rosepetals09

It's how you got your own name, after all—The Silhouette.

When you first got to the organization, the first thing they did with you was take you up to The Curator. He went over what your place in his whole dreamhouse was going to be, what part you would play to help him get what he wants, and—of course—a reminder that if you were to ever betray or try to double-cross the organization that you'd be dead quicker that you could apologize for it. It all went in one ear and out of the other as you leaned forward, plucked one of the lollipops out of the bowl on his desk, and unwrapped the wrapper that labeled it as strawberry. You crumpled the wrapper up in your hand and flicked it back at him as you stuck the lollipop in your mouth and got a good look at him.

He wasn't what you were expecting someone as elusive as his title and position suggested to look like. In fact, you were honestly surprised that you were seeing his face at all. You would've expected that they would've brought you in with a bag over your head and he would've been speaking through a voice modifier on a screen or something, but no. Here The Curator was in front of you, in the flesh and real. It didn't quite shake you, but it did make you wary on why he was so forthcoming.

The Curator was young, around the same age as you were—which lead you to believe that he wasn't the first "Curator" in his family line; perhaps his father or grandfather went by a different name, which you made a mental note of to look into further later—and you could tell that he took his work seriously and held himself with high regard. He wasn't dressed in a suit and tie, but he was still dressed rather formally with black, sleek dress pants, a white long-sleeved button down tucked into them with a dark red tie around his throat, and a navy blue sweater covering it all.

His black hair was styled enough that the long strands were out of his face but not slicked back and away from it. Your tongue moved around the lollipop, taking in the flavor before you swallowed it down, and his eyes dropped briefly to the way your lips parted and the lollipop slid tightly out of the constraint of your mouth as he waited calmly for you to speak. Eyes running along his features, you forced your brain to commit them to memory incase you needed the information of his appearance later.

Plump, pinked lips were almost pressed together, giving you an indication of the way he was feeling through the purposefully neutral expression he instead offered you. He had a slender nose with nostrils that flared at your unprofessionalism the slightest bit. A smile grew on your face as your eyes raised higher along his face and he watched you, There were two moles that contrasted against his skin prettily, one that sat on the side along the bridge of his nose and another on his cheek right below the center of his eye. When he turned narrowly to nod at the other guy who brought you to him, you noticed he had another by his ear. He turned back to you and his dark eyes met your analytical stare. You looked away from his gaze and finished your sweep of his face—thick brows the same black color of his hair that twitched as if he wanted to furrow them when your eyes left his.

You leaned forward towards his desk and let your elbows rest on the edge of it as you moved to the edge of your seat. The thin jacket you're wearing falls open and slips off your shoulder, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage on full display for him, but his eyes don't leave yours to look. Pointing the lollipop in your hand at him, you ask, "Now, do you do the dirty work when killing people? Or do you have guys for that?" Your head nods in the direction of the burly guy manning the door of The Curator's office, his hands pressed behind his back in perfect form. You sweeten your ask with a strawberry-flavored smile. "Y'know, con artist to con artist…" You stick the red lollipop back in your mouth and suck on it.

The Curator's thick eyebrow raises just a bit before he smiles back at you. It's a closed-mouth smile and it doesn't reach his eyes. You still can't decipher what the subtle look in his eyes is. "Well… con artist to con artist, lets hope that you never find out," is all he says to you. His voice is smooth, not too deep but deep enough that it would be easily recognizable. The smile falls quickly from his face.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment in complete silence and it was this moment when you knew that a challenge had just been enacted. You didn't know for what yet, but you'd know soon enough. Without looking away from you, The Curator says, "Big Man, take her to where she'll be saying." You don't make any motion that you were planning on moving. "Be mindful of the cameras," he adds to you, "my eyes are everywhere."

"Are you going to watch me?" you ask, voice low and sultry as the smile on your lips grows more around the lollipop in your mouth.

He tilts his head slightly and you finally figure out the look in his eyes. Behind his stony appearance he was analyzing you too. "I watch everyone," The Curator says, and his voice comes out the tiniest bit deeper. You hum, and take the lollipop out of your mouth again. You hold it out until it's just centimeters from his lips. Behind you, you can feel the weighted stare of "Big Man" on your back.

For the first time since walking into his office, you watch as the neutral demeanor of The Curator crumbles around the edges as he hesitates. You're still staring into each other's eyes, daring the other to look away first, and you refuse to move until he gives in to you. The first, hairline crack shoots through The Curator as he opens his mouth and leans towards your hand a little to wrap his lips around your lollipop. You stare at each other for a few seconds longer before he grabs your hand that's still around the soggy stick of the lollipop with his own. The smile slips from your face as you pull your hand from his and stand up from his desk, quickly turning your back to him now that you've gotten what you wanted out of this meeting.

"Come on, 'Big Man.' Lets go," you speak without looking back and Big Man opens the door for you. "Enjoy the show!" you throw behind you as you walk through it.

The door closes behind you and you start piecing together your plan as Big Man starts to take you up to the rooms. He's explaining how the room is temporary as they get your apartment together for you—which you know is easily code for bugging your apartment—but you don't listen to his words much. Instead, your mind races as you come up with a way to get what you want out of this and how everyone here factors into that.

Before you round the corner, you look over your shoulder finally. The Curator leans against the door frame of his office, watching you and Big Man walk away as he swirls your lollipop around his mouth. For the briefest of seconds, your eyes meet his again before the wall cuts the two of you off from each other and you see him with his walls down. The once subtle look that was swirling around his eyes like your lollipop in his mouth is now intensified without the barriers around it and, despite your better judgment, your heart picks up with it as you realize what it really was now that you know it wasn't wholly analytical—desire.

Your fingers run through The Curator's black hair before you grab onto some strands at his scalp to pull his head away from yours. His lips are pried off of yours, but the two of you are still connected by the string of saliva that refuses to give. His mouth tastes like the lollipops he's always sucking on from his desk, this time tasting of cotton candy. With his head still pulled back, The Curator looks at you through hooded, lust-filled clouded eyes. "Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his lips reaching for yours again but you keep a firm hold on him. You didn't want him to, but you kept your traitorous mouth closed so you wouldn't speak the words.

His words were a repeat of the ones you breathed to him just months ago. It was during your search of trying to get any information about him, but of course you didn't. He was nowhere, nothing—he said so himself, but you couldn't accept that fact. So you did what you knew how to do best, you tried your hardest to seduce the information out of him.

The door to his office wasn't guarded, but through the frosted glass door you could see his shadow moving around. You got the tiny microphone ready in your palm as you walked towards it. When you pushed the door open and stepped in front of his desk, he didn't even look up from his paperwork. It was silent for a couple moments before he even addressed you. "Is there something you need, Silhouette?" he asks you as his pen runs across the paper. You watch as his quick handwriting appears until he flips to another page.

You quirk a brow at him at the lack of him using your actual name. You knew that he knew it—of course he knew it—so what was the point of him using your alias? It was probably the first thing that he found out about you, besides your skill set. It felt like another part of the unspoken game the two of you were playing—another challenge. It made you wonder if he knew just what you were up to, but the thought was pulled from your mind as quickly as you thought it. There was high probability that he did. After all, he has eyes everywhere.

It made you question the lack of a bodyguard at his office door now and the only logical reason that you could think of as to why was that he already knew you were going to come to him. You licked the top row of your teeth as you crossed your arms against your chest and looked at him. It was another challenge that he won—another part of the game.

You rounded his desk, startling him a little. The Curator pushed his lavish, wooden velvet chair back that resembled more of a throne than an office chair. It's wooden legs scratched loudly against the floor as he looked up at you finally. You sat down onto his desk in front of him, your body between his legs, not caring if you messed up his paperwork. You grabbed onto the edge of it and stuck on the microphone onto the underside of his desk, far enough that he wouldn't be able to feel it with a quick swipe. Tilting your head, you smiled big at him.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed at you, grabbing hold of the arms of his chair tightly. "Can't you see that I'm working?" You had to admit, he plays his part well.

You looked to the side to his monitor that was still on. On it was live feeds of places around the building. Every few seconds the feeds would change to different ones before they looped back to the beginning. Just as you looked over, the feeds flipped over to a very familiar room—the room that you were staying in. There were cameras pointed at every inch of your room, some hidden and some obvious like by the door. The feeds changed again until it was various angles of your closet, then the living space, until they flipped to your bathroom.

You hum as they changed to the hallway outside of your room where someone was walking down it. They stopped at a door a few doors down from yours and unlocked it with their keycard to go in. After there was no more motion detected, the camera feed looped back to the angle of your room that showed your bed. Your eyes flicked back over to The Curator. He didn't even look the slightest bit ashamed, he just continued to glare at you for disrupting him working. You realized he was waiting for you to say what you were doing in his office.

"Are these your eyes?" you ask him, leaning away from the monitor to face him fully again as the smile remained on your face. You weren't at all shocked that there were cameras in your room—not even in the bathroom—but you were a little shocked that he was watching them so openly while working. The Curator said nothing, just continued to silently seethe at you. You leaned back on his desk a little and crossed your legs, one of the heels that you wore hovering above his crotch. "You should've let me know you were watching, I would've gave you a little striptease or something," you say arching your back as you let your eyes flutter closed. Opening them again, the smile grew on your face as his tense jaw worked, you continue through a soft moan, "Do I ease your stress, Curator?"

"I did tell you I was watching," is all he responds. Your mind flashes back to the time you first met in this very office. "Be mindful of the cameras." He wanted you to find them, wanted you to know he was watching every angle of you. That no matter what you try to do, you couldn't hide it from him and his looming presence. He was at the top of this organization and you were beneath him. A pawn to be placed wherever he pleased.

The knowledge of it all did send pleasureful tingles up your spine, you couldn't lie. It made your legs tighten together more and turned you on. You took his white-knuckled hand and trailed it slowly up your thigh, your hand above his. Goosebumps flared up around where his hand touched your skin and his eyes moved up your body with your hands. When you edged closer to the bottom hem of your short black dress, you moved his hand closer to the inside of your thigh. "I can still give you that striptease if you want," you tell him lowly, bringing his hand further in with yours. The Curator pulls his eyes away from your hands and looks at you with that same dark glare. He desperately tries to hold on to his anger and annoyance, but you can see it slipping away from him the closer his hand gets to where your arousal lies. "Relieve you of all your stress…"

The Curator scoffs and pulls his hand away from yours like you're on fire when the tips of his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You know you got to him with the way his Adam's apple bobs at his throat. "I want you to leave so I can finish this paperwork," he says sharply, his eyes still on yours. You giggle at him. He goes to move forward, bringing his chair with him, but you press a shiny black heel to his chest to stop him. The Curator freezes and you watch as his eyes move up your heel to your leg until they reach a view that is just out of sight for him. His eyes linger on the way your dress rides up from your outstretched leg before they then move up from it agonizingly slow until they meet yours again. If the two of you were wilder animals, the way that he looked at you would've let you know that he was the predator and you were the prey.

You tsked at him. "Only if you ask me nicely."

His brows draw together as you drop your heel from his chest and uncross your legs fully. You lean forward again so your faces are just mere feet away, waiting for one of you to close the gap, and you relish in the internal battle that he's having with himself that he's trying to hide from you. "Tell me, Curator, I'm so curious… What's your name?" you ask with a saccharine smile, honey dripping from your voice. You look below you at the papers on the desk—at least, at the information that your ass isn't covering. "Is it on these documents?"

You were toying with him, but you did want to know. Annoyingly, it wasn't. He signed the bottom of them with The Curator, much to your dismay. There was some information about some ring, though. You figured it was another heist for someone.

There was no use in hiding what you were in his office for anymore, what you were doing in this organization anymore. You didn't need him or his contacts, you could con people easily on your own. Besides, working with others was messy and you loved having the glory of the things you steal all to yourself. When you worked under someone it always got boring—you liked to be on top of them. Why would you do something that didn't get you what you wanted?

When he found you, he should've known this. There was no doubt that he looked into your past. The Curator probably knows you better than you know yourself. It was time you cut to the chase.

"Leave," he gritted out. His breathing was starting to become labored, more and more so the more he tried to resist himself.

"Why?" you pouted. "I thought we were talking. What, you don't want me anymore, baby?" You shifted on his desk. "You didn't say that when you were watching me." You nodded over to his monitor again as you glanced over to it. When you had first looked at it, all you focused on what the camera feeds flipping between different angles of your room. You hadn't even realized that the feeds of your room were all on a specialized channel with your actual name on it. The rest of the channels were common areas around the building, but yours was at the top.

"Does my channel mean nothing to you?" you ask teasingly as you slide off of his desk and further between his open legs. When you do, his legs spread open more, his body inviting you in despite his mind trying not to. You run your hands up the black long-sleeved button up he wore and stop at his collarbones as you lean into him more. "Are you annoyed with me? You can take it out on me, you know."

The Curator inhales sharply and you smile at him. Slowly, you climb on top of him until you're straddling him. You wrap your arms around his neck and move closer to him until your body is pressed against his. His hands fly off the arms of the chair and linger in the air where your hips are, a slight tremble to them. You look into his eyes as you grind your hips towards his, pressing yourself down hard into his lap. "Tell me to stop and I will," you breathe in a sultry low tone, only for his ears to hear.

There are people passing by his door, you can see the faint shadows of them as they do. The Curator's office isn't soundproof, at least, not that you can tell with a quick look around. Maybe you'll test that theory. If he realizes that it's still the middle of the day and anyone can come knocking, he doesn't mention it to you.

Instead, his eyes flutter closed for a brief second and he swallows down the sound he almost makes. Through his teeth, he asks, "What's your endgame?" His eyes open and your name falls from his lips after, his voice smooth. You lips part at the sound of it. The Curator's hands grab your hips and he inhales sharply again, this time knowing that there's no sense in hiding it from you when you're so close.

You move to the side of his face, your lips hovering over his skin as your smile spreads across your face. He tries to turn to you, but you grab his chin. Your breath fans along his cheeks as you face him again. You let your lips brush against his feather-light. It was your turn to ignore questions. "Yes or no?" you ask him in a whisper, and you speak the words as close to his lips as you can without kissing him.

The Curator hesitates. You think that he would've let you continue teasing him until he came back to his senses or until someone interrupted the two of you. Your taken aback when he slams his lips against yours, his hand sliding up from your hip to the back of your neck so you can't tease him anymore. You moan against his lips when you try to pull away and he doesn't let you, letting his actions speak his "Yes" for him. It was a shocking reminder of who The Curator is. How silly of you to forget about that in this bubble that you pulled him in to. If he wanted something, he takes it.

Its why you were here—he wanted you. You may have a part of him wrapped around your finger, but you could never forget that he had you clutched tightly in his hand.

You move your lips with his as he pulls your head back so your lips part at the pain of him pulling at your hair. He slips his tongue in your mouth and steals your breath as he kisses you harder. Only when your holding his shirt tight in your hand and moving your hips against his growing erection with fervor does he pull away from you. You gasp in a breath, but his mouth is against yours again before the oxygen can reach your lungs.

Hips staggering, your head spins as the lack of air hits you full force. The Curator digs his hand into your hip hard before he lets go of you fully and pulls his lips away from yours. The two of you breathe heavily together as you catch your breaths and stare at each other. The Curator leans back in his chair and rests his arms on the arms of the chair. His look darkens and you realize that you lost the challenge again. Your stare hardens, but both of you say nothing.

He had you right where he wanted you, on his lap, panting as you tried to catch your breath for more of him, and soaking his fancy dress pants as your arousal pooled in your panties and onto his lap with the way your hips moved. The Curator had tricked you. How foolish of you to think that you could come waltzing in his office and seduce information out of him. A smile grew on his face as he watched the realization spread across your features. He was called The Curator for a reason—why nobody knew who he actually was.

Three quick knocks sounded on the door of his office and bounced off the quiet walls. From the shadow, you could tell it was Big Man. You scoffed at him as you pulled yourself up off his lap. This was a set-up.

He stood with you and caged you against his desk. The Curator's lips brushed against yours and despite your better judgment you leaned forward more and pressed your lips against his. You tried to look away from him, but he brought his hand to your throat and let it linger there before smoothing it up to your chin to make you face him. It was a reminder that you weren't off the hook. "I'll call for you if I want reprieve," he says lowly. You push him away from you.

The seductive persona falls off of you like a second skin and you glare at him as you push off his desk. Your too-high heels dig into your feet when you stand fully and it makes you angrier. You stalk over to his office door, not bothering to give him any more of your time. "Silhouette," he calls after you as you open the door and come face to face with Big Man. Big Man's face is blank, but it's like you can feel the sympathy radiating off of him. The pity. You glare at him too, but he just moves to the side so you're able to step out of the office. You turn back to The Curator, furious. "Don't try to find out what my name is again—you never will. I'll have you killed for trying to look again. Treat this as your warning."

You smile at him, but it's more like baring your teeth. The Curator's demeanor is calm and neutral again as he works on his paperwork, his eyes focused on them as a lollipop stick pokes out from his lips. Next to him, your room flashes between feeds. "Make sure you keep a keen eye on those cameras," you spit out as you hold on to the door of the office tightly. "I want you to watch me."

He doesn't bother to look up. You spin back around to the entrance of his office and stalk out of it.

The Curator pulls you back to him as his trails wet kisses down your neck. He moves them southbound, kissing along your breasts as he makes he way down your stomach. When he reaches your soaked pussy, kissing your clit softly, his breath fans on your dripping arousal as he looks up at you through his dark lashes. "Yes or no?" he asks you, his voice coated in lust and desire. You could see it in his eyes too—he wanted to devour you. And you didn't think that you'd really be able to stop him as a soft moan pushes through your lips and he places feather-light kisses to your wet folds, skirting around where you needed him the most.

"Yes," you breathe out, surrendering yourself to him.

You and The Curator don't cross paths for about a month after he told you to stop looking into him or you'd be killed. The only contact the two of you had was the day after when you came up to your room to find an envelope taped to the outside of your door. Inside of it was a thin strip of paper with his handwriting on it of the words "Nice try." With that, the microphone you stuck on his desk was inside the envelope too. You flipped the piece of paper over to see if he wrote anything else, but of course it was blank. You stepped into your room that day with your middle finger in the air.

The day your paths did cross in person, you were lounging in your room on your bed bored out of your mind. Your mind lazily worked out your plan to figure out more about The Curator as your fingers itched to steal something. You were staring up at one of the camera, lost in your own thoughts. There was a knock at your door and you slid from your bed to see who it was.

Big Man stood on the other side and he didn't have to say anything for you to know that The Curator was calling for you. You sigh, "Give me a second to change." Big Man turns his back to your door as you close it.

You walk back into your room as you glare at one of the cameras. You know he's watching you, you can feel his eyes through the camera lens. He's probably leaned into his monitor, whatever paperwork he was working on abandoned on his desk as his cock gets heavy and starts to leak through his pants like the pervert he is. Well, you were going to give him a show.

You try to remember the hidden camera positions and turn your back to one of them as you face the big camera attached to one of the walls. You watch as what you were told was a stationary camera move to focus on you and you smirk. Grabbing the bottom of your silk, lacy slip dress, you slowly pull it up your thighs as you keep eye contact with the camera. You reveal your lacy black panties, making sure to look behind you towards the direction of the hidden camera, before you pull the dress off excruciatingly slow. You're braless, breasts on full display for him—which you were sure he's already seen by now—as you cup them and run your fingers along your perked nipples.

Looking behind you again, you hook your thumbs under the hem of your panties. You bend over so your ass points towards the camera as you start pulling them down slow too. The arousal of being watched drips out of you as you drag your panties down. You pull them halfway down your thighs before you let them fall to the floor. With a giggle, you grab your asscheeks and spread yourself open so he can see how wet you are at his stare. You weren't sure if there was sound connected to the cameras, so you refrained from going any further.

"Perverted asshole," you speak loud enough just incase he could hear you, as you walk over to your closet to get dressed.

Opening your door, you step out of your room to meet with Big Man and the two of you walk down to where The Curator's office was. The entire way there you could feel his eyes on you, watching you from all angles. The feeling only stopped when Big Man knocked on his office door and let you in.

You smiled when you looked over and saw his monitor shut off and held back your laugh. He was lucky he was wearing black dress pants today.

Sitting down in the chair at his desk, you raised your brows at him. The Curator was leaned back in his own chair, papers stacked in neat little piles in front of him on his desk. He moved his lollipop from one cheek to the other as he grabbed one of the pages without looking away from you and handed it to you. You snatched it out of his hand and scanned over it.

It was a heist. He wanted you to rob a jewelry store, basically. It was a beginner's job. Child's play. Did he really think this was all you were capable of, robbing some measly jewelry store for a cheap necklace and ring? You looked back up at him as you crumpled the paper in your hands and threw it at his face, scoffing. Annoyingly, he ducked, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he looked down at the stacks of paper on his desk before plucking one from a stack and handing it to you.

"It's an upper echelon event. The host, Chou Tzuyu, is having a housewarming party for her recent purchase of a multimillion dollar mansion." You look up from the paper to The Curator with a raised brow. "I want you to be there," he says and his voice is almost soft. "In a room, Tzuyu has her jewelry on display. Each piece cost millions. Take whatever you want, but you must grab these two pieces."

He slides another piece of paper to you on his desk. It has two pictures printed out onto it, one of a beautiful diamond covered necklace with dots of rubies in it and the other of a radiant-cut diamond ring that had more diamonds glittering along it's intricately carved band. Your eyes widened at the pieces and a smile spread across your face. "What could you possibly need with these pieces?" you laugh in shock as you look at the images again.

"I'm going to sell them, of course," The Curator says simply.

You just shake your head, but read over the other piece of paper again. You weren't going to pass this up just because you were annoyed with The Curator. The half-baked plan forming in your mind could wait, you were going shopping. Not that he would let you pass it up, anyway.

"When?" you ask him, instead.

The Curator goes back to his paperwork as you joyfully daydream about all the new jewelry you're going to have soon. He talks around his lollipop, "Tomorrow night. I secured you an invite an hour ago."

You wanted to climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck as you kissed him, but you knew that was irrational. You pushed the want out of your mind. All he did was give you a job. Besides, you didn't want to give him what he wanted anymore—and you knew that he wanted you to embarrass yourself again. You kicked yourself for wanting to kiss him again. What was wrong with you? He wasn't any different from the other men that you seduced. So why couldn't you stop thinking about the way his lips felt on yours? Why did you want him to steal your breath away again? What made him stand out from the rest?

Instead of going through your own psyche on the matter, you chalked it up to his elusiveness. His mysteriousness lured you in to him. You wanted to break him open and see how he worked. You wanted to know his name. That was all.

"I'll get my outfit ready," you say evenly, trying to not seem too over the moon about the job you were offered.

You get up to leave, but The Curator stops you. "Oh, and Silhouette?" he calls. You turn in his direction and he waves you back over to his desk. You don't even think as you walk back over to him, your mind swirling with the event happening tomorrow. When you stand next to him, he looks up from paperwork and turns to you. You can't lie and say your heart doesn't pick up at his stare. "I told you I'd call for you if I wanted a show. Don't do that again."

You smile at him as his words go in one ear and out the other. You had just finally won one of the challenges. "Or what?" you ask, stepping close to him. This time, he doesn't feign being all flustered. "You'll punish me? Bend me over your desk?"

Before you even get to think about gloating over knowing he was watching you through his cameras, your face is being pushed down into the papers on his desk. He pulls your arms tight behind your back as he presses himself against your ass. Leaning down, he moves his lips to the shell of your ear. "I'll do more than that to you," he warns you in a whisper. You bite your lip as you turn to look at him.

He pulls you back up from his desk, your arms still tight behind your back as he holds you with one of his hands. "Do you promise?" you tease as his chest comes flush with your back. The Curator places his other hand down onto your stomach, right below where your belly button sat. He presses down hard onto the spot, and you don't need him to speak it to know what he's implying. Almost instantly, you can feel yourself soaking through your panties and you're sure that The Curator is aware of it with the way your dress bunches up around your hips.

His hand inches down further, but stops right above where you're throbbing for him. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck and the way his expression remains neutral. His hold on your arms tighten and you moan a little as your shoulders start to ache. "I promise," he says at your ear.

The Curator lets you go and sits back down at his chair as he looks at you up and down. There's intense heat radiating off of your body and your chest heaves as you smooth down your dress. He watches as you pull your dress down over the peek of your panties and the wet spot growing on it. You sit down in his lap, but he just moves his arms around you as he continues to work on the stacks of paperwork on his desk. You lean over, making sure to rub your ass on his lap, and grab the papers he gave you. Twisting in his lap, you look at him and the lollipop sticking out of his mouth, but he just stares past you as he writes on the page in front of the two of you.

You take the lollipop from his mouth and his eyes flick over to yours. Coming closer, you brush your lips against his, not wanting to be the first one to kiss him again. He pulls away from you a little as another challenge, but you don't move closer again. The Curator waits for a moment and you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips as he closes the distance between the two of you and presses them against yours. You kiss him slowly, not yet wanting to let him take so much from you again. He obliges and you smile against his lips at the way his arms remain around you and on his desk.

Pulling away, you raise your brows at him smugly. Two victories in one day, what does he have to claim for himself? He captures your lips in a quick kiss again before turning away and working again. "Jay will be your plus one to the event," The Curator nods to the papers clutched in your hand. "He'll be talking to you tomorrow to go over all of the details you both need to make sure the night goes smoothly."

You had met some of the others, Jay included, the day you first got to the building. It was at lunch and after Big Man had showed you around your room. Jay went by Nightstalker, so you were told by the paper in your hand. A part of you was bothered by the fact that it was Jay going with you instead of The Curator himself. You didn't even know why. You knew that he rarely went on his own heists these days, instead opting to set them up for his clients. He only showed out when it was a particularly big heist and he wanted to be there to make sure everything went the way he wanted it to himself. Still, a part of you deflated at it and no matter how hard you tried to push the feelings away, they just kept coming back. Maybe it was the fact that you were sitting in his lap while he was working, maybe it was the cat and mouse game the two of you kept playing, or maybe it was the way he kissed you, but you knew you had to start pulling yourself away soon before you got too caught up in it all.

That was a mistake you were never going to make again.

"You taste like blue-raspberry," is all you replied to him as you stuck his lollipop in your mouth. You stood from his lap and moved towards the door, but he grabbed your wrist. You looked back at him, stupid for letting the hope swell in your chest.

The Curator's hand trailed down your wrist, his hand lingering in yours for a brief moment before he let you go. His eyes focused on the way you sucked on his lollipop for a second, his throat bobbing, before he turned away. You lingered next to him for a second, the hope crashing down into your chest, before turning and walking out of his office.

When you got back up to your room, there was a large box wrapped with a silk red ribbon sitting on your bed. You looked up to the camera, confused, before you pulled at the bow. You opened the box and inside laid a black dress with a note on top of it. Picking up the note, you recognized The Curator's handwriting. The note read: Try it on for me. You couldn't help the smile that grew on your face as you pulled the dress out of its box. You could tell that it was fitted and long, with a slit up the side and backless. Smiling up at the camera, you held the dress close to your chest as you read the note again, this time flipping it over to see if there was anything on the back. You were surprised when there was. I want to see how beautiful you look in it.

You stripped your clothes off again until you were only dressed in your black bra and panties. You grabbed the dress and brought it with you as you walked over to the bathroom. Before you did, you looked up to one of the cameras and mouthed "No peeking!"

When you got the dress on, you came out and walked to the full length mirror that was by your closet. You turned and looked at the backless feature as your hands smoothed down your body. You'd have to figure out a bra situation, but it was gorgeous. Your hands ran down to the slit down the skirt. It wasn't too long nor was the skirt too fitted. It looked absolutely perfect on you, and you knew that it was The Curator's doing. Turning towards the camera on the wall—even though you were sure you remember one in the mirror—you posed for him, silently asking him what he thought of it on you.

You heard a low whirring sound, almost imperceptible if the room wasn't dead silent, before his voice filled your ears. "I told you you'd look beautiful in it," he says, and there's something in the way his smooth voice glides over you that you can't quite catch. You turn back to the mirror and smile, not even worrying that he can see and hear you. Turning so you can see the open back again, you smile more as the fabric dips low on your hips, almost low enough to be scandalous.

"You just want to see me naked again basically," you murmur aloud. "But the fantasy is way more fun, isn't it. All eyes will be on me." He doesn't respond, but you can tell he has that ghost of a smile on his face right now. That's the point, you can almost hear him say. He never said getting the jewelry out of this event was going to be easy for you.

Turning to face the mirror again, your eyes catch on the new set of clothes in your closet. You run your fingers along them as you go to pull one of them out. Of course, they're all in your size. You smile more, moving back to the mirror as you held one of the dresses up to your body. "I didn't ask for these," you say to him, not sure if he's still listening. You weren't complaining though.

It takes a moment before you hear his voice again. You're looking over the way the black dress looks on you again when he voice rings out into the room. Somehow, it feels closer. Like he's actually in the room, standing behind you as he admires you in the dress he got for you to wear. "Take it off," he says lowly. You ignore him as you debate on how to wear your hair. The Curator speaks again, this time more firmly as his low voice gets gravelly. "Take it off."

You hide your smile as you twist in the mirror so you can see where the zipper is on the dress. You take it and pull it down the silky material slowly, the intricate black flower designs glittering in the light. He must've either forgot to turn the microphone back off, or he wanted to let you hear him, as you listen to the distinct sound of his belt coming undone. You hear his heavy breath as you let the dress slip off your body and onto the floor. "It's going to get wrinkled," you say, but you already know he doesn't care. He'd get someone to fix it later. You stand in front of the mirror in nothing but your lacy black bra and panties.

"The rest," he breathes out a single command. And you take them off too.

The sounds are low now, but you can distantly hear the wet sound of him spreading his precum down his cock as he curses under his breath. "Now go lay on the bed. Don't move from it."

You leave the large closet, giggling as you strut over to your king-sized bed. You slowly climb onto it, making sure your ass is in the air for him, as you crawl to the center of it and lay down on your back and pose for him. You don't give him all of the satisfaction, though. You keep your feet apart, but press your thighs and knees together so if he wanted to see a full view of you he would have to flip between different camera angles. You push your breasts together with one of your arms as your other hand rests beneath your belly button where his hand pressed into you earlier. It was clear what you wanted from him.

Through the microphone, you hear the way he groans at you and the smile on your face grows until you're beaming. "You're such a fucking tease," he tells you in that same low and dark voice. You just giggle, arching your back for him when you hear his mouse clicking and his hand moving faster.

"Says the pervert getting off by watching me," you shoot back. He moans under his breath at your words, the wet sounds from him growing. Neither of you care that your coworkers could potentially hear the two of you. In fact, you think it turns the both of you on more at how wrong it all is. You push you hand down further as you ask him flat out. "Do I turn you on?" He doesn't answer, but you hear his breathing pick up. Your back arches again as you eyes flutter shut and you moan his name. All you could think about in the moment is how much better this would be if you knew his actual name. If you were moaning that instead of The Curator.

It's almost like he can hear your thoughts, can physically see that half-baked plan get more and more solid as you moan for him more. "Open you legs for me and touch yourself," he breathes out in another command. You almost ignored him before he added: "And I'll give you a hint."

Your eyes open and you look up at the camera. Slowly, you spread open your legs for him and the light catches on your wetness. Your hand reaches between your thighs as you drag your middle finger through your folds and spread your arousal around. Your breath hitches as your finger rubs against your clit and your arm squeezes your breasts together tighter. You keep your stare on the camera as you add your ring finger into your toying before plunging them into your entrance, slow and deliberate. Over the microphone, you hear The Curator let out a low moan.

You fuck yourself with your fingers slow, moaning out about how good it feels. The sound of his hand jerks his cock faster and you wonder if he's still in his office in the presence of everyone or if he crept off to the security of his own penthouse apartment on the top floor. Your hips lift towards your hand and your fingers plunge into your wetness deeper as you moan his name again. "Come to me," you moan out. "Your fingers would feel so much better… Can reach so much deeper…" Your hips roll against your palm. "You would fuck me so good," you breathe out as you get yourself off more on the possibility.

Brows furrowing, your thighs snap shut as you moan out his name more, begging him to come to you—cum with you. You legs open again as your arms fall limp at your sides and your release drips out of you. The Curator's voice surrounds you your chest rises and falls heavily. "Stay just like that. Don't move a fucking inch." His moans pick up and grow louder, and you hear him fuck his wet hard cock into his hand faster, until the microphone suddenly cuts out.

You lay disappointed in the bed as you press you thighs together and sit up. Sliding from the bed, you move to the bathroom to go and take a shower as what you just did settles on you. The Curator won—again. He was never going to give you that hint. You let the shower water run as you grabbed a fresh towel and wash cloth.

"What are you doing?" he asks you, his voice breathy and staggered. It just makes you more annoyed with him at cutting you off from the best part. You ignore him and step into the hot water instead and harshly flick the curtains closed. You knew that there was a camera inside of the shower, but you just pretended that it wasn't there—that he wasn't there. Instead you let the water wash over you and rinsed the cum off the insides of your thighs as you lathered soap on your wash cloth and began washing your arms.

A few moments passed before you swear you heard the bathroom door open. You ignored the sound until you were jolting at the shower curtain being pulled back. You whipped around to see The Curator, your fearful eyes meeting his, as your mouth parted in shock. He stepped inside the shower with you, completely naked. "What the fuck?!" you shout, your eyes scanning him, but he turns you around before you can get a good look of anything besides his chest.

"Don't turn around," he tells you and his hands move to your hips as he moves closer to you. His lips kiss along the wet skin of your shoulders as he wraps an arm around you and takes the wash cloth from you hand. You try to get a look at him through your peripheral vision, but all you can see is his black hair. He runs the cloth down your back slow as he starts to wash you in silence.

Your mouth parts to open to ask him how he got inside your apartment, but it quickly clamps shut. He owns the building, it's not like it would've been difficult. He already had a copy of your keycard if his gifts were anything to go by. His thumb rubs circles at your hip, spreading around the soap that his other hand is washing you with. "Why?" you ask him instead.

It was such a general question. A Catch-22. You could be referring to anything, and you didn't elaborate as the question hung in the steamy air between the two of you. You were wary of giving too much of yourself to him too soon. But, it was like he was inside of your head. He spoke your own sentence back to you. "Tell me to stop and I will."

Despite what he told you earlier, you turned to face him. Your brows furrowed as you looked at him and tried to stop the emotions flowing through you from showing through your eyes. You wanted to sink down into the drain. You had rules that you had set in place and you were breaking every single one of them right now. You didn't even know his actual name. Yet, here the two of you were. With your eyes, you let yourself be vulnerable with him just this once.

The Curator pulled you close to him. "Eight letters," he says softly.

At first, you didn't understand what he was talking about. That was, until you remembered he said he was going to give you a hint about his name. He runs his wet thumb along your cheek. "My first name," he adds.

He looks into your eyes and whatever you find in his you're content with, for now at the very least. You think about leaning up to kiss him, but before you can even move he's pulling your body into his even more and catching your lips with his. The Curators lips are soft and slow against yours and he lets you set the pace the two of you go at. Your arms wrap around him.

When the two of you pull away, you realize that he gave you two hints instead of only one. You turn around and the two of you shower together as you think over it over and over again. Two hints instead of one. Instead of your usual cat and mouse game, in the confines of your shower the two of you play a different one—hold and share. And when you turn to look at him, motioning in silence for him to turn around so you could wash his back, a quiet thought grows in volume the slightest bit. You'd tell him anything he wants to know, do anything he wanted you to do.

You walk through the event on Jay's arm as you mingle with more guests of the night. You let Jay do most of the talking as you make a mental map of the mansion. And when you finally complete it, you excuse yourself to go "powder your nose". Thankfully, the event was nearly over when you slip upstairs past wine-drunk people in lavish clothing and open the door to where Chou Tzuyu displayed her jewelry. You mind runs quick as you think of how you were going to get the pieces out of this mansion, and your first thought goes to how you're going to have to change your dress.

Or, at the very least, layer something on top of it. Tzuyu's jewelry display was in the same room as her huge walk in closet, so you hurry into there as you glance over the sparkling pieces. You run your fingers through her fine fabrics until you land on a black sparkly cover up. It's sheer enough that your dress will still show through, but thick enough that it will hide the lumps of stolen jewelry in it. You snatch it off of its hanger.

Scurrying back out to the jewelry display, you ponder for a quick second on whether it would be worth it to lock the door, but you just full-send it. You walk about leisurely, making sure you eye each and every piece. Some of them were too garish for your personal taste, but others you plucked right up. You slid the daintier rings on your fingers and clasped some of the necklaces around your neck so they were hidden by the the high neckline of your dress. With the longer ones, you let them hang down your back as an accessory.

You rounded each and every glass case, choosing what you liked and scoffing at what you didn't. You remembered that you weren't here just for you, but that you needed to get the pieces The Curator told you to get. Stopping in front of one of the cases, your eyes landed on the necklace.

It was even more beautiful in person and you raised it up in the air with your fingers gently. A small gasp left your mouth as the diamonds glittered and the rubies sparkled. You clasped it around your neck so it was hidden by your dress, too. You found the ring next and the radiant-cut diamond was even bigger in person. You held it up to the light as you looked at the vines carved into the metal of the band, tiny diamonds pressed into it like leaves and flowers. You slid the ring on your ring finger and giggled as you held your hand out. This piece must've been a special one. It's a shame that Tzuyu wouldn't have it anymore. Instead of keeping it on your finger, you looped it around one of the necklaces you picked up next and hid it within your dress with everything else.

You pushed some bracelets onto your wrists and looped others around your necklaces too. With the earrings, you shoved them into your dress and tried to not move much. Only went you felt like you could barely move your neck did you leave the rest of the room alone. You moved to the mirror and made sure everything was mostly well hidden, and you let out a thank you to Tzuyu herself as your dress looked smooth and her cover up hid any unevenness. Stepping to the door, you peeked outside of it to make sure the coast was clear before slipping out of the room.

When Tzuyu came into her jewelry room in the morning, she was going to be in for quite the surprise. You had picked the place clean.

You walked downstairs and looked around at the guests before your eyes landed on Jay. You went to step towards him before an arm wrapped around yours. Looking over, Tzuyu stumbled into you as just gave you a slightly confused smile. "Sorry if this is a little straightforward, but… I feel like I've never seen you before." Her words slurred together a little and you forced yourself to keep cool. She laughed a little, taking another sip from her glass. "You're very beautiful," she complimented.

Thanking her awkwardly, you reply, "Oh, I'm just a plus one… It's a very lovely home you have!"

Laughing more, Tzuyu looked around before waving her hand in the air. "Oh, this place…" she didn't continue her sentence as her mind veered off into something else. "I hope I see you around again! We have to meet up for brunch tomorrow when everyone's not drunk." She laughs some more and you laugh with her as she calls out someone's name and stumbles towards them. You make a beeline to Jay and wrap your arm around his again.

"I'm feel quite weary," you say the code words as you look up at him and furrow your brows. "Are you ready to go, honey?"

With that, you and Jay slip out the door to the car that is waiting for you just a little down the large driveway. The driver takes off once the two of you are in, and you pat yourself down to make sure that you still had everything, especially The Curator's necklace and ring. You breathed a sigh of relief when you did.

"How much did you take?" Jay asks you in the light of the streetlamps. You look over and just smile at him. A smile blossoms on his own face and he just shakes his head and looks out of the window.

