairs, i make you feel even better…,” he leaned in, breath brushing your lips, “oh and you have to wear something short and sexy,.”

you laughed, unable to help it, “you just want to show me off.”

he smirked, “obviously. you’re hot.”

you leaned in, mouth close to his, “okay, i’ll show up in something short and sexy, what else?”

he tilted his head, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, “you stay glued to my side the whole night. no disappearing. you let me be handsy on the dancefloor.”

your breath caught, lips parted, “you’re really committing to this role.”

“i take my relationships very seriously,” he said, voice low, “especially the parts with kissing.” one of his hands rose slowly, sliding up your spine, under your shirt, across bare skin. the other came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, like he needed to anchor you there.

then softer, like a secret, “cherry,” he murmured, “i’m not pretending when i touch you.” the words weren’t cocky. weren’t cheeky. they were honest. quiet, sudden, deep. you opened your mouth, to say what, you weren’t sure, but he kissed you before you could answer. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t even lust-heavy…yet. it was slow. real. a little dangerous. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie as you kissed him back, letting yourself melt into the press of his lips, the way his hands held you like you were something breakable. then…his hands moved again. slipping under your shirt now, palming your waist, thumbs brushing just under your bra, like he knew exactly what he was doing. your hips shifted, instinctively, helplessly, grinding ever so slightly against his, enough to feel him hard beneath you, heat searing through thin layers of fabric. the tension cracked. his breath caught. his mouth moved faster now, hands gripping harder. he dragged you forward again, grinding you into him. the friction was dizzying. enough to hurt. enough to want more. a low groan vibrated in his throat, swallowed by the heat of your kiss. your fingers fisted in the front of his hoodie, needing something to hold onto as your thighs clenched around him. you weren’t sure if you wanted to push closer or push away, but it didn’t matter. he wasn’t letting you go.

“jisung,” you gasped, pulling back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen, dazed, “we can’t— we can’t keep doing this to the janitor.” he blinked. and then he lost it. full-body laughter exploded out of him, his head tipping back against the couch with a ridiculous grin stretching wide across his face, “god—” he wheezed, still clutching you, “he probably hates us.” you dissolved into laughter too, burying your face in his shoulder, half from embarrassment, half from how insanely turned on you still were, “i think we’re on a hit list,” you said between breaths.

“he’s got a support group,” jisung snorted. you smacked his chest, grinning, “shut up.” he grinned wider, pulling you back by your waist, and this time his mouth landed right beneath your jaw, hot, open, biting softly. you gasped again, “i’m serious.”

“so am i,” his voice was low again, teasing, “i think he cries in his car after.”

“jisung—” he looked up, smug, eyes dark, “yes, my girlfriend?” you hated how hot it was when he said it like that—cocky and warm and just a little too pleased with himself.

“you’re an idiot.”

he leaned in again, mouth brushing yours, “five more minutes,” he murmured, “and then we can be respectful citizens again.”

🍒 DAY 9 OF THE BET - REARRANGE YOUR GUTS.

the dream fraternity looked like the north pole had been possessed by sin. red and green LED lights pulsed through the hallways. plastic snow clung to the windows. bass-heavy remixes of christmas songs thumped through the walls. mistletoe dangled dangerously from the door frames. the whole house was filled with the unholy combination of spiked eggnog, peppermint vodka and a crowd of way too attractive twenty-somethings dressed like they were auditioning for a holiday-themed music video. slutty mrs. clauses. shirtless reindeers. fishnet-wrapped elves. you walked in with jisung. you were wearing red. the kind of red that didn’t whisper holiday cheer but warning: distraction ahead. tight, short, hugging every curve in that kind of way that made jaws slacken and jisung tighten his grip on your waist without even realizing it. he looks good too. black jeans, a white button up with the buttons barely buttoned, his smug smile in full effect. you were glued to the hip. easy smiles. quick touches. shots that went down too fast. it was easy to be his girlfriend when the lust between you pulsed like a second heartbeat. easy to be his girlfriend when his hands found your waist like they belonged there. and maybe, just maybe, you liked it a little too much.

sometime around your fifth shot. you and jisung were ambushed. cornered in the kitchen by the full dream lineup and their suspiciously pretty, incredibly judgmental girlfriends – jaemin with angel. jeno with bunny. mark with kitten. chenle with baby. haechan with princess. NCTU’s golden couples. and they were all looking at you like you were a new transfer student stepping into the middle of a high school cafeteria. jisung kept it cool. one arm slung around your waist, the other gripping a red solo cup like it was a stress ball.

“hey,” he said casually, “this is my girlfriend, y/n.” the word still sounded strange, even though you’d heard it before. he said it like it wasn’t borrowed. like it was true.

“you didn’t, like, hire her off craigslist?,” haechan asked, sipping his drink.

you rolled your eyes, “does craigslist even exist anymore, grandpa?”

princess laughed immediately before disguising it with a cough when haechan stared her down with a look, almost saying you’re supposed to be on my side.

“oh, she’s funny,” bunny whispered to jeno.

“and hot,” baby whispered louder.

“thank you,” you said sweetly.

kitten raised a brow, “so…how’d you two meet?”

jisung opened his mouth, but you beat him to it, “we’ve actually known each other since freshman year. dance majors. it’s a long story,” you say casually.

angel smirked, “who made the first move?”

“technically? me but he did the heavy lifting,” you replied, sipping from your cup.

baby smiled, excited for her next question, like she couldn’t believe it was her turn to ask this. “is he good in bed?”

jisung choked on his drink, blush immediately creeping up his ears. you grinned, “very. i could barely walk after.”

the girls leaned in like you were telling ghost stories. princess smirked, “big?”

“the pictures don’t do him justice…i wasn’t sure he was gonna fit,” you answer with a sly smile, still calmly sipping your drink. their jaw drops. meanwhile, the guys stayed quiet, all standing behind their girlfriends, arms draped protectively, watching your back-and-forth carefully. looking for cracks, inconsistencies. but you knew your story, and you delivered it well. no hesitation. no flinching. and you haven’t said a single lie. jisung physically recoiled, his body burning, “okay–wow–okay, do you guys have to do this?” there was something vulgar about you showing him off. something that made all the blood rush to his cock.

“yes,” the group said in unison.

“this is practically tradition now,” jaemin added, “fresh meat gets grilled.”

“what’s his nickname for you?,” chenle cuts in, smirking. if you didn’t have a nickname, jisung was fucked.

“cherry,” you say easily. not even thinking about it.

“awee, that’s so cute,” bunny sighs.

“i like her,” angel decided.

“yeah,” baby nodded, “she passes.”

“what do you like most about him?,” kitten asked, not convinced just yet. it was the hardest question of the night. not because you didn’t have an answer. but because it wasn’t about lust. or performance. or fun. it was real. your eyes found jisung, his gaze met yours, a question in his eyes. you smiled, soft, “he makes me laugh,” you said, voice steady but soft, and for the first time that night, your teasing tone faded into something honest. jisung, who had been nursing his drink beside you, blinked, just once. you didn’t look at him. you kept your eyes on kitten, who had asked the question, but you could feel the way he stilled beside you, “i don’t have to pretend around him,” you went on, “like, i’ve never felt the need to act cooler or tougher or sweeter just to keep his attention. he’s already seen the awkward, most humiliating parts of me and he doesn’t flinch.”

jisung shifted, a tiny lean toward you. like your words had reached somewhere he hadn’t meant to expose. you glanced at him for a split second. his face was unreadable, but his grip on his cup had loosened, “and,” you added, with a small smile, “even when he’s annoying or smug… he listens. he notices things. he remembers them. he just…gets me.”

for a second, there was a beat of silence. even the music from the living room felt far away. jisung just looked at you like he was trying to memorize the moment. and then princess let out a dramatic sigh, “okay, what the fuck, that was actually beautiful.” the other girls murmured in agreement, while the boys exchanged glances, a little stunned.

chenle clapped once, “it was convincing.”

haechan narrowed his eyes then adds, “still feels suspicious.”

then jeno grinned, “one last thing.” he pointed upward with his drink and like a synchronized sitcom cue, everyone’s heads tilted up — directly above you and jisung, taped to the cabinet, dropping slightly but still unmistakable there — was a sprig of glitter, plastic mistletoe. you turned your head to jisung. he was already looking at you. no nerves. no hesitation. his cup hit the counter behind you and then his hand was on your jaw, guiding you into a kiss like it was second nature. like it was already a habit. it wasn’t rushed. wasn’t dramatic. just firm, familiar and too easy to forget you weren’t alone. the girls let out a chorus of ooooohs, some random drunk in the back wolf-whistled and chenle rolled his eyes, “it’s the holiday. let them have their fake love story.”

finally, mark shrugged, “fine. you passed the test. for now.”

jaemin added, “but if you hurt him…”

you raised a brow, “he’ll deserve it.” that made them laugh. jisung didn’t say anything. but he looked at you for a second longer than necessary. there was something soft in his eyes now, something warmer than the flush of alcohol in his cheeks. and for the first time, the boys looked… quietly convinced. the group slowly began to disperse, satisfied with their interrogation. the golden couples peeling off one by one – jaemin and angel returning to the living room, bunny tugging jeno toward the drinks table, mark whispering something to kitten that made her roll her eyes before laughing softly, chenle and baby starting a beer pong game, and haechan and princess slipping away mid-banter, their bickering fading into the music. you and jisung stayed in the kitchen for another beat, sharing a knowing glance.

“do you think we passed?,” you asked, nudging him.

he raised an eyebrow, “you basically said i rearranged your guts in front of five of my hyungs and their girlfriends. we passed with flying colors.”

you laughed, bumping your shoulder against his, “they asked. i answered.” he smirked, grabbing your hand and tugging you back into the living room where people were dancing. arms in the air. offbeat footwork. someone doing the worm in a corner for absolutely no reason. and it was fun. you and jisung danced, easy and laughing, like no one was watching. like it didn’t matter. like your bodies knew the rhythm of each other already. he spun you once, exaggerated and dramatic, then dipped you too low, catching you just in time. you squealed, smacked his shoulder, and he grinned like he’d been waiting all night for that exact moment. and then you saw them. your friends – karina, sophia, sion and dongpyo. all standing near the wall, cups in hand, clearly people-watching. except they weren’t watching just anyone they were watching you. four pairs of widened eyes with expressions that are a mix of disbelief and celebration. you caught their eyes across the dance floor and coolly, confidently, held up two fingers, rubbing them against your thumb – the money signal. karina groaned on the spot, face-palming like she couldn’t believe you were really winning. sophia snorted into her drink. sion gave you the slow, proud nod of a man witnessing history. dongpyo let out a loud, echoing “YES!” that got drowned out by the bass drop but still made people look. only the four of them knew what it meant. the win was yours. soon.

you turned back to jisung, smile still tugging at the corner of your lips. he didn’t notice the exchange. and then, somewhere between songs, his hand slipped low on your waist. he leaned in close, his voice a quiet, honey-smooth murmur against your ear, “i’m pretty sure,” he said, “the fine print included going upstairs and making you feel even better.” your heart skipped a beat. and just like that, he was pulling you up the stairs. the party fades behind you, the pulse of bass and drunken voices muffled as jisung shuts the door to his room with a quiet click. his hand is still laced with yours, and your skin is buzzing — from alcohol, from adrenaline, from him. he guides you inside, gently sitting you down on the edge of his bed. his room doesn’t look much different from freshman year, the led lights are still blue, casting soft shadows across the room, making the moment feel suspended in its own little bubble.

jisung moves over to his speakers and grins, “got a christmas present for you.” before you can ask what, the unmistakable beat of pony starts to play, your eyes widen “oh my god,” you burst out laughing, “no fucking way.”

jisung looks over his shoulder, that shit-eating grin growing, he watches you laugh, “you remember this?”

“how could i forget?,” you try to contain your laughter, but then jisung starts performing. body rolls, thrusts – slow, deliberate, confident, every motion teasing. like he’s channeling his own magic mike show. his shirt hits the floor first, and you have to bite down on your lip as his fingers trail over his abs. then he grinds on floor, hips rolling with every beat, pants inching down gradually until the only thing between you and his dick is a thin pair of black boxers. and even that’s barely doing its job. his bulge is already obscene, thick and heavy, the shape of him outlined perfectly. you swear you can see the weight of it. your thighs instinctively press together.

“you’re drooling,” he teases, before parting your legs open and sliding up in between them, still body rolling. “oh, shut up,” you giggled, smacking his chest. but your hands stay there, fingers trailing down the lines of his abs, then lower, his cock straining against his briefs.

“you want me to keep going?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing.

you nod, breathless, “take them off.”

“say please.” you roll your eyes, then murmur it right against his mouth, “please.” he groans and strips the last layer off, and fuck. you’ve seen him hard before. you’ve felt him. but nothing compares to this — to the way he stands in front of you, completely, bare and unashamed, cock hard and heavy, curving up toward his stomach.

“tongue-tied already?” he teases. you reach for him without thinking, wrapping your fingers around the base of his length, “you’re so big, jisung.”

he hisses, hips twitching, “and you take every inch like a good girl, don’t you?,” he mutters, a finger under your chin. the words make you clench around nothing. he pulls you to your feet, undressing you slowly — like he’s unwrapping something precious. your dress slips off your shoulders. your panties slide down your legs. when you’re finally naked, he drags his eyes up your body and groans, “fucking perfect.”

you’re already soaking when he takes a seat at the edge of his bed, pulling you into his lap and guiding you to straddle him. he kisses you once, deep and messy, before pulling back, “condom?” you shake your head no, “just pull out again,” you breathe, pulling him closer, already grinding down against him.

he groans, “fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” with one hand wrapped around his cock, you line him up, and then you sink down. it’s not graceful. it never is with jisung. it’s filthy and slow and overwhelming. your walls stretch to take him, breath catching in your throat as he fills you up. he’s too big. he knows he’s too big. he lives for the way your body struggles to take all of him, “fuck, cherry,” he groans, head falling back, “you always forget how big i am until i’m inside you, huh?”

you whimper, jaw dropping, digging your nails into his shoulders, “too big—jisung, fuck.”

“take your time,” he breathes, voice barely holding together, “you got it.” — you feel the stretch, the pressure. when you finally sit all the way, you cling to him, forehead to forehead, panting. then his hand slides down your stomach, fingers spreading wide just beneath your ribs. this new angle was intense. “look,” he whispers, awe in his voice, “you see that?” you glance down. there’s a visible bulge pressing up in your belly. a shape. him. you moan, soft and wrecked, and jisung groans like he’s going to lose it, his eyes are locked on it, completely wrecked, “that’s me,” he says darkly, rubbing slow circles over the visible shape of his cock inside you, “so fucking deep. i’m inside your stomach, cherry.”

“holy shit,” you breathe, whimpering, “i feel everything,” you tighten around him just to feel his reaction and he hisses through his teeth, fingers digging into your ass, “you like that?,” he practically growls, “knowing how deep i am?”

“i love it,” you groan, rolling your hips.

“you were made for this,” he grunts, lifting his hips into you, “made for me.” your hands claw at his chest as you begin to move, slow at first, circling your hips as he groans beneath you. every thrust hits deep, dragging across every nerve, every sweet spot, until your thighs are shaking and you can’t stop the sounds spilling from your lips.

he grabs one breast, tongue lapping over your nipple, then sucks hard, while his fingers pinch the other. you cry out, body jerking, “jisung—fuck, slow down with the marks,” you gasp, “do you know how much concealer i’ve been using just to hide the other ones?”

“i don’t give a shit,” he murmurs, laughing into your skin, then switching to the other, sucking even harder, “they’ll see you’re mine.” — you start riding him in earnest, bouncing in his lap, your thighs burning, his cock stretching you perfectly over and over again. the room is filled with nothing but moans, wet sounds, skin on skin. he grabs your ass, thrusting up into you harder, “look at you. stuffed full. you love it, don’t you?” you nod, unable to speak, that heat in your stomach threatening to break with every thrust, “fuck—jisung, i’m close—,” you choke out.

“come for me, cherry” he pants, “i wanna feel it. feel you squeezing me.” he slams up into you at just the right angle. and it hits. your orgasm shatters, head tossed back, nails sinking into his shoulders, thighs shaking as your walls clamp down around him. your entire body jerks as the wave pulls you under, collapsing against his chest, breath gone. but jisung doesn’t stop. he’s still thrusting up into you, faster now, chasing his own high. his rhythm turns brutal, desperate, driving into you so deep and quick it knocks the air right out of your lungs. you scream, overstimulated and wrecked, the pleasure riding that fine line between too much and not enough. “jisung—” you gasp, voice hoarse, eyes watering, “too much—”

“i know, cherry,” he groans, voice thick with hunger, “but i need you. just a little more. let me feel you again.” you cling to him, moaning helplessly as his cock keeps dragging along that oversensitive spot inside you, again and again. it stings, sharp and raw, but your body starts to give way to it, the pain blurring into pleasure, nerve endings frayed and sparking as the burn starts to fade. then it coils again. that low, unbearable ache in your belly, winding up faster than before, tighter. you cry out, overwhelmed, mind blank as that second orgasm barrels toward you with no mercy, “jisung—fuck—again—i’m gonna—”

“do it,” he groans, rutting up harder. and you do. you break all over again, back arching hard, a sob ripping from your throat as your second orgasm tears through your already sensitive body. it slams into you like a crashing wave, stealing your voice, your breath, your everything. your pussy fluttering around him so tight and wet it forces a strangled sound from his throat.

“fuck, fuck—i’m coming—” he pulls out fast, just in time, pumping himself through it as hot release splashes over your stomach and chest. his head drops to your shoulder, breath hot and panting against your neck. you’re shaking in his lap, every inch of you trembling, ruined and flushed and boneless. the room is wrecked with slick, heat, and the aftershocks of everything you just gave each other. then jisung moves. soft hands. gentle touches. he grabs his shirt from the floor and gently wipes you clean, careful with your still-quivering skin. as he goes, he peppers kisses to your collarbone, your sternum, the tip of your chin—each one a quiet apology and a reverent thank-you.

“did i hurt you?” he murmurs, still breathless but gentle now, “talk to me.”

you manage a shaky laugh, curling into his neck, “no,” you whisper, “that was perfect…just… fuck.”he exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something he hadn’t even realized he was holding, and pulls the both of you up to his pillows, tucking the covers around you. his arms wrap around your waist tightly as he pulls you flush to his chest, pressing a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, then your jaw. when he’s sure you’re safe, warm, and steady in his arms, he lets his body relax beneath yours. and when you finally found your voice, you murmur, “by the way… happy anniversary.”

he stills. then pulls back to look at you. “wait…no way.” you grin sleepily, a tiny smirk on your lips. his eyes widened. then he laughs, soft and amazed. “wow. can you believe we were those same awkward freshmen?”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut, “thank god we’re not. because you knowing what to do with your dick is the best thing that’s happened to my sex life.” he snorts, cheeks pink as he buries his face in your neck, “shut up.” then he pulls the blanket tighter around both of you, arm wrapped around your waist, breath steadying against your skin.

🍒 DAY 10 OF THE BET - A HOLY NIGHT.

you wake up tangled in warm sheets. jisung’s arm is still draped around your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back, his face buried in the curve of your neck like he can’t stand to let you go even in sleep. you stretch, smiling to yourself as the memories of last night flood back — pony, his hand on your stomach, and the way he whispered mine with his lips against your throat. now, the ache lingers between your thighs, deep in your hips, your skin humming with the memory of him. he’s behind you, his breath warm against the back of your neck. you can feel his morning wood pressed against you, thick and hot, heavy against the curve of your ass through nothing but skin. you think about turning over. saying good morning. maybe teasing him. but then he shifts again, hips nudging forward instinctively. there’s a pause. a sleepy groan. and then— he’s inside you.

you gasp, eyes flying open, mouth parting on a broken sound as he buries himself in you with one slow, lazy thrust. thick, deep, stretching you open like he owns you, “jisung—” you whisper, voice already breathless. a low groan rumbles from his chest as he presses closer, his body molding to yours, keeping you in place with his arm still locked around your waist. “fuck… still so warm,” he murmurs against your shoulder, “still wet.”

“i’m sore,” you breathe, shivering as he pulls back and slides in again, just as deep, “so sore…”

“good,” he groans, “wanna keep you sore all day.”the words make your walls flutter around him, and he notices — of course he does, “yeah? you like that?” he whispers, nuzzling your neck, fucking you in slow, steady rolls of his hips, he brings one of your legs up, wrapping it around his hips for easier access, hitting you just right, “waking up with me inside you, still wrecked from the night before?”you can’t even answer. everything feels too good. you’re still heavy with sleep, and every nerve feels exposed. like the drowsy haze has stripped away all your defenses. his cock drags against your sensitive walls. and the stretch, the heat, the fullness—it’s overwhelming. “i can’t—fuck,” you choke out, fingers gripping the sheets as your hips rock back into him, “i’m already so close.”

“that’s it,” he breathes, curling tighter around you, his chest flush against your back, his hand sliding between your thighs to find your clit, “want you to soak my cock first thing in the morning.” he circles your clit slow, teasing, while his thrusts grow deeper, more purposeful, thick, gliding friction that has your whole body trembling, “please—jisung—oh my god—”

“let go,” he whispers, “let me have it.” you fall apart with a strangled cry, legs shaking under the covers, hips jerking against his as your orgasm rushes through you — sharp and fast and almost unbearable in your half-asleep state. he moans your name into your shoulder as your walls clamp down around him, pulsing and wet. and then he’s gone. unraveling with you, cursing under his breath as he thrusts once, twice more. he spills inside you with a groan so low it vibrates against your spine. you both go still — breathing heavy, bodies flushed, tangled under the sheets with his cock still inside you, keeping you full. your brows draw together slightly as you feel his warmth buried deep inside you.

“…fuck, jisung,” you blink, voice still wrecked and lazy, “did you just come inside me?”

he exhales a soft laugh, nosing at your jaw, sleepy and smug, “don’t worry, cherry. got a morning-after pill somewhere in the condom drawer.”

you snort, still breathless, and let out a soft laugh, “thank god,” you let your head fall back onto the pillow, chest still rising and falling, legs still weak, “because i am not ready to carry your kids.” there’s a pause. then he smirks, pressing another kiss to your skin, slower this time, more dangerous. “don’t tempt me.” you turn your head just enough to catch the gleam in his eyes, “was that a threat or a promise?”

he groans playfully, shifting his hips just enough to make you gasp again, “say one more thing and i will go for round two,” he counters, still nestled against you, his cock softening but still inside, like he can’t stand to leave your body just yet. you laugh, breathless and warm. you both lie there for a moment longer — hearts racing, skin sticky, limbs tangled beneath the weight of the duvet. his fingers trace lazy circles on your stomach, still holding you close.

he presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “merry christmas, cherry,” he murmurs, voice tender and low.

you smile, heart full, “merry christmas, jisung.” you finally turn in his arms, and he meets you halfway, pressing a soft, slow kiss to your lips – warm, gentle, sweet.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

twenty minutes later, the two of you are downstairs, you’re standing in the middle of a surprisingly clean kitchen, definitely not as wrecked as the living room. you’re dressed head to toe in him — jisung’s oversized pajama top swallowing your frame, his boxers peeking out beneath the hem, and his fuzzy gray socks slouching halfway down your calves. jisung pulls a mixing bowl from the cabinet as you roll up your sleeves, “alright, let’s get to work, baker park.”

“i’m warning you now,” he says, weirdly serious, “i burn toast.” he wasn’t lying. you regret everything about two minutes in. jisung is a disaster. he mistakes salt for pepper, almost washed the chocolate chips with water and soap, nearly cracks an entire egg shell into the batter, and at one point tries to microwave the butter with the foil still on. you catch it just in time.

“i said i burn toast!,” he defends, pouting as he stirs what might possibly be the lumpiest cookie dough on earth. you lean in, scraping the sides of the bowl for him, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“you think i’m cute?” he teases, eyes gleaming.

“shut up,” you nudge him, rolling your eyes.

he takes a pinch of the batter and tastes it, “mmm, tastes like… regret.” you dissolve into laughter before carefully placing the tray into the oven and then squealing when he lunges at you, batter-covered fingers raised like claws. “don’t you dare—,” you scream, grabbing the spatula to keep him an arms length away. “too late!,” he says, that mischievous smirk growing with every second. he chases you around the kitchen island, the two of you shrieking with laughter, “jisung, stop!” you gasp, cheeks aching from smiling too much. “never!” he says, matching your expression. you finally spin around and catch him mid-lunge, pressing a quick, sticky kiss to his mouth. it stuns him. for just a second. the next he’s grabbing you by the hips and lifting you onto the counter like it’s second nature, sliding between your knees. his lips find yours again — slower, deeper, heated. you kiss him back, fingers threading into his hair, the sweetness of chocolate still lingering on his tongue. one of his hands trails up your thigh, fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt on your body. you break the kiss with a breathless laugh, batting his hand away, “jisung.”

“what?,” he groans, still chasing your lips.

“the guys might catch us.”

“i don’t care.”

“well, i do,” you grin, pressing your forehead to his, “we’re not about to get banned from the kitchen on christmas morning.” the oven beeps. you stick your tongue out at him, earning a small chuckle from him before slipping down to check the cookies. despite the chaos — the salt incident, the finger-licking sabotage, they actually smell… good. you pull one from the tray, still warm and golden at the edges, and break it in half. steam curls from the center. jisung watches you nervously. you take a bite. pause. he squints, “what? is it bad?”

you blink, “wait. no… jisung.”

he looks ready to panic, “what? oh god, what?”

“these are actually good.” you hold the half-cookie out to him and he bites into it skeptically.

his eyes widen, “oh my god. no way. we made good cookies.” you're both stunned for a second — and then burst into simultaneous laughter. jisung grabs you by the waist again, sitting you back up on the counter, calmer now. you eat your cookies in peace, his arms lazily around your waist.

thats when the door opens — mark and kitten shuffle in first, holding hands and wearing matching hoodies that definitely weren’t hers yesterday. his lips are still a little puffy, and her neck is suspiciously turtlenecked, despite the heater being on. jaemin and angel wander in next, blanket-wrapped and practically glowing. angel’s got that just-got-worshipped-for-an-hour hair, and jaemin’s jawline is kissed raw. he doesn’t even try to hide the hickeys. jeno and bunny follow, holding hands, both flushed, looking like they got exactly two hours of sleep and the rest was cardio. bunny’s lips are glossed but smudged, and jeno has a fresh bite mark right below his ear. then there’s chenle and baby, who enter gossiping about things that happened last night. chenle’s shirt is inside out. baby’s wearing his sweats. neither of them cares. haechan and princess saunter in last, arguing about who took up more blanket space while princess is literally still wearing haechan’s boxers and he’s trailing behind her like a lovesick puppy.

then there’s renjun, standing in the doorway, looking like he’s witnessing the aftermath of a hormone-fueled high school musical. his eyes scan the room, at all the half-dressed couples, the stolen looks, the flour-dusted PDA, and he sighs like he’s aged forty years overnight, “is this a kitchen or a post-orgy snack break?”

kitten hums, curled under mark’s arm, “well, it is christmas.”

mark grins, “it was a holy night.”

renjun stares, his jaw dropping, “you did not.”

“silent night,” chenle chimes in, “not so silent anymore.” he high fives mark and baby at the same time.

jeno, smug as ever, grabs a cookie, pulling bunny into his side. “we all woke up feeling very festive.”

bunny takes one look at you on the counter in jisung’s arms and smirks, “please tell me you got railed too. you look like it.”

jisung presses a kiss to your neck without missing a beat, “twice.”

the girls laugh. the guys cheer. renjun looks like he wants to stick a fork inside the toaster, “can we please not do foreplay in the kitchen where I make my eggs?,” he sighs.

“you make eggs like twice a month,” jisung retorts.

“still! this is sacred ground,” he huffs, “why does this house suddenly feel like one of those romcom movies where everyone’s in love but me?” he mutters bitterly.

kitten takes a bite of one of the cookies and pauses, “wait… these are actually kind of perfect?”

you and jisung share matching, smug grins. you giggle into his hoodie when he says, not even trying to be quiet, “i might have to keep you forever if you keep making cookies like this.” the room falls silent. your breath catches. you stiffen, but jisung doesn’t even notice — too busy playing his boyfriend role and looking at you like you hung the moon. your fingers curl instinctively around his shoulder, the corner of your mouth twitching up, stunned and warm all over.

then, haechan, without missing a beat, “yup. he’s down bad.”

renjun drops into one of the chairs, “i hate it here.”

haechan leans toward renjun with a smirk, “you’re just mad you didn’t get to wake up with someone in your shirt.”

renjun raises a brow, “you’re right. i woke up without being suffocated in someone’s armpit. can’t relate.” princess gasps in mock offense and haechan laughs, tugging her closer. meanwhile, you and jisung stay tangled together on the counter. he’s brushing crumbs from your mouth with his thumb. you press a lazy kiss to his finger. he hums contentedly. and unbeknownst to both of you — mark, jaemin, jeno, chenle, haechan and renjun all catch the way jisung looks at you. the way he doesn’t even try to be cool about it anymore. his hands are gentle on your waist. that proud little grin on his lips. the softness in his voice. the way he looks like he finally stopped running. and quietly, without a word, all six of them glance at each other. just brief eye contact. they don’t say it aloud. they don’t have to. but every single one of them is thinking the same thing – he’s going to be okay. after everything, the quiet sadness jisung was drowning in, the late-night walks alone, the way he’d crack a joke just to change the subject, the distance he never explained. it’s all fading. replaced with the boy they remember – soft. warm. grounded. whole. present. and it’s because of you.

renjun breaks the silence again before anyone could catch on, a tiny smile on his face, “oh god. now you all are doing the heart-eyes thing? is this a cult? are the cookies laced?”

“you okay, jun?” bunny teases. renjun narrows his eyes, “no. i’m surrounded by couples who all had sex last night, this kitchen smells like frosting and pheromones, and i’m emotionally third-wheeling six relationships.”

angel opens her arms up, “come here. you can join me and jaemin.” jaemin nods, reaching out to ruffle his hair, “we’ll make room.”

renjun immediately ducks away, “get your cooties off me.” the room dissolves into laughter. someone cranks up the christmas playlist until it’s too loud. and the kitchen — frosting-smeared, sugar-dusted, chaos-filled — becomes the softest, happiest, most chaotic love nest on earth.

🍒 DAY 11 OF THE BET - LITTLE FREAKS.

everyone had gone home for a bit over the holiday break. a quick return to normal families, traditional dinners, distant relatives asking too many questions. not you. not jisung. he didn’t want to deal with his family’s concerned eyes, not when they looked at him like he was one bad choice away from completely falling apart. you didn’t want to go home. not when all anyone would ask about was your nonexistent love life. your friends hadn’t left either, too lazy.

so you invited jisung along – bowling sounded harmless enough. you definitely didn’t expect him to stick to you like velcro. he was practically glued to your side, one arm always slung casually around your waist, sometimes on your thigh. his head rested on your shoulder while you picked out your bowling ball, fingers laced through yours even when you were just waiting for your turn — the moment jisung excused himself to the bathroom, your friends pounced.

“okay, what the hell is going on?” karina hissed, leaning so far across the table she nearly knocked over her drink, “since when did you guys get so close?”

“did you see how he looked at her?,” dongpo asked, incredulous, “like she hung the fucking stars.”

you leaned back in your seat, trying not to look startled, “you guys are being dramatic,” you said, reaching for your drink, “it’s just casual.”

“casual?” sophia echoed, “girl, he kissed your shoulder. twice. no one kisses shoulders casually.”sion was squinting at you like he was trying to see through your soul, “you’re holding hands. you’re sharing drinks. he calls you cherry…are we still pretending this is just for convenience? for the bet?”

you shrugged, a little too carefully, “look, relax. i’m acting. that’s the whole point.”

“you don’t look like you’re acting,” karina said softly. her words made something uncomfortable shift in your chest. “and you’re smiling differently,” dongpyo said, suspiciously, “like, he says something and your face does this… soft thing.”

“he’s the one practically clinging to me,” you said, defensive, “that’s not on me.”

“maybe,” sion said, “but where’s the part where you roll your eyes when guys get clingy? where’s the part where you run the second things get… warm?”

you paused, fingers tightening around your cup. you tried to deflect, “it’s just physical, okay? you all saw how touchy he was. jisung’s half the work already.”

“i mean, you’re not exactly pulling away,” sophia added, “we know you, remember? you don’t like cuddling. you hate labels. you once ghosted a guy for writing you a love poem and said it was cringe.”they weren’t wrong. you throat tightened. you hated how well they knew you.

“that was cringe,” you point out, forcing a laugh, “relax, guys. i don’t fall in love. i’m just really good at making people feel special…that $500 is still mine.” but as the words left your mouth, something about them felt off. wrong. heavy. for the first time, it didn’t feel like a flex. it felt like a lie. you felt that familiar pang in your stomach. the one you’d been ignoring since christmas eve. not the lust. not excitement — guilt. because he didn’t know. because you knew what that girl did to him in high school, and you were starting to wonder if you were any better.

they all exchanged looks, clearly not convinced. “hey,” sion’s voice softened, “if something’s going on, you can tell us.” you blinked back the sudden pressure behind your eyes, “there’s nothing to tell.”

before they could press more, jisung returned, tossing a grin your way, cocky and breathless, like he already knew what kind of trouble he was about to start and your heart stuttered. “guess what i found?” he whispered in your ear, showing you a strip of photo booth pictures some random couple left behind. his fingers brush against the small of your back, “come with me.” you followed after shooting your friends a sly smile even though your stomach was in knots. and when he took your hand, guiding you up from your seat, you knew your friends were still watching. still unsure. still wondering if they should intervene. he tugged you through the neon haze of the arcade and you pushed the thoughts away, slipping past claw machines until you reached the tiny booth in the corner. it looked ancient, barely wide enough to fit two people, curtain fraying.

it started off innocent. sitting side by side. posing. smiling. peace signs. duck lips. a kiss on the cheek. then the timer clicked again, and jisung was lifting you up to sit on his lap, a tiny squeal escaping from your lips, your skirt rising high around your hips, large hands wrapping around your waist, so close to the place you need him the most. this time the pictures are less innocent. both his hands cupping your breasts, pushing them up. an open mouthed kiss. your hand on his jaw. you can feel his bulge under you and it drives you crazy. “jisung–,” you sigh into his mouth, “need to feel you,” you say, your fingers fumbling for his zipper. he complies right away, pushing his pants down just enough to free himself. a flicker of nerves lit up in your chest, but the hunger in his eyes drowned it out. he was so hard, already pulsing beneath you and you didn’t want to waste another second. you sank onto him, ignoring the sting, your breath caught in your throat like a prayer.

jisung inserts another coin. the flash went off. the booth capturing the way your eyes fluttered shut for just a second, overwhelmed. his hands gripped your thighs, firm and grounding, and you rock your hips forward, chasing the drag of him inside you — slow, then deeper, until he filled you completely. another flash. this one caught your mouth open in a gasp, your hands braced on his knees. the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, like he loved the way the camera was catching it all. it made you even wetter, “you’re crazy,” you whispered, dizzy with the way his cock throbbed inside you. the way you could barely stay quiet.

“and you’re beautiful,” he murmured. then without warning, he tugged your shirt up, knuckles grazing your ribs. higher and higher. until your chest was bare — completely exposed to the low flickering light and the cold lens of the booth’s camera.“jisung–,” you try to pull your shirt back down but he doesn’t let that happen.