"But look at the way it sparkles in the light!" you say as you hold your hand out towards The Curator. "How could you sell something as pretty as this?"

He gives you a deadpan look as you marvel over the stolen ring on your finger. News about Tzuyu's stolen jewelry broke out a couple days ago and she was in shambles about it. Poor girl. The Curator sighs as he repeats the conversation with you again. "Why do you think I'm selling it."

The Curator was leaned against your headboard as you showed him—once again—all of the jewelry you acquired. You kept styling them in different ways and with different outfits, making him look at each and every one and tell you how beautiful you looked with it all on. And he did. Every single time. Only, now you didn't want to give him the ring you stole for him. It was too pretty and it fit on your finger too well. It would be a shame if it was picked apart and melted down for profit.

"Come on!" you pouted as you crawled onto the bed towards him, your jewelry making you glitter in the lighting. You straddled his lap and wrapped your hands around his neck. "Just look at it on me," you held up for hand for him to see the ring that he was oh-so-familiar with now. "It's perfect!"

He slid the ring off of your finger, sighing. You smile grew. "I'll think about it," The Curator tells you, but with his defeated demeanor you know that you've won him over. You kiss him so hard that the two of you nearly roll off of your bed. He tries to speak again, to tell you that it's not a definitive yes, but you keep pressing your lips against his until he finally takes the hint and shuts up. Instead, he pushes you down onto the bed and spreads your legs open with one of his knees as he roughly pulls the dress that was a gift from him off of you. You sparkle for him and he marks your body with his lips so you remember just who you sparkle for.

The Curator's yes or no question hangs in the air between you for a moment as his breath fans across your wet pussy. His hands grip your thighs hard and his fingers dig into your plush skin, but it only makes you breathe harder. This was the last step for you past the point of no return, and you wanted so desperately wanted to pull back from him and say you weren't ready to give in, but you knew you already have given in. You gave him all of you the moment the two of you started your game and tried to catch the other stumble. You stepped past the point of no return when you had let him shower with you and exchange secrets. There already wasn't any chance of coming back from this.

Complete devotion lied in his eyes, and the longer the silence grew, the more he just wanted to devour you and say your answer for you. Because he already knew what it was without you having to say it. He read it within the lines of your body that were becoming less blurred for him and felt it in the way your body reacted to his touch. It was obvious. So why did you keep fighting against it? Why did you keep hesitating to let him take you into his arms?

It was terrifying for you cause you knew that for The Curator you weren't only The Silhouette anymore. You were something more. Something he could grab on to. You didn't know how to handle it. Inhaling sharply, you dived in head first into the unknown with him and let him guide you to wherever he wanted to take you.

"Yes," you breathe out, surrendering yourself to him.

It had been months since that upper echelon event that you gained so much jewelry from. The Curator had sent you on a few more heists since then, and each one you went on was successful. As a reward, he would give you another piece of him, and in return the two of you would go a step farther as you opened up petal by petal.

This time, he had shown you who was outside of his title and position as The Curator and brought you up to the top floor of the building where he lived. He had his whole private entrance and everything. It was a wonder just how big the building was. The Curator has let you examine every inch of his penthouse apartment and smiled at you when you came up empty on clues that weren't the ones he had already given you. He trailed behind you as you searched like he wanted you to find something, like he was anticipating it. It only made you search harder as his words ran through your mind. Eight letters. My first name. You must've come up with a million different combinations of letters now and each of them were wrong.

In return for him letting you into more of him, for letting you nearly tear his home apart for the one answer that could have the whole building come crumbling down, you stripped yourself naked and laid on his bed to let him do anything he pleased to you. Your body was wholly his, and he treated you like a delicacy as his hands gently roamed every inch of your body.

The Curator kisses your clit again before he's taking the tip of his tongue and licking a stipe up your slit. You try to squeeze your legs together, but his buff arms hold you apart for the taking. He licks another stipe and collects your arousal on his tongue as he glances up and watches you. You're leaned up on your elbows, your face twisted into pleasure as he teasingly licks stripes up to your swollen clit. You grab at his duvet and take the fabric into your balled-up fists as your knuckles turn white. "Please," the plead slips out of your mouth and shocks you. Once it comes out, its like the whole dam you've been trying to hold back cracks open.

He smiles against your pussy as he latches onto it—another challenge won, and your back arches as he sucks your clit into his mouth and rounds his tongue around the sensitive bundle on nerves. The Curator's cotton candy taste still lingers in your mouth and it just makes you wetter as he loudly and unabashedly eats you out.

His tongue prods at your entrance until he's pushing it inside of you to taste you more. He moans against your pussy as he fucks his tongue into you, occasionally flicking it up to show your clit more attention. The Curator spreads you legs apart more and he pushes his face further into you. His tongue explores your folds as his nose rubs against your clit and sends shockwaves through your body. His moans reverberate through you and you can't help the way your hips try to buck up to meet his face.

He pulls away from your core, his mouth covered in spit and his chin dripping your arousal. The Curator looks at you that same predator versus prey look he once gave you so many months ago. You whined out his name, but he digs his fingers into your thighs harder until you looked at him. "Who do you belong to?" he asks you in a low and breathy voice.

Your heart hammers in your chest when your eyes meet his. He looked even more beautiful than the day you first met him. Your hips shift and try to reach his mouth again as you answer him. "You. I belong to you. Eight letters. Your first name."

As soon as the last sentence leave your lips, he's letting spit pour out from his mouth and trail down to your pussy. When it lands just beneath your clit, the warmness flooding you like cold water, you feel your brain turn to mush. The Curator rubs his thumb along your folds and spreads his spit around, before he's spreading you open more and letting his spit drip directly into your entrance. You moan loud at the feeling at your hands try to push down to offer yourself a bit of reprieve, but he pushes your hands away. He rubs circles into your clit again instead, making your breath hitch louder, before he pushes his thumb down into your entrance. You gasp as he moans out at the way your pussy wraps around just his thumb alone. "No matter how many times I fuck you, you're still so damn tight." The Curator repeatedly pushes his thumb into you and you let out a string of moans. "Do I have to keep you on my cock so your body finally recognizes what its made for?"

You nod desperately, more pleads falling from your lips as he pulls his thumb out of you. The Curator bends down and kisses your pussy again before he spreads it open. He wants to take a picture of it, of the way it flutters around nothing from just his touch alone, and frame it so he can plaster it all over his walls. He spits down on it again and smiles at the way your body shudders from the feeling and the way you arch your back more. "Use your words, baby," The Curator tells you. "Or else we can just stop here."

"No!" you beg him, your eyes flying open. He lets another trail of his spit trail down into your entrance and watches the way your eyes rolls back. "Please fuck me. Mould my body to your cock and never let me off of it. I want you so bad, please do whatever you want to me." You words come out scrambled and in a hurry. The Curator rubs his spit into you more as he smiles. You tasted just as sweet as his lollipops.

That gives him an idea as he pulls away from you, much to your dismay and whining. He grabs a strawberry lollipop from his table and takes the wrapper off. He sticks it in his mouth as he walks to you and traps your body beneath his again, then he takes it out and holds it against your lips. You open your mouth for him and suck on the lollipop gingerly, and The Curator is pulling it out of your mouth with a smirk. You lean up on your elbows as you watch him spread you open again and drag the lollipop through your wet folds. He licks his lips before he pushes it inside you slowly and lets out a small groan when it disappears. He does that a few times, teasing you, before he circles the lollipop inside of you and makes you see stars.

You gasp, shocked moans flying from your lips as you try to lift your hips but he holds you down by a hand on your lower stomach. You pressed your lips together tight as you swallow a whine. The Curator moves the lollipop inside of you faster until your pussy flutters wildly around it. You try to push his hand away, try shut your legs, but he has you exactly where he wants you and he's not letting you slip through his fingers.

Before you can even speak, a whimper pulls from your throat and your legs are trembling as you cum hard. The red lollipop still inside of you gets covered in it. Slowly, The Curator pulls it out of you as he sucks in a breath. "Look at how sweet," he says as he takes the lollipop and scoops up some of your cum with it. You can hear the smile in his voice, but you're too busy trying to catch your breath. "I bet you taste even sweeter now."

You look up just in time to watch him put the lollipop dripping with your cum back in his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed. Letting out a small whine, you grab onto his arm. His eyes open to give you a pointed look as he swirls the lollipop around in his mouth. Looking down, The Curator takes the rest of your strawberry-flavored cum on his fingertips and brings that to his tongue too. "I need to feel you," you breathe out. You hand moves over to where he erection was struggling against his jeans and you palm it needily.

Today was the first time you had seen The Curator in something other than fancy formal clothes. He wore medium-washed jeans with a simple t-shirt and a brown leather jacket over it when he had brought you upstairs. The jacket was abandoned somewhere now, but he still had the rest of his clothes on. He hovers over you as he smiles. "Where do you need to feel me?" he asks you, his fingers running through your folds and teasing your entrance. You grabbed onto his shirt tight. You knew that he wasn't going to go any farther until you let him win again.

Moaning against his lips that brushed against yours, you palmed more at his erection. "Inside, I need to feel you inside of me." You breathed the words for kissing him. He smiled against your lips as you started to unbutton his jeans and pull them down for him as his fingers sunk into you. You arched into his chest as his fingers pressed against your walls and spread the inside of your pussy open. He picked up his pace as he moved his fingers quick, the sound of your wetness bouncing off the walls of the room and splattering across his hand. You clutched onto The Curator tightly as your body tensed. "Please," you begged against his lips before kissing him lightly. Your breath was ragged, but you kept placing kisses on his lips until he was finally satisfied.

With one hand, he pulled his shirt off and tossed it off the the side. You watched him with your bottom lip between your teeth and blown out pupils. It must've been something about the way you looked at him, because once he got his jeans and boxers off he was flipping you over and pulling back your arms. You used the mattress to muffle your moan as he fully pushed his big cock inside of you with no restraint. He filled you up so much that you were almost scared he wouldn't be able to pull back out. The Curator pulled you up from the mattress by your arms and you lurched forward as he thrusted into you hard. "I thought we had a deal that you wouldn't hide those pretty sounds from me, baby."

It was less of a question and more of a warning as he pulled your arms behind you tighter. His hips slammed against your ass and your senses blurred. The sounds your bodies made and the way he made you feel was the only thing that you could focus on as you cried out his name. You could tell The Curator's actual name was on the tip of his tongue. You could feel the mystique of it hanging in the air between your moans as his grunts. Tears ran down your cheeks as each harsh thrust felt like heaven again and again. Your eyes rolled back to your skull and if it wasn't for him having a tight hold on your arms you would've fell face-forward into the mattress already.

He suddenly slowed he pace as your pussy fluttered around him and you cried out his name again through tears. The Curator chuckled behind you before using your arms to pulls to closer to his chest. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, teasing you and letting you know that at any time his arm can move up to your throat, and used his other hand to press hard onto your lower stomach. He fucked into you hard, one quick thrust after the other as he moaned into your neck. The staggered sound of his skin slapping against yours made you wet his cock more. "Can you feel me, baby? Is this what you wanted? Yes or no?" he breathes the last question in your ear almost sharply and you don't know how to tell him that it was forever going to be a yes with him.

"Yes, please," you moan out pleadingly. Before your words even fully got out of your mouth he had his big bicep wrapped around your throat and was cutting off your air supply. He pulled you closer to his chest and made you look up into his eyes as he brought back his brutal pace.

You were too fucked out to realize that his sudden change in softness was a warning in it of itself. Your brain was too hazy to see the fear around the edges of his dominating demeanor and in the way he held you close to him like you would leave now that you knew so much. Instead, The Curator told you to open your mouth and immediately you stuck out your tongue for him. He let his strawberry-flavored spit drip off of his tongue and onto yours—and you swallowed it all down eagerly. The lack of oxygen made your eyes squeeze shut as you tried your hardest to catch your breath around his tightening headlock. The whole exchange made you cum again as tears slid down your wet cheeks and your whole body went limp in his arms.

The Curator fucks it back into you, slow and deliberate as he pushes his own cum deeper inside of you with a moan against your lips. Lazily, you chase after his lips despite needing to breathe and he lets go of your throat so you can. Your inhale is raspy, but you don't care. The Curator lets you fall forward onto the mattress as he keeps your ass in the air for him. He pulls his cock out of you agonizingly slow and watches the tight stretch of your pussy around him and the way your body begs his to keep his cock inside of you. You clench down around him hard and The Curator is cursing under his breath as he pulls himself out of you fully and your mixed cum spills down your thighs and drips off your pussy. He watches it all and after he spreads you open more and he licks a stripe up your slit, the lollipop stick dragging along your skin teasingly.

After the two of you catch your breath, The Curator lays against his headboard and pulls you up and on top of him. Your back presses to his chest as he kisses softly against your neck. You lean into his touch as he grabs one of your thighs and spreads your legs open again. "The mirror on the wall," he whispers in your ear and together the two of you stare into the mirror at each other on the wall across from the bed. "I want you to watch yourself bounce on my cock."

The Curator takes his cock in his hand and rubs it through your folds until you're lifting your hips to help him slide into you. Your lips part at the way he disappears inside of you as a soft moan gives way. Placing your feet flat on the bed, you open your legs more and anchor your hands on his chest. He holds your hips as you roll them forward and watch the slow drag of his cock pulling out of you. But, more so, you watch his expression. All of his walls are down as he digs his head into his wooden headboard and squeezes his eyes shut. You roll your hips again, slower this time as you bring them in a circle. You pull a moan from his lips as he opens his eyes to look at you through the mirror. One of his hands inch closer to your sensitive clit. "Stop teasing," The Curator says, but you continue to rolls your hips slowly a couple more times just to spite him.

You lift your hips up and away from his as your pussy drags along his cock until just his tip is inside of you before you slam back down onto him. Your tits bounce in your face as his hold on you tightens and you both let out a moan. You smile at him through the mirror as you continue the same motions, this time faster in combination of the way you rolled your hips at the start.

You smile smugly at the way he breathed heavily beneath you and his hips rose to meet yours quicker. You tsked at him and told him to watch and be glad he was able to touch. The Curator just ignored your brattiness as he used your hips to make you bounce faster on his cock, his eyes never leaving yours.

Just before the two of you came again together, you pulled yourself off of him just as you came. Your release spilled down the tip of his cock and he cursed loudly in your ear. You brought one of your hands to his cock and pressed it against your folds as you rubbed your pussy against the tip of it. The Curator brought you back to his chest as his cock jerked in your hand. Ropes of his cum messed your pussy up even more and some of it splattered up your stomach. He moaned low against the shell of your ear and held you tight as more of his release dripped down his cock.

You giggled as you pushed his cockhead back inside of you and his cock slid into you so easily it was like the two of you were made to never part. You twisted around to captured his lips with yours, the kiss sloppy as he kissed any part of you that he could, and you giggled more against his lips when you tried to pull away from him but he pushed off the headboard to chase you.

His hands slid off your body as you leaned forward onto your elbows and met his stare through the mirror. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of his cock and his eyes latched onto the way your body tried to suck him in. Once he wasn't inside of you anymore, you spread your legs apart and arched your back so he could watch his cum drip down your thighs more. "Have I told you how much of a tease you are?" he asks you as his eyes take in every inch of your messy pussy. You laugh at him as you watch him through the mirror.

"Come on," you say as you crawl off the bed. He gets up and follows you to the bathroom.

That night, you manage to slip from The Curator's tight grasp on you and out of the bed. You're still naked, so you find wherever your black lacy panties escaped to and pull them up your thighs. You look back at The Curator in the bed to see that he's still fast asleep. Silently, you walk around his apartment for any more hidden clues.

You're deadly quiet in your endeavors as you look in more unconventional places—under sinks, on the inside of cabinets, underneath tables and chairs, and under some of the pretty rugs he had. You thought you found nothing and was ready to go back to bed with him, but you froze when you saw slight scratches on one of the wooden floorboards beneath one of the rugs you flipped up. A part of you just wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. None of it mattered to you anymore, not when the two of you were together. The Curator would tell you his name on his own time.

But, another part of you—a bigger part of you—desperately wanted to know what his name was. Not out of malice like you originally intended, but because there wasn't anything more intimate than speaking someone's name. It was the last step the two of you had to take together—the last step you needed to know him completely like he knew you. Your hand reached for it, but you hesitated again and it instead hovered in the air. You were torn.

In the quiet of the room, you whisper, "Tell me to stop and I will." Of course there was no answer, he was fast asleep. But, you still waited anyway. Before you could make up your own mind, your body was moving for you. You delicately pulled up the floorboard so it didn't make any excessive noise and you sat it down gently next to the opening. Inside of it was a small velvet box that sat alone. You reached down and pulled it out. When you opened it, the ring you stole months ago gleamed at you. You noticed that it looked a little different now. The Curator had gotten it engraved so it was more custom to your liking after to told him about the small, minute details that you didn't like. The set of the radiant-cut diamond was a little different and more intricate with the addition of two more tiny diamonds on the side of the main one cut in a trillion style.

It was absolutely gorgeous and a small gasp left your lips when you were suddenly putting it on your ring finger. Of course, it was a perfect fit. You held your left hand up in the air as your right hand covered your mouth. You looked behind you towards the hallway as tears formed on your lashline. Turning back to the box, there was a small note inside written with his handwriting in silver ink. It read: "Yes or no?"

It was obvious that he hadn't meant for you to find this. This was clearly a gift for you a little later down the line—a very special gift. Your heart thumped hard against your chest and sudden fear started to creep into your bones. The moonlight poured in through his glass windows and you noticed how the inside of the floorboard looked a little off. You stuck your hand inside of it again and moved aside the piece of matching wood that hid another secret compartment. Inside of it was a box of files that you pulled out.

As you flipped through the labels on them, you could feel your anxious heart in your throat as you began to regret your actions. What if The Curator never forgave you for this? What if this wasn't part of your cat and mouse game? What if he actually had you killed for this? Your mind raced back to the two of you in bed, his buff arm around your throat in warning. Fear settled into you deep as you realized you fucked up big time. But, it was already too late to go back now. Your fingertips stopped on the folder that read "Personal Documents." You pulled it out of the box and gingerly opened it with a trembling hand.

Everything was all there—his name, his birthday, his place of birth. Even how many pounds and ounces he weighed as a baby with hand and feet prints to match. The folder dropped from your hands and slapped loudly against the floor. You gasped, but quickly cut the sound off as you held both hands over your mouth. You went eerily still as you listened. There was no other sound but your breathing and after a few tense moments you let your shoulders relax a little. Carefully, you picked up the folder again and tested his name out on your tongue.

"Park Sunghoon," you whisper out into the darkness. It sounds unfamiliar at first, but the smile still eases it way onto your lips when your finished. "Sunghoon," you say again. Eight letters. My first name. You say it over and over, your voice getting quieter each time until you're unsure if the sound is coming out of your mouth or if it's just in your head. You giggle a little as you look down at the folder again. His birthday was soon.

Fear slams into you again and you let the happiness fall off of you as you close the folder and carefully place it back into its spot in the box. You place the box back into the floorboard and cover it with the piece of wood again like you never even notice that it was there. Instead, you keep the velvet ring box out as you move the floorboard back in place and flipped the rug back into position. You sat the box on the table, opened, as you looked around for a piece of paper and a pen. When you did, you wrote on it: Yes, always. Come and find me. You moved the velvet ring box a little so he held the paper down and took a step back from it.

The ring sparkled on your finger as you held your hand to your chest. You knew there was a chance that Sunghoon would never forgive you, that he would kill you, but that was a risk you were willing to take. All you knew was that you had to leave now if you wanted him to find you. A new game. But, you couldn't bear to leave without saying something to him. So you tiptoed back to his bedroom and slipped under his covers one more time.

Sunghoon's hands immediately found your body and in his sleep and he pulled you close to him again. You kissed his lips, seeing if he would stir but he barely did. You did it again and again until the hint of a smile pulled at his mouth and he hummed groggily at you, his arms wrapping around you tighter. Lower than a whisper, but just loud enough for him to hear, you ask, "Do you love me? Yes or no?"

"Yes," Sunghoon immediately responds in a sleep-filled voice. You can see him starting to doze off again, but he fights his sleep. Groggily, he asks you the same. "Do you love me?" He hesitates before he speaks the next words, almost like he's scared to know what your answer is. "Yes or no?"

Just as quick, if not quicker than him, you respond with a resounding, "Yes."

A sleepy smile breaks out across his face and his eyes barely crack open to meet yours in the dark. He kisses your lips before nudging your nose with his and falling right back asleep with the smile still on his face. You look at the ring glowing between the two of you on your finger. You knew that you had to leave now, but it ripped you apart to even think of leaving his embrace.

Once you knew he was back in a deep sleep, you gently kissed him again, this time making sure that he didn't stir. In that same hushed voice, you say against his lips, "I'll always love you, Sunghoon." His name brings a smile to your lips and its like his body unconsciously reacted to your voice saying it. You felt goosebumps raise on his arms like he hasn't heard his own name in a long, long time. You hoped that you got to speak it to him again, this time conscious.

Like the silhouette that you are, you slipped out of his bed again and morphed into the shadows. You lingered at his closet before you decided to take one of his leather jacked, a black one this time. Sliding it on, it covered your breasts and provided you just enough warmth to brace the cold. Your eyes caught the ring on your finger again, but you looked away. You picked up your boots and slid them on as you quietly walked out of Sunghoon's door, leaving everything behind.

When you walked out of his private entrance and into the cold with nothing but his jacket, your lacy black panties, and his ring on your finger you finally let yourself feel happiness. The smile broke out on your face and you laughed a little as you looked up the falling snow. You were the only one, besides himself, who knew Sunghoon's name—who knew everything about him. That was very special to you and you held it close as the snow covered your footprints.

Looking over your shoulder to the door, you waved at Big Man—the ring catching the moonlight as you did—as he guarded the door and let you walk out into the darkness.

A month passes and through the grapevine you heard of Sunghoon losing his goddamn mind when he woke up and didn't find you in the building at all, let alone his apartment. Your contacts say that he completely tore the place apart and gutted it looking for you. Went batshit crazy on everyone there and reminded them all just how dangerous he is. You heard that he told told them that they better find you before he did and you laughed at that knowing that no matter where you went, he was already halfway there to you. So you moved around from place to place in that month just to make him a little angrier. And you knew he knew it too.

For his birthday, you mailed Sunghoon a singular Polaroid. In the picture, you were naked. You could just barely see your teasing smile in it, but it was mostly of your ringed hand spreading your pussy apart for him. At the bottom, you wrote: Waiting for you… You didn't even think he realized it was for his birthday and not to mess with him. You think that he thought that you were toying with him more and making him go crazier. When you finally got in brief contact with Big Man, he told you how much of a bad idea sending that Polaroid was. But, you just laughed at him. Big Man told you that Sunghoon was on his way to you now, something about finding where the hotel you were staying at was. It didn't matter because by the time he got there you were gone anyway. Though, the thought of him always a few steps behind you turned you on.

You did leave a note for him with your kiss mark next to it. Are you having fun? You don't think Sunghoon was pleased to read it, but you know that his perverted self tucked it into his pocket regardless.

At the end of the month away from Sunghoon, your feelings only burned brighter. You only got more and more excited each time you looked over your shoulder and expected him to be behind you. The thrill of it all, and the thought of just how angry he truly was with you, made your thighs squeeze together. You debated on just staying in one place, but you liked the way he chased you around the world too much. Whether it was because Sunghoon loved you or wanted to kill you, you didn't care anymore. You just want to be in his arms again.

You let yourself admit that you really missed him. So you did what would anyone would do in your situation, you swiped a phone from someone off the street. You held it up and you took a video of you in nothing but his black leather jacket at you held it closed at your breasts so you flaunted your ring again. You moaned his alias, making sure that he didn't know you knew his name yet, as your hand dipped down to your thighs slow. "I miss you so much," you moaned more for the video as your hand stopped its descent and pressed down on your lower stomach. You captured it all. You chest rose and fell hard as you arched your back and moaned his alias more. "I want you here with me."

Cutting the first video off there, you pressed record again as you continued, this time not bothering to keep your secret. You angled the phone down and captured your fingers sliding through your folds as you breathed hard, the ring on your finger glittering on the insides of your thighs. Moaning his name, you pushed your fingers inside of you slowly over and over. "I can't hit the spot like you can," you breath out as your hips roll up towards your hand. "I need you to come here and reach it for me."

You fuck your fingers into your pussy faster and faster until you're crying out his name. "Please," you beg and you let out a string of moans as your legs shake. "Come and find me," you whine out before you suddenly gasp. A shockwave pulses through you and your body shakes as you squirt all over your hand. You shakily laugh a little as you pull your cum-covered fingers out of your dripping pussy and rub at your clit with them. You moan his name more as you help yourself come back down from your high, you legs squeezed together. "I can feel your hands on me still," you whimper out as you catch you breath.

Lowering the phone you record how messy you got yourself for him, spreading open your folds so he could watch your cum drip out of you. "I'm waiting for you," you breathe out, teasing him again as you get closer to your body and the ring.

You clean yourself up before you send the first video to him. He doesn't bother to ask who's phone you have or demand to come back to the organization. No, instead, Sunghoon sends you two simple text messages almost immediately when you know he sees the thumbnail of the video. I know where you are, followed by, Don't fucking move. And, of course, you pack up your things and get ready to leave.

Now, this is where you made a mistake and jeopardized your game of hide and seek. Instead of getting the hell out of Dodge, you lingered around the hotel in the shadows. Almost as soon as you slid into them he was pulling up in a luxury car. You didn't realize he was really just a few steps behind you—that he actually knew exactly where you were no matter where you were. It was just by pure luck that he kept on missing you. You knew it drove him crazy, being so close yet so far away.

Sunghoon steps out of the car and he was in a full tailored suit. His eyes scanned the shadows looking for you, but you were too good at what you did for him to notice you watching him. You watched as his jaw worked, and you know he felt your stare. He stepped inside of the hotel for a couple moments and you slid out of the shadows and watched him move inside from across the street. You could tell that Sunghoon was angry. He could barely hide it beneath his usual calm and neutral demeanor.

When Sunghoon stepped out of the hotel, his eyes immediately locked onto you. Despite him keeping his expression purposefully blank—besides the anger that radiated off of him—you watched as his tense shoulders sagged in relief and he inhaled sharply. You smiled at him, and he just angrily worked his jaw more. His eyes focused on the ring on your finger when you gave him a little wave and the way his leather jacket wrapped around you.

Sunghoon didn't say anything, didn't move. He instead stuck his hands into his pockets and stared at you blankly, waiting for you to cross the street and come to him after he spent all this time chasing after you. Another challenge. But, you didn't move either. Instead you fished out the phone from your pocket as he watched you across the street and sent him the second video. When you looked back up to him after it sent, Sunghoon still didn't move an inch.

You pointed to the phone and mouthed, "Watch it." You watched as he furrowed his brows at you, sighing, before pulling his phone out. You watched as Sunghoon immediately turned his volume down before pressing play and it made the smug smile on your face grow. He was going to be in for a shock when he listened to the audio when he was alone. You laughed a little and the sound carried with the wind as his eyes briefly looked up to you before immediately focusing back on his phone. His possessiveness made him miss a crucial detail and you couldn't stop how triumphant you felt.

You watched as Sunghoon's hand tightened around his phone until his knuckles were white and you were sure he was putting cracks into it. He looked up at you through his lashes before he angrily shoved the phone back into his pocket and you could tell he couldn't take it anymore. "Come here," he demands, his hard voice carrying. Your smile grows.

Wiggling the phone you stole in the air, you toss it in the street just as a car passes between you two. Sunghoon's collected demeanor finally breaks as he glares at you. He takes a second to look down at the destroyed phone before he's suddenly crossing the street towards you. You wait for Sunghoon to pick the phone up, already knowing that he's going to wipe everything it has on it onto a hard drive, before you turn around and scurry away from him giggling.

You hear him angrily call your name again and again, his voice rising when you don't turn around. Looking over your shoulder, butterflies explode in your stomach when he's just a few feet away from you. Quickly, you cross the street in front of a bus and leave him to yell your name from the other side. You don't look back again as you slip back into the shadows.

Your second mistake was thinking that Sunghoon was a few steps behind you when, in actuality, he was three steps ahead of you. You should've know that after your encounter he would've known where you were headed next. After all, he knew you like the back of his hand.

But, you were cocky. You thought you had slipped between his fingers and escaped once again. You thought the game was still on, not knowing that it ended as soon as he crossed the street to come after you.

You opened the door to your penthouse suite and threw the bags of stuff you bought down at the door. You stepped into the living room, the sunlight shining on your skin, as your mind raced with more ways to get Sunghoon mad. It was laughable how you didn't even make it two steps towards the floor to ceiling windows before a hand wrapped around your throat and pushed you up against the wall.

Sunghoon brought his hand further up your throat as he squeezed down onto it tighter. With other arm, he caged you against him against the wall. "A whole month," he says, eerily calm. "That's how long I've been chasing you around the world. A month."

Your brows furrow up at him as you struggled to breathe around his tight hold. If you were being honest, you didn't feel any remorse. The way his hand wrapped around your throat and stole the air right out of your lungs turned you on. You squeezed your thighs together as you soaked through your panties. Sunghoon was angry. Angrier than you have ever seen him—angrier than you think anyone has ever seen him. But his face was a mask of calm that had it all boiling under the surface. You smiled a little as you noted how he said chasing and not searching. It didn't help your case.

Sunghoon pushed one of his legs between yours. He was dressed in another tailored suit and it felt weird to see him in it when he's never worn anything this formal before. Especially not around you. His mouth brushes along the shell of your ear as he chokes you harder and listens to the way you wheeze around his hand in a broken moan. "And you're such a fucking tease, too. What did you think you were doing by sending me those videos?" he asks against your ear low, his voice still calm. You heard the tail end of his sentence that he kept quiet, and from someone else's phone. "What did you think I was going to do to you once I got my hands on you again?"

His knee spreads your legs apart more as you feel the fabric of his suit pants against your core. Sunghoon chuckles at you, but its humorless. He kisses along your jaw until he gets to your mouth and stops. He looks into your eyes as he raises his thick brows at you in question. You croak out another soft moan from his touch and your hands press against his abdomen before they drag down weakly to latch onto his belt. You struggled to breathe as your back arches off of the wall and towards him like a magnet. You look at him with big, watery eyes.

"A-Are you going to kill me… Sunghoon?" you manage to push out. His eyes widen the fraction of an inch as his hand around your throat loosens considerably. You breathe in deeply, your chest heaving, as the two of you stare at each other. You wanted to laugh so bad but you held it in. He didn't even listen to the audio, too consumed by his anger and his need to capture you that he probably forgot that audio was even connected to it when he watched it back. You watch as the goosebumps raise along his skin and his mask of calmness fall off. A flurry of emotions flash across his face faster that you can name them, all of them mixed with his anger. You raise your left hand and hold on to his arm that had his hand around your throat. Sunghoon's eyes drop to it.

You didn't notice it until the other day when you were drying your hands, but on the inside of the band he had your names engraved into it—your actual names. Sunghoon's hand moved from your throat to the back of your neck as he surged forward and kissed you hard. You felt him put all of his anger into the kiss, all of his frustrations.

It was less of a kiss and more of a final showdown between a wolf and a lamb. He devoured and chewed on you how he liked and you bore your soft underbelly for him to bite into next. Your teeth clashed against each other's and held your chin with this other hand so he could pry your mouth open and let his tongue explore it. You gave yourself to him willingly, and when you nearly passed out from the cut of air to your brain, he held you close in his loving arms. For the wolf always loves the sacrificial lamb.

"Are you?" you asked him softly as your eyes closed and you focused on breathing. When you opened your eyes again, Sunghoon looked at you like you were the famous piece he's been searching to steal for his entire life. You were the one thing that led him down this journey and he can end it happily now that he finally has you in his possession. You clutched onto his suit as you regained your balance.

Sunghoon brushed his lips against yours, wanting to kiss you again but wanting more for you to not pass out in his arms. He whispered against your lips, "I love you too much to ever kill you, baby. You know that." You giggled a little.

Of course you did. Why else would he chase you?

You slipped his phone of out of his pocket and held it up as you opened the video. You turned the volume all the way up and pressed play. Sunghoon's eyes snapped to it, his brows furrowing, and the first thing he heard was you moaning his name. You giggled more as his fingers dug into you and realization crossed his features. "You were too angry to even notice there was sound."

The sound of you fingering yourself plays between you until you hear yourself gasp in the video. Sunghoon watches it all, his eyes never leaving the screen as you show your body off. When the video ends and his dark eyes flick back over to you and your smug smile, and our smile grows more as you see that not all of the anger was suddenly gone.

Sunghoon turns you around so fast you nearly get whiplash. His hands hike up your dress with nimble fingers until they graze against your lace panties. Sunghoon doesn't even think as he rips them off of you and runs his fingers through your wetness. He moans against your cheek as he holds you tighter against his chest. Before you can even moan out his name he's fucking two fingers into you with quick precision.

You gasp as you try to move from him, but his arm just wraps around your waist tighter. Knees buckling, Sunghoon holds you up on your shaky legs as his fingers pushed deeper into your wet warmth. "Sunghoon," you moan out his name in exclamation as your head leans back against his shoulder. Short gasps escape from your throat as the two of you stumble backwards. Your hips move towards his hand on its own and soon you're writhing in his arms as you squirt all over the both of your legs and soak his hand.

You're dripping on the floor when he kicks your legs apart and keeps fingering you. All you can let out is echoey sobs as Sunghoon brings you to climax in the span of just over a minute. You cum all over his wet fingers and that's when he finally lets you stabilize yourself. You breathe out hard, looking up at him against his chest, as he breathes just as heavily as you do. Too late did you see that he was proving a point. Nobody can fuck you as good as he does—not even you. He was going to give you everything single little thing that you begged for in the month he chased you around. Sunghoon brought his cum-covered fingers up to your mouth and tapped them against your lips. "Taste how sweet you are," he whispered in your ear. You opened your mouth and let him place his fingers flat against your tongue and you swirled it around his fingers. Sunghoon pulled them out of your mouth slow.

He pulled your dress off in one quick motion and left you only in your heels as he pushed you over to the big windows. Your body pressed hard against the glass as he held your neck in place. With one hand, Sunghoon unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his belt loops completely. He unbuttoned his suit pants and scooped out his leaking, hard cock and rubbed the tip of it through your arousal. "You drive me fucking crazy," he says as he watches your wetness spread along his cock.

"I know," you breathe out as you look down at the street below. You were too high up for anyone to really see you, but someone could if they truly wanted to. Sunghoon spread your legs open with his own. "I wanted to see how angry I could get you."

Sunghoon laughs humorlessly again as he lines his cock up to your entrance. "Really?" he asks, but there isn't any sarcasm like there should be. He thrusts hard into you and your breath fogs up the glass as you get pressed against it more. Sunghoon keeps a hand on the back of your neck as he lifts up one of your legs high in the air so his cock can fuck into you deeper. "And how angry do you think I am?"

He doesn't give you time to answer as his long cock fucks up into your sweet spot relentlessly. You moan in shock against the glass as you press your hands against it for support. You can just barely see his reflection, but you can tell he's watching the way your pussy sucks him in. Your body thrusting against the glass fills your ears along with the wet and quick drag of his cock along your walls and his hips hitting hard against your ass.

Your arousal splatters against the glass with how fast Sunghoon is fucking you, and you moan out his name and ball your hands up on the glass as you struggle to keep your head clear. He just presses his hand against your throat harder and hikes your leg up higher. Sunghoon presses himself against your back as his voice floats into your ear. "If only we were back at the organization. I'd have a million different angles of how you're falling apart on my cock right now." He chuckles again, but it lacks the warmth. He takes his hand off your neck and you press your cheek to the glass as you watch him pull out his phone and hit record.

Sunghoon hands the phone to you and his hand returns to your neck, his fingers squeezing it as the next words come out of his mouth gravelly. "Record yourself."

You barely heard him through your loud and unashamed moans, but your body obeyed his command instantly. You held the phone away from your face as you angled it down to catch the way Sunghoon roughly fucked into you. Your body and hand shook hard as your cum splattered down to the floor from his quick thrusts and you cried out his name into the glass. Sunghoon looked over at the phone screen and moaned into your hair as he presses against you more and fucks into you harder. You arch your ass towards him as your legs felt weak. "I-I can't…" you whined as the camera angled lower and the tears blurred your vision. It all felt too good, you couldn't take it anymore and you knew he was just getting started with you.

"Keep recording," Sunghoon hissed in your ear as he pulled your body off the glass and turned it more to his phone. You whimpered his name as you got both of your bodies in full view of his phone camera. He smiled at you through it, all teeth and fangs, and he spoke lowly, "Don't you ever dare try to run from me again. I will always find you."

 ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏  ͏ ͏   ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ ASKS APPRECIATED!

✉️   ⦂   i’m so fucking tired and exhausted i wrote this fic for no joke 20 hours straight. no sleeping, no eating, nothing just locked in unbelievably and somehow made it through… goodNIGHT. sunghoon better not ever question my love for him…

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @ikeukiss @yvampyr @prkhaven @jaylaxies @ghstzzn @fangel @tyunningism @xylatox @whosserina @jellymochii @minaateez @riribelle @lvrs-street2mmorrow @sumsumtingz @baddestire @yingelics @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @yooonjnng @solonenova @angelhyuka @hoonkishoe @heesmiles

© faeyun - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

So instead of peace, instead of rest, you ended your days with his voice echoing around the apartment.

“What the— no way! No way!” he’d yell, chair scraping back against the floor.

“Bro, you’re throwing, you’re actually throwing—” followed by his own laugh, rough and breathless.

Sometimes you could even hear the voices of Ni-ki or Jay bleeding through his headset when he shouted back at them. It was like sharing a room with all three of them, like they’d set up their game in the middle of your walls.

So while you were curled in bed, staring at the ceiling and begging your brain to shut down before morning classes, you had to fall asleep to the sound of him cussing, groaning, and laughing. Sometimes it was so loud you pressed a pillow over your head, groaning into the cotton until your ears rang. Sometimes you muttered threats under your breath, “If he screams one more time, I swear—” But eventually, exhaustion always won, and you drifted off with his voice buzzing faintly in your dreams like static on a radio.

It was annoying. Maddening, even.

You’d tried to get him to calm down before, leaning against his doorway one night with arms crossed, asking if he could please keep his voice down after midnight. Heeseung had looked up from his glowing screens, eyes big and apologetic, nodding quickly like he understood. “Yeah, yeah, my bad. I’ll be quieter.”

And for maybe ten minutes, he was.

Then the next round started, and it was right back to him shouting at his teammates, voice carrying through the thin walls like he was right next to you. It was like your words had gone in one ear and out the other.

So you tried other solutions.

Melatonin that only made you groggy in the mornings. Earplugs that fell out halfway through the night. A playlist of soothing whale sounds you found on YouTube — which honestly only made it worse, because now you had both orcas and Heeseung in your ears. And none of them were good solutions, not when you needed to actually hear your alarm.

So you bit through it.

You overloaded on caffeine during lessons, clutched your energy drinks like lifelines, and half the time you were fighting sleep before your professors had even started the lecture. Then you’d drag yourself home, collapse face-first onto your bed, and barely lift your head when Heeseung passed by your door on his way to his shift.

“Later,” he’d call softly.

And you’d grunt something back that wasn’t really a word, too tired to bother.

Bastard.