“smile for me,” he said, voice dark and teasing. he cupped your breast with one hand, the other feeding the photobooth another coin without even glancing, “let them see how good i make you feel.” you were flushed, panting, completely full of him and when the next flash hit, he kept his eyes locked on the camera, shameless and smug, while you rolled your hips on him in slow, desperate circles. the strip would show everything without showing anything. your body bouncing in his lap, your mouth slack with pleasure, the curve of your bare chest, his grip on you possessive and adoring. a blurred rush of lust and power, of being wanted so fully you could feel it in your bones. and him – grinning through it all. smirking like the devil with his hands all over you like he knew exactly what he was doing. you rode him harder now, chasing that edge, your hands planted on his hips, his cock thick inside you and hitting every spot that made your vision blur.

another coin. another set. the next flash caught his mouth on your shoulder, your head thrown back, your lips parted in a silent moan, “fuck, look at you,” he groaned, watching your reflection in the smudged glass across from the lens, “so fucking pretty when you ride me.” you whimpered when he thrust up into you, just once, sharp and deep, and you clenched around him, the pressure building dangerously, “jisung i’m gonna–”

“i know,” he breathed, sweat slicking his brow, teeth grazing your neck, “i know, cherry. keep going. just like that. don’t stop.” you were both panting now. the booth was too hot, too small, both of you desperately trying to control your moans and the sounds of your bodies colliding. then his grip on your waist tightened. his voice dropped low, guttural, shaky, “gonna cum, cherry. fuck—inside. can i?” you could barely speak, just nodded, already there, already unraveling around him. the moment you clenched, he buried himself as deep as he could go and spilled into you with a rough, muffled groan against your shoulder. his fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place, making sure not a drop escaped. you collapsed against him, spent and shaking, your back pressed to his chest with the final flash — immortalizing the mess of tangled limbs, gasping mouths, ruined control. he stayed buried in you for a beat, still pulsing, hands lazily roaming your back as you both caught your breath.

you stepped out of the booth first, legs shaking just enough to make it obvious if anyone were watching. though luckily, the back corner of the arcade was mostly dead. jisung followed right after, breath still uneven, hair a mess, and shirt half-untucked. he reached into the machine slot just as it spat out the last strip of picture. there were five strips total, each holding four pictures. all in order. all in motion. the first was innocent enough, you smiling, still clothed. the second, your shirt halfway up, his mouth on your shoulder. the third – “oh my god,” you gasped, snatching the strip from his hand, “jisung!,” he peered over your shoulder, already grinning like a kid that just received the best christmas gift ever, “both of my boobs are out in this one!,” you whisper-yelled, eyes wide as you pointed to the fourth frame, where you were mid-ride, spine arched, chest bared, his hands full of you and that smug ass look still stamped across his face. he had no shame. none. “yeah, i’m keeping that one,” he said, plucking the strip from your hands before you could even think of tearing it in half. “no. give it–,” you reach out. “nope,” he folded it carefully, precisely, like it was some sacred artifact and tucked it into his wallet with a wink, “best christmas gift ever.” you gawked at him, rolling your eyes, “someone’s gonna see that,” you muttered, heart pounding as you glanced around, suddenly paranoid someone might come around the corner and spot the both of you disheveled and glowing. he leaned in, voice low against your ear, “no one else is gonna see it, cherry. that one’s just for me.”

you roll your eyes, taking a second to fix yourself up. while jisung didn’t even try. he looked smug and satisfied. you made your way back to your friends. karina spotted you first, “there you guys are…wait,” she narrowed her eyes, “where the hell did you two disappear to?”

“bathroom,” you said quickly.

“photo booth,” jisung answered at the same time.

shit. your group immediately went silent.

sophia squinted, a teasing smile on her lip, “so…was it a bathroom or a photo booth hookup?”

“neither,” you lied. horribly. “we just–he found a funny strip and we were laughing about it.”

“mhm,” sion arched a brow as he sipped from his soda, “that’s why you have a fresh new hickey on your neck.” your stomach dropped, your hand immediately going up to use your hair as a cover.

dongpyo’s jaw fell open, “oh my god, you little freaks—”

“shut up!” you hissed, sliding back into your seat. jisung sat beside you, calm as ever, tossing a fry in his mouth like he hadn’t just ruined you five minutes ago in a cramped booth, “you guys are real observant for people who are down by like, forty points,” he teases.

“don’t deflect,” sophia said, pointing a perfectly manicured nail between the two of you, “there’s tension. there’s… suspicious glows. there's possibly sex hair. did you guys—?”

“no,” you said.

“yes,” jisung said at the same time. you kicked him under the table. he choked on his fry, and you refused to look up as the entire group burst into chaos.

“oh my god!” karina shrieked, practically launching herself across the table, “in the photo booth?!”

“you’re disgusting,” sion said, which was rich coming from him. “are there pictures?” sophia asked, eyes wide with gleeful horror.

“no one’s ever seeing those,” you snapped, heat crawling up your neck again. you buried your face in your hands, groaning as the table erupted in overlapping questions, taunts, and fake retching noises. and even though you wanted the floor to swallow you whole, you couldn’t stop the tiny smile pulling at your lips. because under the table, jisung’s pinky was hooked with yours. and neither of you let go.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

it was nearly midnight when the group finally parted ways — the air still thick with leftover teasing and suspicious side-eyes. the bowling alley buzz had worn off, but jisung hadn’t let go of your hand the entire walk to the parking lot.

"everyone else is home for the break," he said casually, glancing at you as you reached his car, “dream house is empty.” you raised a brow, smirking, already know what he’s asking, “and?”

“and i don’t feel like being alone tonight,” his eyes flicked down to your lips, “come home with me.”you didn’t even hesitate. you just nodded and got in. the drive was peaceful, you and jisung talk about everything and anything. when you finally get to the dream house, it's unusually quie. the muffled hush is a stark contrast to the laughter and lights the place usually held, leaving the place feeling like your own little private world. you both kick off your shoes by the door. your legs a little sore from the photobooth. you flop onto the couch, burying your face in the cushions, “what are we watching?”

“home alone?,” jisung asks, pulling it up on netflix, “it’s a christmas classic.”

“sounds good,” you mumble into the couch and before you know it, he’s sat beside you. you’ve somehow ended up half on his lap, legs stretched out, your bottom half on his thighs, skirt riding high from the way you’re laying, ass slightly raised. you mean to adjust, you really do, but he doesn’t seem to mind and the position was too comfortable to move. your eyes stay fixed on the screen as the movie starts, jisung tracing soft patterns on your calves. it’s only when his hand lands on the curve of your ass, warm and slow, like it belongs there, that you freeze,“what are you doing?,” you ask, voice low, face still pressed into the pillows.

“nothing,” he says, a little too innocently. you don’t turn to look at him, but you can hear the smirk on his voice. you should stop him. but you don’t. you just let him touch you, let his fingers knead the softness through your skirt like it’s the most natural thing in the world. the movie plays on. you try to focus but you can feel jisung watching you. he leans back, one hand still massaging the curve of your ass, rougher this time. you feel him hardening beneath you, feel the subtle shift of his thigh under your center as your underwear clings wetly between your legs, “this skirt should be illegal,” he mutters to himself, his touch making your spine shiver. and with no warning he lands a slap, loud and red and shocking, on one of your cheeks. you jolt with a gasp, a sharp, high moan escapes before you can stop it, surprised and unfiltered. you whip your head around to look at him, your mouth slightly open, eyes wide. his eyes gleamed with mischief, “you like that?” you open your mouth to deny it. then freezes when his hand smooths over the same spot. soothing the sting. the heat and tension pooling low in your belly.

“maybe,” you whisper. he lands another one, this time on the other cheek. the moan that slips out of you is louder. your hips twitch slightly, fingers clutching the cushion tighter. he leans over you, voice dark and playful now, “didn’t know you were into that.” his fingers hook into the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down slowly, like he’s giving you time to stop him. but you don’t. you stay perfectly still, breath shaky, as he slides the fabric down your thighs, leaving you in your white cotton underwear – delicate, damp and undeniably revealing. you hear him exhale slowly. then his palm lands again and your hips roll into him, soft moans muffled into the couch. his hand caresses the heated skin between every strike, gentle in the places where he was just rough. and all the while, the movie still plays – a cheerful soundtrack to something far less innocent.

he lets out a soft groan, “you’re so wet,” he murmurs, in awe.

“i-i didn’t know i would like that,” you admit, your voice barely audible, “but i think i do,” you admit quietly but he hears every word. he chuckles, low and deep, the sound skimming down your spine.

“then let’s keep finding out what else you like,” he whispers, his palm connects again, firm and practiced now, alternating between spanking and soothing, his fingers sometimes dipping lower, testing, teasing. your whole body starts moving with it, moaning into every strike, grinding down helplessly into the ridge of his jeans. the pain shooting pleasure up your spine. “say it,” he whispers, leaning close, “say you like it.”

you pant, dizzy with heat and friction “i like it,” you choke out, “i— fuck, jisung — i love it.”

he kisses your lower back, slow and possessive, “good girl.” you feel wrecked already — and he’s barely touched you. still bent over his lap, your panties cling soaked between your legs, his hand lingering on your ass, fingers flexing like he can’t decide if he wants to soothe you or spank you again. your breathing is erratic, soft moans slipping out of you. “look at you,” he says again, voice deeper, rougher, “didn’t even have to take your panties off to get you dripping all over me.”

“shut up,” you whisper, flushed and humiliated, but you don’t mean it and he knows. instead of shutting up, he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, “let me see you,” he murmurs, “yeah?” you nod, wordless, shivering under the weight of his voice. he pulls them down slowly, a deliberate, dragging tease, and you whimper at the sudden exposure, the cool air hitting wet skin. he drops them to the floor, then spreads your thighs wider on his lap, like he wants to take his time with the view, “fuck,” he exhales, “all this from me just spanking you?”

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you say breathlessly, dazed.

“there’s nothing wrong with you,” jisung murmurs, one hand slipping down to trace through your folds, slick and slow, “you like a little pain with your pleasure and that’s so hot,” then his thumb circles your clit, featherlight, maddening. you gasp, hips jolting. and before you could process what’s happening jisung slaps your cunt. the pleasure spikes sharp in your belly, a moan punching out of you so loud it echoes off the living room walls. you collapse forward against the arm of the couch, gripping the cushions, “oh my god—”

“you want more?” he growls, his fingers slipping lower, dipping just barely inside you, “you want to fall apart on my lap?”

“please,” you choke out, grinding back against his hand, “please, jisung—,” he doesn’t make you beg again. two fingers slide inside you, curling instantly, dragging a broken cry from your lips. his palm cradles your hip while his other fingers find a rhythm — curling, spanking, soothing teasing, until you’re trembling above him, breathless and soaked and spiraling fast.

“listen to you,” he mutters against your back, “listen to how wet you are,” he says, the sound of your juices squelching around his fingers. he grinds his thigh up into your clit as his fingers thrust faster, “you’re so fucking close,” he says like he’s memorized your body, “let go, cherry.” — that’s all it takes. your climax crashes over you. loud, wet, shaking. your whole body locks up, cries muffled into the cushions as your hips stutter and grind into him helplessly. you hear him moan low and wrecked behind you, feel the way he holds you through it, possessive and steady, and the aftershocks leave you limp and boneless in his lap, utterly spent. for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the movie, something ridiculous in the background while you both breathe like you’ve just run a marathon, the aftermath of your orgasm still pulsing through your limbs.

you slowly push yourself up from the couch, breath uneven, heart racing. jisung’s hands are still on your body, loose now. you shift, deliberately, turning to face him. you straddle his lap, eyes dark, flushed and determined. he looks at you with a teasing grin, shirt rumpled, cock painfully hard under his jeans. you lean in close, nose brushing his, voice soft but firm, “is there anything you haven’t done,” you ask, “that you’ve always wanted to try?”

his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s caught off guard. then he smirks. “well… i’ve always wanted to try fucking someone’s tits.” the way he says it, low and rough, with a glint of challenge in his gaze, makes your thighs clench. you don’t answer him with words. you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him with slow, deliberate confidence. your eyes stay on his, unbreaking, even as your hands reach for his jeans. “cherry,” he breathes, his voice as tight, “wait— are you sure?”

“let me take care of you,” you say simply, your voice almost gentle but it holds no room for argument. you remove your shirt, unhooking your bra in one, swift motion. he groans as you free him from his jeans, cock heavy and flushed and pink, leaking at the tip. you lick your lips slowly, then push your tits together, sliding them around him without waiting for permission. he hisses the moment his length sinks into the soft warmth of your chest.

“fuck—” he chokes, head falling back against the couch. you move slowly at first, guiding your tits up and down his shaft, letting the tip pop out near your collarbone before sliding him back down between the swell, “is this what you pictured?” you ask, licking across the head when it peeks out again, “me, on my knees, tits wrapped around you?”

he moans loud and raw, hands flexing uselessly at his sides, “yes. fuck–this is better–,” you pick up the pace, pressing your breasts tighter around his cock, bouncing faster now — letting him watch as you spit into the valley between, adding more slickness, more heat. every time his head slips out, you lean in and lick it, teasing, dragging your tongue slowly and deliberately across the tip, watching him fall apart. he’s panting, hips jerking, eyes locked on your chest like he’s in a trance, “i’m not gonna last—fuck—.” he grunts, you keep going, pace unrelenting, tilting your head just right so your tongue can keep teasing the slit each time. his hand shoots out before he can think, fingers tangling in your hair. he bunches it up in a tight fist, yanking your head back slightly so you’re looking up at him, mouth wet, chest glistening with his juices, eyes dark and teasing.

“fuck,” he growls through clenched teeth, “you’re so fucking hot like this.” you hum around the head of him, letting your tongue swirl filthily as he starts thrusting up your tits now, using your body, your mouth, like he’s completely lost to the feeling. you don’t let up either. if anything, you squeeze your breasts tighter, spit dripping down your cleavage.“you wanna come, jisung?” you murmur, voice sultry and sweet and wicked all at once, “wanna come all over my chest like a good boy?”

his breath punches out of him, the words making him feel dizzy, “jesus—yes. yes, please, cherry—”

“do it,” you whisper, the words vibrating against his cock, your lips ghosting over the head. “come all over me. i want it.” — with a hoarse, desperate cry, jisung jerks forward. his cock pulses between your tits, spilling hot and thick across your chest, your throat, your lips. he doesn’t stop until he’s emptied every last drop, his body trembling, your name falling off his lips like it’s the only word he knows. he collapses back against the couch, panting and wrecked, eyes glazed and stunned. his hand loosens in your hair but doesn’t let go. he stares at you, completely undone, chest heaving, eyes wide. his moans are still echoing in the room, the mess he left on your chest still warm, when you look up at him — eyes dark, lips wet, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. but you’re not done. not even close. still kneeling between his legs, you tilt your heat, “that was so hot,” you murmur, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, still twitching, still sensitive, “but i think you can give me a little more.”

jisung flinches, overstimulated, breath catching, “c-cherry—wait, i just—fuck—,” but you’re already leaning forward again. you lick up the underside of his shaft, slow and languid, catching every trace of cum from earlier. you flatten your tongue along the head, swirling it deliberately, watching his face as his whole body jolts from the contact. his thighs twitch. you take him into your mouth, lips wrapping around the head, sucking gently. he lets out the loudest moan yet, head falling back, hand fisting in your hair tight, like he’ll fall without you, “oh my—fuck, cherry, stop, i’m too—i’m still sensitive—shit,” his hand flies to your hair again, gripping. needing something to stay grounded.

you hum around him, “too much?”

“yes—no—fuck, i don’t know—,” you smirk around his cock and take him deeper. he moans, hips jerking, his head falling back against the couch with a soft thud, “jesus christ—fuck, you’re insane,” he groans, “you’re gonna suck the soul out of me—”and you do. you keep your rhythm slow and dirty, tongue dragging along every sensitive inch, bobbing your head with perfect pressure, letting your spit make everything messier. his thighs are shaking now. hands gripping your hair like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

“cherry, cherry, fuck, i’m coming again—” he gasps, voice breaking, “i can’t—” you don’t stop. you tighten your mouth around him and moan, letting the vibrations pulse through his cock. and that’s it. he comes again, harder this time, full-body trembling, a choked, strangled cry punching out of him as his cock twitches on your tongue. his hand fists in your hair, knuckles white, trying not to fall apart completely while you milk every last drop from him, sucking slow and deep, prolonging it until he’s shaking. by the time you finally pull off, his cock slips free from your lips with a wet pop, and he slumps backward, completely undone. chest heaving. eyes glazed. sweat beading at his hairline. you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and grin up at him, “still alive?”

he laughs, breathless and disbelieving, then leans forward, cupping your face with shaking hands, “i have no idea what the fuck you just did to me,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “but i need to fuck you. now.” his voice drops into your ear, “let’s finish this upstairs.” you nod, biting back a grin as he grabs your wrist and hauls you up, his grip tight, possessive, leading you up the stairs. you can barely keep up, your thighs still trembling, your chest sticky.

the second he kicks his bedroom door open, you’re pushed inside. he closes the door behind him, turns to face you — and it’s on. you crawl up his mattress on all fours, arching your back slowly, presenting yourself like a gift—bare, glistening, ready. he doesn’t speak. he just stares for a moment, already stripping behind you — shirt gone, pants kicked off, his cock standing already hard and heavy again. you can hear the change in his breathing, the way it stutters when he sees the curve of your ass, plump and ready for him. he kneels behind you, palms gripping your ass, spreading you open, “look at this pussy,” he says, like he’s talking to himself, “still dripping,” he mutters, breath shaking, “all this from sucking me off?”

“all this,” you whisper, hips grinding back against him, “from you.”

then — smack. his palm lands hard on your ass, and you jerk forward with a cry, fingers fisting the sheets. you barely recover before another slap lands, on the other cheek this time, sharp and loud, the sting blooming hot and electric, “you like that?” he growls, rubbing the fresh pink skin, “you want me to spank you while i fuck you?”

“y-yes,” you gasp, back arching deeper, “yes, please—” with no warning, he thrusts in, all at once, deep and fast and filthy, splitting you open around his cock. you scream into the sheets, mouth open and eyes wide, as he fills you completely, “fuck—jisung—fuck—,” he gives you no time to adjust. he sets a brutal rhythm from the start, hips snapping against your ass with loud, wet slaps, each thrust punching moans out of you. his hands grip your waist so tight you know there’ll be bruises later. you’re his tonight — and he’s making sure your body remembers it. another slap. harder now. making you clench around him, “you’re such a fucking mess,” he growls, “so wet—so tight—” your body starts to quake. the sound of his skin hitting yours, his breath in your ear, the sting of his hand. it’s too much, it’s perfect. “you love this, don’t you?” he pants, leaning forward, fingers finding your clit now, rubbing you in fast, punishing circles, “love getting your ass slapped while i wreck this tight little cunt?”

you nod, moaning louder, “yes—yes—please, don’t stop—”

“beg for it,” he snarls, still pounding into you, “beg me to fuck you harder.”

“please,” you sob, toes curling, “please, harder—faster—fuck, i’m so close—” he slaps your ass again, the sting making you shudder as his cock drives even deeper. “come on my cock, cherry. show me who you belong to.” you scream into his sheets, shattering, the orgasm tearing through you in sharp, uncontrollable waves. your entire body clamps down around him, back arching, moaning his name as your pussy spasms around his cock. you feel your slick dripping down your thighs. jisung loses it, “cherry—shit—gonna fucking come—” he growls, snapping his hips into you with brutal, desperate precision. his grip bruises your waist, dragging you back onto his cock as he pounds into you one last time, burying himself deep. he spills with a groan that sounds like it’s being ripped out of his chest—hot, thick ropes flooding your cunt, pulse after pulse, until you’re both shaking.

he stays there, cock twitching inside you, breathing hard against your back. you’re limp beneath him, utterly wrecked, moaning softly as the warmth spreads deep inside you, “jesus,” he breathes against your neck, voice ruined. when he finally pulls out, you both gasp at the wet, filthy sound. his cum leaks out immediately, spilling over and pooling beneath you. sticky, messy, obscene. jisung watches, and his eyes go dark, feral, “fuck,” he groans. “you’re dripping. look at that. my cum leaking out of you,” he spreads you open with two fingers, watching his release ooze out of you with a hungry, fucked-out expression. “shit, i didn’t even know i could come that hard,” he mutters, “your tight little pussy milked every drop out of me.”

you let out a weak laugh, your voice breathless and cracked. his gaze snaps to yours, smug and wild. you whimper when his thumb brushes over your slick folds again, teasing. “you’re still so wet,” he groans, almost to himself. “you like being full of me, huh?”

you nod, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. “i love it,” you whisper. “i love how you fill me up. i can still feel you inside.”

jisung groans deep in his throat, like he might lose it all over again. “fuck, don’t say that. i’ll flip you over and fuck you stupid.”

you smirk, weakly. “what’s stopping you?”

he lets out a dark laugh, eyes still fixed between your legs. “your legs are shaking. you can barely breathe. you’ll pass out before i’m halfway through with you.” you scoff, voice hoarse. but he was right. your body was exhausted.

jisung shifts carefully, lying down beside you and tugging you gently into his chest. one of his arms slides under your head, the other wrapping tightly around your waist, like he needs to feel you breathe, and then, quietly, soft, worried, he asks, “are you okay?” you blink. “i didn’t hurt you, right?” he murmurs, “i know it got rough.”

you press your face into his neck, your hand resting on his chest. his heart is still racing beneath your palm, “no,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut. “you didn’t hurt me.” he pulls back just enough to look at you, brows slightly furrowed, searching your face. “are you sure? i—your thighs are shaking more than usual, and i got carried away, and—”

you cut him off with a soft kiss, slow, lazy, reassuring. “i’m sure, jisung,” you say, voice gentler now, “you were perfect.” the room grows quiet again, warm and full. your bare legs tangle under the sheets now, his fingers lightly tracing shapes along your spine. then, with a sleepy smirk playing on your lips, you break the warm silence, “you have another morning-after pill, right?”

jisung chuckled, the sound low and warm, vibrating under your cheek, “of course i do,” he whispered, brushing your hair off your face. you grinned, tilting your chin up to look at him, “i should really think about getting on birth control.”

he glanced down at you, one brow raised, a slow smile tugging at his mouth, “i mean… you don’t have to.”

you blinked, “no?”

“i could just wear a condom,” he added with a shrug, “unless you’re like… allergic to latex or into the thrill of potential fatherhood.”

you smacked his chest lightly, “wow. so noble. bet the trojan company misses you.”

“they’re surviving without me…barely,” he smirks. you giggled, burying your face into his neck, and he kissed the top of your head like it was second nature now, like affection was a reflex around you. you both fell quiet again after that, just your breaths syncing and your skin cooling against each other. the air between you is warm, quiet, buzzing with the afterglow and something more.

“do you think aliens are real?” you murmur, your voice soft and a little sleepy.

jisung hums, a little more excited than you’d expect, “definitely. the universe is too big for just us.”

“would you let an alien abduct you?”

“depends. is she hot?”

you laugh into his chest, and he grins, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head gently, “what about you?” he asks, “ghosts?”

you shudder, “ugh, yes. my grandma used to say if you wake up at 3:33 a.m., it means something’s watching you.”

he stiffens slightly, then checks the time, “cherry.”

“what?”

“it’s 3:31.”

you gasp, pushing off his chest, “shut up.” he bursts out laughing, pulling you right back into his arms, “you’re so easy to mess with.” you slap his shoulder, but your smile doesn’t fade. it’s easy like this — wrapped in warmth, inside jokes, and the quiet stillness that only exists in the middle of the night, when everything feels suspended in time. you tilt your head slightly, studying his face in the dark. the curve of his jaw. the lashes that brush his cheeks when he blinks slowly. the tiny smile that still plays at his lips.

then, softer now, realer, “you’re really good at playing the boyfriend role.” he doesn’t answer at first. just breathes. then chuckles lightly, “i know how to be a boyfriend, cherry. i was one before i was a fuckboy.”

your chest tightens, “she really messed you up, didn’t she?”

his eyes stay on the ceiling for a moment, silent. then he swallows, “yeah,” he says, voice low. honest, “more than i wanted to admit. i hate being lied to. hate it more than anything,” he sighed, pulling you closer and you feel your heart break in your chest. but he doesn’t stop there. he sighs, long and shaky, and you can feel the tension ripple through him, the way his fingers are still against your skin, “at first, being the fuckboy was fun — the girls, the freedom. it felt like control.” he shook his head slowly, voice dropping into something almost vulnerable, “but now… i don’t know what i’m doing. i feel lost. the boys were right…i’ve been spiraling.”

you stayed quiet, letting him speak, letting the weight of his words settle between you. he’s holding you like you're safe. like you're good. like you’re not exactly the kind of person who’s about to break him all over again. your head rests on his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart under your cheek. he doesn’t know what he just said cracked something open. because he doesn’t know about the bet. he doesn’t know that somewhere deep in the shadows of all the laughter and stolen moments, your friends are counting down the days, watching, waiting for you to win. for you to break him. and maybe at first, it was a game. but now you’re here. wrapped in his sheets. pressed against his chest like you belong there. listening to him breathe like he’s letting you in, like he’s trusting you.

and all you can think is: i’m going to hurt him. you blink hard, your throat tightening, the guilt blooming hot behind your ribs. it’s been creeping in for days now, but tonight, after that look in his eyes, the softness in his voice, it’s unbearable. he thinks he can trust you. and here you are, hiding a knife behind your back with a smile on your lips. your arms tighten around him as if that could somehow undo everything. as if holding him closer could keep the truth at bay. but it can’t. because the truth is… you’re starting to hate yourself. you’re starting to hate the way he looks at you. hate the way he opens himself up more each night through every touch, every sigh, every soft-eyed glance that says he’s slipping and doesn’t know how deep yet. hate that the closer he gets, the worse it’s going to hurt when he realizes what you’ve done. he’s going to look at you the same way he talks about his ex. like betrayal tastes the same, no matter who’s stabbing you.

you close your eyes and burrow closer, trying to memorize the weight of his arms around you, the warmth of his breath on your forehead, the way his heartbeat feels against your cheek. because you know you don’t have much time left. and when this all crashes down, you won’t get this again. you won’t get him again. and it’s no one’s fault but yours. and as his vulnerability wraps around you, a tight knot forms deep inside your chest. and in a last attempt to make yourself feel better, you tell yourself: this isn’t real. he’s doing this to get the boys off his back. he doesn’t have feelings for me.

🍒 DAY 12 OF THE BET - THE BEST BOYFRIEND EVER.

you needed a drink. maybe two. maybe three. maybe four. so you ended up here — tucked into the corner of a quiet pojangmacha, orange tarp walls buzzing gently in the wind, the faint smell of grilled chicken and smoke thick in the air. there was an untouched plate of fried chicken in front of you and at least three empty green bottles beside it. you lost count after the second one. the guilt sat heavy in your chest. an ache no amount of soju could blur.

jisung was too nice. too soft. too good at playing the boyfriend role. too good at pretending it didn’t mean anything. and the worst part? you don’t know when you stopped pretending. yet you’re still lying to him. letting him open up to you. all for a stupid, reckless bet. $500. that’s what his heart was worth to your friends. that’s what you agreed to. god. what a joke. the world tilted slightly when you reached for the shot glass again, your fingers slow, clumsy. you missed it, knocked it over. soju spilled across the table and pooled at the edge of your untouched plate of chicken. you blinked at it, like it might explain something. like it might fix something. but all you felt was the sinking weight of it all. you thought maybe you’d cry. maybe scream. instead, you laughed. soft. bitter. a little broken.

the cashier had been watching from the back of the tent for a while now. he finally came over, wiping his hands on a towel, concern painted across every tired feature of her face, “miss?” he asked gently, “you don’t look well.” you opened your mouth to answer, but all that came out was a garbled, thick breath — not quite a word, not quite a sob. you swayed a little in your seat, eyes half-lidded, mouth dry. the man crouched beside your table, gaze softening, “i’m going to look through your phone and call someone okay?” he murmured, not really asking, just doing, because you clearly weren’t in any condition to, “let’s get you home in one piece.”

you look up at him, eyebrows furrowed. he’s pretty but jisung is prettier — “i have a boyfriend,” you manage to say, just wanting the random guy to leave you alone. he nods, a little confused, reaching across the table and picking up your phone. he looked through your emergency contact, only finding one name. then he pressed call and brought the phone to his ear, glancing at your hunched form, cheeks flushed red, knuckles gripping the edge of the table, eyes shut. the phone rang once. then again.

“hello?” jisung’s voice answered, cheerfully, slightly confused.

“is this jisung?” he asked, voice kind but firm.

jisung’s eyebrow furrows at the man’s voice, “yes. who’s this? why do you have my girlfriends phone?”

“i’m sorry to call so late. i’m kim jungwoo, i work at a pojangmacha. your girlfriend is very drunk. not speaking clearly. i don’t think she can get home by herself.”

there’s a beat of silence on the other end. then, “where is she?” his voice sharpens. alert now. “is she safe?”

“she’s safe. just not well. you should come get her.” the guy gives him the address and jisung is already out the door before the phone call even ended. he got there in under five minutes. the pojangmacha was just a couple streets away from the dream house, but he still jogged the last block — hoodie half-zipped, hair still tousled from where he’d been lying in bed. jungwoo waved him over before he could even ask, “she’s at the back,” he said softly, “didn’t eat much. drank more than she should’ve.” jisung thanked him quietly, slipping through the rows of low plastic tables until he saw you — slumped over the last one, your cheek pressed against your own arm, lips puffed out into the most exaggerated pout he’d ever seen. you looked small. you looked soft. you looked like something he didn’t know how to take care of yet still wanted to, more than anything.

“cherry,” he called out gently, crouching beside you, “why’d you drink so much, huh?”

instead of words, you gave him a quiet whine. your lower lip jutted out like a child scolded at recess, your cheeks all puffed up, eyes a little misty. you blinked at him slowly. blurred. bright. then you lifted your arms. “my boyfrienddd,” you mumbled, reaching for him like it was the only thing your brain remembered, “you’re hereee.”

jisung stared for a second. then exhaled a shaky laugh. “yeah,” he said, “i’m here.” you clung to him the second he was close enough, arms wrapping around his shoulders, your face buried in the crook of his neck. you smelled like soju and citrus shampoo. warm. familiar. dangerous.

“you’re sooo cute, sungie,” you whispered, “you’re always so cute,” you pinch his cheeks, “like a cute little hamster alien!.”

he cleared his throat, ignoring all the wandering eyes now looking at your direction. he holds you carefully and amused, “you’re drunk.”

“i knoww,” you said proudly. he smiled despite himself, ordering a glass of water for you. then you started talking. something about aliens again. ghosts. time travel. then, in a heartbreakingly small voice, you mumbled, “if i was abducted by aliens, would you still remember me?”

he huffed a laugh, “what kind of question is that?”

“say yesss,” you whine.

he adjusted you in his arms, “yes.”

you sighed happily, “you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

jisung froze for half a second. it wasn’t the first time you’d called him that, boyfriend. you both said it in front of people all the time. part of the deal. but tonight, in this moment, the way your voice lilted so gently, the way you held him like he was the only thing tethering you to the ground – it didn’t sound like a joke. his chest tightened. a slow, unfamiliar ache. a stutter in his pulse he hadn’t felt since her. his high school girlfriend. he shook the thought out of his head and slipped your arms around his neck again.

“c’mon,” he murmured, bending slightly, “let’s get you home.”

you giggled as he hoisted you onto his back, legs locking around his waist, “piggyback ride,” you whispered giddily, nuzzling against his shoulder, “you’re strong.”

“you’re just really light,” he teased, smiling softly. you didn’t answer. just rested your cheek on his back, humming under your breath while he walked the familiar path back to the dream house. jisung didn’t complain once. not when your weight started to sag heavier in his arms. your cheek resting against his shoulder, lips occasionally brushing the curve of it as you rambled on and on, all soft, slurred nonsense that had him smiling like an idiot under the glow of the streetlights — and for a boy who swore he didn’t do real feelings anymore, he was starting to think he might be in trouble.

“do you think,” you mumbled, “like… actually think… that somewhere out there, aliens are in love?”

jisung let out a small laugh, steadying you with one hand beneath your thigh, “aliens in love?”

“yeah,” you slurred sleepily, “like, maybe one of them fell in love with a human. and now they’re sad. because they can’t be together.”

“sounds tragic,” he said, humoring you.

“exactly,” you pout, emotional. you tugged weakly on his hoodie, bringing your mouth closer to his ear, “and do you think ghosts ever get lonely?”

“probably.”

“i’d haunt someone just to talk to them. not in a creepy way. just like… ‘hi, how was your day?’ y’know?”

he laughed again, soft and breathy, “you’d beat casper for the friendliest ghost.”

“you’d still like me right?,” you whispered, “even if i was see through? even if i wasn’t real?” and somehow, the question seems deeper than just you being a ghost.

he adjusted you higher on his back, “i’d never stop liking you, cherry,” he says softly. that shut you up for a second. then, more quietly, “you’re my favorite person, jisung.” he blinked. slowed slightly on the sidewalk. your voice was all cotton and warmth and honey, sticky-sweet and clumsy from alcohol, but it sounded real. too real. and he didn’t know what to do with that. so he just kept walking. then you gasped, like you just discovered a new alien species, “would you still like me if i was a worm?”

he huffed a small laugh, biting back a grin, “am i worm too?”

“no!…yes!…i don’t know,” you mumbled, nuzzling into his neck like a sleepy kitten, “you’re so warm. and soft. like a human pillow. but strong. like a big tree.”

“a tree?”

“a sexy tree,” you clarified. he lost it then, shaking with laughter as you clung tighter to him. “you’re so drunk.”

“mmhmm,” you hummed proudly, “but you came for me.”

he glanced down, smile softening, “of course i did.” the dream house came into view ahead, glowing faintly in the distance. your words were getting quieter now, fading into sleepy murmurs, but your hands stayed curled in the front of his hoodie like you didn’t want to let go. and jisung didn’t want to let go either. something about carrying you like this, warm and soft and pressed against his back, trusting him fully, stirred something in his chest he hadn’t felt in years. it was terrifying. it was dangerous. but it was also sweet. stupidly, stupidly sweet. and he let himself enjoy it just a little longer.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

his room was dim when jisung carried you in, lit only by the soft blue hue of lights. you stirred a little as he closed the door behind him with his foot, but you didn’t protest when he set you down gently on the edge of his bed. he crouched in front of you, carefully tugging your shoes off one by one, then reached for the makeup wipes he stole from jeno’s room. “gonna clean you up, okay?” he murmured. you didn’t answer, just blinked at him slowly, lips parted slightly, all glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked. he held your chin in his hand with a touch so light it could’ve been a whisper, wiping away the smudged mascara with slow, gentle swipes. you were beautiful like this. even drunk, even messy. you were beautiful and soft and his. or at least… pretending to be. he tried not to think about that part. when he was done, he pulled an old hoodie over your head, oversized and warm. then he helped you slip out of your jeans.

“c’mon,” he whispered, easing you down into bed, “let’s sleep.” you followed him, turning toward him, pressing your face to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of the hoodie you were wearing. the silence wrapping around you both.

“…i’m sorry,” you murmured. he froze.

you said it again, “sorry,” and again, voice cracking now, “i’m so sorry.”

his arms tightened instinctively around you, confused and worried, “hey, hey, what are you sorry for?”

you looked up at him then — eyes glassy, a couple tears slipping silently down your cheeks, your lips trembling in a way that undoes him, “i’m just… sorry,” you whispered.

he reached up, thumb brushing your tears away, his touch impossibly gentle, “don’t be sorry,” he said softly, tucking your head under his chin, one hand cradling your back. “i’m your boyfriend. it’s my job to take care of you.” his voice dropped lower, “you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. but just know that you can, okay?”

that broke you. you buried your face in his chest and cried — silent, aching sobs that shook your whole body, small fists curled into his hoodie like you didn’t know where else to hold on. he just held you. no questions. no pressure. only warmth and arms wrapped tightly around you, rubbing slow circles into your back until your breathing softened, until your tears slowed, until you finally drifted off, tear stained and clinging to him in the quiet dark. but jisung stayed awake. he laid there, holding you like you were something delicate, something rare, something his, and stared up at the ceiling as something heavy and terrifying took root in his chest. he hated seeing you cry, how broken your voice sounded, how helpless he felt when he couldn’t fix it. and fuck. he realized it then. right there, in the middle of the night, with your breath soft and even against his neck and your hands still curled into him like he was home — he didn’t want this to be convenient anymore. he didn’t want to pretend to be your boyfriend just to get the boys off his back. he wanted you. he wants to be the one you call when you’re hurting, the one who makes you laugh when you can't stop crying. he wants the tears, the rambling, the kisses, the chaos — all of it. he was giving you his heart. no conditions. no pretend. just you. only you. and as you slept, curled against him like you were already his, jisung closed his eyes and made a silent promise to himself. he was going to make sure you never had to cry alone again.