You remembered you had once actually tried to find other cheap apartment listings. You’d been fed up one night, eyes gritty from exhaustion, heart pounding from too much caffeine, and you thought — there has to be something better than this. Even if it was smaller, even if it meant sharing a bathroom, even if it was farther from campus.

You’d pulled up the rental sites, scrolling through dingy photos of half-basements and barely furnished rooms. None of them looked great, but at least they promised quiet.

That was when Heeseung came out of his room. You’d heard his door creak open, then the shuffle of his socks down the hall, but you figured he was on autopilot, grabbing snacks.

You hadn’t expected him to stop.

To lean over your chair.

To spot your open tab.

“What’s this?” His voice was light, curious, but you could feel the weight behind it as he tilted his head to read the page. Before you could even answer, he let out a nervous laugh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of moving out already. You can’t. You’re, like, the best roommate I could ever ask for.”

You’d blinked up at him, startled, muttering something about just looking. But he didn’t let it go.

He crouched down beside your chair, eyes big and pleading, rattling off reasons so fast you didn’t know how to respond. “Seriously, I’m clean, I’m chill, we get along, right? I don’t bring random people home. I don’t eat your food—okay, except that one time, but I replaced it! And honestly, do you know how hard it is to find someone you can live with without going insane? I can’t just… I don’t want to start over with someone else.”

You’d hesitated. You’d opened your mouth to tell him it wasn’t about him, not really, it was about the noise, the sleepless nights, the way you were slowly burning yourself out.

But then he’d looked at you like that — so sincere, so desperate, like losing you would mean losing something bigger than just a roommate.

And you folded.

You’d clicked out of the site, shutting your laptop with a sigh. You told yourself it wasn’t worth hurting his feelings. That it wasn’t worth starting over somewhere worse.

So you tried other solutions, and most of them involved sleeping over at friends’ places, anywhere that meant at least one night of uninterrupted sleep. But every time you did, Heeseung seemed to notice immediately.

The first night you were gone, he texted to ask if you were okay. The second time, there were half a dozen messages waiting for you before you’d even finished brushing your teeth at your friend’s.

“Where are you?”“You didn’t say you were leaving.”“Did something happen? Did I do something?”“Please answer.”

By the third attempt, your notifications were nothing short of a flood: messages stacked on top of each other, calls coming in one after another until your phone felt hot in your hand. It got to the point where you had to put it on silent, shoving it face-down and pretending it wasn’t that bad.

You told yourself he was just worried. Maybe he had separation anxiety, maybe he just didn’t have many people around. Still, it felt off — the intensity, the way he wouldn’t give you room to breathe.

When you got back, of course, he was all apologies. He stood in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, mumbling about how he hadn’t meant to freak out, how he just panicked when he didn’t hear from you.

You brushed it off, saying it was fine.

Personally, it was not fine. But okay — he was clingy. That was just Heeseung. He worried too much, texted too often, hovered a little closer than he needed to. None of it was enough to call him out over. It was just one of those things you told yourself you’d get used to.

Except the more you tried to spend nights somewhere else, the harder it became.

At first it was small things. You’d mention plans with friends and find him asking for details that felt too specific — “Where exactly are you staying?” or “What time do you think you’ll be back?” Then, when you got home the next day, he would already know. He’d mention how late your bus had been or that it had rained near your friend’s place. Little comments that made you wonder how he even knew.

Soon, he didn’t need to ask. He’d already have the answers.

Your phone would light up with messages before you’d even left campus: “You’re not staying out again, right?” or “I can come pick you up.” The one time you didn’t reply, he showed up outside campus, claiming he’d been nearby anyway.

When you confronted him about it, trying to laugh it off, he only smiled that same sheepish, boyish smile and said he just worried. That he liked knowing you were safe.

You wanted to believe that. You wanted it to be simple.But when you went to stay with a friend again and came back the next morning to find him waiting by the door — eyes tired, voice soft as he said, “You didn’t tell me you were leaving,” — the reassurance felt thinner than ever.

You hadn’t meant to stay away that long. Three nights at Wonyoung’s had just sort of… happened. You’d lost track of time between studying and catching up, and when she offered for you to stay another night, it felt like a small piece of normal life you didn’t want to give up. You’d turned your phone off halfway through the second morning; the constant buzzing had started to make your chest ache.

By the time you came home, the hallway outside your apartment felt strangely still. You had your key in hand when the door swung open before you’d even touched the lock.

For a second you didn’t recognise Heeseung. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them dark and puffy; his hair stuck up in flattened clumps, and his bottom lip looked raw, bitten open. The expression on his face—wide-eyed and desperate—made your pulse stumble.

Before you could say a word, he was already closing the distance, arms wrapping around you so tightly that your phone slipped from your hand.

“You can’t do that again,” he said into your shoulder, his voice cracking halfway through. “You can’t just disappear like that. I thought something happened to you, I—” He pulled back just enough to look at you, words spilling over themselves in a rush. “I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t even eat, I just kept thinking—what if you weren’t safe? You didn’t answer any of my calls, or my texts, I—”

“Heeseung—”

But he was already sinking down in front of you, his knees hitting the floor with a dull, heavy sound. His hands came together like he was praying — fingers laced tight, knuckles whitening under the strain — and when he looked up at you, his eyes were wide, rimmed red, shining in a way that made your breath hitch.

“I’ll stop,” he said, the words tumbling over themselves. “I’ll stop, I swear. I’ll be quiet, I won’t shout at night anymore—just, please, please don’t do that again. Don’t leave me here wondering where you are.” His voice cracked on the last word, raw and uneven.

You froze, staring down at him, at the way his shoulders shook slightly with every breath.

“Heeseung,” you began, trying to sound calm, but the sight of him — on the floor, trembling, his face twisted with something between guilt and panic — knocked the words right out of you.

“I thought something happened to you,” he went on, voice breaking. “You didn’t answer, you didn’t text, you just—disappeared. Do you have any idea what that feels like?” His laugh was short and breathless, half a sob. “I couldn’t sleep. I sat here the whole night just… waiting. Listening to the door. Every little sound, I thought it was you coming back.”

You swallowed, guilt prickling at the back of your throat. “Heeseung, I was just staying with friends. You’re overreacting—”

He shook his head violently. “No. You don’t understand.” His hands came up, clutching at his hair for a moment before falling limp at his sides. “It’s too quiet when you’re gone. I can’t think straight. The silence—” He looked up at you again, eyes wild, voice hoarse. “It’s torture not hearing you around the apartment. Not knowing you’re here.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

You stared down at him, still kneeling there, his breathing uneven like he’d just run for miles. The sight of him — usually so put-together, so casual — now reduced to this frantic, pleading mess twisted something sharp in your chest.

You told yourself it was pity. That it was guilt for ignoring his messages, for not realizing how lonely he must’ve been. But there was something else underneath it too, something that felt a lot like fear.

Heeseung reached out slightly, not touching you, just holding his hand in the space between you as if the distance itself hurt. “Please,” he whispered. “Just stay. I’ll be good. I’ll fix it. You won’t even know I’m here if that’s what you want.”

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. “Heeseung, why are you making such a big deal out of this? It’s not like I vanished. I was just staying with friends.”

He gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh — a sound that wasn’t quite right. “You did vanish,” he said softly. “You were gone...”

Your stomach tightened.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you sighed. “If you can actually keep your promise tonight,” you said quietly, “I’ll stop sleeping over at other people’s places.”

He went completely still for a heartbeat, and then his whole body seemed to exhale. His shoulders slumped, and a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh slipped from him as he nodded. “I will. I promise,” he said quickly, too quickly. “You’ll see. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

You stepped past him into the apartment, trying not to look back. Behind you, the door clicked shut, and the lock turned softly in the quiet.

Dinner that night had been strangely calm. 

Heeseung had already set the table by the time you came out of your room, a couple of dishes still steaming. He smiled at you like nothing had happened earlier in the hallway, the same easy curve of his mouth you were used to.

“I made too much,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

You’d hesitated, but the food actually smelled good, and you were too tired to start another argument. So you ate. He told you about work, about some glitch in a game he was playing, about how he’d started watching a new series. For once, the apartment felt normal.

Afterward, you’d taken a shower, letting the hot water wash away the stiffness in your shoulders. By the time you pulled on a shirt and climbed into bed, you could barely keep your eyes open. You didn’t even remember turning off the light.

For the first time in weeks, you slept. Deep, uninterrupted sleep that swallowed you whole. No voices through the wall, no faint laughter, no half-dreamed footsteps in the hall. Just warmth, darkness, and quiet.

When you woke up the next morning, sunlight was spilling across the floor. Your body felt light, your head clear. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that rested.

Maybe things were finally settling. Maybe the promise he’d made the night before had actually meant something.

On your way out, you passed his door. It was closed, the light underneath it still off. The apartment was completely silent.

You smiled to yourself, thinking he was probably asleep as you locked the door behind you and headed out. 

Inside, the apartment stayed still for a moment. Then Heeseung’s door opened. He stepped out quietly, barefoot, moving like someone afraid to disturb the air. The light from the hallway spilled across his face, washing out the shadows under his eyes..

Your door wasn’t locked. You never locked it in the mornings; why would you, when it was only the two of you? The thought made something small and feverish flicker in his chest. He turned the handle slowly, easing the door open.

Your room was still filled with the faint scent of your perfume, the warmth of sleep lingering in the sheets. The curtains let in a line of sunlight that cut across the bed, catching on the edge of the blanket you’d kicked off in the night.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t touch much at first — just looked. The details fascinated him: the indentation where your head had rested, the half-closed notebook on the desk, the cup of coffee you hadn’t finished. 

He walked to the dresser, fingers hovering over the handle before stopping himself. His fingers twitched, itching to cross the line he’d been toeing for weeks. The silence of the apartment pressed against him, urging him forward, and he gave in. His hand found the top drawer, the one he’d seen you open countless times in passing glances, always so casual, so unaware. The handle was cool under his fingers, and he pulled it open slowly, as if savoring the act. Inside, neatly folded, were your things — soft fabrics in muted colors, lace edges peeking out from the stacks. His breath hitched.

He reached in, fingers brushing against the delicate material, and pulled out a pair of panties — simple, white, with a faint floral pattern. He held them up and brought them to his face. The scent was faint but unmistakable, a mix of your laundry detergent and something distinctly you. His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled deeply, a low groan rumbling in his throat. The sound was primal, unchecked, and it sent a jolt straight through him.

His free hand moved almost on instinct, tugging the waistband down just enough to free himself. His cock was already hard, straining against the fabric, and the relief of releasing it made him shudder. He wrapped his fingers around himself, slow at first, the panties still pressed to his nose as his mind spiraled back to the night before.

You’d been so still, so perfect, sprawled across your bed in the deep sleep he’d orchestrated. The dose he’d slipped into your dinner — subtle, tasteless, just enough to keep you under — had worked like a charm. He’d stood over you, heart pounding, watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted with soft, unaware breaths. He hadn’t planned to touch you, not at first. But then his fingers had grazed your skin, and you’d reacted — a small, sleepy moan, your body arching ever so slightly into his touch.

It had undone him.

He’d knelt beside you, careful not to wake you, his fingers exploring, teasing, drawing out those delicious little sounds. You’d whimpered for him, even in your haze, and it had taken every ounce of restraint not to cross that final line. The dose wasn’t strong enough for that, he’d told himself, though the thought of it — of sinking into you right then, claiming you completely — had nearly broken him.

Now, in your empty room, his strokes quickened, the memory of your moans looping in his mind. The panties in his hand were a poor substitute, but they were enough to fuel the fantasy. He imagined you waking up just enough to know it was him, to want it, to beg for it. His breath came in sharp gasps, his grip tightening as he leaned against the dresser for support. The room spun, the sunlight blurring into a haze, and he whispered your name under his breath.

He pictured you stirring just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes heavy with want, your voice pleading for him. The fantasy was vivid, almost real, and it pushed him to the edge. With a low, guttural moan, he threw his head back, the release hitting him hard. His cum spilled over the panties still in the drawer, coating the delicate fabric in a way that felt both wrong and electrifying. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him. A slow, shaky inhale, then an exhale, and a low giggle slipped from his lips — a sound that was equal parts relief and something darker.

He glanced down at the mess he’d made, the ruined panties now tangled with his release. His lips curved into a small smile as he used the pair still in his hand to wipe himself off, the act almost ritualistic. He tugged his sweatpants back up, the waistband snapping softly against his skin, and took a moment to steady himself against the dresser. The mirror caught his reflection — flushed cheeks, wild eyes, a flicker of satisfaction that made him look alive in a way he hadn’t in weeks.

He couldn’t leave the evidence behind. Not when you were still blissfully unaware, moving through your days with that easy smile, oblivious to the way he watched you, wanted you. He gathered the soiled panties from the drawer, careful not to disturb the others, as he moved quietly out of your room, closing the door with a soft click.

In the bathroom, he ran the tap, the sound of water masking the faint hum of his own thoughts. He washed the panties carefully, his fingers working the fabric under the stream, the soap erasing his traces. It was methodical, almost tender, the way he cleaned them, as if preserving something sacred. Once they were spotless, he wrung them out and tucked them away to dry later, somewhere you’d never think to look.

He couldn’t afford to be careless. Not yet. Not when you were still his unsuspecting piece.

The day had dragged by in that mid-week haze of lectures and half-finished coffee. By the time you made it back to the apartment building, the sun was already low enough to paint the hall windows orange. You texted a classmate—Minho—about coming up for a quick study session before your next exam.

Heeseung’s schedule was predictable: asleep in the mornings, gone by the time you came home. You hadn’t heard him all day, so you assumed he was already at work. The idea of a quiet apartment felt like a small relief.

When you pushed the door open, the lights were off and the air still. “See? Empty,” you said over your shoulder, stepping inside first. You dropped your bag by the couch, flipped on a lamp, and started gathering your notes from the coffee table.

You were halfway through explaining a problem set when you heard the door to Heeseung’s room creak.

The sound was small but sharp enough to freeze you mid-sentence. You turned, heart skipping.

Heeseung stood there in the doorway. His hair was tousled, a hoodie thrown on like he’d just woken up. His expression wasn’t angry exactly—just unreadable, like he was trying to work out why someone else was standing in his living room.

“Oh—hey,” you started, forcing a smile. “I thought you were at work.”

“I called in,” he said. His voice was low, flat in a way that made the air feel heavier. Then he looked at Minho, gaze flicking from his face to the open notebook on the table. “Didn’t know we had company.”

You laughed, the sound a little too high. “We’re just going over notes. He’s in my class.”

Heeseung nodded slowly. “Right. Notes.” He stepped further into the room, past you, and opened the fridge. The sound of the door popping open was louder than it should have been. “Do you guys want something to drink?”

“No, we’re good,” you said quickly.

Minho smiled, oblivious. “I’ll probably head out soon anyway. Don’t want to interrupt.” 

He gathered his papers, muttered a polite goodbye, and left.

When the door clicked shut behind him, the apartment fell silent again. Heeseung leaned back against the counter, arms folded loosely across his chest. For a moment neither of you spoke.

“I didn’t know you were staying home,” you said finally.

“Guess I forgot to mention it.” He smiled then—small, thin, and not quite reaching his eyes. “Next time, maybe just let me know if someone’s coming over. Yeah?” There was nothing in his tone you could call threatening, but something about it made your pulse quicken anyway. You nodded, murmuring a quiet “yeah, sure.”

Heeseung’s smile widened a fraction. “Good.” He turned back toward his room, door closing behind him with a soft click.

You stood there for a long second, staring at the wood grain of the door, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Heeseung could be quiet, yes — reserved, awkward sometimes — but that look he’d given you? That wasn’t the usual shy, apologetic Heeseung. That was something colder, distant in a way that didn’t fit.

You waited for a sound, for the creak of his chair or the hum of his computer to come through the wall, but nothing came. The apartment stayed utterly still.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself, “He’s just tired.”

Shrugging it off, you gathered your things and headed to your room. The guilt crept in anyway, a thin whisper in the back of your mind as you changed and started the shower. You hadn’t done anything wrong, you reminded yourself. You hadn’t. It was just a study session. You were allowed to have friends.

The water was hot enough to sting, helping the thoughts slide off. By the time you stepped out, wrapped in a towel and blinking at the steam, you felt lighter.

That was when you noticed the bottle.

It sat neatly on your nightstand, half-full, the plastic still beaded with condensation. You didn’t remember leaving it there, but you’d been so rushed that morning it could’ve been from then. Without thinking, you picked it up and took a long drink. The water was cool, faintly metallic, but it didn’t register as strange.

You changed into pajamas, flipped open your notebook, and tried to focus. The words swam after a few pages, blurring as your eyelids grew heavy. The day’s exhaustion caught up to you all at once, and you yawned so hard your eyes watered.

You told yourself you’d read one more chapter. Then maybe another.

You didn’t make it that far.

By the time your head hit the pillow, you were already halfway gone, the room fading into soft, hazy darkness. You barely managed to pull the blanket over your shoulder before sleep took you completely.

Hours slipped past in silence, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the wall clock. The shadows stretched long as the night deepened, until the numbers glowed 2:03 a.m. on the display.

Your door opened with the slow, careful turn of a handle.

Heeseung stepped through the narrow gap, bare feet making no sound against the floor. He paused just inside the room, watching you for a moment, waiting for any sign that you might stir. But you didn’t. Your breathing stayed slow, steady — the deep rhythm of someone completely asleep.

He moved closer. The dim light from the hall touched your face, softening the edges of your features. Heeseung’s eyes lingered there, unreadable.

After a long minute, he reached for the half-empty water bottle on your nightstand. His fingers closed around it, and a faint smile tugged at his lips — small, tired, but oddly satisfied. He turned it once in his hand as if it were proof of something only he understood.

Then his attention shifted back to you.

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, testing the weight of your unconsciousness. You didn’t stir, your breathing steady, deep, utterly unaware.

Satisfied, he let his hand linger, trailing down the curve of your jaw, the pad of his thumb grazing your lower lip. His touch was soft, almost tender, but there was a tremor in his fingers, a barely contained need. He shifted closer, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and reached for the edge of your blanket. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it down, the fabric sliding past your hips, your legs, until it pooled at your feet. 

His gaze darkened as he moved to your shirt, his fingers hooking under the hem. He tugged it upward, inch by inch, exposing the soft plane of your stomach, then higher, until your breast was bared to the dim light. A low groan rumbled in his throat, the sound raw, almost pained, as he stared. Your nipple, soft and untouched, drew his focus, and his breath hitched. He glanced up at your face, searching for any sign of waking, but your expression remained serene, oblivious.

His hand moved again, bolder now, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. His fingers found you, warm and soft, and he began to touch you, his movements careful but insistent. The slickness came quickly, your body responding even in sleep, and he bit his lip to stifle another groan. The sight of you, so vulnerable, so pliant, sent a rush through him, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Leaning forward, he brought his mouth to your exposed nipple, his lips closing around it gently at first, then with a slow, hungry pull. The sensation drew a soft moan from you, a sound that made his heart stutter. You shifted slightly, your body arching just enough to press closer to his touch, but your eyes stayed closed, your mind still submerged in the haze he’d ensured. The moans turned to faint whimpers, sweet and unfiltered, as his fingers worked you with a steady rhythm, coaxing more wetness, more of those sounds that drove him wild.

Heeseung’s breath was ragged now, his lips lingering against your skin as he sucked harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. His fingers, slick with your arousal, paused for a moment as he studied your face. No flicker of awareness, no hint of waking. He’d been careful tonight. Knowing you had no plans tomorrow, he’d upped the dosage in your water bottle, just enough to keep you under, to give him this window to indulge. The thought made his pulse quicken, a dark thrill curling in his chest. 

You wouldn’t wake up. 

He shifted his hand, his touch growing bolder, and slowly eased one finger inside you. The warmth, the tightness, made him bite back a groan, his lips faltering against your skin for just a moment before he resumed, sucking harder, his tongue pressing against your nipple with renewed intensity. He thrust his finger slowly in and out, savoring the way your body seemed to pull him in, even in sleep. Your soft, desperate whines grew just a fraction louder, a sound that sent heat pooling in his gut.

Heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut, his world narrowing to the feel of you — the slick heat around his finger, the taste of your skin, the faint tremors of your body responding to him. He moved faster now, his thrusts steady but careful, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of your slumber. His mouth worked relentlessly, teeth grazing lightly as he sucked, drawing out more of those sweet, unconscious moans that made his head swim.

He was lost in it, in you, in the forbidden rush of having you like this.

He eased another finger inside you, stretching you slightly, and the slick warmth pulled a shudder from him. He thrust slowly, his fingers curling just enough to coax more of those sweet, unconscious moans from your lips. They came louder now, still soft but unmistakably desperate, each sound like a spark to the fire building in his chest. 

His hips twitched, thrusting into the empty air, mirroring the rhythm of his fingers inside you. The motion was involuntary, driven by the ache pooling in his core, the need that gripped him tighter with every moan you let slip. 

Your body trembled beneath Heeseung’s touch, the rhythm of his fingers relentless as your moans grew sharper, more desperate. Then, in a breathless, broken sound, you moaned his name — Heeseung — soft but unmistakable, spilling from your lips as your body clenched around his fingers, your release coating them in a rush of warmth. The sound hit him like a shockwave, his mouth detaching from your nipple with a wet, obscene pop. Drool glistened on his chin, trailing down as he stared up at your face, his breath catching.

You were still asleep, your expression serene, lips parted slightly, utterly unaware of the name you’d just sighed or the way your body had shuddered through your climax. His name. In your sleep. As you came on his fingers. The realization sent a dark thrill through him, twisting something deep in his chest. 

Oh fuck.

A grin spread across his face, slow and dangerous, his eyes glinting with something feral, unhinged. You knew, somewhere in the haze of your subconscious, that it was him. The thought made his blood burn. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause to question it. His fingers moved again, pushing deeper, stretching you further. Your body reacted instantly, arching off the bed, your thighs clenching together as if to trap his hand. He didn’t care. He forced them apart, his gaze fixed on your face, drinking in every twitch, every flutter of your lashes.

His other hand fumbled at his waistband, yanking it down to free himself. His cock was painfully hard, already leaking, and he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking in time with the thrusts inside you. 

A breathless whimper escaped your lips, louder than before, and it sent a jolt through him.

He slowed his thrusts immediately, his fingers pausing before moving deeper, curling inside you, pressing against the spot that made your breath hitch. Your legs, once tense, flopped limply against the mattress, parting wider, giving him full access. The sight of you so open, so vulnerable, made his chest tighten. He could move his wrist freely now, his fingers working you with slow, deep strokes, coaxing more of those breathless moans from your lips.

Heeseung leaned forward, his gaze never leaving your face as he brought his mouth back to your nipple, latching on softly at first, his tongue swirling gently before he sucked harder. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak, biting just enough to draw a reaction, then tugging lightly, testing how much you could take. Your body arched again, a low whine spilling from your throat as your walls clenched around his fingers, your second release shuddering through you.

The pulse of your climax around his fingers sent a shiver through Heeseung, his lips lingering on your nipple, sucking softly as your body trembled beneath him. The intensity of it made his head spin, his own hand faltering on his cock as he fought to stay present, to savor every second. Slowly, he pressed his fingers deeper, letting you clench around him, before he eased them out, his eyes fixed on the slick coating his skin. The sight of it, glistening in the dim light, made his breath catch, a dark delight curling in his chest.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, sliding them past his lips, and his eyes rolled back as he moaned low, the taste of you flooding his senses. It was sweet, heady, better than he’d imagined, and he licked every bit of it off, his tongue chasing the remnants. When he pulled his fingers out, they were clean, and he exhaled heavily, his breath shaky, his body thrumming with need.

He couldn’t resist. His hand dipped back to you, fingers slipping inside again, coating themselves in your wetness, gathering as much as he could before pulling out, his hand once again slick and shining. He wrapped it around his cock, the warmth and slipperiness driving a groan from his throat as he began to stroke himself, his gaze locked on your sleeping form. Your parted lips, the faint flush on your cheeks, the exposed curve of your breast — it was all too much. 

The tension coiled tight in his core, and with a choked, “Fuuuuuuuuck…” he came hard, his release spilling in thick spurts, some landing on your face. He shuddered, his breath heavy and uneven, as he rode out the high, his hand slowing but still gripping himself. For a moment, he just stared, the sight of you marked by him sending a twisted thrill through his veins.

Carefully, he tucked himself back into his sweatpants as if afraid to disturb the scene. He slipped into your bathroom, grabbing a damp cloth from the sink, and returned to your side. With gentle care, he wiped the evidence from your face, his touch soft against your skin, then with careful hands, he straightened your shirt, pulling it back down to cover you, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He then adjusted the blanket that had slipped to the end of the bed, pulling it back up to your shoulders. The small, domestic motion looked almost gentle, almost caring.

He stood there a few more seconds, taking in the stillness of the room, the steady rhythm of your breathing. Then he stepped back, moving silently toward the door. The latch clicked softly behind him as he slipped out.

The apartment was quiet again—the hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of the clock—ordinary sounds that made the moment feel unreal. Heeseung crossed the hall to his own room and shut the door. The lock turned with a tight snap.

At his desk, he exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small digital recorder, its indicator light blinking. For a moment he just looked at it, then he pressed a button, the light fading to dark, and placed it carefully on the desk beside his keyboard.

The computer’s glow filled the room as he sat down, the chair creaking quietly under his weight. His hand hovered over the mouse, eyes fixed on the screen. Folders lined the display—each one neatly labeled. He clicked open the newest one and watched the progress bar crawl across the screen. When it finished, he leaned back, staring at the list of files that bore your name.

A small, satisfied breath slipped from his lips, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he scrolled through the older files.He selected one from a few weeks ago, the date pulling a faint memory of that night to the surface. The audio began, soft at first, then your voice — a low, breathy moan, caught in the haze of sleep. His head tilted back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut as the sound washed over him, pulling him back to that moment. Your whimpers, the faint rustle of sheets, the way you’d sighed so sweetly, unaware of his presence, his touch. 

He leaned further back, the chair creaking under his weight, his hand moving instinctively to palm himself through the fabric. Each sound from the recording — every hitch in your breath, every soft whine — felt like it was pulling him under, drowning him in the memory of you. He let the audio play, his fingers tightening slightly as he listened, his mind painting vivid images of your sleeping form, the way your body had responded to him, the way you’d been his without ever knowing.

His eyes fluttered open briefly, glancing down, and he cursed under his breath, low and rough, at the sight of himself, fully hard again, straining against his sweatpants. 

His hand slipped beneath the waistband, fingers wrapping around his cock, already slick with precum. A sharp hiss escaped him as he touched himself, the sensitivity making his breath catch. He began to stroke, slow at first, his grip tight, the wet sounds of his movements blending with your moans in his ears. The headphones amplified every hitch in your breath, every soft whine, and he let himself sink into the fantasy of finally sinking into your pussy, feeling you clench around him, warm and tight, just as you had around his fingers. The idea sent a jolt through him, his strokes quickening, his hips twitching upward into his hand.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice barely audible, his head tilting back as his eyes squeezed shut. The audio looped in his ears, your voice a siren’s call, and he imagined you beneath him, awake or not, giving yourself to him completely. 

Heeseung’s head tilted further back, a soft whine slipping from his lips as he teased himself, slowing his strokes to a torturous pace. His fingers dragged along his length, deliberate and agonizing, drawing out the sensation until his eyes rolled back, a shudder rippling through him. Your name fell from his lips in a hushed whisper, as if saying it could summon you into the room. The audio in his headphones — your moans, your breathless sighs — looped relentlessly, each sound tightening the coil of need in his core.

His fingers twitched, hovering over the mouse, then clutching it tightly, as if anchoring himself to something solid. But his mind was elsewhere, lost in the memory of your body under his hands, the way you’d arched into his touch, unaware and perfect. 

Your moans echoed through the headphones, each one stoking the fire in his chest, pushing him closer to the edge. His body tensed, muscles coiling tight, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he came, his release spilling over his hand, his body shuddering with the intensity. He slumped back in the chair, his chest heaving as he took deep, ragged breaths, trying to steady himself. 

Reaching for a handful of tissues from the table, he wiped the cum from his hand, his movements slow, almost mechanical, as he came down from the high.

He tugged the headphones off, your moans cutting off abruptly, leaving the room in near silence, save for the faint hum of the computer. With a tired flick of his wrist, he powered it down, the screen fading to black. He sat there for a moment, staring at the reflection of his dimly lit room in the blank monitor. Then, with a quiet exhale, he pushed himself up, his legs unsteady. He crossed to his bed and let himself fall back onto the mattress, the springs creaking softly beneath him.

For a while, he just stared at the ceiling. The apartment felt too quiet now; every tick of the clock in the kitchen felt like a shout. Heeseung turned onto his side, eyes unfocused, watching the strip of light shift along the wall.

Sleep didn’t come easily. His body was still, but his mind kept circling back to the same thought: you, asleep in the next room, unaware of how closely your lives were starting to overlap. It wasn’t guilt, not exactly—just a strange, restless need to keep things the way they were.

He shut his eyes finally, exhaling a slow breath that blurred into the dark. Tomorrow would look the same as every other day: breakfast, classes, the small talk you’d exchange in passing. You’d smile, and he’d smile back. Nothing out of place.

By the time his breathing evened out, the clock read a little past four. The apartment, once again, was still.

The next morning, you woke up later than usual. The sun had already climbed high, slipping through the blinds in soft, golden lines that stretched across the floor. You blinked blearily at the clock on your nightstand — almost one. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept that long.

Your body felt heavy, but your mind was oddly clear. The sleep had been deep, dreamless, and a little too perfect. You stretched lazily before sitting up, rubbing your eyes. Something about the air felt different, though. Still. Too still.

Pushing your bedroom door open, you were greeted by silence.

“Heeseung?” you called softly, half-expecting him to answer from behind his usual closed door. 

Nothing.

You tried again, louder this time. “Heeseung, you up?”

No reply.

That wasn’t too unusual; he wasn’t a morning person. But even then, you usually heard something—the faint creak of his chair, the hum of his computer fans, the soft clatter of him rummaging through the kitchen. Today, there was nothing.

The apartment felt… hollow.

You moved around quietly, fixing a simple breakfast and eating at the counter while the faint hum of the refrigerator filled the silence. You scrolled through your phone, checking messages, half-expecting one from him. There were none.

After breakfast, you curled up on the couch and played an episode of an anime you’d been meaning to finish. The familiar voices and bright colors helped fill the emptiness, but you kept glancing toward the hallway between episodes, waiting for his door to open. 

It didn’t.

By noon, you decided to get ready and head out to run some errands — groceries, maybe the bookstore. Something normal. You stood in front of your closet, already planning your outfit.

You reached for a specific shirt — the one you’d worn just last week — but your hand hit an empty hanger. You frowned.

Weird. You could’ve sworn you’d hung it there. You searched the other hangers, then the drawers, then the laundry basket. Nothing.

You started pulling clothes out one by one, tossing them onto the bed as your irritation grew. “Where the hell—” You stopped mid-sentence, staring at the half-emptied closet. No sign of it.

It couldn’t have just vanished.

Maybe you’d misplaced it? Maybe it had fallen somewhere, or maybe you’d loaned it out and forgotten? But even as you tried to reason it out, the explanation didn’t sit right. You exhaled sharply, stepping over the pile of clothes. “Heeseung might’ve seen it,” you muttered to yourself. 

You crossed the hallway and stopped in front of his room. The door was closed, same as always. You knocked once.

“Heeseung? You in there?”

Silence.

You waited a few seconds, then tried again, louder this time. “Heeseung?”

Still nothing.

You hesitated before reaching for the handle, expecting resistance. But it turned easily. Oh?

You peeked your head in first, cautious. “Heeseung? Hello?”

No one.

The room was empty, but it didn’t look like he’d been gone long. The curtains were still drawn, the chair pushed slightly away from the desk, the bed unmade with the blanket twisted halfway off. His headset sat on the desk beside his keyboard.

You stepped inside, frowning. He didn’t have work today— it wasn’t like him to go anywhere this early. Maybe he’d stepped out for groceries? Coffee? Your eyes drifted over his desk, to the shelves above it lined with his figurine collection. One caught your attention — a new one you hadn’t seen before. You stepped closer to take a look. As you leaned in, your hand brushed against his mouse, and the computer screen flickered to life.

“Oh—he left it on,” you murmured, surprised. The glow from the monitor bathed the desk in cold light. You reached for the keyboard to put it to sleep before he came back and noticed.

But then you froze.

There, in the upper right corner of the screen, sat a folder. Your gaze snagged on the name before you could look away.

It was your name.

You blinked, sure you were imagining it. But there it was—clear, typed neatly in the list of files on his desktop. No last name, no embellishment. Just you.

Your fingers hovered above the mouse. For a moment, you considered just turning the monitor off, pretending you hadn’t seen anything. Pretending everything was still normal.

But curiosity—and something sharper, colder—tightened inside you.

You swallowed hard.

And then your hand started to move.

The cursor slid across the screen, the small arrow trembling faintly as if your own unease had travelled down through your hand.

You double-clicked.

The folder opened.

Inside, another set of folders appeared—each one neatly dated, stacked in order from months ago to last night. Every one of them had your name.

You felt your stomach twist.

At first you thought it might be screenshots, maybe something from a game. But when you scrolled down, the icons were all the same shape, same size: small audio waveforms. Dozens of them.

You clicked on one before you could stop yourself.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the audio file loaded, the cursor hovering over the play button for a split second before you clicked. At first, there was nothing—just silence. You frowned, leaning closer to the screen, wondering if the file was corrupted or empty. Your fingers brushed the headphones on the desk, and without thinking, you unplugged them.

The sound hit you like a shockwave.

Your own voice spilled from the speakers, a low moan followed by a faint whimper. The noises were intimate, vulnerable, sounds you didn’t recognize as your own at first, but the realization crashed over you like ice water. Your breath caught, your hand freezing over the mouse as the audio continued: soft gasps, a quiet whine, the rustle of fabric. It was you but in a context that made your stomach lurch.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, as the sounds played on, each one more damning than the last. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and then—your name, whispered in Heeseung’s voice, barely audible but unmistakable. The room spun, the glow of the screen blurring as your mind raced to make sense of it. When had this happened? How? You didn’t remember this, didn’t remember any of this.

Your hand shot to the keyboard, fumbling to pause the audio, but your fingers trembled, and the sounds kept playing, filling the room with the echo of your own voice, trapped in some moment you couldn’t recall. The dates on the files flashed in your mind—months ago, weeks ago, last night. 

Your hands flew to your head, fingers clutching at your hair as confusion and horror twisted through you like a vice. The sounds of your own moans, raw and unguarded, continued to spill from the speakers, each one a violation you couldn’t comprehend. You had never done this openly, never given Heeseung—or anyone—access to such intimate moments. How had he gotten these? How? For how long had he been collecting them? 

Your breath came in short, panicked gasps, your heart hammering as you fumbled again for the keyboard, desperate to stop the audio. Your fingers slipped, hitting the wrong key, and the volume spiked for a moment, your own voice echoing louder, mocking you. Nausea churned in your stomach, and you finally managed to slam the spacebar, silencing the room. 

But the quiet was worse — thick and heavy, pressing on your ears until you could hear your own heartbeat.

Then a sudden sound split the silence.

The sharp crack of a door slamming.

You spun around so fast the chair scraped against the floor. Heeseung was standing in the doorway. His hair was mussed, his clothes wrinkled like he’d just come in from outside. 

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you. His eyes were dark and wide, the expression on his face flickering between shock and something else you couldn’t name.

Then, slowly, he reached behind him and turned the lock. The click echoed in the stillness of the room. 

“What are you doing in here?” His voice was low, even, but the calmness in it made your stomach twist. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You opened your mouth, words tripping over themselves. “I— I was just— your door wasn’t locked, and I—”

“You shouldn’t have snooped.” The tone sharpened suddenly, cutting through your attempt at an explanation. His expression shifted — not angry in the usual way, but off, like a smile forced onto the wrong face. “You don’t just go into someone’s room. You know that, right?”

“Heeseung—” you started, stepping back, bumping into the desk.

“I trusted you,” he said quietly. “And this is what you do?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You turned slightly, pointing toward the computer. “Trusted me? You were recording me!” The words burst out before you could stop them. “You— You had files of me, Heeseung! My voice, my—”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, eerie smile crept across his face. It wasn’t amusement exactly — more like satisfaction, like someone who’d stopped pretending. 

“You shouldn’t have looked,” he said simply.

You felt the air leave your lungs. “What— what is wrong with you?”

Heeseung tilted his head, that faint smile still there. “I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured. “Why can’t you ever just leave things the way they are?”

Something in you snapped.

“Leave things the way they are?” Your voice cracked, rising before you could stop it. “You’ve been spying on me! Do you even hear yourself? You think this is normal? You think recording me—watching me—is okay?” The words came fast, tumbling out over one another, the fear in your chest burning into anger. “You’re insane, Heeseung! Do you have any idea how sick this is?”

For a moment he just stared at you, that same unreadable expression frozen in place. Then he let out a quiet, tired sigh.

“Guess the jig’s up…” he said softly, setting his bag down on the floor beside the door.

You blinked, caught off guard by how calm he sounded.

He slipped off his jacket slowly, folding it like nothing about this was strange. “You weren’t supposed to find that,” he continued, his tone almost conversational now. “Not yet, anyway.”

“You—what?”

Heeseung shrugged lightly, as though this were just another small inconvenience. “I should’ve locked the folder. I usually do.” He glanced at you then, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You’re a lot nosier than I thought.”

You stared at him, unable to form words. The calmness, the way he spoke as if this was a minor mistake—it was more unsettling than if he’d yelled.

Heeseung’s smile snapped like a brittle thing. For a second he just stood there, face slack, and then something in him broke.

Without warning he lunged.

You barely had time to react. Instinct shoved you into motion — a shout ripped from your throat as you twisted, jerking away from his grasp. Your hand knocked the edge of the desk; papers fluttered to the floor. He swore, a rough, animal sound, and reached again, fingers clawing for you.

Adrenaline turned everything bright and loud. You shoved him hard across the chest. He stumbled, face contorted with surprise and anger, and reached for you faster this time. Your breath came hot and raw as you dodged him, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Stop fighting me!” he snapped, voice tight and strangled.

“You’re insane!” you spat, adrenaline sharpening every word. “You think I’m just going to let you—let you do this?”

Heeseung’s face went hard, eyes glassy with something else — frustration, need, something you didn’t want to name. He advanced again, faster this time. “Come on, just be still,” he hissed, every syllable a command. “Just be good, okay? You don’t have to make this hard.”

Well, fuck that!

You weren’t going to be still. Not after finding the files, not after every lie and late-night listen. Your hands scrabbled at whatever was in reach.

“Get the fuck away from me you creep!” you screamed, shoving a textbook at his chest. It barely slowed him down. Heeseung was stronger, faster, and as you twisted to dodge him, his hand caught your arm, yanking you off balance. You stumbled, and in a blur of motion, you hit the floor, the breath knocked out of you. Before you could scramble up, he was on you, pinning you down, his hands like iron around your wrists.

You thrashed, kicking wildly, but his weight held you in place. His face hovered inches above yours, his breath hot and uneven. “Why can’t you just—” His hand suddenly cracked across your face, the sharp sting of the slap stealing your breath. Your head snapped to the side, shock and pain blooming in your cheek as you gasped. His fingers found your throat, gripping just tight enough to make your pulse pound against his hold. “You’re being bad,” he hissed, his voice low, venomous. “You think you can just ruin everything just like that? No.. I think I need to teach you a lesson.”