🍒 DAY 13 OF THE BET - LIAR.

the morning light filtered in gently through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the bed and the mess of tangled limbs and rumpled sheets. jisung woke first. and when he saw you there, curled into his side, one hand still fisted in the fabric of his hoodie, lashes fanned out across your cheek, lips slightly parted – something in his chest squeezed hard. he didn’t want to move. didn’t want to break the spell. so he just watched you for a while. let himself memorize the shape of your face in the light. the soft rise and fall of your breathing. the way your body instinctively gravitated cloer, like even unconscious, you knew where safety was. eventually, you stirred. your lashes fluttered. you blinked blearily up at him, “what time is it?”

“almost eleven,” he said softly, brushing a thumb under your eye, “how are you feeling?” you groaned, flopping back onto your side, “like someone stuffed a cactus into my skull…how embarrassing was i last night?”

he smirks, “not that bad…but,” he looks at you, “you did call me sungie.”

you groan into your hands, “goddd, eww, don’t tell me anything more.”

he laughed, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “it was cute.”

you roll your eyes, “i smell like alcohol and chicken.”

he just laughed again, “come on, let’s shower. it’ll help.” the shower steamed up around you, fog curling on the mirror. hot water poured down your back and you leaned into jisung’s bare chest with a soft hum, eyes fluttering closed. his hands were already on your waist, thumbs stroking along your back as though he couldn’t stop touching you. you let out a breath, tilting your chin up. he smiled at you, slow, soft, pressing a kiss to your forehead, making your stomach twist. “you look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up,” he murmured in your ear.

“might,” you mumbled, “too cozy.” he laughed under his breath, reaching for the shampoo on the side and squirting a bit into his palm, “turn around,” he murmured, voice low and still a little raspy. you obeyed without question, and the next thing you felt were his fingers gently working through your hair. slow, thoughtful motions, like you were something fragile.

“mmm,” you hummed, eyes slipping shut, “you’re good at that.” he grins, “guess i’ll add shampoo technician to my resume.” you smiled as he rinsed you off carefully, tilting your head back under the stream so none of it ran into your eyes. his hands always steady. always careful.

“your turn,” you say, squeezing out a generous amount of shampoo into your palm, but the second you reached up, you realized your mistake. he was much taller. you are already on your tiptoes, arms barely reaching the crown of his head as you attempt to lather him up. he started laughing, bending his knees slightly to help, “you’re so short.”

“stop laughing,” you huffed, stretching, “it’s not my fault you’re a giraffe.” his jaw dropped, “okay, that’s not even a good insult.” you were both giggling now, your hands doing their best to rinse off his soapy hair, faces close enough to feel each other’s breath. then he pressed a kiss on the corner of your lips and the atmosphere shifted. still warm, still playful but heavier now. slower. the laughter faded, replaced by something quieter. your chest rose and fell in time with his. water trailed down your collarbone. his hands slid gently down to your hips. and then — he leaned in. it wasn’t a hungry kiss. it was soft, soaked in steam, lips brushing slowly over yours. your fingers threaded into his wet hair and you pulled him closer, pressing your bodies together. he guided you backwards until your back was pressed against the slick shower wall, one hand braced beside your head and the other wrapped tight around your waist, trying to keep you steady. you were already breathless from the kissing but as he tried to line himself up, you both realized something at the same time. this…wasn’t going to be as graceful as it looked in the movies.

he grunted, “okay–wait. hold on.”

“yeah,” you giggled, trying to find your footing, “this is actually really difficult…why are you so tall.”

“why are you so short,” he argues back, teasing. you burst out laughing, “wait…try it this way,” you said, shifting your leg up and resting it awkwardly on the side of the tub, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders for leverage, “i think this is how people do it.” he adjusted, positioning himself again, mouth brushing yours as he tried not to laugh, “you’re gonna get a leg cramp.”

“just go slow,” you say, he looks at you one more time before lining himself back in, but as soon as he entered you already knew it was the wrong angle, “oW!, okay nope. nope. that is not it.” he pulled away immediately, eyes wide before you both cracked up again, laughter echoing off the walls.

“okay, what about this way?,” you said, breathless, turning around and pressing your palms flat to the wall, glancing over your shoulder with raised brows, “lets try from behind. its gotta be easier.”

jisung blinked, “that looks so hot, like holy shit i could bust right now,” he says, earning another giggle from you. he moved, hands gripping your hips as he tried again, carefully, slowly, a moan tumbling out of your lips as he entered, stretching you just right – but between the water still running down your legs, the slippery floor, and the height difference… “fuck this,” he muttered. he stepped back with a groan, palms rubbing over his face as he blinked water out of his eyes, “this isn’t working, i’m gonna slip, you’re gonna crack your head open and that’s not exactly the fantasy i had in mind.”

you laughed again, turning around to face him with a pout, “so much for shower sex being hot and spontaneous.”

“it is hot,” he muttered, voice lower now, watching the way water slid on your skin, “you’re hot,” then his hand snaked around your waist, tugging you towards him, “but we're taking this to the counter before someone dies.” you squeaked as he lifted you, bridal-style, with ease. your wet bodies pressed together, slick skin on skin, carrying you to the bathroom counter and setting you down gently, lips finding yours again in another kiss. this one deeper. needier. no more giggling. just the low hum of his moan against your mouth and the way his tongue slid slow and sweet against yours. you opened your legs without a word, and he stepped in close, hand wrapping behind your knee and dragging it up over his hip. his other hand ran down your spine, settling at the base of your back, pulling you forward until your ass was right on the edge of the counter, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing like you’d run a mile, “okay?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over your own pulse. you nodded, breath catching, “yeah.” he kissed you again, slow and deliberate. his hands slid lower, tilting your hips forward, adjusting you to fit against him perfectly. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, fingers tightening just slightly as you felt him press closer — the warm, heavy weight of him nestled against you now, not moving yet, just resting there like he was savoring the closeness. then, with a deep inhale and eyes locked on yours, he shifted, lining himself up. you could feel the tension build between you, your grip tightening around his shoulders as your thighs instinctively squeezed around his waist. his breath hitched, then he pressed forward. slow. careful. you exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed as the familiar stretch bloomed through you. intense, slow-burning, your body remembering everything at once. it still caught you off guard, even after everything. this time it wasn’t awkward. no slipping, no bad angles. the cold marble of the counter a sharp contrast to the heat blooming between your thighs. you sucked in a breath, nails digging into his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out with a soft, broken sound that made your toes curl, your fingers clenching at his damp shoulders. he paused, his thumb stroking over your hip as he whispered, “breathe.”

“i am breathing,” you managed, voice shaky.

he kissed your jaw, “you feel—god, you always feel so good.” your walls clenched at the sound of his voice. his hands gripped your waist tighter, and when he moved again, deeper, more deliberate, your mouth fell open in a gasp, body instinctively leaning forward into his. he settled into a rhythm, hips snapping forward with practiced precision. each thrust dragged a moan out of your throat. every movement sent sparks through you. too much and not enough. he moved like he knew exactly where you needed him, how to angle you just right, what to say to keep you hovering right there in that delicate place between pleasure and something more terrifyingly tender.

“jisung—,” you gasped when his palm found your breast, warm and broad and teasingly light at first. he thumbed over your nipple slowly, already peaked for him, with just the right amount of pressure to make your back arch into him. your voice caught, eyes fluttering as he leaned down to suck one into his mouth, sending a full-body shiver racing through you. he rolled them between his fingers while fucking into you, making your whole body tighten from the overload. pleasure spiked hard and fast, your moans growing louder as the stimulation grew.

“look at me,” he panted, voice strained, “i wanna see your face.” your eyes blinked open, lashes damp, and met his. you could see everything there — the heat, the tension, the desperation like he wanted this to mean something even if neither of you said it aloud. your bodies slapped together, wet skin meeting wet skin, and the sounds echoing in the bathroom were filthy. his thumb dragged down to circle your clit, drawing tight little spirals, making your thighs tremble around his hips, “jisung—fuck—don’t stop.”

“i’m not,” he grunts, lips brushing your jaw, “not until you come all over me.” his hips sped up, thrusts growing rougher as he leaned in and bit gently at the curve of your neck. and with one more perfectly angled thrust and a sharp tug on your nipple, you broke — coming hard, thighs trembling around him as your head tipped back, mouth open on a silent moan. he didn’t stop fucking you through it, watching your face as you fell apart for him.

“fuck, cherry,” he grunted, pulling out quickly with a stutter in his hips. he wrapped his fist around himself, panting, jerking himself with quick, messy strokes until he groaned your name. you watched with hooded eyes as he spilled across your stomach in hot, thick ropes, his head dropping to your shoulder, whole body shaking from the force of it. his hand came up instinctively to rub slow, grounding circles over your thigh. you stayed like that for a moment, both of you catching your breath in the heavy silence that followed. your stomach sticky, your legs spread, your whole body buzzing. the air thick with steam and heat and something quieter beneath it all.

then, without a word, he reached for a towel, expression softening into something almost boyish. you sat there quietly on the counter, flushed and still glowing, watching him as he moved. careful. focused. no teasing now. just jisung, gentle and quiet. he dried you off first, murmuring soft apologies every time the fabric grazed too rough against your skin, even though it never did. his touch was tender, like you were made of glass. he knelt to gently wipe down your legs, then dabbed at the marks he’d left on your chest, his thumb brushing over them like he could smooth them away. when he finally finished with himself, he wrapped the towel low around his waist, grabbed a second one to twist through your damp hair, then leaned down and whispered, “c’mon, let’s go before you start shivering.” back in his room, he dressed you in another one of his oversized hoodie and a clean pair of boxers that you had to roll twice at the waist to keep from slipping, “you look cute.” you rolled your eyes, making your way back to his bed and fighting off the butterflies in your stomach, “you say that to all your near-death shower partners?”

he laughed, quickly got dressed then grabbed his phone and flopped down onto the bed beside you, “nope. just you,” he says smirking, then “what do you want for lunch?” he murmured.

you turned your face into his shoulder, “surprise me.” he chuckled, soft and low and ended up ordering you both sandwiches, hash browns, and iced coffee from the little corner shop he liked. when it arrived, he let you steal fries off his plate and take long sips from his drink like it was the most natural thing in the world. neither of you said much. but the silence wasn’t heavy. it was full — warm with the kind of comfort that doesn’t demand words. you didn’t go back to your dorm that day. you could’ve. you should’ve. your laundry was overdue. but the second jisung reached for your hand again, just casually, like he’d done it a thousand times, you knew you weren’t going anywhere. you smelled like him. the hoodie you wore was stretched and worn and perfect, and it fell over your bare thighs in a way that felt too domestic for someone who wasn’t technically your boyfriend. but you didn’t want technicality today. you just wanted him.

jisung played home alone 2 from the t.v. in his room. you were half tangled in his sheets already, sitting cross-legged with your cheek resting on his shoulder. when the movie started playing, he leaned back, arm stretching around you, and you curled into him without a word. this time, you actually watched the movie. there was something easy in the way you fit against him. he laughed at the dumb parts, mumbled the iconic lines under his breath, pointed at the scenes he liked best. you chimed in just enough, but mostly… you just listened. let his warmth surround you. let your hand rest against his chest and feel his heartbeat. it didn’t feel like a game. not anymore. you didn’t feel like a girl chasing a prize. you felt… like a girlfriend. and worse — like one who didn’t want to stop. at one point, he glanced down and caught you staring. his grin was lazy, eyes warm, “what?”

you shook your head quickly, “nothing.”

“liar,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your nose, “you keep looking at me like that and i’m gonna think you’re in love with me.”

you shoved his shoulder playfully, hiding the way your breath caught, “you wish.”

“pretty sure you were just watching me, not the movie.”

“only because you were quoting every single line.”

“that’s just boyfriend excellence.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away. if anything, you curled in closer. and he didn’t stop touching you. he kept his hand on your thigh. pressed kisses to your temple. tilted your face up every now and then just to steal a kiss, like it was second nature. like he didn’t even have to think about it. and you let him. because you wanted him. not just his body, not just his jokes, not just the soft way he took care of you. you wanted all of him.

the movie faded to black. jisung got quiet, his head tilting back against the pillows, his arm loosening just slightly around your shoulders. his breathing slowed. even his teasing little comments died out, replaced by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. you shifted just enough to look up at him. his mouth was parted slightly, lashes resting against his cheekbones. the arm curled around you was slack but warm — so warm, so familiar now. he was beautiful like this. the softness of him. the way he let you lay here. the way he let you stay. the way he let you in. and god. it hit you all at once. not in a fireworks kind of way. not like the sky split open or the music swelled or your life suddenly changed. it hit you softly. like a wave lapping against your ankles. like warmth pooling in your chest. like the feeling of finding something you didn’t know you’d been missing.

you were in love with park jisung. and the thought didn’t scare you like you thought it would. in fact, it felt… inevitable. of course it was him. of course it had always been him. you felt it in every part of you. in the way your shoulders dropped around him. in the way your smile came easier in his presence. in the way your fingers itched to stay tangled in his, even in sleep. you were in love with him. you didn’t know when it happened. maybe in the dance studio, maybe when he showed you off to all his friends, maybe the first time he kissed you just because. but it happened. it was done. you’d fallen. and now, that stupid, awful bet you made with your friends felt like poison in your mouth. you didn’t care about the $500 anymore. you didn’t even know where you’d get it in two days. you just knew you’d figure it out. you’ll tell your friends. end the bet. pay them somehow, even if it meant draining your savings or actually getting a job. he deserved the truth. he deserved more than this version of you, the one still lying by omission while wrapped in his sheets, his clothes, his arms.

he stirred slightly, brow twitching. you froze, not wanting to wake him, but he only sighed and nuzzled closer into your chest with a sleepy hum. like he knew you were there. like even in sleep, he trusted you. your heart squeezed. you love him. and tomorrow… you’d deal with everything else. but today, you just wanted to be his. even if you didn’t deserve to be. you pulled him closer. you let your hand caress his hair. and you tried not to cry.

🍒 DAY 14 OF THE BET - I WON.

the soft hush of winter light poured in through the blinds, casting golden shadows across the unmade bed. you were curled up right in the center of it—bare legs tangled in his sheets, his hoodie swallowing your frame, the warmth of the morning still lingering in your bones, your stomach still full from another late lunch and the shared kisses.

downstairs, the dream house was coming alive again. the boys were back from their short holiday break, voices overlapping as they carried boxes and strung lights, the distant sound of someone arguing over music choices echoing up through the floors. you could hear jisung somewhere in the chaos—laughing. teasing. he sounds happy. it made your chest twist. you glanced at your phone. hesitating for a second before your thumb pressed the facetime call – sion. the line connected fast, and his voice was already loud, “well, well, well. calling me from lover boy’s bed, i assume?”

you rolled your eyes. “shut up.”

“oh my god. you’re smiling,” he said, clearly amused. “don’t tell me. you’re losing.”

you let out a reluctant laugh, raising a playful brow, “actually, i won.”

sion grinned, “did you now?”

you groaned, rolling your eyes softly, “yup, i won the bet, pretty sure jisung’s fallen for me.”

the door creaked open. you didn’t hear it. jisung had come back upstairs, a stupid smile on his face because he was about to ask if you wanted to go with him to pick out last minute decorations and maybe make out in one of the aisles. something stupid and domestic. he only opened the door a crack. but that was enough. he stopped cold when he heard your voice—light, playful, full of laughter. his name in your mouth. and the words.

“jisung’s fallen for me.”

and worse—

“i won the bet.”

the grin on his face vanished. it felt like the air got punched out of his lungs. like someone had shoved ice down his spine. he stood frozen in the doorway, hand still on the knob, every muscle locking up as the words echoed in his skull, again and again. i won the bet. his chest rose and fell sharply. his fingers curled into the wood of the doorframe.

he didn’t hear your voice falter after that. he didn’t hear you add, “and i’m in love with him, sion.” because jisung had already backed away. quietly. like a ghost. the door clicked shut behind him as softly as it had opened. and everything inside him started to burn. jisung hated liars. he always had. he hated people who smiled to your face and twisted the knife when you turned your back. he hated the fakes, the users, the ones who played games with people’s hearts just because they could. it was something he promised he’d never fall for again. and now here he was—falling apart in the hallway, barely breathing. you had lied to him. the only person he thought understood him. the only person he thought was playing on his side. he couldn’t unhear it. couldn’t unsee your smile when you said it. the ease in your voice. the fact that you were still in his bed, wearing his hoodie, still tasting like him, and calling him a fucking bet like it was funny. he clenched his jaw and forced his legs to move, fury buzzing just beneath his skin. he walked downstairs like nothing had happened. like the world hadn’t just shifted under his feet.

“bro, where’s y/n?” chenle asked, halfway through unraveling a tangle of lights.

“she’s asleep,” he says.