Your heart raced, panic surging as you struggled beneath him, but he was too strong. With a rough yank, he pulled you to your feet, your wrists still trapped in his grip, and threw you onto the bed. The mattress creaked under your weight, and before you could roll away, he was on you again, moving with a speed that left you dizzy. You heard a metallic clink, and then—cold steel snapped around your wrists. Handcuffs? Your eyes widened in disbelief as you tugged against them, the metal biting into your skin, secured to the bedframe. He had handcuffs attached to his bed? The realization hit you like a punch, your mind reeling with shock and terror.

“Heeseung, what the fuck?” you screamed, pulling harder against the cuffs, but they held firm. Your voice trembled, caught between rage and fear, as you twisted beneath him. He didn’t answer, his expression hard, focused, as he grabbed the waistband of your pants and yanked them down in one swift motion. The air hit your skin, and before you could react, his hand came down hard on your ass, the sharp crack of the slap echoing in the room. Pain seared through you, and you cried out, your body arching instinctively, your back bowing as you gasped.

“Keep moving,” he taunted, his voice dripping with a manic edge as he struck you again, harder this time. “It just makes this better.” His hand lingered after each hit, the heat of his palm searing against your reddened skin. You thrashed, tears burning in your eyes, but the cuffs held you firm, and his strength was overwhelming. By the time he stopped, your ass was raw, throbbing with pain, and tears streamed down your face, your breaths coming in broken sobs.

Without warning, he gripped your hips and flipped you onto your back, the cuffs twisting your arms uncomfortably as you landed. You gasped, still crying, as he forced your legs apart with a rough tug, his hands unyielding. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it aside, and unzipped his pants halfway, the sound of the zipper loud in the tense silence. His eyes raked over you, empty and cold, yet burning with something feverish. “Finally… the real deal…” he muttered, his voice low and dazed, like he was speaking to himself.

“Please, Heeseung,” you begged, your voice trembling as tears spilled down your cheeks. “Stop. Just—just talk to me. We can figure this out, please!” Your words were desperate, grasping for any shred of the person you thought you’d known.

He tilted his head, a faint, mocking smile curling his lips. “Talk? No, no, honey,” he murmured, his tone almost soothing, but laced with something dark and final. “It’s time for action…” His hands moved to your shirt, yanking it up to expose your breasts. He grabbed them roughly, his fingers digging in before he delivered a sharp slap, the sting making you cry out. 

He surged forward, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking hard with a hunger that made your breath hitch, tears streaming faster as you pulled uselessly against the cuffs. His tongue swirled, his teeth grazing, and his grip on your other breast tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pressed himself closer, his hardening bulge grinding against you through his half-unzipped pants. The friction was rhythmic, each movement sending a jolt through your body that you fought to ignore. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you bit your lip, swallowing your sobs, forcing yourself into silence. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you.

His lips stilled for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as he pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing. The absence of your sounds, your refusal to give him what he craved, made something shift in his expression—something darker, more insistent. “No, no,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. “I want to hear you.” His tone was sharp, demanding, as if your silence was a personal betrayal.

His mouth returned to your nipple, sucking harder, his teeth biting just enough to sting, trying to coax a sound from you. His other hand slid down, gripping your hip to pull you closer, amplifying the pressure of his grinding. “Come on, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice dripping with frustration. “Let me hear you. You know you want this.”

You clenched your jaw, your body trembling from the effort to stay quiet, to deny him the moans he was so desperate to pull from you.

But Heeseung’s eyes burned with a relentless hunger. He wasn’t going to let you win this.

“You think you can stay quiet?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with challenge. “You’re gonna give me what I want.” He shifted, his weight pinning you harder against the bed, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, his tongue flicking against your skin, teasing, taunting. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, spreading them wider, digging into your flesh. “Let’s see how long you can hold out,” he muttered, his lips curling into a cruel smirk.

His fingers found you, and he didn’t hesitate, plunging two inside with a rough thrust. You gasped, the sound escaping before you could stop it, and his eyes lit up, triumphant. “There it is,” he purred, his voice dark and mocking as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made your body betray you. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl. “Moan for me. Let me hear how much you want this.”

You tried to fight it, biting your lip until it hurt, but he was merciless. His free hand slid up, grabbing your breast, squeezing hard before delivering a sharp slap that made you cry out, a desperate, broken moan spilling from your throat. Tears pricked your eyes, but your body was no longer yours to control—it arched into his touch, chasing the sensations despite your mind screaming to resist. He added a third finger, stretching you, his thumb circling your clit with ruthless precision, and you whined, high and needy, the sound echoing in the room.

Heeseung’s grin was feral, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he leaned back to watch you unravel. “That’s my girl.” 

With a sudden, rough motion, he grabbed the waistband of your panties and ripped them off, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound that made you flinch. The cool air hit your exposed pussy, and you gasped, the vulnerability sending a wave of shame through you. Heeseung’s eyes locked onto you, drinking in the sight with a hunger that made your stomach twist. “Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, as he spread your legs wider, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

He’d studied you, memorized you, those late nights spent in the shadows of your room giving him a map of every sensitive spot, every reaction. Now, he wielded that knowledge like a weapon. His fingers thrusted into you with a mean rhythm, curling just right to hit that spot that made your hips buck and a broken whine tear from your throat. “Don’t hold back now,” he taunted, his tone sharp and cruel. “I know you can’t… So why don't you just scream for me, baby. Let me hear it all.”

Your body trembled, betrayed by the slick heat pooling between your legs, whimpers spilling out despite your efforts to hold them back. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Look at you, such a mess,” he sneered, his words cutting sharp. “Crying and whining, and for what? My fingers? You’re so fucking desperate.”

He could feel the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your breaths turned shallow and desperate, and he smirked, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Not yet,” he growled, slowing his thrusts just as you neared the brink, denying you the release you craved. “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

Your whimpers turned into a choked sob, your body trembling with the agony of being so close, only to be pulled back. “Please,” you gasped, the word slipping out before you could stop it, your pride crumbling under the overwhelming need. Heeseung’s grin widened, dark and wicked, as he leaned down, his breath hot against your skin. “Begging already?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

Before you could respond, he surged forward, his mouth attacking your pussy, lips closed around your clit, sucking hard.

Your thighs clenched around his head, instinctively trying to push him away, but he only growled, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbled against you, his voice thick with lust, his tongue diving deeper, lapping at you like he couldn’t get enough. 

“Please, Heeseung, let me cum,” you begged, your voice breaking, tears streaming down your cheeks as the pleasure became unbearable. The desperation in your voice only spurred him on, his moans vibrating against your clit as he sucked harder, his fingers pushing you right to the edge again. 

But he didn’t make you wait this time. His tongue and fingers working in tandem, driving you higher, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped. You screamed, your body convulsing as you came hard, your thighs tightening around his head, your hips bucking against his mouth. Heeseung moaned against you, lapping up every bit of your release, his eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in the taste.

Your body trembled, oversensitive and shaking from the intensity of your climax, your scream still echoing in your ears as you gasped for breath. Heeseung’s mouth stayed on you, lapping at your oversensitive clit with no sign of stopping. You wiggled beneath him, your hips jerking as you tried to pull away, the sensation too much, too overwhelming. “Heeseung, please—stop,” you gasped, your voice raw and pleading, your thighs clenching in a futile attempt to close against his head.

But he didn’t stop. If anything, your pleas only spurred him on. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh, his eyes half-lidded and glazed as he buried his face deeper. “Cant stop… need more,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but thick with lust. 

He shifted slightly, one hand leaving your hip to fumble with his pants, yanking them down just enough to free his cock as he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking himself. 

“Heeseung, please,” you begged, your voice raw, tears streaming down your face. “It’s too much—stop!”

“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice low, his lips barely lifting from your skin. “You don’t get to tell me to stop.” His tongue pressed harder, circling your clit, his teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out in pain.

“That’s it,” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Keep crying, keep begging. It just makes you wetter, doesn’t it?”

You couldn’t fight it anymore—the pleasure, the pain, the humiliation all crashing together. With a scream that tore from your throat, you came again, your eyes rolling back as your body convulsed, his name spilling from your lips in a broken, unwilling cry. “Heeseung!” The sound was raw, desperate, and it sent a shudder through him, his eyes glinting with triumph.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening, his gaze dark as he sat up, positioning himself between your legs, his pants already halfway down. His cock, hard and leaking, pressed against you, and before you could process it, he sank into you with one deep, forceful thrust. You cried out, the stretch overwhelming, your walls forced to open around him, the intrusion sharp and intense. Tears streamed down your face, your body still reeling from the last climax, now pushed further by the relentless pressure of him filling you completely.

Heeseung whined, his hands gripping your hips as he started moving. “So fucking tight,” he growled, his voice strained, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the way you clenched around him.

Your voice was gone, stolen by the overwhelming sensation of Heeseung’s cock thrusting into you, each movement stripping away your ability to form words. All you could manage were choked, broken whines, spilling from your lips as your body trembled beneath him. His thrusts were unpredictable—sometimes rough and fast, slamming into you with a force that made your whole body jolt, the bedframe crashing into the wall; other times slow and deep, dragging out every sensation as he filled you completely, making you feel every inch of him.

“Look at you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with fake kindness. “Can’t even talk, huh? Just a whining little mess, taking my cock like you were made for it.” His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your skin, his eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. “Fuck, your pussy’s so greedy for me.. sucking me in like you can’t get enough. You love this, don’t you?”

Tears streamed down your face, but he only laughed, a dark, mocking sound, as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna cum so deep in you,” he muttered, his tone possessive. “Fill you up so good, not a single drop’s gonna leave. No other guy’s ever gonna have you like this. No one else could make you fall apart like I do.”

His thrusts shifted again, rough and punishing, each one pulling a choked whimper from your throat as he drove into you with relentless force. “I’ve craved you for so fucking long,” he confessed, his voice raw, almost unhinged, his eyes wild as they met yours.

“This pussy—shit, it’s mine, always been mine, hasn’t it? Sucking me in like you were made for me...” His words spilled out in a chaotic rush, as he leaned closer, his breath hot and erratic against your skin. “You don’t even know, do you?” he rambled, his voice low, almost feverish. “All those nights, watching you, touching you, listening to you moan in your sleep—fuck, it drove me crazy, knowing you were right there, so close, so fucking perfect. And now, now I’ve got you, and you’re not going anywhere.” His hand gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his, his eyes burning with a manic intensity. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t think straight, until you’re screaming my name so loud the whole building knows who you belong to.”

His mouth was hot on your neck, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of marks that burned under his lips. “Fuck, you’re everything to me,” he rambled, his words spilling out in a frenzied, desperate rush, his breath ragged against your skin. “Every single day, every fucking night, I’ve been obsessed, consumed by you—thinking about this, about you under me, taking me so perfectly. You don’t even know how long I’ve waited, how much I’ve needed this, needed you. Shit, you feel so fucking good, so tight, gripping me like you were made for me..”

His free hand slid up from your hip, grabbing your breast, his fingers kneading the soft flesh as his thumb flicked over your nipple, sending a jolt through you. You gasped, your body arching despite your efforts to resist, and he groaned, low and needy, his mouth moving to your chest. “God, these tits,” he muttered, his voice breaking with a whine, his lips barely lifting from your skin. “So fucking perfect, so mine. You have no idea what it does to me.. Walking around, teasing me without even trying, making me lose my mind just watching you.”

His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, each one pulling a choked whimper from your throat as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. “Heeseung,” spilled from your lips before you could stop it. His eyes widened, a wild glint flashing in them, and he groaned, his control snapping completely. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed repeatedly, his voice strained as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep.

He came hard, his release flooding you, hot and overwhelming, his hips twitching as he emptied himself inside you. “Shiiiiit,” he whimpered, his voice breaking into a drawn-out moan, his body shuddering as he gripped your ass cheeks tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising force. Drool slipped from his lips, glistening as it dripped onto your tits, his mouth still hovering over your nipple, sucking weakly as he rode out the high. “So fucking good,” he mumbled, his words slurred, almost incoherent, his breath ragged as he pressed himself deeper, ensuring every drop stayed inside you.

Your body was numb, trembling under his weight, the cuffs biting into your wrists as you lay there, tears drying on your cheeks. Heeseung’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and possessive, a faint smirk curling his lips as he saw the state you were in. “Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with a cruel satisfaction. “All fucked out, just for me. Bet you didn’t even know you could feel this good, huh?”

He shifted slightly, his cock still buried inside you, and leaned down, his tongue flicking over your other nipple, teasing it with slow licks. The sensation made you whimper, your oversensitive body jerking involuntarily. 

“Can’t get enough of you,” he muttered, his voice needy but still laced with that mean edge. “Every inch of you, every sound you make—it’s all mine. You’re gonna remember this, baby, every fucking second of it.” He pulled back slightly, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in the marks he’d left—bruises on your hips, redness on your breasts, the faint bite marks on your neck. His smirk widened, a twisted pride in his eyes as he reached down, brushing his fingers lightly over your clit, making you flinch and whine. “Still so sensitive,” he taunted, his touch gentle to torment you further. “I could do this all day, you know. Keep you here, make you cum again and again until you can’t even think straight, until all you know is me.”

His words sent a fresh wave of dread through you, but your body was too exhausted to fight, your breaths shallow as you lay there, pinned beneath him. 

He leaned down, his face hovering inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. “My perfect girl,” he murmured, his voice low and deceptively soft. It caused your skin to crawl. Then, he closed the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, claiming kiss.

At first, it was gentle, his mouth moving softly, savoring the feel of you. But then he deepened it, his tongue forcing its way past your lips, invading your mouth with a hungry edge. You whimpered, the sound muffled against him, your body tensing as he claimed even this part of you. His hand slid to your jaw, holding you in place, his fingers digging in just enough to keep you still as he explored your mouth, tasting you like he owned every inch.

“Fuck, even your mouth is perfect,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice rough, breaking with a craving. “All of you, every fucking part, it’s all mine.” He deepened the kiss again, his teeth grazing your lower lip, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, your body jerking involuntarily.

Your mind screamed to resist, but your body was too weak, too overwhelmed, and the cuffs held you fast. His kiss swallowed your protests, claiming you in a way that felt as invasive as everything else he’d done. He pulled back slightly, just enough to let you catch a ragged breath, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watched you tremble beneath him. “That’s it,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips, his voice dripping with possession. “Even your kisses belong to me now.”

a/n: oh no hes hot...

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You can’t look away. His back curves like an offering, shadow carving over muscle and bound arms. Silk cuts into flushed skin, a body wrapped and gagged, eyes glassy with something raw, something indecent.

The supermarket hums around you—wheels squeak, children whine—but none of it exists. Aisle seven has narrowed into a single frame: him.

Your fingers smear saliva on the glossy page as you turn it, still staring. The headline screams in cheap, tabloid font:

THE DOWNFALL OF LEE HEESEUNG? HIS AGENCY STAYS SILENT.

Silent. You almost laugh. The picture says everything.

Someone mutters for you to move. You don’t. Their cart wheels swerve, the sound grating like static—but all you hear is the click of a shutter that hasn’t been pressed yet.

Your hand trails down the laminated page, ripping it clean off of the magazine before placing it back onto the rack. Heads turn at the sound of your heels clicking against the linoleum floors, eyes cascading over the long leather trench you donned. Powerful. Moderately eccentric. The workers don't stop you from sipping the last of your iced coffee obnoxiously before you slide a bottle of wine forward onto the register.

You'd been pacing around the aisle for the last hour and a half, blankly staring at each bottle. None of them were perfect-nothing you really wanted but didn't want to leave empty handed.

But you know what you did want? Lee Heeseung— and his botched reputation arrived just on time.

You leave a wad of cash on the counter, three times worth the original amount while mumbling something along the lines of not wanting to count right now and telling the cashier to keep the rest of the cash for themselves.

The dial rings for half a beat before your manager picks up.

"Hello—“you interrupt Sunghoon.

"I want Lee Heeseung."

"Get in line." You imagine Sunghoon's perfectly plucked, raised eyebrow. Dry, to the point-busy. "No. I want Lee Heeseung. I refuse to photograph anyone or anything else until I get him." He hears the popping of a wine bottle from your end of the call.

Sunghoon pinches his nose bridge and sighs. "It's not good publicity. He's more than likely done for in the industry-what about Park Jongseong? Sim Jaehyun? You're supposed to be curating that collection—“

"I'm stuck. Haven't slept in three days since the photo was leaked. He's perfect and I want to photograph him. Sunghoon, pull some strings. Please?"

A quick swig, brown paper bag obscuring the bottle as you sat on a random park bench before lighting a slim cigarette. If Sunghoon were in front of you, the bags under your eyes would've sealed the deal.

"Fuckin' hell...'ll see what I can do. No promises." He's resigned in the wake of your stubbornness. You were his first big break as a manager, albeit the biggest pain in his ass thus far.

"I'll take you out to eat at that super pretentious restaurant you enjoy going to for whatever reason." You offer half heartedly, spacing out already, waiting for the call to end.

He snorts. "Fine." And the line goes dead.

You don't blink-hand curling around the ripped photo, tracing around his silhouette.

You want him, he’s perfect.

Heeseung digs his head into his pillow face first, hissing when Jungwon slides open his curtains with a loud clap-hollering. "Get up, asshole." Heeseung groans, shaking his head. "For the love of god—close the curtains."

"If you want to maintain your status as the Adonis of this industry, you'll get your perky ass up and take a shower. You reek of champagne and day-old strawberries." Heeseung blinks, squinting one eye as the other adjusts to the brightness of the room.

"And why would I need to do that, my dearest Jungwon?" All of his schedules should've been cleared off by now. He doesn't want to be sober or awake to see the messages about who else doesn't want to work with him now.

Jungwon rolls his eyes at the sweet sarcasm. "One of the most highly sought out and selective photographers of our generation's managers reached out. She wants to meet you."

Only now does Heeseung rise from bed, nonchalant and naked as he pulls the sheets off his body.

"Who?" Strange. Why would someone want to work with him at the height of his scandal?

"They work under the pseudonym, obscura. Their work is... interesting to say the least. Not much about them is known, but they're insanely gifted. Obsessive, l've heard—but every project they've done has done astronomically well." Jungwon twines his hands together, taking a seat on the plush velvet cream couch—resting his elbows on his knees as he stares into Heeseung's doe eyes. "You've got one shot. Get up. Get ready and don't fuck this up."

"Sure thing, Won." And all Jungwon sees is Heeseung's ass strutting to the bathroom—not a care in sight.

Heeseung's eyes drift across the room. Rolling over intricate photos all varying stylistically, all striking—profound. Some are even unsettling. Jungwon left him after saying he needed to meet with Obscura's manager, Sunghoon, to talk about the "boring stuff."

An array of nude photographs are arranged messily on the floor, piles of notes-unreadable because of all the strikes ripping through sentences of half formed thoughts immediately being rejected upon birth. He stops at a particular photograph of a woman—Venusian in form. Beautiful in the sort of way that can leave a life long imprint.

A pleasantly pitched voice interrupts him the moment he reaches down to pick up the photo curiously, interest peaking. "Glad to see you have an eye for these things too."

Slow clicks approach him as the woman from the photo breathes into life before him—only clothed this time, draped in a sleek black fabric. Long earrings compliment the length of your neck and he smells the allure of your perfume from where he stood. Before he catches the words, he breathes out an almost fascinated whisper of surprise. Beautiful.

You pause in front of him, eyes dragging from his polished shoes to the top of his head. Reaching a delicate hand out, you greet him. "Obscura on paper and to the public. But you have the option of calling me by my name." You pull your knees together and bend elegantly to pick up the photo. "—ah. I was wine drunk when I decided I wanted in on the project and took a half hearted self portrait. This is the only one I kept. The other fifty— I burned."

"Why did you burn them?" Heeseung tilts his head, silken hair lying over his eyes.

"Because they weren't perfect." You didn't miss a beat, eyes unwavering as you stare at him through your lashes, observing unabashedly.

You weren't trying to seduce him—not intentionally, however it may have looked. But your eyes draped over his form, imagining all the ways you wanted to contort it to your vision.

"Is imperfection so unsavory?" He asks. There was no judgement. Only professional intrigue with a dash of sexual attraction.

"Not always—but from the things I want? Yes." You admit.

"Why did you ask to meet me?" He takes a step closer. Not close enough to warrant a response or a step back, but enough for your head to tilt at the action.

You say it like it's simple. Obvious.

"Because I want you, Heeseung. And I want you to be mine."

His expression stays the same, doe eyes running over your eyes—something calculated under the surface of his saccharine features before it clicks back into place.

"And why would you want that?" For a moment, he thought you were another affluent woman inviting him into your bed—bold because you'd never been told no before in your life. But your gaze told him otherwise-that wanting to you was different from what wanting meant for others.

"You're striking and filthy. To be frank with you, I have no interest in your daytime persona: the one you've crafted into perfection with your company." Stepping forward, you smooth a small wrinkle forming near the collar of his suit. "I want to make you an offer—become my muse. My honest muse, the one I saw on that photo that you'd never intended on letting the outside world see, and I will make you a god."

Heeseung quickly learnt that he didn't have it in him to say no to you, godhood or not.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Heeseung catches the worry in Jungwon’s voice. Snorting, he tips his head, eyes sliding toward his manager at the wheel. “Funny. Thought you were the one who said—what was it?—‘don’t fuck this up.’”

“Yeah, but that was before I found out Obscura drives her muses past their limits—with no plan, no schedule, nothing.” Jungwon’s fists tighten around the wheel, eyes trained on the road.

Heeseung says nothing. He didn’t need to.

Jungwon doesn’t know the full weight of what this meant for him. Doesn’t know the candidness of conversation he found himself having with you.

Everything he wanted had landed in his lap—and he had no intention of letting it go. Not by a long shot.

The bathroom hums with the steady hiss of the shower, steam clinging to the checkered tiles that stretch in sharp black-and-white beneath his legs. Water runs lukewarm now, the heat bled out, but Heeseung doesn’t move to adjust it. He never does. Hotels blur together—unnamed, forgettable—rooms he slips into and out of as instructed, hiding from the weight of cameras and curious eyes. It’s a cycle as familiar as breathing, one he no longer bothers to resent.

Heeseung sits slumped on the marble floor of the stall, eyes glazed, expression unreadable. Blank. Bored. Empty. Droplets stream down the bridge of his nose, clinging until each slow blink lets them fall. His nails wander idly across his chest and down his ribs, scratching shallow lines at first, then deeper, until the skin blossoms in thin, stinging trails. Pink threads of blood dilute into the runoff, carried down the drain where it spirals and disappears—one more secret rinsed clean.

The shallow tears around his hipbone multiply, his scratching methodical now, as if testing how much of himself he can peel away. It feels liberating in its own quiet way—this freedom to ruin his own surface without correction, without polish. Once, he was alabaster. Porcelain. A body designed for admiration. Never permitted to scar under the limelight demanded from the nature of his existence. But he shattered that himself, the instant he left the door unlocked, the instant he let the lens catch him.

The scandal wasn’t an accident. It was the only time the world saw him as filth—and he liked it.

Good.

A flash of dark hair pulses through his memory, breaking through the bleakness like slips of sunlight peeling through clouds. You.

Heeseung drags his tongue across the ridges of his teeth, slow and deliberate, like he’s already tasting the ruin. You looked at him as if you wanted to dismantle him, to break him down just to see how he’d look rebuilt in your hands. And you wanted him. Not the Adonis. Not the golden boy. Just him.

No one ever did. Not where the lights could reach. They only wanted him in shadow—hidden behind locks, passwords, and neat little NDAs. But he was the one who’d started leaving the doors cracked open. The one who forgot to demand silence. The one who fed his lovers the chance to slip. He’d wanted the photo out there—wanted to watch his pristine image rot in public. There was nothing sweeter than the thought of being dragged into daylight, stripped and named for what he really was. In short, Heeseung wanted that photo to get leaked. Planned—fully intended, even. But you? You weren’t part of the original plan. And now, it’s even better.

To be fair, there was little thought that went into the process—no real plan. Just an expośe that cupped its hands full of public degradation on the walls for his enjoyment. Life had gotten too monotonous in cyclical praise. He was perfection—golden, god-like.

The slope of your waist—the supple texture of your skin that he could almost feel through the photographs’ sleek film. Your hair that cascaded along your form like water, the swell of your breasts, and the slightly visible puffiness of your cunt. His heart throbbed. And before he realizes it, Heeseung trails a porcelain hand down his abdomen, gripping a hand tightly over the pulsing girth lifting towards his navel. His head bangs lightly on the marbled tile as he sits back, eyes pointed towards heaven.

Heeseung knew he was disgusting. And maybe you were the one person who’d like him for it. You were two sides of a coin—he could feel it. He believed it.

Hips rocked against his hand—pushing, pulling at flesh like it was your wetness that enveloped him. Water fills his open mouth, pouring out and then in—choked groans sputtering out of him like liquid guilt. He twists his hand, raising it up to the tip of his cock, and jerks to what his memory could recollect of your nude shape—building up an unsettling tempo, as he descended slowly into a terrifyingly real illusion of you.

“P-please.” He begs and he doesn’t know to who or what he’a pleading to. To you. Maybe the universe. You’d probably photograph this moment—the arch of his back, the rapid thrusting into his hand—the sacred beauty of his distorted and invasive desire. It was primal, instinctual. There was no logical basis of his fascination towards you other than the level of obsession he knew you were capable of. But it wasn’t for him. It was for the world around you. He was just an extension of that.

And Heeseung already didn’t like that. Though he didn’t say it, he agreed to be yours with an unspoken expectation—he’d be the ultimate, singular object—the golden apple of your eye. He craved possession—Mutual possession, that is. Heeseung was a little more…under the table about it. And no one really needed to know that. No one wanted to, at least.

His hips roll, twitch, body keening over—the veins on his pelvis pronounced and throbbing—fucking into his hand like you were there to take it. Heeseung liked ruining pretty girls, but he could tell you weren’t the kind to lie on your back and take it.

You liked power. Control. Perfection.

And because Heeseung was intrigued by you, he’ll hand you a leash to see what you’d do with it.

Liquid heat pulses through him and he gasps—streaks of white painting his belly, gazing at the wall. Dazed. Feverish.

There was something dangerous about you

and Heeseung was never the type to turn away from a dark room—stepping into the shadows like it was destined to begin with.

—

“Hold still. There it is—“ Dainty hands squeeze the shutter, one eye squints while the other focuses on Heeseung’s form. You get it now—why he was deemed golden boy of the decade.

A subdued, yellow bellied light, painted by the afterglow of a flickering red bulb stood at the backdrop of your photo studio. You squint, tightening your fists, and focus on the lens—aiming towards Heeseung.

He was beautiful—fluid like water. Mysteriously alluring and full of silent charm. Heeseung didn’t say much but when he did, a crowd would crawl to hear the cadence of his voice—laugh when he wanted them to like it was a live audience.

Heeseung—almost languidly—rolls his head to look at you from where he rests on the arm of a maroon velvet couch. Eyes glossy, nearly unreadable were it not for his quirked lips. “Am I perfect yet?”

“No.” You instantly reply, smiling kindly. “But you’re beautiful. Beauty doesn’t demand perfection.”

“Ah—but didn’t you want perfection?” It’s a small inquiry, light in tone. The air between you is amiable. Smooth. Like old friends meeting again after years of living separate lives.

“I wanted honesty. I liked your filth, Heeseung. As nice as it is to see you smile so insincerely.” You laugh lightly.

“And what if it isn’t insincere—how would you know?” His smile only stretches, but his eyes—they firm. Prod like knives. Dark. Curious.

“Your eyes—they’re dead. I can’t feel any light from you. It’s practiced. Beautiful? Yes. But it doesn’t reach me.” You say it like it didn’t bother you. His fabricated character and the unsettling underbelly of who he truly was. Even you didn’t know the extent of it—just the epidermis of his filth, sensed by your intuition alone.

For a moment, Heeseung’s eyes widen. The initial lightness of his face fading into an almost boyish surprise. He finally blinks, turning his face away to stare at the ceiling, only humming in acknowledgement before a comfortable silence weighs the room.

You step towards him, placing a cold hand on his wrist to position it over his head. The tip of your index finger tilts his chin upward. “Eyes on the camera. Do me a favor—remember the last time you came. Every detail. Don’t say a word. I need that heat for this shot.” You knew the root of his scandal was his hunger, and you wanted to catch it—see if desire could fracture the shell of media-trained perfection.

Goosebumps form on his skin, though his calm facade didn’t betray him. The couch dipped beneath your weight as you rose onto the cushions, leaning over him, camera angled down the length of his body.

His eyes slowly drift over your shape—stationing themselves where your v neck sweater dipped and exposed the swell of your breasts. He smiles. Serpentine. Calculating—probing.

“I touched myself.” He starts with, casual. You hum lightly. Discussions of intimacy never shook you as an artist. It came up in conversations over cups of coffee—intensely indulgent details and photographic evidence of exhibitionistic escapades shared between friends and strangers when permitted.

“I thought of you.” His eyes peer into the camera as if the lens did nothing to obscure your eyes from him. Stilling, your finger pauses mid press—the sound of the incoming shutter growing dull. Your hands slowly pull your camera from your face as you stare at Heeseung.

He observes you, quietly sweet in a way that didn’t seem pressing—the kind of polite look you’d see from boys at church, a next door neighbor, or a mutual you’d run into at the grocery store.

It suddenly clicked. Heeseung played his part well—and it would take time to see him unravel. You were used to getting what you wanted nowadays, never expecting to have to work for it. And you certainly hadn’t planned on the golden boy carrying much depth beyond his deviant sex life. So you’ll let him play sweet even if you could sense his acrid nature.

You hum neutrally, feigning interest. “What did you imagine?”

Whatever got the heat out of him. You’d crack him open if need be.

His eyes scan your face, tracing the lines of your lips as they form words.

And he lies.

“I thought of you suffocating me.” You huff a breath. A half laugh—interrupted by your focus on the world you were trying to encapsulate through your lens, distracted. “—yeah? Did I kill you?”

Heeseung still doesn’t blink. “No—but I think I wanted you to.” He slipped the truth in slowly, darkening the energy of the room like ink in water.

“You like getting off to murder or something?” You quirk a brow, intrigued. You had no horse high enough to look down on him. Not when it came to the nature of desire.

“No, but I’d kill for the things I want.” He confesses.

“And how would that apply to me strangling you?” Without a beat. The air around you falls still—hot like magma. Like every time you spoke, ash found its way to clutter and stick to your mouth like cotton candy. It didn’t quite fit—tones that belonged in conversations about the weather found themselves weaved into Heeseung’s sudden confession of morbid desire. All the more, it was pointed at you.

“I’d also die for the things I want.”

Your finger flicks against the shutter. There. In that moment alone, you were able to get the shot you wanted. An unaffected smile breathes through your face before you ask with half a mind. “That’s all that did it for you? My hands around your neck?” The tension brewed. A sudden dawning and self reminder that you were the subject of his fantasy— began weighing on you.

“It wasn’t your hands that I imagined suffocating me.”

The air thickened impossibly, couch cushions creaking as you adjust your weight.

“Then what did—“

Before the question could fully leave your mouth, Heeseung clasps a hand behind the back of your left knee and pulls down. You tumble, a sharp gasp leaving your lips once you go off kilter. You’re only halfway down when he tugs again. Harder. Then slides the palms of his hands under your shirt until they rested above your womb.

Wide eyes blink up at you. Curious—almost innocent, though you knew better.

He shifts lower, settling into his fantasy—chin pressed to the soft curve of your inner thigh, head angled beneath you as you straddle his neck. His breath heats the fabric of your jeans, each exhale licking at the seam.

“You strangled me. Just like this.”

Click.

Your finger moves on instinct—recognizing the vision you’re chasing. His soft brown hair rustles, fanning on top of the maroon fabric of the couch like silk. A strand prods his left eye.

So much for salvaging his reputation. If every session unraveled like this, you wouldn’t erase his scandal—you’d only make it look tame compared to the collection you were about to curate.

And if Heeseung is only honest in bed, you wouldn’t oppose to sleeping with him. You’ve done worse in the haze of chasing photographic perfection: hanging off cliffs without proper gear just to catch the right angle back when you were still an intern. You were let go shortly after—but the shot you took drew enough recognition for Sunghoon to find you. (The company, meanwhile, wrote you off as too much of a liability.) You’ve snuck onto government property because you swore you’d glimpsed a rare bird, and vanished without a word to trek through a Mongolian winter after a dream you couldn’t shake.

Heeseung waited patiently. If anyone else peered inside of the small studio, they may have mistaken his gait as obedience—like Heeseung wasn’t the one who tied your thighs around his neck. But he was.

That’s the kick.

Your body shivers lightly when his thumb massages small circles onto your stomach.

“What else did I do to you?” Your eyes meet his, unwavering. Voice low—Confident. Controlled.

His only response is his hands trailing down your stomach, unbuttoning your jeans slowly, before pulling down the zipper with his teeth.

Click.

He doesn’t break your gaze as he grips on the sides of your jeans, tugging them down with a patient pace until they hit the barrier of his throat. He touched you with a certain feigned reverence—a lightness to his hands like a predator trying to fit into the mold of something small. Soft. Careful. Slow—cautionary.

The softness of his lips drag up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, warm breath brushing the fabric of your cotton underwear.

And then his head tilts up, finally whispering a reply:

“I can show you.”

Despite the calculation written on your face, your hands tremble slightly. Nonetheless, you point the viewfinder to his lips—obscuring his eyes, his gaze—centering it on the damp trace of saliva on his lips, its textures detailed under the clarity of film.

He flattens his tongue on the cloth, sliding upwards to catch the fabric of your underwear between his teeth—pulling to his left before kissing the soft puffiness of your cunt.

“There you are.” He whispers, deceivingly reverent. Sweet.

And then his eyes steel. Gazing at you from his lashes, calculated—observing. Your back arches, hips pushing towards his mouth when he slides the muscle between your folds slowly and sucks. His grip on your hips tighten before he pushes you to sit completely on his face, weight pressing against his mouth, jaw working.

He circles around your entrance and pushes in with a groan. Dipping, tasting. Pulling out, flicking lightly.

Heated kisses press against your flushed flesh—open mouthed and hungry. You see red and think that the color suits Heeseung. A little too well but true to character.

A filmy heat glazes over his expression, eyes rolling back at the taste of you on his tongue.

He can’t breathe.

He doesn’t want to.

And though you know you should probably get off—you don’t. Not before taking a photo of his eyes, hot and heavy as they fight to stay open and not roll back to watch your expression. Your thighs border the photo—slick apparent on his cheekbones from the rolling of your hips.

Click, click, click—

Heeseung gasps when you slide off of him before you could orgasm. His eyebrows furrow and arms reach to wrap around your waist in defiance.

He looks a mess. A sheen of white, almost translucent liquid drips lightly from the corner of his mouth, and smears itself around his jaw. “W-wait—“

Click.

Even his desperation is beautiful.

“My beautiful muse—behave. Stay still.” Your voice is soft, but edged with command. Heeseung doesn’t loosen his grip, yet his body remains frozen, his gaze locked exactly where it was the instant you spoke.

He won’t speak unless you tell him to.

Shutter sounds fill the room and he fights the urge to move and taste the remnants of you off his lips—letting you move his limbs to your liking, like a doll.

And this particular instance began the long, winding road you and Heeseung would walk in the years to come—a single moment that quietly laid the foundation for something far darker than either of you had originally intended.

—

Even after you published the first few photos you’d taken of Heeseung in an exhibition titled, Adonis in fragments, the spectacle of a body— there was no unwriting the workforce duo you’d become. From then on, Heeseung would take no offers, would refuse to be photographed by anyone else. Refused to allow anyone else take his place and title as your muse.

By photographing him, Heeseung was reborn—his scandal no longer weighed him. It amplified his image.

Just as you’d expected, the photographs you’d taken of Heeseung during that era overshadowed the initial leak. Made it look like light work. A fine work of enthralling exhibitionism, of Heeseung’s immorality taken in splices and vignettes.

You had made art of his anatomy, his submission, and his seemingly endless appetite for hedonism and excess. Heeseung wasn’t merely golden—he was a sex symbol, an infamous libertine whose body was both idolized and consumed: laminated on storefronts, archived in hidden digital albums, desired and acknowledged from every corner of the world.

And Heeseung was yours. Not in the traditional way. Somewhere between quiet boundaries—a sort of purgatory between the metaphorical state lines of lovers, yet not quite friends. Closer to being strangers despite the years that stitched the two of you together.

To you, he was a doll—programmed to drop to his knees at the slightest beckon. He’d abandon tasks midstream just to answer your call on the first ring, to appear at your side the instant a vague idea crossed your mind.

It was cold, cut—direct. Unfair, probably.

The gala was an opulent masquerade—high society draped in rare textiles, jewels that scattered light like kaleidoscopes when strands of light flickered against pearlescent surfaces. You sat at the edge of the room, eyes wandering around, mildly interested in the theatrics of the rich, famous, and pretentious.

Wine, champagne, and caviar whisks by on silver platters held by handsome waiters—plastic laughter reverberating off the hollow edges of the grandiose, Parisian venue.

Ignoring fire safety, you slip a hand into the brown leather purse at your side and draw out a bronzed cigarette case. Beside you, Heeseung sits motionless, waiting for the rare moments you choose to acknowledge him. A pale hand reaches forward, zippo lighter flicking open to slowly burn at the end of your cigarette. Music plays faintly in the background, a dull lull and orchestration.

Heeseung pulls his arm away, smoothly tucking away the metallic canister.

Inhaling, you finally break your casual silence—eyes still trained on the scenes playing before you.

“My adonis—have you been well?”

His tone is saccharine, but edged with something mildly frustrated. Dampened, despite his politeness. “No. I haven’t heard a single word from you in the last month. Surprised to hear that I’m still your adonis.”

“Whether or not you’re an Adonis—you’ll always be mine.” You smile at his boyishness.

His suit rustled—charmingly wrinkled, carelessly thrown on. Heeseung unfastened the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled the fabric slowly up his forearms. You feel his eyes on you, probing and dark.

You jolt when a cold hand slips up slowly—as if memorizing the texture of your skin—from your elbow to lace around your fingers, tugging them toward his mouth. His lips close deliberately over the spot where your lipstick stains the soft filter. His lashes flicker in the ember’s glow, shadows dancing as smoke curls between you, thickening the air and marking you both with the same scent.

Heeseung liked smelling like you by the end of the night—the familiar and intoxicating air of your perfume and expensive tobacco.

“I didn’t mean to abandon my puppy.” You smile at him, watching him close his eyes once your palm cusps his cheek—digesting the feeling of your occasional softness.

“…What’s kept you occupied?” He had a gut feeling. And it sickened him.

You knew he wouldn’t take it well, but you didn’t hesitate to rip the bandage off. “I met a boy in Busan—the son of a fisherman’s family. He caught my eye.”

You take another drag, turning away with furrowed brows—vacant. The air around you seemed to freeze, sharp and crackling like ice.

Heeseung’s eyes visibly darken. “And do you treat him the same?”

You sigh, exasperated. “What do you mean by that, Heeseung?”

He doesn’t answer right away, jaw ticking with all the right words lodging themselves in his throat—stiff. Anxious.

You rarely called him by his name. That means he’s annoying you. And Heeseung hated annoying you.

Because that meant he was even more liable to lose you. But he couldn’t shake off the anxiety, the disturbance—the darkness that’s long been rooted and festering inside of him like an infection.

His palms dampen with sweat, dragging them against the fabric of his pants before gripping his knees. The silence is thick—barbed with something too fleshed out for Heeseung. He couldn’t do this out in public. The words. The violence he carried towards you. The hefty weight he’s always carried—that he kept under deadbolts, lock and key.

“Does he do everything you want?” The question slips out low, bitter.

“Does he sleep beside you? Has he tasted you? Has he been inside you—the way I have, for as long as I’ve known you?” His voice breaks uncharacteristically, a sudden fragility that stuns even you. Gone was the poster boy and beside you, sat a man horribly in love.

You snuff out the cigarette, digging the edge until it bent on the exterior of your bronzed case. “He’s a boy.” You hiss, body turning towards him—offended, continuing.

“I don’t do this—“you gesture between you two. “This isn’t the usual process of my work, Hee. And even I have enough morality to not even dream of looking at a fifteen-year-old boy like that—are you insane?” The words stretch out, pushing through gritted teeth.

“Whatever his age—is he more beautiful than I am?” His eyes are wide and anxious, steadily breaking open at the seams. You rise to tug him off his seat—leading the way to an empty balcony that hung above the garden. The night air bites you as you try to find a middle ground—softness enough to placate him, needle-sharp defense for your own sake—while shadows of branches bleed across his form, the looming willow tree obscuring his expression.

“Heeseung, you’re the crowned Adonis—eyes follow you wherever you go. You can have anything you want at the palm of your hand if you so much asked for it—“

“Damn the rest of the world. Do you think I’m the most beautiful? I want you — I want you so much it aches.” It almost sounds like a plea: for help, for relief, for answers — for you.

“It keeps me awake at night. I haven’t slept, I barely eat, and even in dreams you haunt me. But I can’t have you—not the way you have me. I don’t have a hold on you.”

His eyes hollow with anguish, beauty breaking open as desires he buried for ages finally surge to the surface.

It was cyclical—his tendency to unravel the moment your gaze shifted to anyone else. But this was the most outwardly turbulent he had ever become. His desperation always hit at a small soft spot on you no one else knew about. And it resulted in a lack of taking on any other projects with the exemption of his.

Heeseung only ever cried during sex—sometimes as reprieve, other times overstimulation. But never out in the real world. Never beyond that closed door he adored locking you both inside.

To this day, you still don’t know what you feel for him.

It was a delicate dance between almost being in love—but you didn’t know if it was with him or the power you had over him.

But then moments like this were a sharp reminder of how much power he had over your life. It’s one of the many things Heeseung’s good at—fooling someone into thinking they had all of the power, only for them to realize this was the exact position he planned to be.

“Heeseung—“ you step towards him, holding his face in your hands. “…What can I do? We can’t keep doing this. You are my greatest muse—but I can’t ignore the outside world either. So what can I do for you?”

He doesn’t blink, gaze fading into something unreadable as he stares down at you—less soft, less vulnerable. He pulls you closer by the slim of your waist, fingers splaying where the curve of your spine dipped.

“Let me have you.”

“What does that mean?” He tilts down to look at you, swallowing and contemplating what words should leave him. But you couldn’t read him. And whenever that happened…you were scared of him. Of something that lingered under the surface you tried to shove away from you so that it was far away enough to not acknowledge.

It reminded you of the first time you’d fallen for Heeseung’s seduction—how he sank slowly to his knees, sharp gaze fixed on you, unblinking, as if he refused to miss even the slightest flicker of emotion across your face.

Kneeling, he buries his face against your stomach, inhaling deeply as his arms tighten around you.

“You have me. Entirely. Whenever you call, I’ll be there. I’ll bend into whatever shape you want me to take—strip myself nude and make a spectacle of myself for you and your art.” He breathes out a promise. Silken and velvet voice, maroon and reddened at its edges. “I’m a fool for you. Powerless. Pathetic. But what are you willing to do for me? Or am I nothing to you? Even when I hold you close enough to be an extension of your heartbeat, I feel lonely.”

It’s a somber confession. One that left his lips. One that he wouldn’t change—a certain resignation that even if it continued down that path, he wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t.

At last, he lifts his head from your stomach to look up at you. You meet his gaze with calm composure, weighing his words, before gently tugging him to his feet.

He doesn’t question you—doesn’t ask where you’re taking him to, and only watches. Still, as always, resting his eyes on you like he made a promise to God to never look away.

The room is dim, curtains half-drawn, the air stale with old perfume and cigarettes. You’ve barely stepped inside before his body betrays him, tightening in anticipation—like he’d been waiting for you in the dark all along.

Like muscle memory, he moves to sink onto his knees again before you stop him with a hand on his waist. He stills, tracking your movements as you kneel in front of him—eying him like you’d allow him to do anything he wanted to you. And he feels like his heart’s gonna fall out from his throat. In all the years he’s known you—not once have you given up that cool and composed control.

You’re different—subdued, quiet, almost willing. Shy, as if offering him a rare glimpse of sweetness he was never meant to see. And when you finally speak—light, submissive, gentle—he draws in a sharp breath.

“Do what you want.”

The crackle tears through the air, the shift so brutal it snaps you back with whiplash. He looms over you, body caging yours as his hand clamps hard around your throat, jerking you upward with no mercy. The force slams you into a kiss—violent, starved, and depraved. A tumultuous hunger pouring out from where his hands touch you.

You gasp, his tongue sliding in like venom—the kind that numbs prey before it’s devoured. A cruel mercy, born of instinct’s brutality.

“And what if I want something horrible?” His chest heaves, searching for breath.

You don’t have an answer to that.

And so he unravels.

—

You shouldn’t be surprised. Not when Heeseung’s had a metaphoric collar around his neck for years under you. Your chest heaves, nails clawing at Heeseung’s damp back—flexing against the curved muscle of his shoulder blades, too prideful to tell him to stop.

Your body jolts under the force of his hips pounding into you, arching into his mouth—sweat ridden body reddened and sticky from post orgasm sensitivity.

“H-Heeseung, slow down.” You grit out finally, but he doesn’t register it. The sheets are soaked and clinging onto your skin, breathing out sharply when he presses your thighs against your chest.

“So good. You feel so good.” He whispers this again and again, humming it into your hair like a mantra. Licking over your pulse line—your body a live wire.

Your body’s memorized him: the rhythmic stretching, the pushing and pulling of your bodies against each other. The taste of his release still lays heavy on your tongue—sweet and tart, slowly being masked by the salty dampness you lick from his body.

Another orgasm.

You’ve lost count.

But Heeseung’s gone blind, lost himself to a space where he only registers the feeling of your heat and breath. And he can’t stop. Even if you beg him to.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, legs shaking and pushing against his chest

He trails his lips over your collarbone before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, deep enough to leave purple indentations

“You’re mine.” He whines into your ear, rolling his hips and stuffing you to the hilt. The sensation of him throbbing inside of you is vivid—vulgar. Every inch of him, each vein, and curve dizzied you.

The meat of your thighs ricochet once he picks up the pace again, wetness tacking your skin together, and your moans muted as his fingers crawl into your mouth. You lather your tongue against the cold skin, sucking lightly—dazed.

His mouth wraps around your breast, pulling the skin in and tugging with his teeth. A small yelp leaves you and he grins at the sound. He pushes to fold your body even further,

The headboard slams rhythmically against the wall, bed going slightly off kilter once Heeseung digs your face into the mattress with a hand around your throat.

You were the only one who’s seen him. Really seen him.

And you’re his.

“Say it. Say that you’re mine.”

Your eyes glaze over, face red as you claw at his forearms, deliciously overwhelmed—and push the words from your gaping mouth.

“I’m yours. I’m yours, Hee.”

You look helpless. Small. Powerless

He refuses to close his eyes when he cums inside of you, plugging himself in with his temple against yours, and commits it to memory. He folds himself over you, lowering his frame until his head rests in the nook of your neck with heaving breaths.

He repeats back to you. “I’m yours, I’m yours.”

—

Heeseung’s gone AWOL. No text, no call—no notice.

It’s been five days and on any other occasion, you wouldnt have thought hard about it.

You stare blankly at the headlines stretching across your television screen and tighten the grip on your phone. The empty ring thrums in your ears, your heartbeat loud enough to drown it out. The lights flicker, catching your reflection—a gaunt face, pale and withered, fear pressed down but leaking through all the same.

“Fifteen-year-old boy found dead in the water. Cause of death remains undetermined, though the body shows clear signs of strangulation—”

Sunghoon’s messages lays stale—cold and open on your Lock Screen.

‘Don’t read the news and keep the TV off. Call me when you wake up.’

You knew the moment his message appeared—you weren’t going to listen. Still, Sunghoon tried. Your hand trembles, hovering over the call button beneath the contact: Adonis.

You don’t press it.

You’re not ready to know.

—

Heeseung doesn’t announce his arrival, only slips his slim fingers under the small bamboo plant next to your front door before grabbing your extra house key.

He kicks off his shoes with a haphazard tug, exhaling as he works the laces free. The lights are off, and a half-finished cup of coffee sits abandoned on the table—room washed in the soft melancholy of blue hour. It’s deceivingly quiet, even though he feels the tension radiating from your bedroom.

You stay silent as he strips off his clothes, slips beneath your blankets, and presses his cold body against your warmth—adoration and parasitic yearning seeping into your space like smoke.

A cold kiss softens over the skin where he bit your shoulder the other night. The clock on your nightstand ticks softly as he hums a nameless song low into your ear, rubbing slow circles on your hip bone.

He knows you’re not sleeping. But Heeseung waits for you to speak, just as he’s always done.

“Did you do it?” The words fall empty, blank shells clattering on the uncharted emotional space between you.

His humming stops, eyes fixated onto the back of your head. “Do you really want to know the answer?”His voice is sweet, calm, and casual. Light in the ways that felt like he knew you didn’t want to actually acknowledge his crimes. The bedsheets twist around your legs like snakes—like a pit you couldn’t crawl your way out of and you can’t will yourself to move.

You couldn’t runaway from the truth anymore.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling a shuddered breath. “Why?”

“Hard to say, really. Equally as hard to stop myself from doing it—so here we are.” He sounds tired—flippant. Alarmingly dry like there was nothing else to say about it—like there wasn’t a body of fifteen year old boy littered between you two, lying still as graves.

“He was fifteen.” You say it out loud—the tragedy of fleeting beauty fighting to overtake your need to put on a strong front.

“And you’re mine.” Is all he says.

You can’t bring yourself to tug his arms off

and the only reprieve comes in the momentary hollowness of sleep.

—

That night, you dream of a beautiful boy drifting on dark blue water, his finger pointed at you, lips moving in silence. In the distance, a boat horn echoes as the sweep of a lighthouse beam cuts across his silhouette.

You jolt awake the moment you register the word that fell from his lips like a mantra: Murderer.

—

Heeseung makes love to you again and again: an amalgamation of dizzying heat, bodily fluids, and wordless escapades. You can’t speak to him, but your hands still clutch him with a vice grip. Your camera sits alone on the dining room table—rotting under the humid heat permeating the stale apartment air.

The outside world blurs out from your viewfinder, not having left your apartment in days. He clings to you in the shower, washes himself off and out of you, just to douse you with him all over again.

On the days you want to bathe alone, he sits outside of the door. Waiting patiently—silently.

Like clockwork, you eventually open the door without fail, scooting towards the faucet so he can curl around you. Heeseung doesn’t like leaving you alone—doesn’t like the sensation of your skin not sticking to his like Velcro.

He leaves more marks now—until your body is no longer your own, every bruise a claim, every ache a reminder that you belong to him.

The sound of water softly pouring from the edges of your bathtub at your combined weight echoes. The silence is numbing and achingly intimate as Heeseung cups water into the palm of his hands and strokes away soap suds from your right arm.

You finally break the silence—your first words to him since his confession, not the unwilling sounds he dragged out of you when his hands slipped inside.

“Heeseung.”

He loves your voice but doesn’t want to hear it. So he does what he’s been doing the last few days—distracting you with hands that know your body well enough to navigate it blind.

You shiver once his arms slips around your waist from behind before reaching upward to cup your breast into his wide palms.

“We can’t keep doing this.” You plead tiredly. Gone are the hours you’ve tried to bury his crime under the bliss of his body hovering over yours.

He hums. “Keep doing what?” His chin slots into the space above your collarbone and hugs you a little tighter. “—this?”

You push at his wrists, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “Stop it.”

He flinches a bit at your frigid tone and leans to curl into your body, as if trying to soften the incoming blows of your anger. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Don’t give me that. You killed someone.” You exasperate, mouth hanging open—aghast.

“Because you looked elsewhere.” He groans before grabbing your hips and shifting you around to face him. He cups your face, leaning to press his nose against yours, breath fanning against the small hairs on your cheek. “Don’t you get it?”

You don’t.

Possession? Yes. Obsession, even. But this? This is…horrible. Is this what you’d unknowingly asked for when you asked for Heeseung’s truth the day you met him?

“That doesn’t excuse anything.” You hear the weakness in your voice and hate yourself for it. Hate yourself for the soft spot you let him dig into you without even knowing it.

“I’m not trying to excuse anything. It’s just the way it is.” He hums softly, neck dipping so his doe eyes can search yours. “I’ll be good. But will you help me be good?” Tilting his head with a smile, he presses against your left cheek.

“How?” Your gaze drifts up to meet his, and Heeseung bites back a groan—goosebumps rising as he fights the shiver threatening to course through him.

You looked so sweet. So confused.

“By rewarding me.” Is all he replies before laying a chaste kiss on your lips. Your back straightens when his hand rolls down and cups around your warmth.

“Let me know when I’m being good. Show me when I’m being good.” He massages over your cunt, progressively applying pressure the more your body begins to respond. His other hand grabs yours before guiding your fingers to station themselves right by your entrance. “Like this.”

Your face flushes, a fever blooming in your body. The faint remnants of Heeseung’s cologne warms the room, in combination with the lukewarm bathwater, was the achingly perfect recipe for deviating the conversation.

—and your body always listens to Heeseung.

He almost laughs when you slip your fingers inside yourself, stroking around the reddened flesh—but the sound stutters in his throat when your other hand closes over his, guiding it to the thickest part of his cock.

“—ah!” He flinches and unconsciously fucks into your hand, hips stuttering at the tightness of your grip.

“Such a pretty body shouldn’t be left untouched, Adonis. Not in here.” You look at him through half-lidded eyes, frustration simmering beneath your gaze—another attempt to dodge the conversation.

The water ripples around your rhythmic movements, Heeseung’s fingers replacing yours once your hand moves to focus on stroking him. He throbs in your hand: sensitive and hungry, as he watches your right hand roll over his cock.

Heeseung let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly as you began to move your hand up and down, mimicking the rhythm of his own strokes on you. The water sloshed gently around you, it’s swaying spilling over the edges of the tub.

The sound of your breathing filled the room, mingling with the soft, wet sounds of your hands moving against each other.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He leans closer to drag his lips down your neckline, tugging the skin lightly with his teeth—veins pushing against his forearm at the force he’s using against you. “You own me.”

You unconsciously tighten around him at his words, arching your back and pushing your hips towards his hands—tugging his cock with more urgency.

“I’d kill for you. I have—and I’d do it again. Whatever it takes to keep what’s mine.”

It’s filthy. The whispering—the psychology of it all. But Heeseung was a person fueled by want. Always by want.

So were you.

And thus, the orgasm that followed after a cacophony of groans and whimpers, accompanied by quaking bodies and weak muscles—shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. Not when Heeseung’s palm flattened and pressed against your clit deliberately. Not when his fingers stretched you a devious amount by the third finger, and surely not when he looked that good when orgasming onto his own stomach.

Maybe disconnecting from the world made you feel…differently.

Less urgent about the monstrosity of it all.

You’ll get him next time.

Hopefully.

—

Heeseung hums and strips himself under the warm yellow-bellied lights. “It’s be a while, hasn’t it?”

He haphazardly plops his white cropped Heineken T-shirt next to a stray tripod, before settling onto the rough motel carpet with nothing else on but his blue jeans.

The vacancy sign outside buzzes and echoes through the otherwise empty parking lot. Thick wooded areas, damp from midnight fog dredges the hour in true New Americana fashion.

It was an impulse decision: buying a one way ticket overseas and dragging Heeseung along. You weren’t running away—you were buying time.

Time to think.

Time to navigate Heeseung’s crime and your wretched soft spot.

You wouldn’t call yourself a morally upright person. Not definitely. There were definitely a couple (or a lot) of screws loose and rattling in your brain. The only thing you’d ever fixated on and found sanctuary in was photography.

And even now, dead in the middle of something far larger and atrocious than your creative obsessions—all you want is to press the shutter.

Heeseung lights a Newport 100, having already taken note of the faulty smoke sensor. He looks tired, even as a fox-like grin stretches the skin of his features. Lean muscles and a veiny abdomen shine under the throbbing heat of your photo light set up, stomach caving in as he takes a hefty drag.

You drop the bomb casually.

“When we get back, I…have to photograph other people. I pushed it off for too long and I’m on contract. For the love of God, please don’t kill anyone.”

Heeseung pauses mid-inhale, eyes going dark. “Oh?”

You liked that expression.

Click.

His eyes flick over to you quietly, observing. “Who is it?”

“Sim Jaeyun,” you begin. “He was one of the first nude models I worked with as a student. I had an ongoing project with him and Park Jongseong—until I met you. Then… well, the rest is history.”

You mumble the words, fumbling with the aperture as the squint in your eye deepens once it aligns with the viewfinder. While you focus the lens on the honeyed embers of his cigarette, Heeseung’s eyes still fall on you. He mumbles the name, rolling it around his tongue indecisively. A faint smile traces his lips

“I make no promises.”

You couldn’t help it.

Click.

—

Sim Jaeyun was found gutted in his penthouse bathtub two weeks after your return. Young. Beautiful. Still as time—a god gone too soon.

A lone Polaroid floated on the now frigid water, taken from an opening in his bathroom door—unaware of another presence in his home.

Heeseung didn’t bother to wiping his body upon letting himself into your apartment, pulling off his zip-up to reveal bloodied handprints on his forearms.

You pause mid chew, the tip of your pen creaking under the weight of your incisors.

“You fucking didn’t.” You deadpan, glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose, eyebrows furrowing in exhaustion.

But then your eyes catch on his blood-matted hair and the hollowness of his eyes—and you move towards your camera without thinking.

Click.

—

You think taste Jaeyun’s blood in your mouth when Heeseung kisses you. The metallic aftertaste never seems to wash away.

—

Jongseong goes missing, but you already know he’s gone for good.

It won’t be long before they trace it all back to you—to Heeseung.

He’s been more quiet lately. Contemplative—attached. The apartment’s become a dark abyss, an expansive void the two of you would drift to and from one another.

You don’t know how to explain it: how to explain that Heeseung’s obsession only softened you—only made your own obsessions feel seen by someone who finally understood what it meant to do anything for the things you wanted.

So you wait, cradling Heeseung’s head to your chest and only then does his body finally relax. Your camera sits alert on your nightstand.

You’ve never told him you loved him.

You almost do.

—

The camera’s rolling when Heeseung takes his seat on the stool, a lit cigarette burning low between his fingers. Smoke curls up, soft against the stark black backdrop that swallows him whole. You’d used a different one today—an old favorite from before you could afford the luxury of something better.

His eyes rest on you, waiting.

The grip on his hands tighten—he wants to hold you. Standing away from you made him anxious.

“Adonis. No—Heeseung. Why did you do it?” Your voice echoes off the walls of your apartment, furniture mixed around the expanse of the room—collaged and pushed away from their original place to make room for your impromptu set up.

He straightens his shoulders after a long drag.

“Hard to say. I don’t like the world around you.” He confesses. Even now, the lilt in his voice is melodic—charming. Charismatic.

“Have you ever murdered someone before?” Your eyes train on to him. He recognizes that look—the one you get whenever you found a vision to chase.

“Not a person. Before I made it big, my pops used to beat me. There was no one else in the house except for me, him, and a dog.” He begins. You take a sharp breath.

This.

This is what you’ve waited years to see on camera.

Heeseung unfiltered.

You wait for him to continue. He nods lightly, as if agreeing with himself that the memory’s allowed to leave him.

“I skipped school one day. A couple of friends wanted to go to the arcade and… I followed them. He found out and said he was gonna kill my dog as punishment when he got home.” His eyes grow dark as he twists in his seat, voice bordering on mechanical. “I knew his violence more than anyone. So I killed the dog myself. Quickly.”

Your palms sweat, heart banging in your chest like ricocheting metal. Heeseung.

“—I was a kid. If he found out that I’d let the dog out, he would’ve beaten me bad. So I did it and I don’t know if I regret it.” He simplifies and exhales, smoke wafting—embers almost hitting the filter. “I haven’t seen pops in over a decade. Once I was scouted, my face and body became my saving grace. It put food on the table in ways he never supplied, and he stopped bothering me. Never asked if or when I was coming home.”

Heeseung’s voice is metallic—like blood. Like iron. He tells the story like it’s a mundane thing.

But when he feels your stare, he softens—melts in front of the camera like he’d always been something fragile.

Maybe he was.

“I just wish I killed him and not the one thing that was mine. The one thing I wanted and got to have.” He admits after a moment. Contemplating and accepting whatever clicked into place within him. “I don’t need to read into why I did what I did. It’s already done. But we both know this, right?”

You stop the camera from rolling, but take one final shot of Heeseung. Simple, unmasked, and dark.

The night is spent developing and handpicking a series of photos from the last five years. Scrawled onto a small slip of paper are the words: The Genesis of Adonis: A tale born from blood. To the side, you lay out a singular dated cassette tape.

Before bed, Heeseung quietly takes your camera—eying the minuscule scrapes dancing around its bodice. A shutter blooms in the air as he takes photos of you brushing your hair in front of your old vanity, and another one of you under him—laughing at something he couldn’t quite pin down anymore.

And you make love for one final night,

bodies sweating away the morning you felt coming.

—

Sometime, just before dawn—when the sky is still indigo.

“I wish we were born in the same body.”

The two of you face each other, skin cold and bare, curling on top of the muted sheets. You play with the tips of Heeseung’s fingers as he brushes away damp strands of hair from your temple. Lips quirking, you close your eyes and respond tiredly.

“We’d be one fucked up person. Maybe it’s best that we’re split in two.”

He laughs quietly, eyes curling into half moons. “So be it.” He stares at you for a couple of moments, digesting the softness of the pads of your fingers. “You’re the only one I think understands. It’s not rational. None of this is. It never was.”

He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips. One by one, he kisses the tips of your fingers, then turns your palm over and presses his mouth to its center.

“Heeseung, I love you.” The words feel heavy, weighing the day with a late confession. It almost feels too late. It probably is.

He doesn’t reply,

And only breaks into the palm of your hand—shaking and crying into the quiet of the room.

He holds you close.

You know without a doubt he loves you too.

—

The mirror stares back at you defiantly. Elegant, poised, deceivingly acceptant and unshaken. Your favorite perfume permeates the air, earrings dancing as your neck turns to gaze at Heeseung dabbing your perfume onto his wrist. You donned your best dress, all red velvet and beaded glamour. Heeseung wears the suit he told you he planned to wear to the apocalypse if it ever happened. Ironed, sharp, still devilishly handsome as ever.

He shivers when you pad over and press a kiss to his pulse, eyes filled with an emotion neither of you have words to explain. Fear. Want. Regret that felt pointless to feel with the blunt knowledge that what’s done is done.

And he kisses you like he already misses you. Like he’d crawl out of the ground as a dead man just to be able to stand next to you like this for another day.

It’s electric, full of life sentences and damnation—a willing fall from grace that Heeseung’s always wanted but never quite like the way it’s come. He licks at your tongue and pushes you closer by the nape of your neck—turning his head to take you in deeper.

The day’s here. Neither of you know how you know. You just do.

When the banging on your door comes, you don’t answer. You sit curled onto his lap, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, as you brush his hair to soothe him. You don’t register the words—the yelling, the warnings.

Heeseung squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his grip around your waist, trying to memorize the texture of your skin and how your muscles felt whenever you moved. His lips move through a mantra and you finally hear the words: I’m yours, I’m yours.

The world stills when you cup his face, lifting it until he’s forced to meet your eyes. You know what happens to beautiful things in captivity—they either rot on their own or are deliberately ruined. And somehow, he knows what you’re saying.

What you’re planning.

What you’re accepting.

None of this was planned. This sort of oncoming tragedy could’ve easily been avoided, but you’re at the point of no return. He nods shakily, eyes watering as if to say—I’m going with you.

The door slams open, splintering against the wall—an explosion of sound swallowed by the sharp click of safeties disengaging. Guns rise, black barrels catching the light as they fix on you both. You turn anyway, slow and deliberate, defying the command that still hangs in the air, purposefully. You don’t intend on walking out of this room alive.

Maybe this is as close to repentance as you’d get.

You look at Heeseung one last time, mouthing his mantra back to him—a quiet echo meant only for him. Then you lean in, pressing your mouth to his, warm and unhurried, as if the world might grant you both another minute. Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you closer, holding you there like he could stop what’s coming. His other hand drifts toward his empty pocket—slow, deliberate, almost tender in its finality. A death sentence.

The last thing you feel is the shared grin curling across both your faces—then the metal tears through you, through him, until the monstrous ache of wanting fades with you both.

—

The burnt rubber of tires skidding onto the apartment lot squeal as both Jungwon and Sunghoon arrive at the scene. Sunghoon’s handsome face is distorted under the sudden calamity—hair tousled and worn from his own hands tugging. Jungwon’s ties is loosened, eyes bloodshot as he raises his hands to cradle his head.

Neither you nor Heeseung had relatives to call to properly “identify” or notify of your bodies. The pair both fight the urge to vomit at the sight of two bodies intermingled on your bedroom floor, covered in stark white sheets.

Jungwon curses, choking through his words. “What the fuck happened?” Tears fall without his permission, and he smudges away the moisture gruffly.

Sunghoon stands still—frozen at the epicenter, not allowed to come too close. He shuts his eyes at the faint slip of your dress bleeding out from under the sheet. You were wearing your favorite dress.

He turns away from the scene, moving into the hallway until he greets a familiar room: your photo studio—your beloved dark room.

On instinct, he slowly turns the knob—clicking open the door and unconsciously waits to hear your voice hiss at him for letting the light in and ruining the photo developing process. He shakily exhales at the photos that greeted him.

Heeseung, with blood clotted in his hair and drying across his hands—an image both intimate and horrific. Others are quieter but no less haunting: Heeseung staring straight into the camera, an unfamiliar expression caught between revelation and ruin.

He find the cassette tape and the words you scrawled onto paper. The Genesis of Adonis: A tale born from blood.

…you made this your last project.

He almost scoffs, even in the middle of his struggle to keep upright.

And then three others—photos he knew you didn’t lay there at the end—were of you: grinning like a girl in love, beautiful and unraveling in front of your old vanity the way you always did at the end of the night.

Heeseung took these.

Sunghoon stood there, caught in the aftermath of something that defied explanation.

He couldn’t understand you.

He couldn’t understand Heeseung.

He supposes, maybe you only ever understood each other.

So he lingers for a few measured breaths before turning away, closing the door behind him—slowly, deliberately—sealing something sacred and unspeakable inside.

fin.

—

siren’s note:

aaaaand that’s a wrap! I wanted to write a story that played on the irrationality of some connections—like it’s intense in ways that can never really be communicated to other parties. it’s impulsive, life altering—electric. and sometimes, fatal.

Heeseung’s character is super layered. But I also didn’t want to necessarily justify his murders… yes, he’s traumatized but he’s not saying he murdered everyone because he has a backstory. He did it willingly—impulsively. And was willing to do it again.

Sometimes it’s that simple. Sometimes it’s instinct.

if it feels a little rushed, I’m sorry! life has been super hectic and i’ve been wanting to post this so this is what I have.

-

thirteen years ago.

Sunghoon took a deep breath as the chill air of the rink, even from where he sat in the locker room, sent shivers down his spine. His thin black blouse with rhinestoned sleeves did nothing to shield him from the cold. 

He should have been used to it by now. But today would be the most important skate of his life. 

The World Championships. The event that would decide his place at the next Olympics. 

Just a few years ago, he had missed out on competing completely due to a knee injury. Sunghoon was determined this time to make his dreams come true. His seniors always said that Olympic ice felt different, more real. This would be it. His last chance before the younger, more talented skaters took his spot later down the line.

He was picking at his nails with his teeth, a habit he so desperately needed to let go of. Even with ten competitors ahead of him, Sunghoon was already on edge. You, his good luck charm, had not arrived yet. It wasn't typical of you. In your three years of dating, you never missed the opening skate of any competition he'd been in. 

It’s where you first met. You had been in the stands, taping your phone number onto a penguin plushie he’d caught after his award-winning skate. Since then, it's been tradition for you to sit in the same exact seat during local competitions.

His left leg bounced impatiently as he sat on the locker room bench. Sunghoon has sent about 16 texts to your phone already. He shook his head, unlocking his phone for the umpteenth time. Crickets. His phone screen photo of you blowing a kiss into the camera was taunting him now.

Where the hell were you?

Coach Jung patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”

“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replied, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”

Coach Jung rolled his eyes.

“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubted the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”

Sunghoon didn't know if that was meant to be motivating or not, but when Coach Jung left, he felt a pit in his stomach start to form. It's been years in the making. Blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this. The time he could've spent going on longer dates with you all went to extra hours practicing quads in the rink. He couldn't let his sacrifices go to waste. It would be a disservice to both of you.

He put his hands to his face and repeated a mantra of self-affirmations.

‘You got this, you got this, you-’’

“Hoon?” He heard your sweet voice call out. Your head poked through the locker room door before entering cautiously. Audience members weren’t typically allowed in here, but you always managed to sneak your way in.

He dropped his hands immediately, a wave of relief washing over him.

“There you are,” Sunghoon whispered to himself, rushing to you as fast as he could with skates on the carpet. You let out a small sound as he picked you up by the waist, spinning you around like a princess.

“Where have you been?” Sunghoon sighed happily, setting you down with a kiss to your temple. “I was blowing up your phone! I thought you died.”

You smiled, but he noticed how tight it looked. The light didn't quite reach your eyes, and your lips twitched as if it was almost painful to maintain. He brushed a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded, resting your hand on his as his thumb drew small circles on your cheek.

“I…” you trailed off. You were looking at the ground, at the ceiling, and even at the trash cans. Anywhere but him. “I want to talk to you about something.”

He raised a brow. Your fingers were quivering, and he noticed redness in the whites of your eyes. Were you crying?

“Of course, baby. You can tell me anything.” 

Sunghoon is worried now as he took both of your hands into his. He felt how cold they were, even more so than his.

“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blared into the locker room. That was him. He was one of the last five. 

He pursed his lips as he looked towards the door and back at you. Your mouth opened, just as flustered by the announcement.

“Let's wait,” you said in a rush, noticing the sweatiness of his palms. “It can wait.”

Sunghoon shook his head. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let these things linger.

“No, [Y/N]. Tell me what's wrong.” He stood his ground. Your eyes were watering, his gaze unmoving from yours. As you spoke, it was like the world around him went still. His chest felt heavy, throat so constricted he thought he would choke.

“I'm pregnant.”

No, he thought. It can’t be.

“H-how? We never– That’s impossible– We always use-”

His voice trailed off, afraid that if he said anything out loud, it would become more real. You pursed your lips, biting your top lip so hard that it drew blood. 

“Don’t you remember?”

–

two months ago.

You were laughing, he was laughing. You both looked insane, obnoxiously cackling at nothing, in the dimly lit streets that led to his apartment. You were drinking with the guys at a new bar, underestimating the power of tequila compared to the usual shots of soju.

Sunghoon's arm was wrapped around your waist, putting his weight on you to prevent himself from faceplanting on the ground. He had lost too many hands in poker with Jay and Jake, and instead of betting money, he took an extra four shots as punishment. It was a big mistake.

“They got lucky,” he blabbered, “If we played Go Fish, I would have wiped the floor with them.”

He was hiccuping, and that sent you into a further spiral of giggles. Sunghoon was always so darn cute when drunk, so different from his icy exterior. His cheeks were tinged with red, and his pupils dilated. You weren't doing all that well either, with your body so warm from the alcohol that you had shed your jacket on the ground just a few minutes earlier. Where that jacket was now is lost on you.

“Hoon!” you exclaimed, pointing at his apartment gate. “We did it!”

Sunghoon stumbled to get his keys from his pocket. Opening the gate and then going up the steps felt like an hour-long operation with how you two struggled. When he slid down the wall by the entrance of his apartment, you collapsed with him. 

The two of you, by his coat rank, staring into each other with heavy-lidded gazes and too far gone to even turn the lights on. By then, your movements were already out of your control. 

You traced the moles on his face like divine art, cradling his jaw with such care. Even in the drunkest of states, he looked so heavenly. He was so pretty in the moonlight. 

You pressed your lips against his, slowly at first, tugging at the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt. Sunghoon made a noise of shock before deepening the kiss, hands roaming everywhere until they met your waist. His lips were so plush against yours, hungry to taste every inch of you. Your tongues danced with an urgency you've never felt before. Nipping at your bottom lip, he coaxed small sounds out of you. 

Sunghoon lifted you, firm hands on your bum to sit you atop him. 

He broke the kiss to bury himself in the junction between your neck and shoulder. Sunghoon's lips found your pulse point, suctioning around it like he was drawing your heartbeat out of your body. You gripped his soft hair and tilted your head back to give him better access. He lapped at your neck, your collar bone, anywhere his tongue could access. He was addicted to the taste of your skin, to the taste of you. You always smelled so good, had him so riled up even in the most unassuming of moments. He remembered how you looked in the bar with this sparkly red dress. Remembered how it rode up every time you sat down next to him. Fuck. 

You felt him then. The tent of his pants and the friction of his hips as they hopelessly jut up to meet yours.

You whined at the contact. He was palming your ass now with both hands, massaging as he moved you up and down on the tightness of his jeans.

“Hoon,” you gasp. “Not here-”

He lifted his head to look at you, eyes so dark and full of lust. He wasn’t having it; you could see it in his face. His deliciously tense jawline. The bead of sweat running down his temple. You felt yourself clench around nothing just at the sight. How could a man be so gorgeous?

“Can't wait,” he hummed. “Need you now.”

He pushed your dress up your body, the material bunched at your waist.

You purse your lips in anticipation. He’s rock hard by now, and you can’t help but take it as an invitation to feel him. Your hands find his bulge, ghosting over his form. It jumped in response when you finally took hold, squeezing cautiously. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of the front of his jeans already damp with your fluids. Sunghoon enjoyed the view just as much as you did, his head tilted back to relish in your ministrations. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

Sunghoon’s hand, large and veiny, moved your panties to the side impatiently. 

"Hoon-" you gasped at the skin-to-skin contact.

His fingers traced the slit of your folds up and down, covering his digits with your slick. You found his swollen lips again to suppress your whimpers, saliva running down your joined mouths as you unzipped his painful-looking jeans. He was already prepping you for him, index finger cautiously pushing its way inside your plush walls. He groaned at the feeling of your fluttering warmth. Already, you were sucking him in.

“Always so fucking wet,” he muttered on your lips. You couldn’t help but grind down on him, a roundabout way of telling him to apply more pressure. To go harder. Rougher. To ruin you. He chuckled at your frustration. Needed to see more of it, more of you begging.

Sunghoon tested the waters and pushed in a second. Your moans were drowned out again by his merciless mouth. Tongues shoved so far down each other's throats, you swore you could feel him at the back of your neck.

He was fucking you onto his hand now, his palm making contact with your clit after every thrust. His forearm was tense, pace so relentless. Animalistic. You were practically bouncing on him, hands digging into his shoulder blades to chase your release. He loved the sight, wanting to hear you come undone just from his measly fingers in your dripping pussy.

“So desperate,” he hummed into your mouth. “Who's making you like this?”

Sunghoon was never this mouthy during sex, usually because he didn’t want the apartment next door to hear through the thin walls. But he had let go of all his inhibitions, the tequila still sitting fresh in his stomach.

“You, Hoon,” you cried out, legs shaking from the harsh pace of his fingers and your incessant grinding. “Please-”

You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but you knew he could give it to you. Knew he was the only one who could. Your mind was filled with Sunghoon and Sunghoon only. The effects of the alcohol had made you a bumbling mess, pleading and begging for more. Your back arches to meet his fingers better, but it wasn’t not enough.

He added a third to relieve you, watching as your mouth opened into a silent scream.

“Hoon– Need it– Please– I need–”

You couldn't find the right words, couldn’t even keep yourself upright without his support. Sunghoon’s hands roamed up your body as one made its way to the back of your neck. With his thumb, he pressed down gently on the pulse point he was nipping at just earlier. His eyes were heavy on you, watching you so intently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as your airways slowly constricted, as his thumb pushed against you. God, you loved the feeling.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” 

Lightheaded, you were practically gripping his bulge at this point. The sounds between your legs were borderline pornographic, his fingers drawing out every wet squelch as they sank and twisted in and out of you. You felt so full of him, three fingers so deep inside you. But you could take more; you wanted to take more.

“Speak up,” he drawled, his voice slurring from the tequila. “Tell me what you want, or I'll stop.”

You sobbed, clawing at his clothed chest as he let go of your neck to let you talk. You gasped for air as you let yourself fall onto him.

“Need you inside me,” you cried as he pistoned his fingers into you harder. You wished he could just rip your underwear so you could feel his rough palm grind onto your bare clit. “Please, please, pl-”

"I am inside you," he teased. And all you could do was wail, shaking your head out of distress.

"Hoon-"

Your movements were forced to stop as Sunghoon's free hand gripped your thigh. His fingers were curved into you, stroking that spongy spot that he always managed to find. He massaged your G-spot at a steady pace, anticipating your climax. You wanted to move, but he held you down roughly. Your eyes were forced to look into his, and you felt the floodgates of your release start to open. 

“No-,” you whined. 

You were close, so close. But your mind was made up. Well, at least what was left of it.

“Wanna cum with you. Can I, Hoonie? Please?” you beg.

“Fuck-”

His grip on you loosened. His hand slowly left your tight folds, and he admired the slick that coated his long fingers. He brought them to your mouth, motioning you to taste the juices he coaxed out of you. With your doe eyes looking straight at him, you swallowed around him. Tongue flattened and bringing him in deeper.

His other hand reached into the back of his pocket, fiddling around to find his emergency condom. The one that became a necessity to bring around you. 

Sunghoon's mind was all over the place. Your tongue lapped at his fingers, sucking them so harshly. He'd have given anything right now to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead.

He'd almost grabbed the condom until you pulled his boxers down. Your mouth released his fingers with a small ‘pop’ as his painfully hard member slapped his stomach. You positioned yourself closer, adjusting so that his thickness slid against your soiled, clothed pussy. You cursed your stupid underwear for getting in the way again.

“B-baby-” Sunghoon stuttered out as you moved your panties to the side once more, his raw cock lined up to your aching hole. “Just give me a second-”

His hand tried to reach for his wallet again, but you interlocked them with yours instead. You shook your head, grinding against him cautiously. You don't know what's gotten into you. It's like the tequila was letting you act out your deepest, darkest dreams — ones of him fucking his cum so deeply into you that you were dripping wet with his fluids.