“you good?” jaemin asked, voice low, watching him too carefully. jisung grabbed a box of streamers and plastered a smile onto his face. “yeah.” he said calmly. like he hadn’t just heard the girl he let in, really let in, tell someone he was just a pawn in her stupid game. like it hadn’t cracked something deep and unfixable inside him. the rest of the boys moved on. laughter returned. decorations went up. but jisung was somewhere else entirely. because upstairs, the girl he’d fallen for had been giggling when she said his name. laughing when she called him a bet.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

“wait…if you’re in love with him, then technically that means you lost,” sion corrects, grinning.

you shrug, smiling softly, “doesn’t feel like it.”

sion was quiet for a beat after your confession. he was focused now. no more teasing, at least for a moment, “damn, you really love him,” he said finally, earning an eye roll from you, “so when are you gonna tell him?” you let out a shaky breath and tucked your knees up to your chest, phone still pressed to your ear, the fabric of jisung’s hoodie brushing your cheek, “new year’s eve,” you said softly.

“new year’s?” sion repeated, “that’s in, like, two days.”

“i know,” you murmured, “i just… i want one more day. tomorrow, i’m gonna end it officially—with the others. i need to come clean to everyone first, before i tell him.”

sion let out a low whistle, “damn. karina’s never gonna live this down.” you laughed into your sleeve, muffling the sound, “stop. i know. she’s never gonna let me forget it.”

“and the 500 bucks,” he added smugly. you sighed harder this time, flopping onto your back and burying your face into jisung’s pillow, your voice muffled by the cotton, “i don’t even know where i’m gonna get five hundred dollars, oh my god.”

“girl, you better get a job or sell a kidney or something.”

“i hate you.”

he laughed, “alright, alright. i’ll shut up. but for real… i’m happy for you, i knew you weren’t so stone cold in there.” you smiled, a little shy, a little shaky, “gee, thanks you’re just glad you’re gettin $125.”

“maybe that too,” he smirks, “but you got this, okay? end it. then tell him. just be honest.”

you nodded, “yeah, bye, sion.”

“bye, mrs. park,” you hung up on him mid-laugh. you had no idea that just minutes ago, jisung had been standing on the other side of that door. that he’d heard the wrong part of your confession — at some point, the low hum of the house faded into the background. you didn’t even remember putting your phone down. when you stirred awake, the room was dim. the sun had disappeared, traded for dusk and shadows. the hum of the house was quieter now, distant. you blinked and reached for your phone.

1 new message from jisung 🐹

jisung 🐹: went out with the guys. didn’t wanna wake you. sleep well.

you sat there staring at the text for a few seconds too long, heart skipping. still sweet. still gentle. he didn’t say anything was wrong. and yet… something in your chest tugged uncomfortably.

cherry🍒 : you could’ve woken me :(

cherry🍒 : but it’s okay. i should go home anyway. see you on new year’s eve?

the reply came five minutes later.

jisung 🐹: yeah. see you then.

that was it. three little words. no teasing, no pet name. a period at the end. it was small, subtle. almost nothing. but you felt it. you brushed the feeling away, climbing out of his bed, pulling your coat over his hoodie without changing. you didn’t want to take it off. not yet. you padded quietly down the stairs, phone in hand, trying not to overthink the distance in his message. maybe he was tired. maybe he was drunk already. maybe you were spiraling. you slipped on your shoes. the door clicked softly behind you as you stepped outside. the cold air hit your face. you tugged jisung’s hoodie tighter around you, afraid of the what’s to come.

🍒 DAY 15 OF THE BET - A BET’S STILL A BET

they showed up fast. it only took one message in the group chat.

y/n: can you guys come over? i need to tell you something.

now your dorm room was filled with coffee, oversized hoodies, and the collective chaos of your favorite people. karina tossed her coat on your chair like she owned the place. dongpyo flopped onto your bed, sipping his iced coffee. sophia sat cross-legged next to him, munching on a croissant. sion made himself comfortable on your dorm floor. quiet. watching. already knowing. karina broke the silence, “okay, the fact that you’re pacing like this is scaring me. are you pregnant?”

“no,” you blurted, eyes wide.

“are you sure?,” dongpyo asked, “because with what happened at the bowling arena, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

“dongpyo!”

“sorry, continue.”

you took a deep breath, exhaling through your nose, “i admit defeat. i lost the bet.”

that landed like a pin dropping in a quiet room. karina’s jaw dropped. “you what?”

sophia blinked, “wait, lost the bet as in… you caught feelings?”

“real feelings!?” dongpyo gasped, “cold, dead-hearted, emotionally repressed you?”

you rolled your eyes, nodding slowly, “i didn’t mean to. i didn’t even realize it was happening until it… already had.”

karina stared at you, stunned, “holy shit.”

“but—” sophia’s voice cut in gently, “—do you think he likes you back?” that question hung in the air like smoke—light, lingering, impossible to ignore. everyone stilled. because suddenly, the energy shifted. the teasing faded. and all that was left was the one terrifying possibility no one had said out loud yet: what if he didn’t?

you swallowed hard. “i don’t know.”

karina looked at you carefully, “has he said anything?”

“he’s sweet,” you whispered, “he’s… been amazing, actually. and the other day, everything felt different. like it was real. but i don’t know if that was just me seeing what i wanted to see.”

sion frowned, “you don’t think he’s faking it, right?”

you shook your head, “i don’t. but i also don’t know what’s changed for him. or if anything changed.”they knew about your deal with him. the whole dating thing to get the dream boys off his back.

sophia leaned forward, voice softer now, “are you going to tell him?”

“tomorrow,” you said quietly, “i wanted to end the bet with you guys officially first.”

karina blinked, then smiled, slow and real. “wow.”

“wow!!,” dongpyo repeated, more dramatically, “our ice queen melted. i knew this day would come.”

“shut up,” you mumbled, heat crawling up your neck.

“no, but seriously,” karina said, grinning, “i’ve been waiting for someone to melt that frozen little heart of yours since freshman year,” she said, her smile growing wider, “you always pretended you didn’t want love, and now look at you…getting all soft in jisung’s hoodie.”

you looked down at yourself, realizing you were still wearing it. still holding on. they all started laughing. and it hit you, all at once, how deeply they knew you. sion leaned back, smiling, “i can’t believe it’s jisung, though. of all people. the ultimate fuckboy was the one to get to you.”

you let out a half-laugh, “trust me, no one’s more surprised than i am.”

“but hey,” karina said, grinning, “a bet’s still a bet.”

“unfortunately,” you groaned, “i know.”

“any idea where you’re getting $500?” sophia asked innocently.

dongpyo smirked, “you should sell feet pics! or start an onlyfans!” you shoved him off, laughing.

“karina’s already shopping,” sion said, pointing at her open phone screen. karina didn’t even deny it, “no rush, babe. but i am eyeing these new heels.” they were teasing again. the tension eased. laughter returned. but underneath it all, the fear stayed. you forced a smile. tomorrow, you’d tell jisung the truth. you could only pray he’d forgive you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

your room was quiet. the glow of your bedside lamp was warm, steady, nothing like the way your stomach had been flipping for the past hour. tomorrow was it. the end of everything. you’d finally come clean. you’d finally tell him the truth.but tonight, you were staring at your phone like it might crack open and show you the future.

you typed:

cherry 🍒: you have a theme or dress code for the party?…or should i just wear something short and sexy like last time? 😌

you hit send, heart skipping. you were joking, but also... not. you waited. three minutes passed. then–

jisung 🐹: idk. up to you. you’ll look good either way.

you stared at the text. something about it didn’t sit right. it wasn’t cold, exactly. it wasn’t mean. but it was off. no teasing. just distant. you frowned. your thumbs hovered over the keyboard again. you wanted to say something light, playful, like you always did. but instead, your heart told you to just be honest. a little brave. a little soft.

cherry 🍒 : okay. well...i have something important i want to tell you tomorrow. just don’t run away, okay?

you stared at those last words before hitting send. you almost deleted them. you almost convinced yourself not to make it dramatic. but you didn’t. you left them there. because you knew the truth would be heavy, and you needed him to stay — you didn’t know that downstairs, across campus, in a frat house lit up with half-strung lights and glittery decorations, jisung was staring at your message like it was a death sentence.

“important,” you said. he knew what that meant. in his mind, you were finally going to tell him the truth. that he was a bet. that every kiss, every laugh, every soft sleepy morning had been a game to you. that you were going to end it and walk away with your little inside joke, your victory lap, your friends laughing behind his back. the image made his blood boil. because he had believed you. he had trusted you. he had let you in. and now you were about to break him. so his heart did what broken hearts do best — it started building armor. fast. if you were going to hurt him tomorrow, then he’d beat you to it. hed’ smile. he’d act fine. he’d play it cool. he’d say something cutting, show that he never cared. tomorrow, you’d finally come clean. but he was already bleeding. and in his head, you were still laughing. and if he was a game to you, then fine, you could be a game to him, too. his fingers moved fast on the screen.

jisung 🐹: alright. i won’t run. see you :)

🍒 DAY 16 OF THE BET - BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.

you step through the doors of the dream house like you’re stepping into a battlefield. the music pounds through your bones, but all you can hear is your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. your friends are close behind. karina squeezes your hand gently, sophia gives you a hopeful look that nearly breaks you, sion and dongpyo flash encouraging smiles. because tonight is the night you tell him everything — the bet. that you ended it. that you fell. fast. hard. that you’re in love with him. you swallow, the taste of fear thick in your throat as your eyes scan the sea of faces. jaemin’s laughing with angel in the kitchen. mark and kitten are tangled on the couch, soft and warm. haechan’s got princess in his lap, whispering something in her ear. chenle is spinning baby around like the world begins and ends with her. jeno has his hands all over bunny on the dance floor. renjun was trying to avoid all the girls coming his way. but jisung was nowhere to be seen. he’s not in the kitchen. not on the couch. not among the dancers grinding to the bass drop like the world isn’t ending.

so you go upstairs. you don’t knock. you don’t breathe. you push open his door — and the world shatters. he’s in bed. with someone else. she’s straddling him, lips on his neck, her nails trailing down his bare chest like she owns it, like you didn’t just fall asleep there two nights ago. his shirt’s on the floor. the blankets are kicked back. his hands are on her hips. like it means something. like you never meant anything. your heart collapses. you can’t move. can’t speak. can’t even think. you just stand there, blinking, trying to piece together a world that suddenly doesn’t make sense. and then something inside you snaps. the pain ignites. the betrayal burns through your ribs like wildfire.

“jisung, what the fuck?!” you scream, voice ragged.

the girl shrieks and fumbles for the blanket, yanking it over her chest, “who the fuck are you?”

you look straight at her, voice cracking like a storm tearing through the sky, “i’m his fucking girlfriend!”

she freezes. her face crumples in horror, eyes darting between the two of you, “you’re —? but… he said he was single—”

“i am.” jisung’s voice slices through the room, low and lethal. he doesn’t even look at her. his eyes are locked on you. and it hurts more than if he’d slapped you. you flinch. the girl curses under her breath, grabbing her clothes in silence. she throws you one last venomous glare before slamming the door behind her, leaving you alone in a room that suddenly feels like it’s on fire. the silence is deafening. you stare at him. he’s still breathing hard, chest rising and falling, hair messy, lips swollen. his expression isn’t guilty. it isn’t even apologetic. it’s bitter. cold. empty. you shut the door behind you quietly, the click of it loud as a gunshot in the room. you lean against it like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

your voice is shaking, brittle, “do you wanna explain yourself?”

he scoffs. cold. “do you?”

your breath catches, “what?”

“don’t insult me,” he yanks his pants on, not bothering to hide the fury brewing behind his eyes. “i already know.”

you blink, “what…what are you talking about?”

he laughs, a horrible, broken sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “i heard your phone call with sion.” you go still. he pulls a shirt over his head like the fabric is the only thing keeping him from exploding.

“was that supposed to be funny? a game? something to laugh about with your friends?” he spits, his voice rising. “a challenge? how many points do you get for breaking me, huh?”

“jisung, that’s not—”

“how much was i worth?” he snarls, “did you already get your prize? want me to smile for the fucking group chat too?”

you shake your head, stumbling a step forward like your legs barely work, “you don’t know anything—”

“you lied to me!” he roars. you flinch. he’s never raised his voice at you before, “i let myself believe in you. i let myself trust you. i thought you were the only one who understood me. and it was all a fucking joke to you, wasn’t it?”

“no—jisung, listen to me—”

“i don’t care,” he cuts you off sharply, “i was just using you too. remember?” he steps closer, each word slicing you in pieces, “—to shut everyone up. to have something pretty to look at. it was all an act. every kiss, every touch — all of it.”

“i called it off,” you whispered yet the words crack the air like lightning.

jisung stills. “…what?”

you take a shaky breath, eyes blurring. “that call you heard. that was me ending it. i told sion it was over. that it didn’t matter anymore because i—”

“don’t,” he cuts in, like the sound physically hurts him, “don’t say it.”

“because i love you.”

his face breaks. and it’s the most painful thing you’ve ever seen. like he’s trying to hold himself together with trembling hands. “…no.” he shakes his head, voice small. childlike. “that’s not what you said.”

“it is,” you whisper, “you just weren’t listening. you only heard what you wanted to hear.” he stares at you. you can see the war happening behind his eyes — the part of him that knows you’re telling the truth, and the part that’s too scared to believe it.

he shakes his head. “you’re just saying that now to win. to clean up the mess you made. why didn’t you tell me then?”

“i was scared,” you cry, “i didn’t know how to tell you that yes!, this did start as a bet,” you admit, voice shaking, “but i fell for you. i didn’t plan it. i didn’t want it. but it happened. and i came here tonight to tell you.”

“you don’t get to act like you’re the victim,” he spat, “you don’t get to cry like you’re the one that’s been betrayed.”

“i’m not the victim.” your voice trembles. “but you didn’t even ask. you didn’t talk to me. you just—assumed the worst. and you…” you swallow hard, “you fucked someone else.”

he closes his eyes. like your words are knives, “you think that wasn’t on purpose?”

your heart cracks all over again, split open in a way you didn't know it could, “you did it… to hurt me?”

“i did it because i hate you.”

and it’s the final blow. not yelled. not spat. just cold. sure. deadly. like he meant it. like he’ll never take it back. and in that moment, something inside you goes quiet. the world doesn’t shatter — not loudly, at least. it folds in on itself. like a balloon slowly deflating. like a slow ache building in your ribs until it numbs everything else. because there’s a unique kind of pain that comes from hearing “i hate you” from the person you love. it’s like being forgotten. like every moment you shared meant nothing. like you never mattered in the first place. like you were never real to them at all. your mascara is running. your voice is a ghost of itself. and something inside you finally gives out. you crumple under the weight of it all. “i’m sorry, jisung.” you say it like it could fix something. like it could hold him together when you can’t even hold yourself up.

“i’m sorry,” you choke again, and now your voice is shaking — shattered glass in your throat. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” the words are helpless. weak. but they’re all you have left. so you give them to him. one last thing for him to reject. and your tears fall freely now. silent. desperate. but he doesn’t stop you. he doesn’t move. he doesn’t say anything at all. he just watches you break in front of him. and that’s the worst part — not the silence, not the absence of forgiveness but the fact that he doesn’t reach for you. not even once. you take a breath that doesn’t quite make it to your lungs. your throat is closing. your hands are shaking. and you can’t be here anymore. you turn around slowly, like even your body is reluctant to let go. your hand trembles as it closes over the doorknob, one last connection to the room where everything once felt safe. but you don’t wait. you don’t wait for him to stop you. you don’t wait for him to say your name. you don’t wait for a single word. because some part of you already knows it won’t come. so you walk out. and the door clicks softly behind you. but it feels like a slam. like a goodbye neither of you will recover from. and you run.

“ten! nine! eight!”

your steps echo down the staircase like gunshots to your chest.

“seven! six! five!”

everyone’s cheering. champagne glasses in hand. confetti already falling.

“four! three!”

all of the couples pair off, clinging to their partners.

“two! one!”

you walk out the door as the entire house erupts in cheers, kisses and fireworks — renjun sees you. his heart drops. your face is streaked with tears. your lips trembling. and you don’t look back as the door closes behind you. he doesn’t hesitate. he climbs the stairs. he pauses outside jisung’s room. CRASH. the sound of something breaking, glass shattering against the wall. a guttural scream, muffled fists hitting the bedpost. renjun opens it slowly. the room is wrecked. sheets tangled, a lamp knocked over, drawers open, a hole punched through the closet door. and jisung? he’s on the floor. knees pulled up, head in his hands, body trembling from too much pain and too much rage. he looks up when he hears the door. his eyes are bloodshot, wet, face crumpled. and he whispers, voice small— so, so broken — “why do i always play the fool, hyung?”

renjun says nothing. he just walks forward and kneels beside him. and this time, jisung doesn’t hold it back. he lets the tears fall and he cries. ugly. loud. grieving.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

the floor is littered with objects. jisung sits with his back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, knuckles red and raw from punching furniture. renjun stays beside him, steady and still, a quiet presence in the chaos. jisung’s shoulders tremble with every breath, but the sobs have dulled now, like his body is exhausted to keep breaking. then – a knock. and the door creaks open. “jisung?,” jaemin’s voice, light at first, teasing out of habit, “we didn’t see you downstairs, we wanted to say happy new—,” he stops. his eyes sweep over the room, the broken furniture, the mess of paper and clothes. then he lands on jisung, curled up on the floor like something hallowed him out form the inside. the reflection too familiar to the older boy. renjun meets his gaze and gives a small shake of his head. jaemin steps inside slowly, his usual grin nowhere to be found. “bro!,” another figure appears behind him. it’s chenle. laughing until he sees what they’re seeing, “yo what the fuck happened?”mark’s next. one by one, all the dream boys enter his room – a group known for their noise and confidence and shameless chaos. but now? now they’re silent. staring at their youngest member in pieces on the floor.

“is he hurt?,” jeno asks. renjun shakes his head, “not physically.” the others hover for a second like they don’t know what to say next. like they’re seeing the version of jisung all those years ago — stripped of his charm, his confidence, his walls. just a boy. broken open.