“Please?” you asked hopelessly. Your breath hitched. His cock met your clit, his precum spread all over your folds. Fuck it. You were too far gone. “I-I wanna feel you.”

Sunghoon would like to think he had self-control. Would like to believe that he was calmer than most. But the way your pleading eyes looked at him, and how your legs trembled in excitement. His intoxicated brain couldn't tell right from wrong. He wanted to give you everything you asked for. 

“Fuck, are you sure?” he groaned as you aligned his cock to your entrance, pushing down slightly to envelop his tip. He lets out a hiss, teeth gritting from the feeling. You were so tight, so fucking perfect for him.

“Mhm,” you mustered, wrapping your arms around his neck as his large hands met your ass again. “It's okay…”

You were sinking onto him now, his head buried into your neck from the sensation. You two had never done it without a condom before, always so careful. But he wondered, as his large cock was slowly sucked into your soaked pussy, why he'd never fucked you raw before. Sunghoon swore under his breath as he felt you clench around him. Fucking you with a condom was ruined for him forever. He could never put one on again. 

“Fuck, baby,” he willed himself not to move too fast. The stinging stretch of him had you withering above him, but you didn’t care. Not one bit. You clutched his hair as you impaled yourself on him, so lost in the feeling of him penetrating you so slowly. 

He was fully sheathed inside you now. Sunghoon needed a second to recuperate, but you were making it so difficult for him.

"Fuck-" he inhaled sharply as you grinded down on his pulsating cock. You were so impatient, already so worked up from his fingers.  

You were suctioning him, trapping him in your walls like you would never let him go. His grip on your hips tightened as he growled into your collarbone.

“Baby,” he said sternly this time, finding some semblance of sanity. “Don't.”

You whined, your hips stuttering through his tight grip on your ass cheeks. You wanted him to plow into you like you were his personal toy. Was there anything wrong with that?

“Why?” you drawled out, desperate for movement, for anything. Your eyes met his, and even through your drunken haze, you understood. He was close, already so on edge from feeling your raw pussy. And that made you want him even more.

You swore your hips moved on their own. You lifted yourself, shallowly thrusting yourself against him as he tried to hinder your attempts.

“N-no,” he grunted. “Too soon-”

You giggled as his hands were on your back now. Despite your protests, he did not stop you in any meaningful way. 

His grip on your ass was replaced with him pulling the straps down of your dress and bra to free your bouncing tits. He cupped them as you raised yourself higher, until just the very tip of him was left inside you. You took a deep breath, pushing yourself down on him without assistance. You moaned, feeling his heaviness in your lower stomach.

“Fuck-” he cried through clenched teeth. Sunghoon’s head was against the wall now, hands massaging your breasts so eagerly. 

He tugged at your nipples, pinching them between his index finger and thumb. Such a sight for sore eyes, seeing him so fucked out underneath you as you bounced on his cock. You wished you could engrave this in your memory. His parted lips and glistening forehead. 

You grinded your hips so helplessly against him, hands on his knees as you squeezed him through every downward thrust. 

“Baby, s-slow down.”

You're determined now, even as you start to feel that fluttering ache in your core. You wanted to do good for him, wanted to make him lose control like you would whenever he had you pinned to the bed and crying.

“Hoon, speak up,” you teased, mimicking his earlier words. “Tell me what you want or I-”

You couldn't finish your sentence as his hand meets the back of your neck, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands traveled down to your thighs, squeezing them roughly.

He thrusted up into you harshly, his grip on you guiding his movements. His pace was even more merciless than yours, not giving you time to catch your breath as you felt your inner walls contract around him. 

No! 

He needed to cum first. It was always you who came undone before him. You just needed to hold out, just for a few more seconds-

And in perfect timing, he found it. That part of you that had you practically screaming into his mouth. He smirked against your lips and hoisted you closer, fucking up into you as his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of your thighs. Your insides churned with a tingling feeling, like something needed to be released. You pulled yourself away from his lips.

"No… Hoon-"

"Take it," he grunted. "You want it, right?”

You cried as his thrusts grazed your G-spot over and over again, his tip kissing your cervix at the right angles. 

“So fucking take it."

Your eyes roll back, the sensation was stronger and stronger until-

"Oh my god-"

Your climax hit you like a ton of bricks, crashing down on you so unexpectedly that your walls wanted to hold his raw length in place. Sunghoon continued his thrusts, not caring for the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You had your fun. Now, let him have his. 

His hands spread your ass cheeks apart, guiding you down onto his painfully hard cock with fervor. Sunghoon felt his high inching closer as he pumped in and out of your wetness, ignoring your cries of overstimulation.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned into your neck. He's there. He felt it. You braced yourself for his sweet release. 

“Need to pull out...”

Your eyebrows furrowed, expression laced in devastation. As if on instinct, you clenched around him. You wanted it. Whatever ‘it’ was. 

“In me,” you babbled through strained moans. “Please, Hoonie?”

He grit his teeth. That damn pet name. You were evil, so fucking evil. With your pretty tits and batting eyelashes. Who was he to deny you? His thrusts were erratic, admiring as your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”

His hips stuttered up into you. White, hot spurts met your cervix as you reached another orgasm from the sheer feeling of his release, mouth wide open. Your hips gyrated against his, easing both of you through your releases. His head rolled back, jaw clenched, and eyes wired shut as he felt you milk his cock of everything he was worth. 

You watched as a white ring formed around his cock was buried deep in you, still a little hard. You rested your body against his. Your eyelids were heavy, so content and warm in ways that only Sunghoon could bring out in you. 

“I love you,” he sighed into your hair, his own lethargy getting the best of him. “So fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

And as ridiculous as it sounds, the two of you slept in that position for hours. Two bodies connected at the entrance way of Sunghoon's studio apartment. When the sun came up and you realized what was done in your drunken states, you two panicked for the wrong reason. Did the neighbors hear? What happened to your jacket? Were you gonna get a UTI?

–

Sunghoon's cheeks reddened from the memory. It had to have been that night.

“A-are you sure?” he stuttered. 

You nodded solemnly. You knew it wouldn't be good news for him. It wasn't for you either. 

You were almost done with university. It’s supposed to be the year you figured out what you wanted out of a career. So when your first wave of morning sickness hit you just a week earlier, you knew every plan that you had would be forever ripped from your fingers. 

To travel the world. To start new hobbies. It would all have to wait. This would be your life now.

When you told your mother, tears streamed down her face. She called you everything underneath the sun. But she knew what it was like to carry a life unexpectedly, so she hugged you through it. Your dad’s reaction was worse. He hadn’t spoken to you yet.

“Two months along,” you whispered. Though he could never regret that night, he realized now how stupid it must have been to ignore the alarm bells in his head. He knew better. You knew better. Why the fuck did it end up like this? 

“So…” He gulped. He didn’t know what to say. “What now?”

“I…” you started. Heaving a deep breath, you felt him tense up. 

“I want to keep the baby,” you swallowed. Sunghoon’s mouth was parted, and his eyes were blank of emotion. 

It made you anxious, his lack of response. 

When he didn't reply, you started again. “What should we-”

“Sunghoon Park. Sunghoon Park. Please be on stand-by,” the overhead speaker rang out. He didn't mean to, but like muscle memory, his hand let go of yours. Guilt crashed over him, and he couldn't bring himself to look into your wavering eyes as he walked past you. 

The competition. This was his last chance. Coach Jung's voice resounded in his head. Don't mess it up.

“Hoon-” 

Your voice fell on deaf ears. His hands covered his face again, trying to refocus. He couldn't throw this away. Years. It took him years to get to this point. He couldn't. He had to skate. 

Tears spilled over as you watched his back retreat away from you. You should have waited to tell him, but he had asked. He said he wanted to know. 

Your back slumped against the wall of lockers, clutching your stomach as you cried. You couldn't bring yourself to go to the stands and watch him perform.

You knew it was dumb. You weren’t ready, not even close. But still… You wanted to try.

But him. Sunghoon.

You leaned your head back against the cold wall, breath faltering through your tears. What did you even expect? That he'd be happy? Excited?

You let out a shaky laugh.

Of course not. It's not like you were either.

You stood up, dusting yourself off.

You'd figure out a way to do this, you convinced yourself. If it meant that you were by yourself, that was fine. He didn't have to be there. He had big dreams, ones that predated you. You understood, even though it hurt. 

“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!” 

The cheers that ensued soon after made your chest constrict just a little more. You just couldn’t bear to watch him skate now. It was all too much.

You trudged towards the ice rink's exit, arms crossed around you like you were holding yourself. You were proud of him, so proud. He worked so tirelessly for an opportunity like this. Missed sleep and took a gap year from college to pursue this. He wanted it so bad, and though it was heartbreaking to watch him walk away, you knew why. You could talk later, you convinced yourself.

But the thoughts still echoed in your head.

A professional figure skater couldn’t be a father—not now, not at his age. You knew that. God, you hated that you knew it so well. His life wasn’t what most people imagined. There was no glamor in it. 

It was practices at the crack of dawn in freezing rinks and endless flights to cities he barely saw beyond hotel rooms. He could only fund basic living expenses with what little he earned from winning. He had a part-time job working the graveyard shift at a convenience store to even afford competition fees and dates with you. 

He gave everything for this dream—his body, his sanity, his youth. 

But he tried. In everything he did, he tried. That was the worst part.

Because even with all that trying, you still knew. That there would be no space in his life for the tiny heartbeat inside you.

You knew he'd have to quit. There was no way around it. Raising a child takes too much time away from the rink. 

If he stayed, if he chose to be in this child's life, he'd have to give it all up.And it would be because of you. 

But this was your life too. Your body. Your future. And no matter how tightly you clung to the image of him at your side, holding your hand in the delivery room, learning how to hold a newborn with trembling fingers—you had to be honest with yourself.

You wanted this baby. Even if it meant letting him go, even if that meant standing alone with a life you never planned for, you’d do it.

Because you knew that if it ever came down to choosing between his dream and you, it would always be-

“[Y/N], wait!”

You stopped in your tracks, stunned to hear his voice so close. Like he was here and not on the ice. You didn’t even notice that music stopped permeating the walls of the rink, that the announcer had moved on to the next contestant. He was running to you, socks thumping on the ground like he had taken his skates off only a moment before. 

No. It couldn't be. 

He reached you, his arms wrapped around you from behind. You heard his shaky breath against the back of your head. His thumb rubbed your forearms, planting a small kiss on your hair.

“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon blurted out when he felt like the silence between you two was suffocating. “Together.”

You turned around to face him, panicked.

“Sunghoon, no,” you tried to push him away, but he pulled you in closer. “You need to go-”

“No.”

You looked at him, pain etched in every part of his beautiful face.

“But that's your future,” you cried out, mustering everything in yourself to not melt in his embrace. He was making a mistake. He'd hate you for the rest of your life if he-

“No,” he said again, much clearer. More determined. “It’s you.”

His hand drifted to your stomach, and he smiled this time as he looked into your teary eyes.

“You're my future.”

You shook your head incessantly. “Hoon, you're not thinking straight. I should've waited to tell you. You're not in your right mind. You need to go back and-”

He silenced you with his lips, so soft—like it might break you if he were any less gentle. You fell into his touch, unknowingly pulling him closer. He kissed you again and again, hands holding yours until your tremors faded with his touch.

“I love you,” he would say between each peck. “I'm not letting you do this alone.”

And you smiled, a real, genuine smile.

“I love you too.”

–

You moved in with him in that tiny studio apartment, shortly after, sharing a bed that barely even fit his tall frame. The cradle he built took up the majority of the living area.

But it was nice, waking up with him every day. He talked in his sleep, would whisper your name in that sweet voice of his so lovingly. Some days, Sunghoon wouldn't let you lift a finger, would insist that you needed as much rest as possible before your due date. You had to convince him that your job as a receptionist was certainly not so physically taxing that he had to follow you to it every day.

You also got married. It was simple. Just Sunghoon and you in a courthouse with Jake and Jay, trying not to stifle their laughter as witnesses to your marriage ceremony. You wore the white dress your mother wore, and Sunghoon wore his best suit, tie tied by you.

“Say cheese!” Jake chimed as you two posed with your signed certificate. The two of them cooed at your growing belly.

You were showing now, a small bump that Sunghoon admired each time he saw you do your online classes on the kitchen counter. He never got around to buying a desk, even though he was also back in school full-time. 

He had that dreaded conversation with Coach Jung beneath the dim lights of an empty rink. Sunghoon told him quietly, almost like an apology, that he’d be hanging up his skates until further notice. He wanted to be there for you at every step of the pregnancy. If he was going to stick beside you, he was going to do it right.

Coach didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. The disappointment on his face said everything. 

And so Sunghoon hadn’t touched the ice since.

He couldn’t bear to set foot in that rink anymore. Not when he knew he’d only be watching from the stands.

Not when the sound of blades carving through the ice was coming from someone else’s skates.

Not when he used to relish in the cold air passing through his body. Now, the only wind on his face came from passing cars as he biked to his second job.

He picked up a shift at a nearby restaurant. Just as a server. The kind of job that reminded him how painfully ordinary he was without his skates. Sometimes, when no one’s looking, he’ll shift his weight just right and practice his landings in the break room, arms out, knees bent. 

Other times, he scrolls through YouTube during his graveyard shift at the convenience store, searching up his own name with trembling fingers, watching old performances through a phone screen. Reading comments. Trying to remember what it felt like to matter to people he never met. 

You noticed, probably more than you let on. You just tried not to pry. He would get distant when you mentioned it, like that part of himself needed to be tucked away and out of his sight. You knew he was afraid, terrified to look back and see everything he gave up. 

But when Sunghee was born, it was like his world started to make sense again. He held her like she was made of glass. Sobbed so loudly the first time he saw her, you thought he was in pain. 

But no, he was just overwhelmed. Taken by the way her tiny hand curled around his finger, how her cries quieted the moment he held her close.

He’d protect her, he swore to himself. That this—her—wrapped up in the pink hospital blanket, was his life now.

And maybe, for a moment, he believed that was enough.

But the thoughts never stopped. His eyes would flicker toward the old duffel bag in the closet, where his skates were still packed away. He gave that up. For you. For her. And he’d never say he regretted it. But you knew.

You understood what he was grieving. Because you grieved too.

That girl who used to dream of making art, she felt like a ghost now. Someone you used to know.

Your passions, the things that once lit a fire in you, now sat gathering dust. All shelved quietly the moment your body became a home for Sunghee.

And your parents. You were still trying to reassemble the broken pieces of your relationship with them. Your mother tried to be there for you in her own way, but her disappointment was loud in the quietest moments between you two. And your father… well, he still hadn’t really looked you in the eye since the day you told him. 

And though she was born healthy, Sunghee came into the world screaming. She was a loud baby, inconsolable most nights, and the exhaustion had tested Sunghoon and you.

You took turns because you had to. He’d rock her until sunrise, then stumble to his classes. He started falling asleep during his breaks at work, cheek pressed against cold metal tables.

He didn’t care much for his own health, but the bags beneath your eyes pained him. Your face, once bright and curious, had dimmed under all the sleepless nights and rising costs of diapers. You were both burnt out.

He dropped Sunghee off with his parents for one night and dragged you out to see your friends. It was Jake's going-away dinner.

“It’s so hard to meet nowadays,” you sighed. “Feels like I’ve been nursing a migraine for the past three months.”

Jake laughed.

“Sad I won’t get to see her grow up,” he said as he poured himself a beer. “Make sure to bring her to Australia one day. She deserves to see her coolest uncle play football.”

Niki rolled his eyes.

“No one’s paying for that long-ass flight to see you benchwarm,” Niki mumbled, chewing on some chips. “Have her come see me dance instead. At least I’ll be in the center.”

Jake smacks his friend on the back of the head.

“No need for any of that,” Jay chimed in. “She won’t have time for either of you. Papa bear here probably already has her future all mapped out. Skates on before she can walk.”

An awkward silence filled the room. The joke was lighthearted, but it landed too close to a wound no one had dared to touch in the past year. Sunghoon gave a quiet laugh, a hollow one without warmth. He brought the bottle to his lips and didn’t look at anyone when he spoke.

“Yeah... she’ll be a star.”

He eyed the ceiling, pondering what she would look like. Maybe just like him. Graceful. Passionate. “Olympic-worthy. Could probably win gold if we find the right coach early enough.”

You pursed your lips and stared at the condensation running down your glass. 

Sunoo cleared his throat, noticing the tense atmosphere. He raised his glass with forced enthusiasm. “To our beautiful Sunghee,” he cheered. “And to Jake’s success!”

Sunghoon smiled, but not really. He was happy for his friend, sure. But behind his facade, envy sat heavy on his tongue.

‘This night could have been for you. They could have been congratulating you. And you gave it all up. Now look at you. You’re a nobody.’

You couldn’t help but watch him throughout the night as he grew quieter, his sips of beer more like chugs now. You rubbed circles on his back like you always did when he got like this, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. But his eyes stayed glued to the back corner of the bar.

As you patted him, he pulled your wrist away. Not harshly. Not angrily. Just a simple tug. He set your hand back on your lap, his gaze straight ahead and away from you.

“I’m okay,” he assured you, but you didn’t believe him. Not then. 

Not ever, really.

-

Though time passed, life never got easier. The weight of responsibility pressed harder on your shoulders with each passing year. And while you both smiled through milestones and made do with the small hiccups in your relationship, you were content with this life. Doing laundry on lazy Sundays, Sunghoon singing nursery rhymes to Sunghee before school.

But after the birth of your second child, Sungjae, it had all started to rot.

Sunghoon’s longing for his old life never faded. It stewed in him, creeping into his thoughts at his corporate job after finishing university, haunting him on bus rides home. 

The bills piled higher. Your patience wore thinner. Conversations turned into quiet disagreements and tired sighs. You no longer fought. You didn’t even have the energy for that. Just two ghosts of your former selves moving through the same rooms, sleeping in the same bed, wondering what could’ve been. 

-

thirteen years later. the present.

Sunghoon adjusts his tie, furrowing his brows as he sees how crooked it is from the reflection of the mirror. He gives up halfway through. Fuck it, it would be a no-tie kind of day. He exits the bedroom, his footsteps making loud echoes on the way down the spiral staircase and towards the all-marble kitchen. He inhales slowly as he smells the fragrance of smoked spices dancing around his nostrils. It was enough to make his mouth water.

“What's cooking, good-looking?” he says, entering the kitchen with a wide grin on his face.

“Ew,” a voice rang out, soft and disgruntled. Sunghoon turns the corner and almost laughs at the sight.

“Shut up,” Sunoo scoffs, clad in an apron and silk pajamas. “Don’t say corny shit like that in my house until you get your act together.”

Sunghoon takes a seat on the barstool of the kitchen counter. He watches Sunoo maneuver the wide expanse of the kitchen like an expert.

“I'm a dad,” Sunghoon sighs out. “That’s kind of our thing.”

“Yeah, one going through a divorce,” Sunoo snaps back, monitoring his frittata closely on the stove.

Sunghoon's shoulders slump. Of course, the only friend willing to let him stay for an indefinite amount of time was the one most critical of his life choices. Sunoo insisted, in fact. Said his place was “feeling empty” anyway.

“So,” Sunoo coughs, acknowledging he might have taken it too far with his earlier comment. “Any word from her about the court date yet?”

Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his watch as it nears 8:30 a.m. He'd have to leave soon to get to work. His boring, dull job as a fiscal manager at blah blah blah corporation. Even he barely knows what he does for a living.

“Can I borrow your car?” Sunghoon asks, ignoring his friend's question. He doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't want to speak anything into existence, even if it was already happening. 

You asked for it two weeks ago. A divorce.

He's been living with (mooching off of) Sunoo since.

“Which one? The Bugatti or the Ferrari?”

Sunghoon gives Sunoo a side-eye, and the younger fails to stifle a laugh. He never wastes a second to flex on his friend, the only one out of their friend group who worked at a 9-5 job in total and absolute misery.

Heeseung's a streamer, Jay took over as CEO of his father's company, Jake was still playing football in Australia, Jungwon started his own Taekwondo studio, and Niki was traveling the world as a choreographer. And of course, Sunoo wound up in a big old mansion with his modeling career.

Sunghoon thought he'd end up like them. He got the right experience after university to find a stable job that didn't involve slaving away at customer service gigs like he did before.

He thought he'd move up higher in his company by now. Have a team to call his own, like Jungwon had, or make “small, high-impact decisions” like Jay claims he does. But none of that ever came. His heart was never in it.

Sunghoon sighs. 

“Whatever gets me from Point A to Point B,” he mutters. Sunoo cuts a piece of frittata from the skillet and plates it. He slides it over to his older friend and tosses a key from his pocket.

“Take the Kia Soul.”

Sunghoon groans. “You're fucking with me.”

–

“Mr. Park,” his coworker chirps into his ear. “I was wondering how your KPIs were this week…”

Sunghoon lets him drone on as he types on his computer. No private office, just a cubicle by the elevators. He hates how people tend to gravitate towards him for small talk. He's not very good at it. Never has been. It was a common joke within his family that he skated more than he spoke growing up. 

You dragged him out of his shell when you met, cracked him open with your bright-eyed gazes and addictive laughter. He’d planned to keep his head down when he was younger. No distractions and no detours. Just figure skating.

But how could he not fall in love with you?

He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts aside before it settles in too deeply. He reminisces too much.

It’s like the past is all his mind drifts off to these days.

He leaves work on time. Gets stuck in traffic, like usual. And drives to the home you two once shared. A routine he's used to by now. 

He sees your car in the driveway and groans. He knew if he sees you, you'd bring up the papers again. Those stupid fucking papers.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as he enters the once-familiar home. You've made changes to it since he's been gone. He squints to get a better look. In just two weeks, the kitchen's completely repainted with a soft green instead of gray. The living room was completely rearranged, and family pictures were taken down from the walls.

Sungjae is sitting on the couch, playing with his iPad. He only looks up for a second before he gets back into whatever is playing on his device. Sunghoon knew he should have hidden that thing before he left. Or, he guesses, before you kicked him out.

“Where's your sister?” he asks, practically into the void.

As if on cue, Sunghee walks down the stairs. Her eyes are already rolling, and she's still wearing her pink pajamas and bunny slippers.

“Get dressed, princess. We're gonna be late for your practice!”

Sunghee tsks. 

“C'mon,” Sunghoon adds with a forced smile. “You missed the last two practices already. You're gonna fall behind-”

“Dad, I already told you I want to quit,” she cuts in. “Can't you just take a freaking hint?”

Sunghoon stares blankly at his daughter, trying to hold back the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon doesn’t know where she gets the attitude comes from. It's like when Sunghee hit the age of 13, she morphed into a walking stick of dynamite with a terribly short fuse.

“Well,” he begins, voice tight but even. “Why don't we push through it for today, hm? You know, back in my day, I wasn't always up for the challenge, but-”

“We get it dad!” she groans. “'Back in my day' this, 'if I were you' that. No one cares!"

It stings him more than he cares to admit. 

"Sunghee," he says, slower this time, the edge creeping into his voice. 

She just scoffs at her father's serious expression. She's never been scared of him when he's angry. That was always your role. 

"I’m not going," she stands her ground, crossing her arms. "You can't make me. If you wanna go so bad, then go to that stupid ice rink by yourself.”

Sunghoon inhales sharply, planting his hands on his hips to seem more assertive.

From the couch, seven-year-old Sungjae snickers.

“Listen here, young lady-”

“Listen here, young lady…” Sungjae mocks, in a tone much like his father's. Sunghoon whips his head to his iPad kid.

“And you, young man-”

“Sunghoon,” you say sternly as you appear at the staircase. “I already called to cancel. Indefinitely. Even if you take her now, she won't even be able to join the other kids.”

Sunghee sticks her tongue out at her father, prancing to the couch to pinch her younger brother's cheeks.

He blinks, brows knitting together. “What? Why would you do that without telling me?”

"Sorry, was that a decision that needed your approval?" you ask sarcastically. "You can't make her do something she doesn't want to do."

Sunghoon scoffs, pointing an accusatory finger at you. But he stops himself. His gaze flickers to the kids, who pretend like they're not watching from the living room.

He swallows down whatever instinct tells him to argue right here, right now. You two never fought in front of them, an unspoken rule. Even if you were technically separated, he would not break that now. 

“Let's talk in our room,” he whispers closely, and you roll your eyes.

“My room,” you correct, already turning to head back up. You don’t see it, but he tries not to flinch at your harshness.

He closes the door behind you two, the air thick with tension. He starts again.

“Why are you making decisions without me already?” he asks, trying to keep his tone level. “You cancel her figure skating classes and repaint the kitchen? Why are you-”

You sigh, already tired.

“We've been talking about repainting that ugly kitchen for years, Sunghoon,” you sigh. "You never wanted to actually get started on it. Sorry, I actually make time for the things I want."

So this is the direction you wanted the conversation to go in? Fine. He can be passive-aggressive, too.

"And Sunghee? Didn't you think to run that by me when I’m the one that pays for those lessons?"

You grit your teeth. He sees where Sunghee gets it from now, your hands crossed over your chest in disdain.

"Have you tried listening to her about practices? She gets injured all the time! Coach Jung is horrible to her. She’s miserable-”

His jaw tightens. “You don't think I was too? Half the time, I hated skating! But that’s what it takes. You think greatness just feels good all the time?! And the kitchen was fine. I don’t get why—”

"She's not trying to be great, Sunghoon!" you cry exasperatedly, your hands thrown up into the air. "She's not trying to be you."

You point your finger at his chest. “And you always think everything's fine. Until it's too late.”

Your words hung in the air, his eyes meeting yours. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he says finally, quieter this time. 

You retract your hand, nervous under his gaze. It’s intense, familiar in a way that still sends sparks throughout your body, even now. Even after everything.

“Stop trying to force your dreams onto her,” you finally let out, and you see his eyes waver. "Just because it didn't work out for you doesn't mean you can try again through her."

“That's not what-”

“Look,” you interrupt him, turning away from him to face the wall. “All I'm saying is that maybe this is your wake-up call. Things change. Not everything that you want is going to happen. Maybe learn to change with it.”

He scoffs.

You turn back around to face him. He's angry, but his face doesn’t give it away. It’s his trembling hands, how his posture straightens just a little too stiffly.

“A little too late to change when my whole life was already laid out for me,” he says through bated breaths. “It’s not like I ever had a choice where I’d end up.”

Your heart sinks. “And it's all my fault, right?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, his gaze softening at your hurt expression.

“I didn't say that-”

“But it's what you think, right?” You try to look strong. You think of all the nights he lay awake replaying his old skating clips in the glow of his phone screen. The way he cheered for Sunghee during competitions, like his voice alone could ignite the passion she didn’t have. The muffled sniffles from the shower after the last Winter Olympics ended. You saw it all. You always did.

Sunghoon is silent, and you fight the sting in your eyes.

“I never asked you to marry me,” you say as low as a whisper, cutting through the silence.

“But I did,” Sunghoon says quickly. Desperately. “And I wanted to.”

You draw out a laugh, bitterness dripping through.

“I'm so sorry, Sunghoon,” you say, sarcasm spilling over your lips. “I'm sorry this isn't the life you wanted. But newsflash: you're not the only one living with regrets. ”

He steps forward, but you move back. The weight of everything presses against your chest now that the words are out. Now that it’s not just his pain taking up space in your relationship.

“You act like you’re the only one who lost something,” you say, softer now. “But I gave up things, too. I had dreams too.”

You don’t mean it cruelly, and he doesn’t take it that way. But it hurts, still.

"And I'm done walking on eggshells around you just because you can't stand the fact that you aren't living the life you wanted.”

You take a deep breath and continue.

“If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met-"

His hand hovers over your cheek. His lips, so dangerously close to yours. “Stop it.”

His voice is shaky.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

You don't pull away, but your gaze does not waver. “I mean it. Genuinely.”

You don’t see Sunghoon’s heart break at that moment. But he feels it. Feels the tightness in his chest, the way his throat closes up, like your words were enough to kill him.

“When did you become so cruel?” Hurt laced his voice.

“And when did you start resenting me?” you bite back, but the words barely escape your throat. 

He doesn’t answer, just leans in and kisses you. And you let him.

Because maybe this is the last time you’ll feel him like this. Maybe this is the last tender moment you two will share.

His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You feel your own breath catch, and for a second, you almost melt into him.

“I love you,” Sunghoon says, but it sparks nothing in you.

Instead, you hear everything he didn’t say. He didn’t say no or that you were wrong. So maybe he really does, you thought to yourself.

His kisses almost make you forget. Almost enough to blur out the long winters and how distant he gets. How painfully silent he is at the dinner table, eyes always somewhere else. 

His lips guide you through it all, each kiss igniting a memory.

How his shoulders sagged the day he started that full-time job. How his smile, once so quick to bring out of him, turned into something you had to search for. How the light in his eyes, so blinding when he was on the ice, dimmed, little by little. 

His hands trail under your shirt now as he peppers kisses down your throat. 

“I miss you,” he sighs. 

How he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and leave without a word, how you’ll see his location is at the ice rink, probably watching the Zamboni circle around. But he'd never bring his skates with him.

His lips meet yours again, deeper this time. His knee finds its way in between your legs.

You couldn’t do this anymore. It’s been far too many times, letting him wiggle his way back into your good graces. This was it. You would choose yourself this time.

Your fingers close around his wrists, gentle but firm. The warmth of his skin against yours nearly breaks your resolve, but you force yourself to meet his eyes. Even though it hurts.

“I think you should leave.” 

You release yourself from his hold. Sunghoon's expression is unreadable, but you know by now it's a facade. 

You could not carry his pain with you any longer. You needed him to let you go, just as much as you needed to let him go.

“Baby...” he starts, voice fragile.

“Don't,” you say quickly, lips pressed tight. “You can't call me that anymore, Sunghoon.”

His heart aches. He was supposed to be Hoon to you. Your Hoon. When did that change?

But he doesn't ask. He just watches you, eyes dark and full of all the things he never figured out how to say until it was already too late.

“The papers...” you pause, swallowing hard. You see a flicker of panic flash across his face. 

“They're on the kitchen counter. Take them before you leave.”

–

Sunghoon did not take the papers. 

In fact, just like Sunghee suggested, he went to the so-called “stupid” ice rink by himself. 

He sits in the highest row of the stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The kids glide around the ice below. Parents he used to talk to are filming on the sidelines, their laughter echoing faintly off the cold, hard walls.

Envy coats his skin.

Coach Jung is barking commands at the kids. He sneaks glances up at Sunghoon every so often, trying to be subtle. But he knows what that look means. It’s pity. 

At one point, Coach Jung had pulled him aside to tell him that Sunghee wasn't built for the sport. Not like Sunghoon was. She was too stiff, too in her own head about spinning in the air. She never cracked a smile when she was on the ice. She always kept her head low and movements small, as if it was still scary for her after years of practicing.

It's not like Sunghoon didn't notice, but he always thought she’d come around to it. He was pushed into figure skating by his parents, much like he was doing for her. It wasn’t like his passions ignited overnight. ‘It could be her dream if she let it be,’ he thought to himself.

Why couldn’t she let it? Why wouldn’t she even try?

Sunghoon sits in the stands, even after the kids pour out one by one and the lights start to dim. Coach Jung offers one last, forced smile before disappearing into the locker rooms. Sunghoon stays until he’s the only one left under the lights.

The Zamboni comes in, shaving and washing the ice to be used for the next day. When the machine finishes, the driver climbs out and heads up toward the stands. He's in his early twenties with blonde hair and dark eyes. He's moving towards Sunghoon with a smile.

Sunghoon stands up, a little intimidated by the younger man. His back turns to go up the stairs and to the exit, wanting to avoid a conversation.

“You're always here at night, sir,” the guy calls out. “Do you have a special connection to this place?”

Sunghoon stops in his tracks. He used to get recognized all the time. On the streets and in this very place. He used to mean something.

He turns around and gives a polite smile to the young man. He points at one of the many banners that hang from the ice rink walls. “Park Sunghoon” was in bright gold colors on each one. 

“I used to train here,” he says, with a hint of pride. “National champion for ten straight years, from when I was 11 up until I was 21.”

The guy whistles softly, impressed.

“We could use you, you know?" he says. "I think they’re looking for a new coach. Heard the old one's retiring soon.”

Sunghoon flinches. “Coach Jung? He hasn't told me yet. My daughter trains with him.”

He can't bring himself to use the past tense with her just yet.

The young man just nods. "I think he's planning to announce it after the next competition."

Sunghoon feels his chest constrict. He shakes his head. Another person leaving.

“I guess everything’s changing…” he whispers, but it did not fall on deaf ears. The stranger moves closer to him. "We're all so old now."

The stranger sighs. “Youth can be so cruel, can't it?”

Sunghoon, in his confusion, scoffs.

“The opposite, actually,” he argues. “Life's easier when you're young. Anything was possible back then.” 

He takes a second to continue.

“And it all can be taken from you,” he mutters, more to himself. “Before you even realize it.”

“That's the worst, isn't it?” The young man chimes in. He's sitting where Sunghoon was earlier. “When you wonder what could've been…”

Sunghoon’s mouth twists into something like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That's all I think about,” he said, surprised at himself for opening up to a stranger. And it's true. 

What if he hadn’t stopped skating? What if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?

He sits back down, next to the Zamboni driver.

“We all have regrets,” the young man says, looking ahead, voice soft.

Sunghoon stares up at the ceiling and lets out a breathless laugh through the silence. Flashes of you overcame his vision. Nights of hushed arguments and facing away from each other on the bed. Nothing went his way after the World Championships. He lost it all. His passion. His dreams. You. 

“Why does it have to be that way?” he asks no one in particular.

A silence fills the room. The blonde turns his head to face him. “Maybe you could live a life without one, Park Sunghoon.”

He stills for a second.

“How did you know my na-” And as Sunghoon turns to face the stranger, he is met with nothing. Like the man was never there in the first place.

–

He's driving in that ugly, neon green Kia Soul, making his way back to Sunoo's egregiously large mansion.

Sunghoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens every time he checks the rearview mirror. He can’t shake the feeling like he’s being watched. That guy… the way he talked, like he knew him. Not just his name, but everything underneath. 

But screw that guy and whatever cryptic bullshit he was spouting. Screw his perfect friends, rich and successful. Every time they reunite, it’s like a reminder of everything Sunghoon’s not.

And screw the way Sunghee and Sungjae don’t even look at him like he matters. He tries. God knows he does. But they don’t know him. Don't know who either of you were outside of being their parents.

And you know what? Screw you and those damn papers too-

SCRREEEEE.

In an instant, his world is spinning out of control. Airbags deploy as Sunghoon jostles in a car that tumbles with him. The last thing he remembers is flashing lights and the loud sound of a crash. A sharp pain shoots through the left side of his body, and he feels as if he is coming in and out of consciousness. 

Sunghoon's eyes blink open, but he's not lying where he thinks he should be. It’s not the inside of a casket, nor is it a hospital room ceiling. He lies there with a cold and familiar feeling.

Ice.

Instead of the wrinkled suit he threw on that morning, he’s wearing sweatpants and a fitted black top. Not a scratch on him. No blood, no bruises. 

Was he dead?

“Is just one axel hard for you now, kid?” a voice calls out. 

He recognizes it almost immediately. Coach Jung. Sunghoon sits up, yanking his gloved hands from the coldness. What the fuck was happening?

“Get your ass back up and do it again,” Coach Jung shouts from the sidelines. The music starts again. Sunghoon’s eyes flutter shut, and he swears it's muscle memory. He knows this routine. The one from that night. The night he met you.

He moves. Instinct takes over. Jumps, spins, the sharp sound of his blades cutting clean into the ice. Every turn and landing exactly where it should be. He’s smiling from ear to ear now, almost childlike.

And if he were dead and this was the last thing he'd ever experience, then maybe dying wasn't so bad. He’d stayed off the ice for years, terrified that if he felt this weightless feeling again, that his regrets would consume him. 

“Perform like that and you'll win no matter what,” Coach Jung calls out as the music fades. Even breathless, Sunghoon felt like he could do ten more spins across the ice. His heart was racing. Everything felt so real. The soreness of his muscles, the cold air against his skin, the echoes of Coach's voice.

“What day is it today?” Sunghoon asks abruptly. "And what year?"

He’s pinching his wrist now, nails digging in and almost drawing blood. He flinched. It hurt like hell. Was this not a dream?

“Kid, did you hit your head when you fell?” Coach Jung laughs. 

And when he says the exact date, Sunghoon's confused. It wasn’t like today was anything special. Just a random Tuesday. So why would this moment, 16 years ago, be where he ended up after crashing his car? 

Looking at the reflection of his younger, more athletic self in the mirror, he just couldn't believe it. No matter how much he slapped his face or banged his head against the locker room door, he was still here. In this younger body.

He's walking home from practice now. His phone buzzes in his pocket of the boys’ group chat, the old one they used to fill with dumb inside jokes before you and the other significant others joined the group. But your name is yet to be in his contacts. 

And then he remembers. It’s three days before you’re in the stands of the smaller national competition he won many years ago. 

He’s not one to panic, but his thoughts are running in circles. Did he actually go back in time, or is this all in his head?

He sees someone in his periphery. A man around his age, standing near the curb, waving. Casual. Like they’ve met before. And they have.

The Zamboni driver.

He has a sinister smile, one that sends shivers down Sunghoon’s spine. Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He marches forward and grabs him by the collar. “Who the fuck are you? Is this happening because of you?”

The man smirks, clearly amused.

“You wanted to try, right? A life without regrets?”

Sunghoon glares at him, confused.  “What?”

“Park Sunghoon,” the blonde says sternly. “This is your last chance. Use it wisely.”

Before he can respond, the man shoves him back.

“What are you talk-”

And as he blinks, the stranger disappears. His head starts throbbing uncontrollably, and ringing sets in his ears. He hears a voice then, yet he can’t recognize it.

“What will you choose in this life?”

Even as the reality of everything he left behind starts to settle, he feels a strange sense of calm wash over his grief.

He knows what to do.

-

three days later.

Sunghoon sees you in the corner of his eye as he’s tightening his skates. You’re sitting with your friends, ones who had encouraged you to come and watch him. Back then, he was all anyone on campus could talk about. The quiet freshman with Olympic dreams who just missed his opportunity last year. He was skating harder than ever, pushing himself to the edge. Skipping classes. Shutting out everything but the rink. 

Until you came along.

He remembers your first date. He'd asked awkwardly, “How come you like me?” because he genuinely didn’t understand.

It’s not like the plushie you threw was the first with a phone number taped to it. Not even the tenth. He got plenty of confessions growing up, but he wanted to know why. What made anyone interested in an introverted and one-track-minded guy like him? He had no hobbies outside of figure skating, no real conversation skills that went past awkward greetings.

Yet, you teased him with that Cheshire grin of yours. 

“How could I not?" you say so casually as his heart bloomed. "I’ve never seen someone pour so much love into what they do until I met you. You know what you want. I admire that.”

Your words stuck with him. He’d never forgotten it. And even now, those words echo in his chest as he skates to the center of the ice.

The music starts, and he lets himself get lost in the rhythm. As he glides across the ice, there is nothing on his mind. He just takes it all in. The roar of the audience. The sound of skates hitting ice. It’s all he ever wanted.

The routine, like in the past, was met with a standing ovation. The screams of those in the stands overwhelm him. He goes to each section of the rink, bowing as tears threaten to spill over. It’s all too much. And not enough.

Then, he reaches yours. Sunghoon finds you in the sea of people like he did before. Your hair is down, and your face is softer. He chokes back on his tears, so enthralled by your beauty. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

He bows, more deeply than to the other sections.

You throw that stuffed penguin through the air at the perfect time as it lands by his feet. And as Sunghoon rises from the bow, your eyes are on him again. Expectant. 

You don’t know him yet. Not really. You aren't aware of the pain to come. The fights. The distance. The way he’ll drain all the color from your life. 

As he turns to move to the final section, he catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes. A frown is present on your beautiful face. He wants to make it go away, but he can’t. Not in this life.

And so the penguin sits on the ice, lifeless, as he skates off the rink.

–

That night, he skips the afterparty. He goes straight to his shitty studio apartment, the one with the thin walls and peeling paint, and collapses on the bed.

He buries his face into the sheets, the fabric dampening his sobs. The crowd’s cheers still ring faintly in his ears, but now it all sounds hollow. He screams then, into the mattress, at the thought of Sunghee and Sungjae. His babies. The only pieces outside of you in his old life that made it worth fighting for. Would they ever exist in this version of his life?

He tries to steady himself. Tells himself this was for the best. That your life would be easier without him as your words echoed in his head.

"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."

No years wasted, no sacrifices stacked on top of each other until they became resentment. No nights spent worried about bills or appeasing your parents, who never really quite liked him.

He wants to believe he’s doing you a favor.

But the tears don’t stop. Not when he thinks about the weight of Sunghee in his arms the first time he held her. Not when he remembers teaching Sungjae how to read with his tiny hands clutching the book, his eyes lighting up at each new word.

He’s letting it all go. All of it.

This was supposed to be his second chance. To live his dream without regrets. To see what it felt like. 

And it felt like hell.

–

The next few nights were abysmal. Practice became unbearable. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. His body hit the ice harder whenever he missed a spin, which was every time at this point. Coach Jung eventually pulled him aside, clearly frustrated.

“Go home, Sunghoon. Straighten yourself out and get the hell off my ice.”

But home didn’t feel real. None of this did.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep skating like this, not when every turn reminded him of you.

Sunghoon had to see you. Just once. Just enough to know you were okay. He told himself the kids would still exist somehow, even if your love story started differently in this version of life. That thought was the only thing holding him together.

He freshens himself up to go to campus, not having touched his backpack in weeks. He remembers your route like the back of his hand. Morning coffee at the cafe just off campus, right before your 9 AM. He will intercept you here, at this corner of the street.

Sunghoon's in a black turtleneck, wearing the glasses you would always steal off of him. The one that made you squirm under his intense gaze. The air was chilled, and his hands were buried deep in his navy jeans. He sees you coming into view, and he almost extends a hand to wave. 

But he sees him, too.

Beomgyu. Your ex. The one who would ask your friends how you were doing, knowing full well that you were married with kids. The one who eventually became a guitarist for a band he would pretend not to like. Sunghoon had asked you to block him from everything before, and you complied. It hurt to admit that his insecurities were still present even now, in another life.

Sunghoon hides behind a tree as he watches you two struggle through the cold. Your shoulders are close but not quite touching. He feels his heart rate accelerate, his lips pursed to prevent himself from saying anything that would compromise his hiding spot. 

“Beomgyu, you don’t have to walk me to class,” he overheard you say with a laugh. “I’m okay, really.”

Sunghoon’s hands balled into fists. Why did your voice sound an octave higher than it usually does? 

Beomgyu had the nerve to laugh, and it took Sunghoon everything in himself not to jump out.

You once told him that Beomgyu was your first love. Your high school boyfriend. You had ended things on good terms at the end of high school to find yourselves in college.

“Good,” Sunghoon once said. “Because you found me.”

And now here you were, looking happy. Grinning from ear to ear. What was there to smile about? 

“Doesn’t this remind you of old times? You used to stuff your hands in my pockets-” 

And though Sunghoon almost wills himself to leave the spot behind the tree, he doesn’t. Because he needed to watch this. Needed to watch you live the life you would’ve had without him. The easier one. 

He sees it now in the way your nose would scrunch to laugh at Beomgyu’s jokes. How you playfully hit the boy’s shoulder and hide your giggles with the sleeve of your puffer jacket. 

Maybe that’s why the stranger had chosen this year. To taunt him.

Look how happy someone else could make her. Was he the only reason why you were miserable? How much did he really hold you back? 

And so Sunghoon steps aside, shoving his hands back in his jeans. The icy wind cuts through his reddened cheeks. He asked for this. And he’ll have to live with it in this life.

Sunghoon turns around to give you one last look. But he also sees Sunghee, in her Elsa costume for Halloween. Sungjae asking for a mountain of kimchi at every restaurant. Your hand reaching for his across the dinner table.

He’ll have to live with it.

–

In the next three years, Sunghoon put his all into skating. He is consumed by it. Throws himself into it like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His professors have to send him emails to remind him not to neglect his studies. His mother scolds him for missing holidays at home because he travels so much for competitions. But Sunghoon doesn’t care.

He loves figure skating. Loves the endless cheers from the crowd when he lands a clean program. Loves the headlines, the trophies lining his apartment shelves, the constant buzz of being "the nation's pride." It’s everything he knew he wanted. 

But, there’s always that one seat in the stands. The one you used to sit in during his competitions, holding up a handmade banner and shouting his name louder than anyone. 

Now, the face in that seat changes all the time. Some new fan. Some stranger holding a sign that doesn't mean anything to him.

He tells himself the past doesn’t matter. That this version of you, the one who laughs in cafes with Beomgyu, who’s always posting photos from new cities, new hobbies, new lives, wouldn’t even recognize the girl he remembers.

The girl who used to sit cross-legged on his couch, studying while he iced his ankle. Who wept with joy the night he won first at an international competition.

Now you’re in a photography club. A painting class. Pottery? Really?

You travel more now than you two ever did in your 16 years together. He scrolls past your updates with a numb thumb, telling himself he’s glad. He guesses that he did the right thing. 

And every time he walks past you with Beomgyu, smiling with all your teeth, it lingers. Those damn words are repeating in his head again.

"If I knew this was how we'd end up, we should have never even met."

Now he gets it. He guessed that he held you back from so much. Look at you with your wonderful friends and the amazing life you live without him! He scoffs. You deserve it.

You adjusted to him and his demanding training schedule, canceling plans with people so that you could maximize the time you had with him in the rare chance that he was in town. Maybe Beomgyu never would’ve asked you to sacrifice like that. Maybe he would’ve waited for you to come home from your clubs, instead of dragging you to cold rinks and rushed meals together in between practice sessions.

Sunghoon's fine. He swears on it.

Wake up. Go to class (if he feels like it). Skate for hours. Push through the pain. Go home. Cry into his pillow. Rinse and repeat. 

The Olympics are a year away. The World Championships are in two months.

And the night you two conceived Sunghee is tomorrow.  

–

tomorrow.

He wills himself to stay home, even when the boys suggest he hit up a few bars and clubs. It's the weekend after all. 

But Sunghoon is used to making excuses by now. Blames it on his training schedule, his diet, Coach Jung. Whatever would get Jake off his back. 

So when Sunghoon hears a knock at his door, and three boys pull up already reeking of alcohol, he’s surprised that he finds himself in that exact bar where he promised himself he wouldn’t be.

It’s just like before. Same music, same sickening smell of spilled tequila and too much cologne from Heeseung. And, as always, he’s bad at poker. Worse than he remembers. He’s downing a shot after every loss until his head is spinning and he can’t remember the rules anymore.

“I’m gonna… go… pee…” he tries to say, but his words get lost in mumbles and drooping eyes. He miraculously stumbles towards the restroom and does his business in the urinal. He’s dousing his face with water after barely washing his hands, and he smiles at his reflection. God, why didn’t he want to go out again? 

Sunghoon exits the restroom, shaking his wrists to expel the water from his hands. And his breath catches. He sees you.

Your back’s to him at first, your sparkly red dress riding up on the stool just like it was that night. You’re laughing at something the bartender says. And he swears for a second, time stops.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe it’s the years of missing you bottled up too tight. But he starts walking over before he can stop himself. 

“Hey,” he says plainly, elbow hitting the bar. You turn towards him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

He'll be different in his first impressions this time. More experienced and confident than the shy fool he was when he met you. He'd match this new version of you, too. Show you what you were missing out on.

There’s a confused smile on your face.

“Hi.” He looks at you more clearly, his vision impaired from leaving his glasses at home and the tequila shots in his system.

“You come here often?” He’s too out of his senses to stop himself from saying it. But he doesn’t regret it because you laugh. He does too.

“You say that to every girl, Park Sunghoon?” 

His heart skips a beat. “You know my name?”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of the cocktail that the bartender just handed you.

“Call me a fan,” you smile up at him, and he swears he could have melted right then and there. “Your face is everywhere.”

Sunghoon licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I wish I could see more of yours,” he grins. “I think I’d skate ten times better if I saw you in the crowd.”

You scoff jokingly. “And here I thought winning was enough for you.”

It should be. It was supposed to be.

He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. That he’d leave you alone. He would let you go about your life, forget him, and be who you wanted to be. Who you should have been before he came to your life.

But here you are, impossibly close, and every part of him is begging not to let you go.

"You... you single?" he asks, trying to be casual. But his voice catches at the end. He wants to know. Needs to hear from your own lips if you actually chose Beomgyu in this life.

Relief washes over him when you shake your head.

"Wouldn't be talking to you if I was," you say with a teasing grin. Electricity shoots through him as he watches you. Too bright, too much. This short conversation, one he never planned on having, could never satisfy him. He could never get enough of you.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks before he could stop himself, arm outstretched for you to take. Your face stiffens, and he almost thinks you’d say no until your fingers wrap around his arm.

“Where to?” 

–

You barely make it past his front door before he has you up against it. His hands hold yours above your head, pinning your body against his. Sunghoon’s lips move against you ferociously, an unending battle between your tongues. You try to match his movements, but he is starved beyond belief.

You have no idea how badly he missed this.

Three years since he last heard you speak to him. Three years since he’s felt your lips. And the last time was when you asked him to pick up some stupid divorce papers from the kitchen counter. He needs this. Needs this more than breathing, more than eating, more than skating.

Sunghoon lifts you to wrap your legs around his middle. His hands find your bottom, giving a gentle squeeze that has you arching into him. He didn’t want to scare you, but he couldn’t will himself to stop. Your scent was too intoxicating for his mouth to ever leave yours.

You tap at his chest to push him away softly. With bruised lips, you whisper, “Can we go to your bed?”

He could almost moan just from the sound of you. His sweet, beautiful wife. Still so perfect for him.

His grip on your ass tightens as he maneuvers you through the studio apartment you once shared, laying you softly on the bed. Sunghoon wonders why you two just went at it like animals at the entrance way when the bed was only a few steps away back then. This time, he would savor it. Savor you.

He follows you down as he trails kisses on your neck. You crane it for him like you used to, giving him access to your most sensitive spots. His hands trail underneath your dress, teasing the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission. All you could do was nod, opening your legs wide for him to continue. His dick twitches in his pants. You drive him insane.

Sunghoon peppers a few more kisses on your collarbone as his index finger prods carefully at your clothed pussy. 

“Already soaked,” he whispers into your skin, pressing the pads of his fingers onto your underwear. Liquid courage still very much in his system.

He feels bold right now, eager to impress. He doesn't know who you've been with in this life, but he'll make you forget them all. Fuck you so good that you forget those experiences. Remind you that he's your husband for a reason. His fingers hook the side of your ruby red panties, gliding them down your plush thighs.

“I bet I’d go in so easily, huh?” his drunken voice slurs out. "So fucking wet."

When you nod again, he tsks. So silent, and for what? His fingers find your clit, ghosting over it. You arch to lean into his touch, but his hand retracts.

“Use your words, baby,” he says darkly. “Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”

You groan, eyes shut in frustration. “Can’t you just fuck me?”

He laughs. Always so uncharacteristically vulgar when horny. He loves it. He loves you.

“Can’t I get a taste first, baby?” he says, his face already inching downwards. He pulls your dress all the way off you, so that your breasts are finally exposed. Your satin red bra matched your panties like they were made to be seen tonight. He didn’t know why that fired him up so badly. 

Would another man have you like this if he didn't make a move?

He dips his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your clit. You gasp at the suddenness, not knowing how much you’ve angered him just from your underwear choices. His tongue moves downwards, lapping at your folds like a man dying of thirst. His hands pinned your legs to open even wider, and you writhed underneath him.

“Please-” you beg, hands gripping his hair as his tongue plunges into your wetness. Sunghoon’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation. He could never, ever forget this taste. 

He pushes his tongue in and out as deeply as he can with his curled tongue, grinding against the mattress for any semblance of stimulation.

He would make love to you tonight. Until you remember who he was. Until you remember the life you built together.

His tongue does one agonizing lick all the way up to your clit, and your back arches just to feel him better. He’s sucking it harshly, tongue flicking at it in all the right ways.

“Sunghoon-” you cry out, your feet digging into the mattress to push your hips up to meet his ravenous lips. He pulls away and glares up at you. Your hips fall.

“Why’d you stop?” you whine, pushing his hair back down to your core. It takes everything in him not to laugh. He adores you like this. Desperate for him. Needy for him. Shaking in pleasure for whom? Him.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispers into your inner thigh, nipping at it slightly. He chuckles at your confused expression. “Hoon. If you’re gonna moan my name while I fuck you, I need you to say it properly.”

Your cheeks warmed. Heaving out a groan, you nod your head anyway. 

“H-hoon,” you test out. “Can you please continue?”

He smiles mischievously. “With what?”

You huff out in frustration. “I swear if you don’t fucking make me cum right now I’m going to-”

And his lips smash down on yours to shut you up. His hands replace his tongue as his middle finger draws figure-8s on your clit. He pulls your slickness from your folds and up to that sweet spot, relishing in the indecent noises between your legs.

Your moans are muffled by his tongue, body twitching underneath his. You taste yourself, so sweet on his lips as he caresses the most inner parts of your mouth. So dirty and so wet. He knew every part of you. Knew what made you cry, knew what made you scream. And fuck, he will make you scream. 

He pulls away from you to admire his ruthless pace on your clit.

You are clenching around nothing as your nails dig into his shoulders. He coaxes a gasp out of you as a coil in your stomach starts to form.

“Want me so fucking bad, don't you?” he teases, his other hand on the nape of your neck. Sunghoon tilts your head down to show you the mess you were making. 

His sheets are stained with your arousal, and his fingers are drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with such fervor. You catch a glimpse of his painfully clothed member. 

He was right. You wanted him so desperately, wanted to feel him inside you at that very moment. Your breath hitches. Fuck. You felt something building.

Your hips start to rise again, and it’s hard to formulate a sentence.

“Hoon! Oh my god– Fuck it’s– It’s–” You cry out as Sunghoon’s pace quickens, motivated by the sound of your moans. His other hand tries to anchor your thighs down. You feel it as you start to lose vision in your eyes. His thumb is rubbing so intensely that it draws a whine right out of you.

The coil inside of you snaps.

“Fuuuck…Ngh…”

A wave of pleasure washes over you, and you feel your juices coat your folds, dripping more than before. 

You're squirming underneath him, thighs twitching from the stimulation. He slows his pace, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.

His cock was in pain, desperate for it to make contact with any part of you. In this life, one thing he developed over the past three years of watching you in the shadows was patience. And you had none.

“God, just put it in,” you groan so casually, resting your forearm to shield your eyes away from him. You were so fucked out. Hair splayed all over the pillow in messy waves. Lips bruised, your cherry gloss staining your chin and his cheek.

So eager to just have him take you. If he were a weaker man (maybe Beomgyu), he would have listened. But like he said earlier. He would savor this.

His fingers travel down to your folds, one dancing at your entrance to tease you. Sunghoon smirks as you whimper. He pushes a finger in and bites his lip at the feeling. He hasn’t felt you, or anyone for that matter, in ages. In these past three years, he couldn't bring himself to even talk to another woman who wasn't you. It didn't feel right.

All the lonely, and frankly sad, nights touching himself to thoughts of you. Fucking himself on his wrist as he remembers all the nights you’ve shared in your 13 years of marriage. He had plenty of material to work with, with all of your past escapades, but it was nothing like the real thing. Nothing like feeling you again.

“Sunghoon, stop teasing me-”

His finger stilled, and you thought about cursing him out. He pulls your forearm away from your eyes, forcing you to look into his.

“Want to try that again?” he says, threateningly slow. The darkness of his gaze was enough to have you pliant and doe-eyed.

“Hoon?” He smiles, kissing you on the forehead softly.

“Good girl.” And just like that, he dips another finger in, scissoring them into you with precision. You’re a mess underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck. He needed you to be ready for him. His heaviness was throbbing painfully just thinking about how you'd take him after all this time.

How long would it take you to adjust to his size?

Sunghoon’s fingers squelch with each thrust, finding the soft spot he was so familiar with. He’s obsessed, drinking in the sight of your eyelashes fluttering, your hands gripping at his shoulders like your life depended on it. You were so wrapped up in your own pleasure, fucking yourself onto his fingers. Grinding up at him without a care in the world. 

“Look at you,” he laughs. “So needy.”

Sunghoon pulls his fingers out of you before he brings them to his lips. He hums, relishing the taste. He’d have to go down on you again later tonight. Taste you after his cock has had its fill.

You watch him in anticipation as he takes his pants off. You follow his lead as you unhook your bra, throwing it across his floor, sighing at the feeling of cool air hitting your nipples. Sunghoon pulls his throbbing member out of his briefs, pumping himself languidly. 

Sunghoon's eyes meet yours for a second before they go back to your cunt. He's churning something in his mouth, and you almost ask him what he was doing until he positions his mouth just above your folds. 

With sultry eyes directly gazing up at yours, Sunghoon lets his saliva drip down onto your pussy. 

You throw your head back on the pillow from the sight. Fuck, that was hot. He moves back up to you, guiding his hand to spread his spit with the tip of his leaking cock.

His dick smears your joined liquid in an up-and-down motion, pushing in ever-so-slightly. You gasp and clutch his chest, nails digging in enough to get his attention. He stops.

“I’m not on birth control,” you mutter, like you’re scared to tell him. 

“Should I stop?” he asks, even with his tip pulsing so desperately between your folds. You avoid eye contact, though he doesn’t know why. 

“Look at me.” he growls.

Sunghoon tilts your chin to face him, and with glossy eyes, you shake your head. He smiles, and a tinge of sadness hits him. You look so soft underneath him, so fucking beautiful.

He’s spent three years stuck in this version of his life, crying over you to avoid this very moment. But he just wanted you so bad. Wanted to feel you at least once again. Then, he’ll let go, he swears. This will be the first and last.

“Use your w-” 

You interrupt him with a kiss, wrapping your legs around him to push him deeper into you. He groans, collapsing onto his elbows. You dig your heels into his back as you pull him in deeper. Sunghoon's lips leave you to lay his forehead against yours. His breathing grows heavy, so lost in how your hole sucks him in.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, testing the waters with a small thrust after bottoming out. You squeak in response. “Fuck, baby.”

He wraps you in a tight hold, propping his knees underneath your thighs into a mating press. He fucks into you at an agonizing pace. It's so slow, you could feel every part of his rigid cock. His large size. His thick veins. The soft pulsing. It's so slow that you almost flip him over to ride him instead. But the desperation in his eyes stops you. His head buries deep in your hair, and you could hear the shakiness of his breath as he pulls out of you and plunges back in.

Sunghoon relishes the way you clench around him, your tight warmth pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He drives himself into you with languid, but strong thrusts. He wants to engrave his place inside you so that you are ruined for anyone who might come after him. And again, he angers himself.

"You only this good for me?" he asks, searching your eyes for reassurance. But you aren't listening. You meet his thrusts, grinding yourself onto him. You want more. More of his touch. More of his length. Just more of him.

“Faster–” you whine, thighs pushing into his sides with each hard thrust. He was reaching the deepest part of you, your cervix kissing his tip ever so deliciously. Sunghoon doesn’t abide, so you take what he gives you.

"You this desperate for everyone, baby?" he whispers into your ear darkly. You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes.

"No..." you muster out. "Just you."

And even through all the tequila and the self-restraint not to jackhammer into you, he believes you. 

His hands are on your tits now, catching them as they bounce with the strength of his slow thrusts. He twists a nipple between his fingers, coaxing a moan out of you. He tugs and pulls, and it's enough to have you moaning underneath him.

You feel that familiar fire build inside of you. An ember that burned in your lower stomach and traveled down to the very tip of your toes. 

“Hoon! Please- Fuck- I need... I need-” 

You couldn’t form full sentences. His thrusts were so harsh and still so painstakingly slow. His eyes never left your face. He basked in the way your brows furrowed for him. How your lips formed silent screams as he hit that certain spot within you. Again and again.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips so close to yours. “Tell me who you need.”

“You!” you cry out. "Only you!"

He smashes his lips against yours as he finally thrusts into you hard and fast. His hands on your breast travel down to your waist, locking you onto the mattress as he fuck into you.

You feel something pooling, feel the tingling of your toes intensify with his breath against your face. His moans are just as loud as yours, grunting in your hair like a beast.

“You feel so fucking good–” his hips piston forward, brushing against that spot with every movement. Your chest is pressed into his as you claw at his back. The sensation builds and builds as your stomach starts to tighten.

“Hoon- Oh my god- I’m-Angh!”

Your second orgasm rips through you, the tension within snapping like a chord. It's so much stronger than your first one. It hits you in waves as you weep through it, your hips grinding up to meet his unending thrusts. You were so sore, so sensitive, but his pace stayed so relentless. 

“Close– So fucking close, baby–” he moans into your hair.

He clutches your hips, driving into you with reckless abandon. Even if you had no idea who he was, he would have your body remember him. Sunghoon, in this life, would be your best one-night stand. He swears on it.

He grunts as he feels you clench around him harder, his hips stuttering against yours.

“I’m gonna–” He tries to pull out, tries to push you away. Tries not to repeat the same mistakes. But your arms pull him downward as legs wrap sternly around his waist. You push him in deeper.

And he comes. Hard. 

“Fuck-”

Sunghoon plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips, drowning out his sweet noises as he feels his raw cock twitch deep inside. His hot cum spills deep inside you with thick spurts. Your lips parted at the warm feeling, and he could tell you enjoyed every bit of milking him dry. 

Sunghoon pulls away from you with a soft groan. He watches as his cum spills out of you. He brings his finger to your folds, pushing his fluids into you. 

As he meets your eyes, he’s shocked to see how concerned you look. Because unbeknownst to him, there were tears streaking down his face. And before he can fully sober up and stop himself, he says it.

"I love you."

–

You’re gone before he wakes up.

Sunghoon screams into his pillow, recalling his words like a bad nightmare. Stupid. So stupid. This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be different.

That stranger, whoever he was, said this was his last chance. And what did he do? He threw away three years of silent pining just to chase you down on the very night the troubles in your relationship had begun.

Was he a fucking idiot? 

You never even said goodbye, never even replied to his confession last night. Didn’t even leave a trace of what last night meant to you—if it meant anything at all. He must’ve looked insane.

Sunghoon grips the back of his neck, exhaling hard. You don’t know him. You aren’t the same girl from his past life. You're different now. Three years. That’s how long you’ve had to become someone else.

And him? He hasn’t changed at all. He’s still chasing ghosts. If it wasn't figure skating in his past life, it would be you in this one.

He sighs and sits up. Practice. He should go to practice.

–

two months later.

“Are you messing around, kid, or do you actually want to win this thing?!” Coach Jung shouts after Sunghoon falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. His palms sting from the fall, but he barely feels it. 

The World Championships are in a week, and he hasn’t heard a single peep from you since you left his apartment. Hasn’t seen you on campus in his usual routes to watch you from afar. He knew he had reached a new level of patheticness when he actually went up to Beomgyu to ask how you were.

Turns out, you two weren't even as close as he thought you were. He smiled to himself after that, but frowned when he realized that it truly was as if you had disappeared.

“Sorry,” he huffs, out of breath from the demanding routine. “One more time?”

Coach Jung pinches the bridge of his nose. “How about ten more, you punk? Get your act together.”

Coach mutters something under his breath and storms off, leaving Sunghoon alone with the cold silence of the rink. He tries again. Falls again. He smacks his gloved hand against the ice, hard enough that the sharp sting shoots up his arm. He should’ve known. The moment he got a taste of you, he knew this would happen. 

No matter when or how, he would always bother you. He would always lose himself. He would always manage to ruin everything.

“Are you living the life you wanted, Park Sunghoon?” a voice echoes behind him. He spins on his skates. 

There he is again. The blonde prick. Somehow, he’s in his sneakers and standing still on the ice. His hands are smug in his coat pockets.

Sunghoon doesn’t take the time to question it until he’s skating at breakneck speed towards him.

He swings at him, but the stranger disappears into smoke. 

“Or do you still have regrets?” the voice is behind him again. Sunghoon turns around to the stranger, giving him that annoying, shiteating grin. 

“I want out,” Sunghoon says with a strained jaw. “Bring me back. To Sunghee. To Sungjae. To her. Now.”

The blonde laughs. “You haven’t even done what you set out to do yet. Wasn't this what you wanted?”

Sunghoon lets out a bitter sigh, chest tight.

“I get it, okay?" he says with wavering breaths. "I was selfish. I asked for too much. I get it now. So just... please. Please, send me back.”

The boy steps forward. His sneakers make no sound on the ice. Inches away from Sunghoon now, just a little taller than him. 

“You don’t always get what you want in life,” the stranger says with that sick, twisted grin. It sends a rush of dread through Sunghoon's body.

“I thought you would have learned that by now.”

–

the world championships.

He’s in the locker room. His left leg is bouncing up and down, nail splitting as he gnaws at it incessantly. Only ten contestants ahead of him, but he has the time to panic. Just like he did before.

Coach Jung pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t think too much. You're gonna psych yourself out.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, unlocking his phone to check the time. The lockscreen, snow falling past a dark streetlight, holds his gaze longer than it should. He sighs.

“I'm not nervous,” Sunghoon replies, unconvincingly. “It's just cold.”

Coach Jung rolls his eyes.

“You're not new to this, kid,” he doubts the young man. “You're gonna do great out there. This is what you've been dreaming of. Just don't mess it up.”

And when Coach Jung shuts the door behind him, Sunghoon puts his hands to his face. And instead of self-affirmations, he is trembling. Barely breathing, he replays the memory again. Of him spinning you in his arms. Of your kind smile.

Sunghoon told himself not to expect you. In this lifetime, you'd only met once. Only fucked once. But he still thought... maybe the universe would be kind. Maybe you’d show up like you did back then.

“Can the remaining five acts please be on stand-by?” the overhead speaker blares into the locker room. That's him. He's one of the last five. 

There’s no one to hold him back this time. No distractions. Just an aching in his chest. 

Sunghoon's by the stands now. He watches with shaky hands as the crowd ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ at his competitors’ routines. He hates watching before his turn. 

His eyes naturally fall on a seat in the stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes to check if he was hallucinating. 

Someone sits there. Not a stranger. Not this time. It's you. Your brows furrowed like you were forcing yourself not to enjoy his competitor’s performance. Wearing the same outfit. He huffs a laugh under his breath. What are you doing here?

As the routines passed one by one, he could not take his eyes off you. Even from afar, your eyes glisten so beautifully. The same eyes that once glowed, helping the kids with homework. The same eyes that looked at him across the table after long days and short tempers. His wife. The mother of his children. The version of life he gave up for this one.

Now, he would have to settle for this. Longing stares and a heartbeat he could hear in his ears.

“Next to skate, representing the People's Republic of Korea. Sunghoon Park!”

He steps onto the ice with a big smile on his face. He forces it out, forces himself to act fine when you cheer at the sound of his name. He takes his pose at the center of the ice.

The music begins. His edges wobble, nerves bleeding into the blade. He practiced day and night, no distractions. Not even you. So why… Why was this happening? 

He takes in a deep breath as he prepares himself for the first spin. He’s skating backwards, building up momentum. He pushes off the ice. Toe pick hits.

Sunghoon rose high. He spots himself. One. Two. Three. Almost four– but his shoulders tilt, the axis too loose. The rotation slows. A half-second of weightlessness gives way to gravity, and he’s tumbling onto the ice hard. 

Gasps echo through the arena, and then applause as he brushes himself back up and onto his skates again.

He gets up. He keeps going. Muscle memory takes over. The rest of the routine is clean. Almost perfect, but not enough. 

The first quad... He fucked it up. He bows, head down, as if apologizing for even trying.

And when the score is announced while he's sitting on the sidelines, his body is limp. He barely reacts, face blank with emotion.

He could blame you for it. Pretend you were the reason why his routine didn't score high. But the truth is, he stopped believing in excuses a long time ago.

Years of hating himself led here. All this time, resenting the path he took, only to fuck this one up, too. 

Sunghoon had to laugh. He deserves it. Of course he did. The low score. You leaving him. The heartache. 

Everything he thought he was capable of, everything he pushed aside to have this moment. None of it mattered without you. 

As he rises from his seat on the floor, he searches for you in the endless crowd of faces. The other competitors pass by him with pity; he sees it in everyone’s faces. But they don't matter. 

Because you're gone. Your seat is empty. 

"Kid-" 

He pushes past Coach Jung without looking back. There's nothing left to say.

Sunghoon pulls his skates off skillfully, breaking into a sprint towards the exit. He runs with only socks separating him from the floor. 

Then he sees you, clutching your stomach and moving toward the exit. His breath catches. Somehow, he knows. He's seen it all play out before.

“[Y/N], wait!”

You stop in your tracks, hands trembling. You turn around, and he is already clutching your face, kissing you so deeply. You would have every right to push him away, to call him a creep and spit every insult at him. But you don’t, and he doesn’t understand why.

Instead, you lean into his touch, fingers fisting the thin fabric of his blouse. He’s the first to pull away, forehead resting against yours.

“Why are you here?” he asks. It’s not the only question he has, but it’s the first that comes out. You’re crying now, eyes wide, mouth parted. But why?

“I was just…” You try, but you fail to find the right words. “I just came to support you?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. He doesn't buy it. Not for a second. Your voice faltered. He knew better now not to let things linger.

“You came to tell me something,” he says knowingly, replaying the scene of the past in his head as it happens right in front of him. He smiles sadly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “What is it?”

You flinch.

“I can’t,” you whisper, the first barrage of tears falling down your face. “It'll ruin you.”

He laughs then. Quiet. Tired. Even in this life, you were so selfless. He doesn’t deserve you. Never did.

“You always say that. Even now.”

He takes your hands into his.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks, taking the words right out of your lips. Your mouth opens in shock.

“How did you-?”

“We'll figure it out,” Sunghoon interrupts softly. He was smiling now. Sunghee was here. She was growing inside you. “Together.”

For a moment, something shifts. You search his face like you’re looking for confirmation. And just like that, you pull away. What? It stings. 

This didn't happen before. Why were you-

“You went back," you say. "Didn’t you?” Your voice sounds foreign now, laced with hurt. It’s his turn to look confused. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, hands reaching for yours again. You avoid them, and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“You… You went back in time like I did, right?” Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “That’s how you knew.”

He freezes.

It clicks. Like cold water hitting his skin. He remembers the first time he saw you in this life. How carefully he avoided you. How he left the penguin plushie behind, just like before. How badly you’d looked at him after that. It all makes sense now.

“I didn’t want to avoid you,” he musters. “I had every intention of finding you again. I passed by that damn cafe every day just to see you-”

You shake your head, but he keeps going, vomiting out word after word.

“I even tried to talk to you, but you looked so happy. All I could think about was the last time we spoke. How you said you regretted us. Watching you with Beomgyu, or whatever his name is-"

“Sunghoon-” 

“I was fucking miserable-” His voice cracks.

“Sunghoon-” You’ve never heard him talk this much. Never seen him look so broken.

“And I couldn’t even fight the guy who dragged me into this mess. I was stuck. Thinking about you. About us. About Sunghee. Sungjae. God, I missed you all so fucking much it hurt to breathe—”

“Sunghoon, please—”

“And I should’ve just caught that stupid penguin. I should've just relived our memories together. I should’ve been a better man, a better husband, a better father. But I just keep fucking it up. Every single time, even now-”

“Hoon!” you shout, grabbing his face with your hands. His words die off. He finally breathes. You don’t look angry, not at him at least.

“I know,” you say quietly. “Because I didn’t put my number on the penguin.”

His mouth parts slightly. "Wha-"

"I thought I was the one who messed it all up," you confess. “When you didn’t pick up the plush, I thought it was because of me. Because I tried to change things.” 

You swallow back your tears as he listens to you intently, your hands sliding to his chest.

“I thought you’d be better off without me, too.”

You let out a bitter laugh.

“I tried to fill the space,” you continue. “Tried to pick up things I couldn't before. But all I think about was Sunghee and Sungjae."

Your eyes waver, lips pressed together tightly.

"And you," you breathe out. "I saw you skating, training so hard, and you looked happy. I couldn’t bring myself to take it away from you again.”

You pause, lips trembling.

“So I made a plan. I thought—if I could just get Sunghee back, maybe one day I’d find you again for Sungjae.”

You both let out a shaky laugh.

"So then I went to the bar," you sigh. "I wore that red dress and I just hoped you would find your way to me again-”

“Of course I would,” Sunghoon interrupts, kissing your temple. “I always do.”

“And it worked.” You look at the ground like you're ashamed. “The test was positive. I wasn’t planning on telling you.”

Sunghoon takes your hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes assure you.

“And then you fell during your routine,” you whisper, a sad laugh slipping out. "I thought… I avoided you all this time for nothing.”

He laughs too. “I wasn’t even going to win anyway.”

Sunghoon pulls you back into a hug, stroking your hair ever-so-softly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For making you ever feel like I regretted choosing you.”

And you didn’t know you needed to hear those exact words until you sob into his chest.

Sunghoon soothes you. He’s had enough crying. All he is now is grateful. The pain, the mourning. It all led him here. 

“This time we’ll do it right,” he assures you. “I love you. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

You pull away from him, eyes wet but smiling.

“I love you too.”

And you tilt your head as he reaches down to kiss you. With your eyes both closed, the world around you spins. Just you and him. In each other’s arms. His lips are soft against yours.

And a voice unfamiliar to both of you echoes in the air.

“I hope you can live a life without regrets.”

–

Sunghoon’s eyes open groggily, pain shooting through his spine almost immediately. All he sees are sterile hospital walls and Jay and Sunoo’s concerned faces.

They hover over the foot of his bed, their faces a mix of worry and irritation.

He blinks, scanning the room. Wires. A blood pressure cuff. An IV drip. Another bed. Then your eyes flutter open too.

“You know, with how the divorce is going, we thought you two crashed into each other on purpose,” Sunoo chirps, unempathetic to the dazed state of his friends. Jay smacks him on the shoulder.

“You’re lucky I managed to get you both a private room,” Jay mutters. “The nurses kept whispering about you two in the ICU.”

Sunghoon turns his head slowly, wincing. You’re awake now, alert, your expression matching his. His chest tightens. And almost in a panicked daze, his head snaps back to his friends.

“Sunghee and Sungjae–” he strains out, pain shooting through his lungs. “Where are they?”

Jay furrows his brows.

“They weren’t in the car with [Y/N], if that’s what you’re worried about,” he starts. “They’re looking for a vending machine with Heeseung and Jungwon-”

You both let out a shaky breath. For a second, relief replaces pain. Your eyes meet his for just a second before the door bursts open.

“Mom! Dad!” Sunghee's voice cries out. She’s running towards you two now, but Heeseung stops them.

“Whoa there, princess. They’re fragile.”

Her eyes are red, as if she had just finished crying. Sungjae's behind Heeseung, tugging at his jacket, worry etched across his little face.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” Sunghee blurts in your direction. Sunghoon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. “They don’t have it on camera, but they said your car hit Daddy’s!”

He feels something warm bloom in his chest. It’s been a while since Sunghee sounded so protective of him.

You shake your head frantically. “No, darling. My brakes stopped working! I could never hurt your dad. He and I love each other very much-”

You stop yourself, but it's too late—cheeks already warming at the shifting gazes of the four grown men in the room. Jungwon fakes a cough.

“Love? As in, present tense?” he teases.

Sunghoon has the biggest grin on his face, and Sunoo scoffs as his eyes pivot between the two of you.

“Did you both hit your head in the accident?”

Heeseung clears his throat. “So, why don’t we take the kiddos to dinner, hm? Looks like Mom and Dad have some catching up to do.”

Sungjae nods excitedly. “Please! They're so icky.”

The adults usher the kids out, and Jay gives one last wink to the two of you before the doors close. The room falls quiet except for the not-so-steady beeping of the monitors. Sunghoon is the first to speak.

“So... when do you want me to pick up the papers again?” 

You laugh softly. 

“Oh! I guess if you want to go through with it…”

“No!” Sunghoon shouts, eyes huge. 'He’s so cute when he doesn’t mean to be,' you think to yourself.

You tilt your head, smiling. “Then don’t even think about getting them.” 

Your bed is near enough for you to inch your hand towards his forearm. Your touch is featherlight against his skin. It takes all of his strength to intertwine your fingers with his.

“So what does this mean for us?” you say through bated breath. He ponders for a second.

“It means… maybe I can build you an art studio in our garage?” he says cautiously. “And maybe I quit my job? Become a figure skating coach? How does that sound?” 

You let out a stronger laugh this time, one that aches in your ribs but still feels good. And in this version of you, older and wiser. He still thinks you’re so beautiful.

“I don’t resent you,” he whispers. And your heart skips a beat, in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. You smile at him. And finally, you find the courage to say it in this life too.

“I love you.”

He brings your fingers to his lips and plants gentle kisses on your knuckles.

In every lifetime, Sunghoon knows. He could be standing on the Olympic stage, the roar of thousands echoing in his ears. He could have everything he ever thought he wanted. But none of it would matter. Not if you weren’t there.

“I love you too," he replies, quietly.

And in every lifetime, he will always find his way back to you. And he will choose you. Over and over again.

–

epilogue.

Sungjae is on the garage floor, legs crisscrossed as he watches something on his iPad. Sunghoon is installing shelves for your future artist corner while Sungjae's video is strangely on mute.

“What you watching, son?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the tight pull in his lower back.

Sungjae doesn’t look up. “Your skating videos.”

Sunghoon nearly drops the shelf on his eye. “W-what?”

Sungjae shrugs. 

“Looks interesting,” he mutters. “Wish I could fly like that.”

Sunghoon sets the shelf down carefully, then crosses the room to crouch beside Sungjaee. On the screen, a much younger version of himself soars across the ice. He remembers that routine. His first national win.

“Didn't think you'd be into it,” he ruffles his son’s hair.

Sungjae shrugs again, but pink tinges his cheeks.

“You never asked.”

The words hit him. He never really did. Not even with Sunghee.

“Do you want to try?” Sunghoon asks slowly. “Figure skating?”

Sungjae finally looks up, eyes wide. “Can I?”

Sunghoon feels tears well up in his eyes, and he coughs them away. What was up with him and crying these days?

“Of course, son,” he says, pulling him into a gentle side hug. “You'll be my first student.”

fin. 