“someone wanna tell us what the hell happened?” haechan murmurs. renjun looks down at jisung, who hasn’t moved since his last whispered question. he doesn't answer. no one speaks. and then jisung finally talks, quiet, eyes unfocused, like the memory of the night is still sinking in for him too, “she came here to tell me she loved me.” his voice is hoarse. like it’s painful to say the words aloud. “she told me she called off the bet,” his voice is rasp, splintered and dry. his eyes are somewhere else. like he was trying to remember what just happened in the past hour.

theres a beat of silence, stunned and sick. then jaemin stiffens, “wait. bet?,” he asks slowly, “what bet?” jisungs’s head drops, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can block the memory out, “i was a game. to her and her friends. make me fall and she wins.”

no one breathes. haechan’s tone is sharp, “tell me you’re joking, jisung.” he looks up at his hyung, eyes glassy and lips quivering, “i wish i was.”

mark’s face twists, “you’re telling me that everything between you was fake?”

“she said it wasn’t, not in the end,” jisung says hoarsely, “she said she meant it. that she…that she loves me.”

“that doesn’t make it okay,” jeno snaps, exhaling hard, dragging a hand through his hair, “she played you.”

“she tried to undo it,” jaemin says, quieter.

“guess she was just a good actress,” chenle spits.

“enough,” renjun cuts in, sharper now, “this isn’t helping.” the room goes quiet again – not because the anger is gone but because they can finally see what renjun’s seen since the moment he walked in. jisung is wrecked. no defiance. no excuses. just a boy in a pile of his own ruin.

“she was going to tell me tonight,” jisung whispers, “but i didn’t let her. i was so angry — i just wanted to hurt her back so i—,” he cuts off swallowing the next words, “—i slept with someone else and i made sure she saw it.”

“jesus christ,” chenle mutters. you’re not there, but your ghost clings to every breath in the room. the boys are all picturing it – the way you must’ve looked walking in on him with someone else, the way you ran out during the countdown. jisung lets out a bitter laugh, suddenly remember something else – something older, deeper. a lie that began everything, “i never even told you guys why we started dating.”

they all glance up, “what do you mean?,” mark asks.

“i told you we just clicked,” jisung says, “but that’s not what happened,” he exhales, broken and bitter, “i made her my girlfriend because i wanted you all to get off my back. i wanted you guys to stop thinking i was a fuck-up.”

haechan’s brows pinch, “jisung…”

“it wasn’t real at first. i didn’t even know i liked her. but then she made me laugh. she understood me,” he says, voice cracking again, “and i let myself believe that maybe this time, it could be different…turns out i do just fuck things up.” the room is quiet again. except this time, it’s not out of anger. it’s grief. for the version of jisung they’d been waiting for — the one who started to soften, started to try. none of them sure if he’ll ever let that part of him come back. renjun breaks the silence, with that same intuitive calm that’s held jisung together this whole time, “you said she loved you.” jisung nods once, eyes shut.

“then maybe it was real for her too, too”

“but i didn’t believe her,” jisung says, “i didn’t even give her the chance to explain.” he’s crying now. no one says anything. no one dares to. because they know the hurt between you and jisung wasn’t just betrayal. it was love that turned to ruin. trust shattered by fear. hope undone by pride. and even if you both meant it in the end…jisung may never believe it again. not after this.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

you’re on the floor of your dorm room. still in your dress. curled up in the center of the room like you collapsed there the second you walked in. mascara streaks your cheeks. your chest rises and falls in uneven gasps, your whole body trembling from the cold, from the hurt, from the truth. you barely remember how you got home. your heels are gone. somewhere on the sidewalk. the night is a blur of pounding music and muffled voices that dissolved into static. but none of it matters now. the door slams open. footsteps freeze. “babe?” karina’s voice cracks as she sees you.

“oh my god,” sophia whispers. dongpyo and sion peeking in to see you broken on the floor. they rush toward you. you try to speak, but all that escapes is a sob — broken, raw, pulled straight from somewhere deep inside. it silences the whole room. karina drops to her knees, instantly beside you, gathering you in her arms like she’s trying to shield you from whatever shattered you, “what happened?” she breathes, “what did he do to you?”

you shake your head, “it’s my fault.”

sophia sits on the other side of you, brushing your hair back, gentle and careful. “what do you mean? you were going to tell him. you were going to finally say it.”

you nod, choking on your own words. “i—i did. i tried,” you sob. “i went to his room and—and he was…” you can’t even finish. but they all understand.

“h-he was with someone else,” your voice breaks again, hands pressed to your chest like you’re trying to keep your ribs from collapsing, “and i can’t even blame him. i lied to him. i hurt him. i started this whole thing as a fucking bet.” you cover your face, tears leaking through your fingers. “h-he heard my phone call with sion, he thought i was laughing at him. thought i was bragging.”

“wait,” sion says, slowly. “but that call was you ending it. you told me you fell in love with him.”

“he didn’t hear that part,” you whisper, “i’m so stupid,” you cry, “i let myself fall in love with someone i was supposed to be pretending with and then i went and ruined it. i deserve this. i deserve everything—his hate, the way he looked at me like i was nothing—”

“stop,” karina cuts in sharply. “no, you don’t.” dongpyo snaps, “that is not love.”

“you were exclusive,” sophia says softly. “even if it started out fake. it became real. you didn’t just imagine that.”

“but i broke his trust.”

“and he broke yours,” sion says. calm. brutal. “he slept with someone else while still being your boyfriend. doesn’t matter if it was real-real or convenient-real. you were still together. that is not okay.”

you shake your head violently, “you didn’t see his face. you didn’t hear his voice. i destroyed him. he said he hated me—,” you whimper, karina pullina you tighter, “—it hurts so much.”

sion sits back on the floor beside you, his expression dark, “if I had known what he was going to do—”

“no,” you interrupt, voice hoarse. “—it’s all my fault.”

dongpyo snorts, furious. “he didn’t mean to fuck someone else? okay.” karina glances at him as to say shut up this is not helping.

“i think… i think i would’ve forgiven him,” you admit, “if we had just talked about it.” that silences them. because they believe you. because they know you. and even in your guilt, even in your self-blame, it’s clear — your love for him is real. and it’s killing you. the room is quiet except for your sobs. and four people who love you. helpless to fix it, but willing to sit with you in the wreckage anyway. just like the boys did for him.

🍒 JANUARY 5 - HAPPY NEW YEAR.

a mandatory student council assembly. dress code: casual. attendance: required. the kind of event that’s pointless on a normal day. but today, it feels like a battlefield. the auditorium buzzes with idle chatter as students filter in. the dream boys stick out like always, shining, confident, loud. but even they’re quieter than usual. muted. careful. because at the center of them sits jisung. silent. head down. he’s wearing a black hoodie. his hair’s a mess. his eyes are dull. his legs bounce restlessly under the chair, like he can’t sit still with everything still weighing on him. mark and jeno flank him on either side like bodyguards. the rest — jaemin, renjun, chenle, haechan — are watching the entrance. waiting. and then…you walk in. karina’s got her arm looped through yours. sophia is clutching your water bottle like she’ll throw it at someone if needed. sion and dongpyo trail behind, both tense, both ready. karina locks eyes with mark. her stare is icy, unreadable. sophia doesn’t even blink when she sees haechan glaring. dongpyo is death staring chenle for no reason. and sion zero in on jisung. not threatening — just watching like they’re counting how many pieces of him still exist. but none of it matters. because neither side can undo what happened. neither group can fix the way you’re both breaking.

the second jisung looks up and sees you — he stops breathing. because you’re a shell of the girl he remembers. you still look beautiful. but not in the way you used to shine. you’re wearing makeup like armor. you’re walking upright only because your friends are holding you there. your eyes are sunken. red. tired. he doesn’t even try to look away. he just watches you walk across the auditorium. watches you pretend not to notice him. watches your hands tremble when you sit down. watches how sophia squeezes your shoulder. how karina leans in to whisper something only meant for you.

renjun mutters under his breath. “this is bad.”

“she looks like she hasn’t slept in a week,” mark says.

jeno exhales, shaking his head, “neither has he.”

the tension is palpable. students all around begin to pick up on it — eyes darting between you and jisung. whispers spread like wildfire: “are they not together anymore?” “didn’t they spend new year’s together?” “i heard he cheated.” “i heard it was a bet.” “wait, she cried in the hallway, didn’t she—?”

the room feels suffocating. and in the middle of it all, jisung expected to feel hatred. or anger. maybe even numbness. but all he feels… is pain.

the house lights dim slightly as the dean of student affairs, dr. kun, steps up to the podium with a strained smile and a click of the mic, “good afternoon, students, happy new year to everyone! thank you all for being here today. we’ll be starting with our mandatory annual seminar on substance awareness and drug prevention.” a half-hearted shuffle echoes through the crowd as they slouched deeper into their seats. you sit stiffly in your row, hands clenched in your lap. the dean starts talking. something about resources on campus, peer mentorship programs, the dangers of prescription misuse. but his voice is far away. muffled. like your ears are filled with static. it’s not the topic. it’s not the noise. it’s the silence inside you. too loud. too painful. you’re not even hearing what he’s saying. all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, your own breathing growing shallow. you dig your nails into your palms, eyes fixed on the floor, trying to stay grounded. but your throat aches. your vision blurs. your stomach twists – you can’t do this. not here. not with him in the same room. you try to blink the tears back. try to force air into your lungs. but your body has already decided. it’s already unraveling, already flashing the painful memories of that night. you lean into karina and whisper, “i need to go.” she doesn’t hesitate. just nods, squeezes your hand once, and lets you go. sophia shifts to the side. sion and dongpyo don’t say a word. they don’t stop you. they know you’ve hit your limit. you move as quietly as you can, slipping past knees and backpacks, your shoulders hunched like you’re trying to disappear. the auditorium is dim, but not enough to hide the shine of tears in your eyes. you push open the side exit, and the heavy door swings shut behind you with a soft click. you’re gone. but not unnoticed. because five rows back, jisung saw everything. he wasn’t listening to the dean either. he hasn’t listened to anything since you walked in. he noticed the way you haven’t made eye contact with anyone. he noticed how you barely moved — like even breathing hurt. and he notices how you left. quietly. quickly. broken. and it hurts him to know you’re crying alone because of him. his eyes are fixed on the door even long after it closes. he can’t see your face anymore. but he doesn’t need to. because it’s already burned into him. renjun glances at him, then toward the door. “go,” he says under his breath. but he doesn’t move. he just sits there, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists, every inch of him holding onto his pride. his brain screaming she lied to you over and over again.

🍒 JANUARY 6 - LOVERBOY 101.

the studio is already buzzing with chatter when you walk in. music from someone’s speaker plays faintly. a few students laugh, stretching lazily, still in post-holiday haze. you take your spot quietly near the back wall and sit down to stretch. you don’t say much. your eyes are fixed on the floor. karina watches you like a hawk from her spot nearby, concern written all over her face. and then the door opens. jisung steps in, hoodie half-zipped, jaw tight. his eyes sweep the room — not looking for you, but already knowing where you are. his gaze lands on you for half a second. karina sits straighter. professor taeyong’s voice cuts through the noise, “alright everyone, welcome back! hope you had a restful break. reminder, your final duet performances are next week, i’m giving you class time to rehearse. use the space wisely.”

the moment the words leave his mouth, jisung starts walking toward you. and karina is immediately on her feet. she intercepts him halfway, standing between you and him like a shield. “seriously?” she says, arms crossed. “you really think you get to just walk up to her like nothing happened?”

he stops short. his expression hardens. “it’s for the project.”

“i don’t care if it’s for the olympics,” she snaps. “back off.”

“karina,” you say softly, not looking at either of them. “it’s fine.” she glances down at you. you give her a small nod — too tired to fight. too broken to run. just ready to survive this. karina’s jaw tightens. but she finally steps aside.

“touch her too hard and i’ll break your fingers,” she mutters as she passes jisung. he doesn’t respond. you look up and meet his eyes for the first time since that night. there’s no heat in his gaze. no spark. just…ache.

“let’s just get this over with,” he says flatly. “we don’t want to fail.” you nod once. you both move to the corner. same routine. same steps. but everything feels foreign now. when the music starts, your bodies fall into the motions, the muscle memory still intact. you hit each beat, each turn, each line. but there’s no connection. no softness. every time his hand brushes yours, you feel like you might cry. every time his fingers settle on your waist, your chest aches so hard it’s hard to breathe. and he feels it. god, he feels it. because you used to melt into his touch. you used to smile when your steps aligned. you used to laugh when you fumbled the spin. now you barely even look at him. now it’s just silence and space and a gaping hole where your warmth used to be.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

his room is dim now, the sun long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the sky a dull gray. the only light comes from the faint glow of jisung’s laptop, music playing faintly, something low, slow and heartbreak shaped. he’s been like this since he got back from class. been like this for the past week. blank. gutted. another full day of pretending not to care. his jaw’s been clenched for hours. his chest aches like it’s been hollowed out. all day, your silence echoed louder than anything. you didn’t even look at him during the second run-through. and when you finally left the studio without saying goodbye, he felt like something inside him had cracked permanently. a soft knock breaks the silence. he doesn’t answer. the door opens anyway. jaemin steps in, tossing a gatorade onto his stomach before sitting backward on his desk chair, arms folded on the top of it and just…stares at him.

“you gonna stay like this forever?” jisung doesn’t answer. jaemin glances around the room — clothes in piles, water bottles everywhere, the whole place feeling like it’s been slowly closing in on itself.

“you gonna talk to me, or should i just sit here and give you a live ted talk on how you’re actively ruining your life?” jisung finally speaks, voice low. “i’m not ruining anything. it’s already ruined.”

jaemin raises a brow, “because of one mistake?”

“because i’m tired, hyung,” jisung says, sharper now, “every time i let someone in, i get fucking burned.” jaemin’s expression softens, but he doesn’t interrupt. “you think this is about a bet?” jisung goes on, sitting up now, “it’s not just the bet. it’s not just that she lied. it’s that she knew how messed up i was. she knew what happened with my ex. and she still did it. she still made me believe she cared.”

jaemin studies him carefully, “so…what?, you’d rather stay angry? keep holding onto that pride until it eats you alive?”

“i’d rather not fall for a lie again.”

jaemin leans forward, “jisung, let me teach you something.” the younger boy rolls his eyes, “what is this? fuckboy 101, version 2.0?”

jaemin shakes his head, grinning, “more like… loverboy 101.” jisung scoffs but jaemin continues anyway, “i get it. believe me, i get it. remember when i found out angel was lying to me?…it felt like the ground disappeared. i hated her. i hated myself for trusting her. but now,” jaemin smiles faintly, “now she’s the love of my life.”

jisung scoffs bitterly, “yeah you two are fucking perfect. congrats.”

jaemin shakes his head, “we’re not perfect. we choose to love each other anyway.” he continues, quieter now, “you think i didn’t feel what you’re feeling right now? the rage? the betrayal? the ache in your throat that doesn’t go away, no matter how long you sit in silence?…you’re not the only one who’s been lied to, jisung,” jaemin leans forwards, “—sometimes people mess up. but it doesn’t mean the love isn’t real. it doesn’t mean it can’t become something true.” he continues, “—love isn’t just about the perfect moments, it’s not just the kissing or the teasing or the stupid conversations that happen at 3 a.m.”

jisung frowns but listens. “it’s also the part after. when everything’s shattered. when you’re bleeding and bitter and still you reach for each other,” jaemin’s voice is steady now, words slow and deliberate, “because love doesn’t survive without forgiveness. trust me. i almost lost mine due to my pride.”

jisung swallows hard. “i can’t go back there, hyung. i can’t be that guy again. the one who loves too loudly just to be left behind.”

“you’re not that guy,” jaemin says. “you’re someone who’s been hurt, yeah. but you’re also someone she chose to come clean to. someone she was ready to fight for.”

“she walked away too.”

“because you broke her too,” jaemin says, voice calm but firm. “you cheated, jisung. you told her you hated her. you let her leave.” another beat of silence. “you think being cold makes you stronger. but all it’s done is make you lonely.”

jisung lowers his head, “she looked at me today like i was a stranger. i don’t think she’ll ever forgive me,” he finally says, his restraints loosening slowly.

“if you love her, then tell her…at least try,” jaemin says. then he gets up, heads toward the door, then stops and glances back, “i thought angel would never forgive me either,” he says, “now she has half of my wardrobe and eats my food without asking.”

jisung lets out a soft, miserable laugh. jaemin smiles. “don’t let love walk away just because you let your pride win.” then he leaves. and jisung sits in the quiet. still hurting. still scared. but now, maybe, with something shifting. enought to admit to himself that he has become every version of something he hated. enough to admit to himself that he doesn’t hate you. he hates what it means to love you. because that means risking it all again. and he’s not sure he knows how to survive another fall.

🍒 JANUARY 7 - I KNOW IT’S OVER.

the soft glow of the studio lights spills onto the hardwood floors, reflecting off the mirrors that once captured your happiest moments together. the room is quiet, save for the low hum of music looping from your speaker the same track you’ve been dancing to for nights now, its melody looping endlessly, like a lifeline. a lullaby for the broken. a desperate attempt to drown out the echo in your chest where his voice used to live. you spin. a turn you’ve done a hundred times now. your body moves on muscle memory but your mind is somewhere else. until it slams back into place. because there he is. jisung. you freeze. and the air between you shifts. he looks like a memory — hoodie loose around his frame, face pale, eyes shadowed like he hasn’t slept in days. his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s not sure whether to stay or run. you turn to face him fully, heart caught in your throat. he takes one slow step inside, the door clicking shut behind him. neither of you say anything for a beat. then he swallows, voice hoarse, “what are you doing here?”

you hug your arms tighter around yourself, like that might hold all the pieces in, “i’ve been coming here every night,” you confess, voice soft.

his brow furrows, “why?”

you take a breath, shaky, “because this is the only place that still feels like us.”

his face softens. like something inside him shatters a little — you never walked away.

you can’t meet his eyes anymore, “...why are you here?”

he doesn’t answer right away. when he does, it’s a whisper, barely above the music, “i couldn’t sleep,” he says, “i thought maybe if i came here, i’d…remember how to breathe again.”

the silence stretches again, but now its not empty. now it’s heavy with everything unsaid. then you look up at him again, voice smaller this time, “do you…still hate me?” he freezes. you see it happen — the way the question knocks the wind out of him. he looks at you, eyes wide, aching.

“no.” he says quickly. sharply, “no, i don’t hate you.”

you take a careful step forward, “but you said it like you meant it.”

his voice is low. wrecked. “i was angry,” he says, “and scared. and i didn’t know how else to make the pain stop.” your voice trembes, trying not to fall apart, “what do you feel now?”

he doesn’t speak. for a long moment, it’s just the sound of the music and your hearts breaking in tandem. “terrified,” he whispers, “i’m terrified that if i say it, it’ll break me again,” he murmurs, “that i won’t survive it.”

you step towards him, cautiously, voice trembling, heart pounding, “say what?”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second he’s not angry and grieving. he’s just a boy in love, broken open in the worst way. his next words slice the air clean in half.

“i love you.”

three words. simple. quiet. devastating. honest. you feel them all the way down to your bones.

“i love you,” he repeats louder this time, surer, “and i don’t know how to stop. even when it hurt. even when i hated the way you make me feel so much, i still couldn’t stop.” he’s breathing hard now. eyes glassy. “—you made me feel like i mattered. like i wasn’t just a fuck-up hiding behind jokes and half truths. you looked at me like i was worth something. you made me laugh when i didn’t know how to anymore. you brought the air back into my lungs,” he says, voice cracking, “and when i thought it was all a game, when i thought i was just a bet — it broke everything in me.”

“i lashed out, i know i said awful things and i did worse,” he chokes, “i wanted you to hurt like i was hurting. i wanted to forget you. but i couldn’t. and loving you…is the only real thing i’ve ever felt and it scared the shit out of me.”

you’re crying now, tears streaking silently down your cheeks, “i should’ve told you sooner,” you say, barely above a whisper, “i should’ve told you everything. i shouldn’t have played the game at all.”

he steps forward, gently, “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

you shake your head, “it matters to me. because i love you. i never stopped loving you. even when i hated myself for how i hurt you. even when you looked at me like i was nothing.”

“you were never nothing,” he says, voice thick with pain. he closes the distance, hand lifting to cup your cheek. his thumb brushes away a tear with the softness of someone touching something sacred. he’s trembling. you’re trembling. and still, you lean into his palm like it’s home. and something in him finally gives. he pulls you into his arms like he’s been holding every inch of this in since the day he let you walk away. it’s not just a hug. it’s unraveling. a surrender. you crumble against him, clutching his hoodie like if you let go, he might disappear. your face presses to his chest, where you can feel his heartbeat racing. you both hold on like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

“i’m sorry for lying to you,” you whisper, “for not being braver.”

“i’m sorry for hurting you,” he says, voice muffled in your hair.

“i’ve already forgiven you.”

he pulls back just enough to see your face. to read your eyes. and then he kisses you. soft, like a secret. slow, like an apology. then deeper, desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of forgiveness on your lips. trying to taste every version of the future he thought he lost. the music is still playing low and quiet. the studio pulsing with something living. the broken trust. the missed chances. the words that came too late and the love, raw and imperfect, but real. and in that studio, under the quiet hum of lights and the weight of everything you’ve been through, you begin again.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

the door creaks softly as you step inside jisung’s room, the quiet click of it closing behind you a stark contrast to the noise still floating up faintly from downstairs. in here, the world has stilled. you decided to start over, so you let yourself forget that the last time you stood in this room, your heart was breaking. you focus instead on the soft scent of his laundry detergent, something warm and cottony. his desk is cluttered, lights low, his bed is a mess of blankets and pillows, like he hasn’t bothered pretending things are normal. you don’t say anything. you just collapse together onto the mattress. limbs tangling beneath the covers, bodies fitting together like they remember each other even if your hearts are still catching up. his fingers find yours, tracing light shapes on the inside of your wrist. you’re curled into his side, face half-buried in the worn fabric of his hoodie, where it smells most like him.

then — he speaks, voice barely louder than a whisper, “i know it’s over… but can i ask what the prize was?”

you blink. a pause. the question catching you off guard. “seriously?”

he shrugs a little, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “just curious.”

you hesitate. your fingers curl a little tighter into the fabric of his hoodie, “…five hundred dollars,” you say finally, voice a little sheepish, a little ashamed.

he turns his head to look at you, eyes a little wide, “oh.”

“yeah,” you mumble, eyes flicking up to meet his, “dongpyo said i should start an onlyfans.”

his entire body stiffens, “fuck, no.”

you burst into giggles, the sound muffled by his chest, “relax. of course not. but i do need to get a job.” he chuckles, one of those soft, genuine ones that makes his eyes crinkle slightly and your stomach flutter, “we’ll throw a party and charge entrance, you’ll be fine” he says without hesitation, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

you blink up at him, “seriously? you can do that?”

he brushes some hair away from your face, smile still there, “we do it sometimes. how do you think we can afford these parties anyway?”

you look at him with wide eyes, “wait, but i’ve never paid to get in.”

“hot girls get in for free,” he says simply, like it’s a rule of physics.

you narrow your eyes, “so are sion and dongpyo also hot girls?”

he laughs, “they’re your friends. of course they don’t have to pay.”

“but we’ve been going to your parties since freshman year.”

“yeah,” he says, turning to you with a crooked grin, “and you took my virginity freshman year, you think i’m gonna charge you and your friends for cheap vodka and stale doritos?” he teases. you snort, “wow. so romantic.”

“i try.” your laughter fades slowly into something quieter, the kind of silence that feels full, not empty. the kind where your fingers find his again. where your breaths fall into rhythm. where your heart finally stops racing. his hand drifts to your waist, thumb tracing soft illness.

and then, in that quiet, his voice returns. gentler this time. “promise there won’t be any more lies between us?”

you lift your head just slightly to meet his gaze. his eyes are serious now. you nod immediately. “i promise.” and you mean it. but then, your expression shifts. your smile fades. your gaze slips away. your fingers, which had been tracing the hem of his sleeve, still. something pulls in your chest — like a weight you’ve been ignoring until now. he notices it instantly, “what is it?” he asks softly, “is there something else?”

you hesitate. then you look up at him, wide-eyed and fragile. your voice trembles when you speak, “don’t freak out.”

he sits up slightly, brows furrowing, “you can’t start with ‘don’t freak out’ and expect me not to freak out.”

you sit up too, grabbing his hand quickly, squeezing, “just promise me you won’t.”

“okay,” he says slowly, searching your face, his heart thumping in his chest, “i promise. what is it?”

you take a breath. then another, “i haven’t…” you pause, “i haven’t gotten my period.”

for a second, it’s like the walls have sucked all the air out of the room. his eyes widen, “wait—what?!”

you wince, “i said don’t freak out.”

“I’M NOT FREAKING OUT!,” he squeaks, voice cracking halfway through the sentence, “i’m just–processing…processing very quickly and very loudly.”

you cover your face with your hands, “oh my god.”

he scrambles upright, starts pacing his room like it’s suddenly caught fire, “okay, okay, this is fine. totally fine. you’re not even sure right? like, maybe it’s just late?”

you nod, “it’s probably nothing. it’s probably stress. i mean, everything’s been so—”

“how late?” he interrupts.

you hesitate, “…a week.”

he stops pacing. blinks. breath caught. “okay, okay, its okay,” he nods, eyes wild, “we don’t know anything yet. you’re right. it’s probably nothing.”

you nod. he nods. he sits back down. you’re both nodding at each other like you’re trying to physically keep your panic from exploding. and then he blurts, “should i google it?”

you burst out laughing, “what exactly are you going to google, jisung?”

“i don’t know!,” he says, flustered, “symptoms! timelines! how to breathe properly without fainting?” you giggle as he falls dramatically back onto his bed, placing a hand over his heart like he’s surviving a mild heart attack.

“but…you’re not mad?,” you ask quietly, the humor fading just a little.

he turns his head toward you, gaze instantly soft. “no. why would i be mad?” his voice is gentle again. he laces his hands through yours, “i’m just… nervous.”

you exhale in relief, plopping back down to his side, and cuddling back into him, “it’s probably just stress,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his hoodie.

“probably,” he agrees, “but either way–,” he looks at you, voice soft, “we’ll figure it out together. okay?”

you nod, heart full, leaning into him as he wraps his arms around you again. and just like that — nervous laughs, quiet reassurances, slow kisses between heartbeats — you're right back where you belong. together. no lies. no games. just this.

🍒 JANUARY 8 - BREATHING.

the five pregnancy tests are dramatically lined up across jisung’s bathroom counter like sacred relics. you’re on his bed, knees bouncing. he’s pacing the room in socks and a hoodie over his boxers, clutching the receipt like it’s a legal document.

“i just wanna say,” he begins, dramatically holding up a hand, “this is all your fault.”

you scoff, “my fault?”

“yes,” he says, whirling around, “you’re the one who had the audacity to say don’t freak out and then immediately hit me with i haven’t gotten my period. that’s literally a war crime.”

“oh, please, you’re the one with the weak pull-out game,” you smirk and he looks genuinely offended.

“you told me not to wear a condom!,” he shouts, pointing at the bathroom, “now there’s five pregnancy tests in there! i nearly wiped out the entire pharmacy shelf, the cashier looked at me like i was crazy.”

you snort, “i told you to buy one! it’s not my fault you bought five!”

“i panicked!,” he defends, “what was i supposed to do?! trust one stick?!,” he cries. you dissolve into giggles and he collapses next to you on the bed like a man defeated by science. “i cannot believe this is my life,” he mutters into a pillow, “one minute i’m chilling the next im sweating in aisle five of a drugstore, googling can stress delay a period or am i a dad…and now i have trust issues with my own penis!”

you shake your head, laughing so hard you nearly fall off the bed, “you are so dramatic.” and then your phone timer buzzes. you both freeze. slowly, like you’re approaching a sleeping bear, you walk in the bathroom together and hover above the counter. jisung’s muttering under his breath, “please, jesus, buddha, aliens, anyone.”

you check the first stick – negative. second – negative. all five — negative.

a beat passes. then you both scream. “LET’S GO!!,” he yells, sprinting around the room like he’s just scored the winning goal in a championship, “I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT. MY PULL OUT GAME IS STRONGER THAN THE HOLY TRINITY.”

you’re crying with laughter now, wheezing as you double over, “YOU WERE SWEATING THROUGH YOUR SHIRT FIVE MINUTES AGO!.”

“you had me questioning myself, cherry!,” he says, pointing dramatically, “but deep in my soul, i knew. i knew. i am a legend.”

“you bought a pack of tests and baby diapers,” you point out.

“i was just being prepared!”

“you were mentally naming the baby, weren’t you?”

he pauses. guilty silence. “...maybe.” you laugh again and he catches you in his arms, spinning you around dramatically before tumbling with you back onto the bed. you’re both grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

“seriously though,” he says, nudging his nose against yours, “i’m glad we’re okay.”

“me too,” you whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheek, “that was the worst ten minutes of my life.”

“right?,” he whispers back, then kisses you once, soft and sweet. then he leans in, voice dropping into a mischievous whisper against your mouth, “i think we should celebrate…by having really hot sex right now.”

you snort, “you’re unbelievable.” he grins, eyes glinting with mischief, “unbelievably sexy,” he corrects, rolling over to cage you beneath him. his hoodie brushes against your bare legs as he leans down, pressing another kiss to your lips, he feels you smile. then the kiss deepens, slow and unrushed as you melt into him, hands tugging his hoodie off. you can feel his heart pounding under your palm, and when you roll your hips against him gently, his breath catches against your lips. jisung groans, low and quiet, his hands sliding up your waist, thumbs brushing over the soft curves of your ribs, “i missed this,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “missed you.”

“i’m right here,” you murmur back, brushing your nose against his, “i never went anywhere.” he kisses you again, hungrier now, but still slow, still careful. like he wants to savor this. like he’s memorizing the way you taste after a week of wondering if he’d ever get to touch you again. you reach down tugging his boxers off, he helps you push it down and then they’re gone, tossed somewhere near the foot of the bed.

“you’re sure?,” he whispers, voice low and careful, lips brushing yours.

you nod, eyes steady, “i want you.” his hands slide down to the hem of your (his) hoodie, lifting the fabric slowly. you sit up just enough to let him pull it over your head, then he tosses it somewhere to the floor. jisung’s gaze rakes over you like he can’t believe you’re real, “god,” he whispers, reverent and ridiculous, “i missed these babies.”

you let out a breathless laugh, “you’re so dumb.”

“i’m dead serious, cherry” he says, voice suddenly deeper as his hands cup your breasts fully, thumbs circling your nipples, “i’ve been thinking about them. i mourned them. they were gone too long.” you gasp softly when he rolls his thumbs again, this time slower, more precised. your back arches into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as your breath sutters. jisung groans, “jesus–you’re perfect,” he leans in, kissing across the top of your chest before taking one nipple into his mouth. the marks he left before have faded now and he was going to make sure he leaves new ones. he sucks slow and gentle at first, flicking his tongue just enough to make your hips jerk forwards. you feel his length against your panties, a sweet moan slipping past your lips. he continues to work his mouth over you – switching sides, showing each one way too much favoritism.“still okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing sensitive skin.

you nod quickly, breathless, “more than okay.” he chuckles low in his throat, dragging his tongue back over one peak, then blowing on it just to make you shiver, “i love how sensitive you are here.” you can only moan in response as he keeps going until your thighs are trembling around his waist and your fingers are digging into his shoulders. “i missed the sounds you make when i do this,” you whimper when he sucks harder, your nails digging into his back. your body rolls against him instinctively, grinding down, desperate now. needing him. he slides your panties down and kisses you again, slow and deep. then he reaches down to guide himself through your folds, slow teasing strokes that make your thighs twitch and your breath hitch. you shiver, so ready it almost hurts, your hips chasing his. but just as you brace yourself for him to finally push in, just as your body arches, lips parted, aching — he stills.

your eyes fly open and meet his. he’s not moving. not even breathing.

you blink. “what are you—” and then it hits you. you burst out laughing, body shaking with giggles, “oh my god. you’re scared.”

“i’m scarred,” he corrects, “you think i went through a full-blown midlife crisis in aisle five just to play with fire again?”

you’re breathless with laughter now, cheeks flushed, forehead resting against his. “jisung.”

he frowns, but it’s playful, “i made eye contact with a toddler in the baby aisle,” he goes on, eyes wide, traumatized, “she waved at me. i almost passed out.” you’re giggling helplessly now, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down into a kiss. “okay, okay, you have condoms right?” he immediately perks up, almost forgetting that those existed. he reaches over his nightstand drawer, grabbing one and ripping the wrapper with practiced urgency, sliding it on like an expert. once he’s covered, he settles back between your thighs, bracing himself on his forearms, forehead pressed to yours.

“okay,” he murmurs. “now i can properly blow your mind without the threat of parenthood looming over us.” you laugh into his mouth, and then you’re gasping again as he finally sinks into you. your fingers clutch at his shoulders, his back, anything you can reach, as he moves inside you with slow, deep thrusts. his eyes are locked on yours, lips parted, breathing heavy as he watches every expression flicker across your face. “fuck,” you whimper, head falling back against the pillow. “you’re too big.”

“you say that every time,” he groans, forehead resting against yours, “and every time, you take it so fucking well.” the pressure is overwhelming — too much, too deep, so good — and your body clings to him, shuddering around him with every slow roll of his hips. his arms cage you in, and with every thrust, he fills you so completely it feels like there’s no space left to breathe, to think, to do anything except feel him.

he’s watching the way your face contorts under him, “i can feel how tight you are. god, you’re squeezing me like you need me.” you do. you really, really do. every slow, deep stroke has your legs shaking, your moans growing higher and breathier as he presses in deeper, grinding against that sweet, dangerous spot that makes your vision go white. and then he’s thrusting harder, every drag of his cock hitting just right, making you sob his name like a prayer. you wrap your arms around him, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, voice strained. “so tight, cherry. god, you’re mine. you’re mine.”

when you finally fall apart, it crashes over you hard and fast. your body trembling under him, nails clawing down his back, breath catching in your throat as you cry out his name again and again. he groans softly at the feeling, hips stuttering into you as your body clenches around him, following seconds after, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he groans into your skin, cumming so hard he swore he filled up the entire rubber. he stays there for a moment — still inside you, still catching his breath — before lifting his head to kiss you. not deep, not hungry, just soft. gentle. a kiss made of everything you’ve both held onto through the worst of it. everything that was broken. everything you chose to rebuild. his thumb brushes gently along your jaw. your fingers tangle in his hair.

“i love you,” he whispers. no doubt. no hesitation.

“i love you, too,” you say it back, with your whole heart.

he gives you one last kiss before pulling out, disposing the condom and wrapping the blanket around you both. outside the window, the sky is still soft with the afternoon sun. somewhere in the kitchen downstairs, someone drops a pan. but here, there’s just you. him. and this fragile, beautiful beginning you both nearly ruined — but didn’t.

and for a girl who used to roll her eyes at the mention of love, who used to armor herself in sarcasm and pretend indifference, who used to flinch at tenderness like it was a trick, who used to scoff at fairy tales because they always ended too perfectly, too impossibly — now, it sounded like music. it sounded like a rhythm you want to move with. a song you want to memorize, note by note. a melody stitched between laughter and forgiveness and second chances. a dance you want to dance forever. love, in each others arms, felt like breathing for the first time in years, exhaling the ache you’d both had been carrying alone for far too long, discovering that maybe you weren’t too broken or too hard to love — just waiting for someone who saw you.

𓏲 the end.

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18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: loverboy links (don’t judge me for how many videos are on there. there was supposed to be more too but i hate the stupid 100 link limit)

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an: holy shit you guys 6/7 is done! while i was writing this i realized i wrote way more than i was supposed to because i don’t want it to end yet 😭 (i paid for that by having to deal with tumblrs block characters limit. so annoying. i hope the long paragraphs didn’t bother your reading too much!) anyways this couple has been the cutest for me to write but also the saddest cause every time i wrote a happy scene all i could think of is the upcoming angst 🥲 i hope you loved cherry and jisung! they’re definitely the most touchy and very very young love couple we’ve had. looking forward for your reviews!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