–

the stranger… who the hell is he?!

after he says "i love you" y/n pov

At first, he’d been perfect. Sweet, disarming, the kind of boy who could make you laugh just by flashing that smile. You met him your freshman year of college. Both of you were lost on campus, fumbling with maps and schedules. You’d been rushing to find your class when you slammed into him so hard you almost dropped your books.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you blurted. “No, that was me,” he said, and then he smiled. That smile, that bright, boyish, so easy to fall for. It was the first thing you noticed about him. Back then it was your favorite part of him. Now it was the reason you woke up screaming. You tried to edge past him, but his hand clamped around your upper arm. Tight. You froze. He laughed, nervous, like he knew he was being too forward. “I know this is weird,” he said. “But… would you like to go out with me sometime?”

The question knocked the breath out of you. You stammered, cheeks burning, “Yes. I’d love to.” You exchanged numbers. You walked away smiling. And if you’d known, if you’d had even the slightest glimpse of what that moment would grow into. The suffocating nights, the panic attacks, the bruises hidden under sleeves. You would have run. But you didn’t. And now the pills are working, and the bag is waiting, and the clock is ticking down to the moment when you’ll finally risk everything to claw your way out.

You turned, your eyes darting to the bed. He was still out. His chest rising, falling. A monster made harmless for once. Every step had to be silent. You pressed your weight onto the balls of your feet, tiptoeing toward the closet. The duffel was right where you’d hidden it. You wrapped your fingers around the strap, eased the bag out. You exhaled through your teeth and crept out of the closet and into the hall. One hurdle down. The worst still ahead.

Euijoo lived to control you. Every move, every word, every thought. He owned them all. He had the money for it, the power. A brilliant optics engineer. A ruthless businessman. And when you disobeyed, your body paid the price. Slaps. Hair yanked hard enough to burn your scalp. Bruises that bloomed under your clothes like poisonous flowers. The bedroom door clicked shut behind you. You hurried to the garage. Fingers shaking, you pressed the button. The heavy door groaned, rattling, every sound a blade against your nerves.

The cars gleamed under the harsh lights. You wove between them, careful not to touch the paint, careful not to breathe too loud. The alarms were hair triggers, and one shriek would bring him running. You were almost clear. Then a scrape. The duffel brushing against polished metal. The car alarm detonated, a scream that split your ears. From somewhere deep inside the house, you heard your name screamed with a fury so thick it echoed through the walls, vibrating with rage 

Panic slammed into you. You bolted, feet pounding concrete, bag bouncing against your hip. The gate loomed ahead, the metal bars trembling in the night air. You hurled the bag over. It hit the ground with a heavy thud. You grabbed the bars, climbed, fingers slipping. Behind you, Euijoo stepped out of the garage door. His eyes found you. Locked on. That was all it took, the adrenaline burned through your veins. You clawed your way up, threw yourself over, dropped to the other side. Pain shot through your knees but you kept moving.

Down the hill, down to where Nayeon’s headlights burned through the dark. You flung yourself into the car, slammed the lock down, screamed, “Go! Go!”  your eyes caught hers instead. Her face, pale, confused and fumbling with the wheel. You were staring at her, begging, when the world cracked apart. Euijoo. Right there. His face against your window, his fist pounding the glass. You shrieked, jerking away, and the look in his eyes filled with hatred, pure and blinding freezing the air in your lungs.

“Get the fuck out of the car!” he roared pulling at the door’s handle, his throat corded, a vein straining along his neck. He bent down, snatched up a rock, smashed it against the window. Glass exploded, showering your lap. His hand darted inside, fast, brutal, closing around your throat. Air cut off. Pressure. His face inches from yours. Hate searing in his eyes. You bit down. Hard. Copper flooded your tongue. He howled, grip loosening. You shoved him back, Nayeon slamming the car into drive. Tires screamed, the car lurched forward, leaving him in the middle of the street, bellowing your name into the dark.

“What the fuck was that?” Nayeon shouted, her voice breaking. You couldn’t answer. Your chest heaved. Your throat throbbed where his fingers had been. You just stared straight ahead, the road blurring into darkness. You didn’t realize you’d made it to Nayeon’s house until her hand touched your shoulder. The sudden pressure jolted you out of the trance, your body flinching like she’d burned you. Somehow, impossibly, you’d gotten away.

Months of planning, getting the pills, rehearsing the lies, convincing your friend to pick you up in the dead of night without a single explanation. You couldn’t tell her why. Couldn’t risk dragging her into the orbit of a man like Euijoo. The less she knew, the safer she was. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you packed your bag in secret, as you practiced how to breathe without making a sound. But the truth was a knot in your stomach,  safety was a lie. Because Euijoo never lost. He didn’t know how. He’d always been the one with the money, the power, the control. And men like that didn’t just sit back and watch you leave. They come after you. 

The months blurred, stitched together by sleepless nights and Nayeon’s steady hand pulling you through the wreckage. Therapy had become a lifeline, even on the days when stepping outside felt like stepping into a trap. Some mornings, you couldn’t even step outside to get the mail. The thought of open air, of being exposed, left you shaking. Certain he’d be there. Waiting. Lurking. Ready to drag you back into the nightmare you’d barely escaped. Luna was the kind of therapist you hadn’t believed existed. Patient. Sharp. Unyielding in a way that didn’t scare you. She chipped away at the rubble he’d left behind, laying the foundation for something stronger. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.

“Today’s session was really good,” Luna said, walking you to the door. Her smile was kind, but not pitying. “Call me if you need anything.” “Thank you,” you managed, though the word felt too small. Nayeon was in the waiting room, like always. She stood when she saw you, wrapping you in a side hug that smelled like her shampoo, warm and safe. For a heartbeat, it was like you were both back in high school, careless and safe. “What should we get for dinner?” she asked, easy and casual, as though you hadn’t just spent an hour scraping open old wounds. “Pizza,” you said, a small laugh catching in your throat. “Always pizza.” “Yes,” she grinned, steering you toward the exit. Her car was parked close, right by the entrance because she knew. Because she understood that wide-open spaces still made your skin crawl.

You slid into the passenger seat. The door clicked shut. And just like that, the night of your escape came roaring back, his hand on your throat, the window shattering, the sound of your own scream. Your chest clenched, vision tunneling. The burn of his breath in your ear, the slam of Nayeon’s door closed jolting you back. The car was warm, safe, her presence steady beside you. You forced a smile, buckled your seatbelt. “Okay,” you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Let’s head home.”

She looked at you and smiled back. Not the kind of smile that said everything was fine. But the kind that told you she’d be right there, no matter how many times you broke. For the first time in months, you believed her.

You pushed through the front door, shoulders heavy, ready to collapse into the comfort of the night. Every step carried you toward your room, each one echoing too loudly in the quiet house, like the walls were watching as you tried to settle in. 

“Shower time,” you muttered to no one, you stripped, skin prickling with the cool air, and twisted the shower handle until steam began to roll across the glass. Before stepping in, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. For a second, you didn’t recognize the face looking back. Not the hollow-eyed shell Euijoo had carved out of you. This version of yourself looked different eyes brighter, a spark there, something stubborn and raw. Hope. The will to fight.

Then crash. A sharp noise from the bedroom. You jumped so violently your elbow clipped a bottle, knocking it to the floor. The sound ricocheted off the tiles, yanking you backward in time. A plate slipping from wet hands. Shattering on the tile. His shadow stretching long behind you. Euijoo’s hand wrapping around your waist, grip vice-tight, breath hot against your neck. His laugh low and cruel. The yank as he dragged you from the sink, bending you over the counter. The fabric of your dress tearing upward. Pants never allowed. “Easy access,” he’d said once, smiling as he reached for his belt. 

“Hey!” Nayeon’s voice snapped through the fog of memory. “You want pineapple on the pizza?” she called from the kitchen. Your chest heaved, lungs dragging in air that didn’t want to come. You forced your voice out, high and too quick: “Yes, please!” Silence returned. Just the hiss of water heating behind you. You turned back to the mirror. Your reflection stared, pale and shaking. You braced the counter, met your own gaze, and said it out loud, voice trembling but firm, “He can’t hurt you anymore.” The words cracked something loose inside you. You exhaled, long and shaky, then stepped into the shower. The hot water hit your skin, and for the first time in years, it felt like you might finally be washing him off.

You stepped out of your room, skin still damp from the shower, hair clinging in strands to your neck. The steam clung to you like a second skin. For a moment, you felt clean. Safe. Nayeon was already in the kitchen, a box of pizza in her hands, smiling like it was just another night. “Table or TV?” she asked, tilting her head. “TV,” you muttered, your voice low, already moving, your body heavier than you realized. The floor seemed to pull at your feet as you dropped down onto the carpet, sinking in, ready for nothing. An uneventful evening. Quiet. Normal or you wished it was. The screen flickered alive, bathing the room in a pale glow. Static. A news anchor’s voice droned in the background, the sharp edge of the broadcast cutting through the smell of pizza. Nayeon reached for the remote, already about to change the channel until his name stopped her cold. “Byun Euijoo, the wealthy optics engineer and businessman, was found dead in his home tonight. Authorities are calling it a suicide—” The screen went black. Nayeon’s thumb jammed the button hard enough to crack plastic.

He’s dead. He’s dead. The thought pulsed in your skull like a hammer, drowning out the world. Your stomach pitched. The air thickened. You couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe. Nayeon glanced at you, her mouth opening like she wanted to speak, to explain, to soften the news. The phone rang. Your body went rigid. The sound filled every corner of the room, every nerve in your skin. 

When Nayeon lifted the phone to her ear, the room seemed to still, every sound swallowed whole. Her eyes flicked to you as she listened, her knuckles tightening white around the receiver. Her voice was steady when she finally said, “Okay.” Click and the line went dead. Nayeon set the phone down too carefully, like it might explode. “That was Euijoo’s lawyer,” she said quietly. “He… left you money in his will. Since you were technically his wife, you have a claim to his estate. He didn’t have family. You were the closest thing he had.” Her words landed like blows you couldn’t block. “His lawyer’s name is Koga Yudai,” she added. You knew exactly who it was. The one person Euijoo had never bothered to hide his true self from. The memory clawed at you, sharp and unrelenting the night he had forced himself on you in front of Yudai, a so-called lesson in “manners,” as he’d cruelly put it.

And all you could remember, burned into your mind like acid, was Yudai’s smile. The way he had watched you break, watched you be wrecked, as if it were entertainment. Your chest tightened, stomach dropping into a pit that never seemed to end.

The next day, you walked into the building with Nayeon beside you. A shadow at your shoulder. A body to hold you upright when you weren’t sure your legs would carry you. The elevator hummed too loud. The hallway too long. Yudai’s office door gleamed, polished and cold. Inside, the air reeked of coffee gone bitter and papers stacked too neatly, the kind of order that dared you to disturb it.

Yudai stood behind his desk, tall, severe. His suit was pressed sharp, but his eyes dark and flat that cut deeper than knife ever could. He didn’t offer condolences. He didn’t even sit before dropping a thick folder onto the desk. “Euijoo always knew where you were,” Yudai said. His tone wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was a blade, honed and deliberate. “He thought, foolishly, that you’d come back to him. He waited. Hoped. And when you didn’t…” Yudai’s lips tightened. “He blamed himself. He let it eat him alive.”

You flinched at the words, but he didn’t slow. He shoved the papers toward you, the folder sliding across the desk like a shove to the chest. “He left everything to you. Everything. His estate. His wealth. His name. It’s yours now.” His eyes never left your face, the weight of his gaze pressing down harder than his words. “Do as you please with it. Burn it. Spend it. Waste it. Doesn’t matter.” The pen rolled toward you.

Your hand trembled when you signed. Each stroke of the pen felt like an accusation. The room was suffocating, Yudai’s silence louder than his voice had been. The second your signature hit the page, Yudai snatched the folder back. He closed it with a snap that echoed like a door slamming shut. “Get out.” The words hit harder than the pen, harder than the papers. Spat like venom. No courtesy. Just dismissal. You stumbled back, Nayeon’s hand on your arm, steering you toward the door. The air in the office clung to you, heavy, choking, as though Euijoo’s ghost lingered in the walls and Yudai had made sure it followed you out. 

It had been weeks since you signed the papers. Since Yudai slammed the folder shut and spat you out of that office. Weeks since the words he’s dead had settled into your bones like ice. But the uneasiness never left. It grew. It crawled across your skin at night, in the silence, when you swore you were alone. A prickle at the back of your neck. The shadows that seemed to move in ways shadows shouldn’t. Euijoo was a genius. Everyone knew that. A mind that bent light and glass and truth itself. Dangerous in ways you only half understood. You wouldn’t put it past him to cheat death, to build something that could crawl its way back from the grave.

The first time it happened, Nayeon was gone, her backpack slung over her shoulder, off to her night class. The apartment was yours alone. You were in the kitchen, barefoot, the hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet. Dinner was nothing complicated. Just grilled cheese. You pulled bread from the cabinet and set it on the counter, reached for cheese in the fridge. The light from the fridge spilled across the kitchen floor. When you turned back, the bread was gone.

Your chest seized. You froze, cheese clutched in your hand, staring at the empty counter-top. You knew you’d set it there. You remembered the weight of it, the plastic crinkle. You scanned the counter, the floor, the sink. Nothing. Heart pounding, the cheese slipped from your fingers and landed on the counter with a soft slap. You opened the cabinet again, hands shaking, and there it was, the bread. Sitting in the same place you’d taken it from. Sitting exactly where it had been before. Slowly, carefully, you pulled it out again, your eyes darting around the kitchen, every shadow suddenly too deep, every corner too dark. The silence was crushing. You weren’t alone. You knew you weren’t. The certainty rooted in your gut, cold and absolute. 

The next morning, you told Nayeon. Your voice was low, half-expecting her to flinch the way you had. Instead, she laughed it off, sliding her coffee mug across the table. “You probably just forgot to take it out. Happens to me all the time,” she said lightly, easy and unconcerned. You nodded. Forced a smile and let her have the last word. But you hadn’t forgotten. You knew. And the feeling didn’t go away. 

After seeing Luna, your nerves finally eased. She had a way of doing that pulling you down out of the storm in your head and planting your feet back on the ground. Her voice was sharp, logical. “Euijoo was just a man,” she reminded you. “He can’t come back from the dead.” Simple. Final. And you believed her, at least for a while. The panic dulled. The shadows stopped looking like claws. For the first time in weeks, you felt something almost alien in your chest. Relief. You started living again.

First you sorted through his accounts, his cold strings of numbers on screens that still carried his name. Two of them, both heavy with money. You didn’t want it. Not really. It burned just to look at it. So you decided to send it somewhere good, to children’s charities, to animal shelters. A chance to scrub something clean out of all the filth. The transfer would take a week to verify. You told yourself you could wait. Next came the house.

That house was a wound. His house. Your prison. A scar carved into your nightmares. You couldn’t stand the thought of walking through those rooms, of sleeping under that roof, his absence heavier than his presence ever was. You didn’t hesitate. You put it up for sale and didn’t give a fuck what it sold for. You just wanted it gone. There was freedom in that. Sharp, bright, intoxicating. You even offered to pay for Nayeon’s college, to shoulder some of her weight after all the ways she had steadied you. She smiled, shook her head, stubborn as always. In the end, you compromised, half. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you were happy. Actually happy. You laughed without hearing an echo. You slept without waking up in the dark screaming, listening for footsteps that weren’t there.

“Hey, we should go watch that new demon slayer movie that just came out,” Nayeon says as she bursts into your room, not even pretending to knock. Her voice bright, like a burst of sunlight through storm clouds. You look up, startled, and the yes leaves your mouth before you can second-guess it. Her eyebrows lift, surprise flashing across her face, then she grins like she’s won something. Minutes later, you’re buckled into her car, the seatbelt biting into your chest as she guns the engine. She drives like she’s racing an invisible clock, like something’s chasing her down. Five minutes, maybe less, and you’re skidding into the mall parking lot. Your stomach is still climbing up your throat. “That’s a new record,” you laugh, stepping out with wobbly legs. “Shut up,” she snaps, laughing. It feels good. Normal. Ordinary. Maybe even happy. The kind of night that tastes like freedom. You walk side by side into the theater’s neon glow, buy the tickets, balance greasy popcorn and syrupy sodas, and slip into your seats. The lights dim. The previews roll. The movie begins.

For the first time all week, you breathe. Nayeon leans in with whispered commentary that tickles your ear, and you almost forget yourself. Almost. Then the seat beside you shifts. Your stomach knots. You know it’s empty. You saw it empty. Every row has gaps, people scattered, nowhere near you. Still, the cushion sinks under invisible weight, pressing down like someone just sat next to you. A breath touches the side of your neck. Your head jerks to the right, so fast your spine cracks. Nothing. Just shadows, air, and that screen flashing bright against the dark. You rub at your neck, skin tingling, your pulse screaming. The breath is gone, but you feel it anyway, ghosting along your skin. The movie goes on. Pretend. Pretend it’s the AC. A faulty seat. Anything that makes sense. 

When the credits finally roll and the lights snap back, you stand, forcing your legs to move. But then you see it, the seat beside you is upright again. Empty. As if someone just stood and left. You can’t move. Your blood has gone to ice, your chest locked. Nayeon collides into your back, laughing. “You okay?” she asks, voice light, unaware. You nod too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.” But your skin still burns with the memory of breath that doesn’t belong to anyone you can see.

A job interview, that’s the next step. You came in ready. For once, your hands didn’t shake when you smoothed your jacket. The elevator ride hadn’t felt like a march to the gallows but a climb toward something that could finally be yours. Independence. Your portfolio sat heavy in your hands, organized to the point of obsession. This was it. The interviewer’s smile was professional, clipped, but you matched it with one of your own. You shook her hand, steady, firm. When she gestured to the chair, you sat tall. “So,” she said, uncapping her pen, “tell me about your design process.” Easy. You leaned in, voice steady, like you’d rehearsed. “I usually begin with sketches to unlock concepts, then expand into digital drafts. Once I have three strong directions, I refine them to match the client brief.” She nodded. She was listening. You were good. You had this. “And you’ve brought samples?”

“Yes.” You smiled and opened the folder with a small flourish, already picturing the polished case studies, the neat tabs, the proof of your competence. Empty. The breath stopped in your throat. Pages missing. The entire section gone. Blank sleeves where your work should have been. You blinked hard, once, twice, as if that would conjure them back. “I—I had them,” you stammered, throat tightening. Your fingers scrambled through the folder, too loud, too desperate. The room magnified the sound. The pages flapping, plastic crackling, your pulse pounding. The interviewer’s face changed. The patience drained, leaving something thinner, sharper. “You don’t have your samples?” Her voice was even, but the pen tapping against her notepad snapped like a whip. Your tongue felt swollen. “I—I must’ve—I checked before I left, I—” The words stumbled, tripped, turned to gravel in your mouth. “Alright,” she said flatly, closing her notebook. “Let’s move on.”

But you couldn’t move on. Your confidence leaked out with every second of silence, every glance she gave that folder that now mocked you, gutted and useless. She asked another question, sharp, simple, something you could’ve handled blind. But your answers twisted, fell apart, broken phrases that made you sound small, unprepared, stupid. Her smile thinned into dismissal. “That’s all I need.” The interview was over. You stood, the chair shrieking across the floor, a graceless noise that branded you. Your apology came out strangled. She didn’t bother to reply. Outside, the street air felt like punishment. You clutched the empty folder to your chest, as if it might still save you. But it was gutted, sabotaged, wrong. You’d checked those papers. You knew they were there. 

Home should have been safe. The one place where your humiliation couldn’t follow. But the moment you opened your  bedroom door, the air tilted. Your papers were there. On the bed. Stretched out neat as corpses, waiting. You froze. They weren’t just lying there, they were staring at you. You tore through the room, hands shaking, searching every corner, every drawer, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing else was wrong. Nothing else was touched. Just the papers. You picked them up. The pages were smooth, organized, unmarred.

By the time Nayeon came home, your stomach was already a knot. You told her. Every word spilled out in a rush, raw, desperate about the missing files, about how they’d appeared on the bed, how you weren’t crazy, how you knew you had put them in your folder. She listened. Her eyes soft, her hand grazing yours like she was smoothing the panic out of you. “Babe,” she said gently, “you’ve been under so much stress. Maybe you misplaced them. You probably just overlooked it.”

You wanted to scream. But her voice slid under your skin, and the certainty began to crumble. Had you really checked? Had you really seen? Maybe you’d been too nervous, too careless, too desperate. Maybe the shame was your own fault. You sat down hard on the bed, the papers clenched in your fist, your heart thrashing. The room felt smaller, closer, as though the walls were bending toward you. The cycle was back. Doubt tightening its leash. Because what was worse that you were losing your mind? Or that something else was moving your world around, piece by piece, just to watch you break? After that, you started to doubt yourself. You thought death would fix everything. His death. You thought the moment he was gone from the world, the air would feel lighter, your body would unclench, your mind would stop replaying every bruise, every threat, every whispered promise of what he’d do if you ever left. You believed like some idiot child, that freedom would heal you like magic, like flipping a switch. But you know better now.

He still had you in a chokehold. A grip you can’t break. Every time you think you’re clawing your way up for air, it drags you under again, hand on the back of your skull, shoving your face into the past. All the progress you’d made with Luna dissolved the day you stopped answering her calls. The day you let her voice go to voicemail. She had been the only one who could pull you out, the one who sat with you through the panic attacks and made you eat when food felt like ash. But then the shame crept in the fear of being too much, of bleeding on someone who had already patched you up too many times. So you stopped. You told yourself she’d be better off without your chaos soaking through her days. When Nayeon asked if you were still talking to Luna, you lied. You smiled, the kind of smile that stretches too wide and makes your cheeks ache, and you said yes. The lie hung in the air between you, sour and heavy. First it had been the bread. You told yourself you had  forgotten, but you remembered the exact way you’d left it. Gone, as if someone had been standing over your shoulder waiting for you to turn away.

Second, it was the incident in the movies, the seat shifting on its own, leaving you raw and unsettled. Lastly, it was the papers. The ones you needed. The ones you’d checked and rechecked before the interview. Gone. A blank space in your folder, not just absence but erasure. Like someone had reached in and stripped them out, wanted you to fail. You tried to be reasonable. Told yourself it was stress. Forgetfulness. Madness creeping in at the edges. But the whispers wouldn’t stop. It’s him. 

“Are you sure you are going to be fine?” Nayeon asked worried, standing by the door. She was late, her mother was sick and you could feel her guilt dripping through every movement, the way she fussed with her coat, her bag, her keys. “I will,” you lied, the words scratching down your throat. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you weren’t fine. That something was wrong in the house. That you hadn’t misplaced the bread or the papers, that they’d been taken, moved, stolen by a presence you couldn’t see. But you swallowed it. You wouldn’t put that weight on her shoulders. Nayeon lingered with her hand on the knob. “I left my home number on the counter. If you need anything—” The rest trailed off into silence. She didn’t believe you would call. She knew you too well. And then she was gone. The door clicked shut, the echo reverberating like the lid of a coffin slamming closed. You were alone. Except you weren’t. The silence spread through the house, thick and oppressive. The lights hummed overhead. The refrigerator ticked. Pipes groaned deep in the walls. Normal noises. Harmless noises. But to you it felt uneasy.

You felt it watching. Like a set waiting for the actor to walk back on. The walls leaned too close. Even the shadows looked rehearsed, their angles sharp and deliberate. You wrapped your arms around yourself and walked into the kitchen, listening. The ticking of the clock grew louder, magnified until every second thudded in your skull. The house was too big with only you inside. The ceilings vaulted high, the windows yawning wide, the air stretching out into emptiness. Every sound you made came back to you, mocking. Footsteps echoed too long. Breathing bounced off the walls. Even the scrape of your nails against your palm sounded alien.

You told yourself you were safe. Nayeon had locked the door behind her. The windows were closed, the security system blinking its tiny red eye. You repeated the words like a prayer safe, safe, safe. But your body didn’t believe it. The hair on your arms prickled. Your pulse throbbed too fast, too loud. You could feel it that pressure at the back of your neck, the sensation of breath just barely brushing the shell of your ear. You spun. The kitchen was empty. Of course it was. But when you turned back, the knife block sat crooked on the counter. You didn’t remember leaving it like that. Your stomach clenched. You took a step toward it. The wood base gleamed under the light, every knife in its slot. Except…no. One sat out of place on the counter, impossibly precise, as if it had been placed there just for you. Every instinct screamed that it wasn’t supposed to be there.

You forced yourself to look away, to walk to the table, to sit down as if nothing had shifted. But the chair across from you seemed different. Pulled back a fraction too far from the table, angled like someone had been sitting there. You stared at the indentation in the cushion. Swore it hadn’t been there before. The silence pulsed. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself and whispered, “You’re going to be fine.” But the walls listened. The air listened. And you knew that you weren’t fine at all.  You decided to keep busy. Better that than thinking. The house looked like it had been torn apart by raccoons and you were the raccoon. By noon, you were elbow-deep in gloves, scrubbing plates like they’d personally wronged you. The radio murmured in the background, a too-cheerful voice that made the silence between songs feel nauseating. By three, you were dragging damp clothes from the washer, scolding yourself for letting the pile grow this high, the wet fabric heavy as guilt in your arms.

Time slipped away in pieces. Windows rattled when the wind picked up. A floorboard creaked, but you told yourself it was settling wood, nothing more. By the time you noticed the clock, it was nine. Your body ached from the chores, muscles leaden. You dragged yourself down the hallway, flicking off lights one by one. Darkness pooled behind you with every click, swallowing the house whole. Your bed looked impossibly soft, a siren’s call. You didn’t bother with your phone. Didn’t bother double-checking the locks again. You slipped under the blanket, eyelids heavy, breath slowing. And just before sleep pulled you under, you swore you heard movement at the end of the hall. A shift. A pause. Like someone had stopped the moment you started listening. But exhaustion won. You told yourself the house was empty. And let go. 

You’re asleep. At least, your body is. Heavy, sunk deep into the mattress, breath dragging slow and even. But somewhere beneath the surface of the dream, something is stirring. The room is still as if someone pressed pause on the world while you drifted. Something’s wrong. Even inside the dream, you can feel it. The air isn’t empty. It has weight. The sheet slips, a whisper against your skin. At first, you tell yourself it’s nothing. A twitch. Gravity dragging fabric. But it doesn’t stop. It keeps sliding, peeling down your legs until cool air licks at your ankle. Your eyes snap open at the touch of cold. You grab for the blanket, yanking it back. It resists. Not caught, not tangled. It was like it was fighting you, like another hand grips the far end. Your pulse pounds in your ears. Then, suddenly, the sheet lets go.

You sit up, every muscle locking in place, your body a trap sprung too late. The dark presses in. You don’t dare call out. You know if you speak, it will answer. The corner across the room isn’t empty anymore. Or maybe it never was. Something swells there a density of shadow, black folding over black until it’s heavier than the others. Your gaze slides to the chair. That chair. That goddamn chair. Angled like someone’s only just left it. Or worse like someone never did. The longer you look, the more it breathes.

Your bare feet find the cold floor. You clutch the blanket like a weapon, ridiculous as that is. Your chest squeezes tight, breath scraping like sandpaper in your throat. You feel the weight of eyes. Not imagined, not paranoia. Eyes pressing down on your pulse, flattening the beat into panic. You creep forward, slow, cautious, calculating every inch, like the floorboards themselves might scream. You keep the space between you and the chair wide enough so it can’t reach. Wide enough that if it moves, you’ll have time. The sheet trembles in your hands. You fling it. A desperate reveal. The fabric flutters, folds. Collapses. Empty.

A laugh bursts from your chest, strangled and broken, relief jagged as glass. Too sharp, too sudden. Wrong. You stoop, gather the sheet again, but freeze when you hear it a soft, low, a chuckle curling up from behind you. Your head whips around. The dark is blank, empty. Your eyes insist on nothing. But your skin… your skin screams something. You held the blanket tight, ridiculous though it was, a flimsy barrier between yourself and the unseen terror. Your hand shakes as you toss it forward into that space where your eyes keep snagging. For a heartbeat, the fabric clings to something solid. A shoulder. A chest. The outline of a man. And then it falls. Flat. As if nothing was ever there at all.

You barely registered the floor beneath your feet as you bolted down the hallway, heart hammering like a war drum in your chest. Every shadow flickered, stretched, and leaned toward you, alive with intent. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed low, a sound too precise, too sharp, like static in your skull. Then it struck. Not a shadow, not a shape but a force. Your body lifted clean off the ground, slammed against the wall, pain flaring in your neck and back. Stars erupted behind your eyes, a halo of white agony. You spun, eyes wild, looking for the culprit. Nothing. Just walls. Just silence. The room mocked you.

Your hands pressed against the wall, knees trembling, searching for a grip. And then cold, invisible fingers tightened around your throat. Air vanished. Panic wrapped around your ribs like iron. You clawed at the empty space, desperate to breathe, as the force dragged you up the wall. Your feet scraped against drywall, your nails breaking, but it didn’t matter. You were weightless. Helpless. A slam. Your back collided with the kitchen counter. Pain exploded across your skull your vision gone for a second. The knife, gleaming under the half-light. Shaking, you snatched it up, brandishing it into nothing.

You hit something. Solid. Real. The figure flickered into existence, glitching like a broken hologram, hovering just beyond comprehension. Your stomach plummeted. Your mind screamed. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. Its hands wrapped around your head, fingers like iron. Pain lanced through your skull as it slammed you down again. You saw stars, shapes, glimpses of yourself in the knife’s reflection.

You scrambled back, but the kitchen wasn’t safe. Cabinets slammed open and shut, the air growing thick, suffocating, alive. Every movement you made was anticipated, every breath stolen before it reached your lungs. You tried to steady yourself against the counter, but the invisible hands were everywhere on your arms, your shoulders, your legs pushing, pulling, taunting. You swung the knife blindly, slashing at air, and each time you felt it something solid, something wrong. It moved, danced just beyond the edge of sight, a shape in the corner, gone when you blinked. Your confidence, your courage, all dissolved into trembling fear.

The house had grown smaller, darker. Corners stretched. Hallways twisted. Each room seemed like a death sentence. You ran toward the living room, knife in hand, but the floor beneath you shifted, your foot catching on nothing. You fell, scraping your palms, but before you could recover, a grip locked around your ankle. A pull, hard, and you tumbled into the sofa, lungs burning, heart hammering, knife clattering from your hand. The air thickened. Your pulse throbbed in your ears. You can’t hide.

You dove for the knife, hands shaking, and swung. It caught something again. The figure flickered again, closer this time, glitching in and out, and a cold laugh or was it your own fear it shook the walls. It grabbed you again, lifting you like a ragdoll, and slammed you against the floor. Pain cracked your skull open, vision spiraling into white. You tried to scream, to fight, but everything was wrong, everything slipping. You were weightless, helpless, and the figure controlled every inch of the room. You dared to breathe. You were suffocating in disbelief, and the last thing you registered before darkness claimed you was the soft, impossible sound of something laughing.

You came to with your vision gone, the world reduced to darkness. Something black and heavy covered your eyes, pressing against your skin, sealing you off from everything. Panic clawed through you like fire and ice. You thrashed, pulling, trying to tug at the blindfold but your hands were trapped, tied to the chair as if the world itself had locked you in place and with every failed move it was reminded you that you were utterly, irreversibly powerless. It was like your own body had betrayed you. You were desperate, trying to find even a shred of freedom, when a pair of hands settled on your shoulders. Firm, insistent, and terrifyingly familiar. “Shhhh,” a voice hissed into your ear. “Calm down. You’re safe.” The sound made your stomach drop. You knew that voice. It haunted your dreams, your nightmares, whispered in the corners of your mind even when you thought you were alone. The name slipped out of your lips before you could stop it. “Euijoo…” A low chuckle, warm and impossibly close, pressed into your skin. “Aww, I love it when you say my name,” the voice said, and suddenly all the shadows became solid, all the whispers real.

Hands moved along your arms, unsettlingly intimate, leaving heat and panic in their wake. Lips brushed against your neck. Every kiss, every whispered word, made your blood freeze in terror. “I missed you,” he murmured between kisses, and the words were a weight in your chest, impossible to ignore. You were trapped, helpless in the darkness. Every nerve screamed, every instinct shouted escape, but the hands, they knew exactly how to hold you, exactly how to make fear feel like inevitability. The room was alive with him, and there was no way out. The blindfold lifted, and light stabbed your eyes, searing the last traces of darkness from your vision. You blinked, struggling to adjust, and your stomach plummeted. You were back. Back in the dining room where you had tried to escape, the one place you thought could never hold you again. The polished table stretched before you like a trap, every chair empty, every candle flickering with sinister patience. And there he was. Euijoo. Standing at the far end, black suit sharp as a blade, every movement controlled, every shadow bending toward him. A demon masquerading in human skin, and somehow, impossibly, more terrifying because it was him.

He stepped forward, and before you could think, his hand shot out for your chin. Reflex screamed at you to pull away, and you did but he was faster. Fingers closed around your jaw, unyielding. “Oh,” he purred, voice low and lethal. “I missed when you were my submissive little bitch.” Your chest tightened. Your pulse hammered, and your hands flailed uselessly. His grip pulled you closer, so close you could smell him minty, sharp and inhumanly intimate. His eyes bored into yours, black and endless, and his words crawled inside your skull. You look down and the breath leaves your body. The clothes you put on this morning are gone. In their place is red satin, an elegant dress that clings to you like skin. The fabric gleams in the low light, catching every line of your body, sculpting you into something you never agreed to be. You don’t remember changing. You don’t remember being touched. But you know he did. The realization settles like ice water poured down your spine.

A laugh slices through the silence, low and amused, curling into the room like smoke. “Oh, don’t worry, babe,” he says, his voice too close, far too close. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” The sound makes you wince, your shoulders hunching as if you could fold yourself smaller, vanish inside your own skin. You clutch your sides, fingers digging into the chair. It feels wrong like it’s mocking you. You wonder how long he stood over you while you slept, how long he watched, how long his invisible hands arranged every detail. The thought turns your stomach, but you can’t escape the image. You try to speak, but your  throat clamps shut. Any words would crack, betray the panic that’s already crawling out of you. He moves around you, the air shifts with him, brushing against your cheek, rustling your hair, pressing at your shoulder. He’s circling, admiring. “Red suits you,” he murmurs. “I always knew it would. Soft. Dangerous. Perfect for a dirty little whore like you” His tone curls with satisfaction, like you’ve proven him right simply by sitting here, trembling in the costume he forced on you.

The satin clings tighter as if it hears him, as if it wants to please. Your pulse hammers, loud enough you’re afraid he can hear it, too. He laughs again. Like this is nothing. Like you are nothing. “Don’t be shy,” he says, the words dripping warmth that burns like acid. “You don’t think I know every inch of you by now?” You flinch so hard your teeth clack. His breath grazes your ear, his lips brushing the air. “You’re mine in this. Always mine.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I can’t wait to break you down again,” he whispered, brushing your cheek lightly, mock tenderness laced with threat. Then he released you, stepping back to the head of the table. He sat like a king surveying his dominion, the flickering candlelight outlining him as if the room itself bowed in deference. The table was set for a dinner that should have been romantic plates, glasses, silver but the elegance only twisted in your stomach, a trap dressed as civility.

You wanted to run. Wanted to vanish into the shadows, wanted to scream until your voice shredded. But the air itself pressed down, heavy and thick, charged with his presence. The room wasn’t just a room anymore it was a cage. He leaned forward slightly, gaze locked on yours. “So quiet,” he murmured. “So cute thinking you could get away from me.” The room seemed to pulse with him, every candle flicker a heartbeat in time with yours, every shadow bending to watch. You swallowed hard, the taste of fear rising in your mouth, and realized you were utterly, completely trapped. You stared at him, words scraping up your throat like broken glass. “So that was it? You decided to fake your death just to torture me some more by becoming invisible?” He laughed. The sound was low, cruel, too casual for the weight it carried. “No, love. I decided to kill two birds with one stone.” He reached for the wine glass at his side, swirling the deep red liquid before taking a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours. The motion was so elegant, so deliberate, that it felt obscene like you were watching a man toast to your suffering.

He set the glass down with a soft click that echoed far too loud in the room. “To test out the new optics experiment I was working on before your little getaway plans… and see what my darling was up to.” Your stomach twisted, bile rising hot. He tilted his head, the smile sharp enough to cut. “But I’ll admit, it was fun watching you try so hard to erase me from your mind. To pretend I was gone. But I bet your body remembers me quite well.” The wink he shot you felt like a violation in itself, a finger pressing against an old wound. Then his expression shifted, the smile thinning into something harder, crueler. “Of course, since you stabbed into the suit, I’ll have to make a new one.” His voice dropped almost bored. But the frown that pulled at his mouth was worse than rage, it was disappointment. And disappointment was always more dangerous. 

The silence dragged, stretching your nerves to the breaking point. And then, without warning, he smiled. That fucking smile. It was a slash of white in the dim light, a carefully constructed mask of innocence meant for anyone else, anyone who wasn’t tied to this chair, staring into his abyss. But you knew. You knew the real him lived in the cold, flat emptiness behind it. The smile never reached his eyes. That’s where he kept his demons, churning in the soulless black of his pupils, and right now, they were staring right at you. His gaze was a physical violation, a slow, deliberate crawl from your terrified eyes down to the frantic pulse hammering at the base of your throat, then lower, over the thin fabric of the dress he put you in. You could feel it like a brand. “So,” he said, the word a soft, lethal whisper that scraped against your nerves. “What should I do with you… hmm?”

The options were a study in terror. He leaned in, his voice dropping to an intimate, horrible murmur. “Should I fuck you on this table? Remind you who you belong to?” The image was immediate, brutal, degrading. Your stomach lurched. “Or…” he drawled, drawing out the syllable, savoring your panic. “Should I take Nayeon? Show her what happens when she helps you?” Nayeon. The name was a jolt of pure lightning. You jerked against the ropes, the coarse fibers biting deep into your wrists, a fresh bloom of pain you barely registered. “No. No, no, please, Euijoo. Don’t. She’s innocent!”

“Yudai is watching her right now,” he began, his voice slow, savoring each syllable like it was some private joke. “And he thinks she’d look so damn pretty with tears running down her face.” “No—Euijoo, don’t,” you begged, your words tumbling out in desperation. “She doesn’t deserve that—” A smirk cut across his face, sharp and merciless. “You know how Yudai gets when he sees something pretty.” His eyes locked on yours, gleaming with mockery. “I could barely hold him back when he saw those sweet little tears on your face when I fucked you like a slut in front of him.” He laughed and the sound of it made your chest seize. You cried harder, the memory digging in deeper. “Alright, fine. Fine.” He waved a hand, dismissive, as though you were nothing more than noise. “I’ll call him off.” Then he leaned back, his voice dropping, almost playful in its cruelty. “But you know you might have to give him something in return.” He ended it with a shrug, like he was talking about the weather. Like it was the most casual fucking thing in the fucking world. 

The laugh that escaped him was a dry, rustling sound, like bones in a bag. He stood up, his shadow engulfing you. His hands went to the knot of his tie, pulling it loose with a slow, deliberate tug. Each step he took toward you was a lifetime of dread. “So if you want Nayeon to be safe and sound,” he whispered, the word slithering into your ear as he walked behind you, his presence a dark heat at your back, “you better be a good little whore for me”

“I’ll be your whore Euijoo” The plea was ripped from you, a soft, desperate sound. You leaned forward, a useless, thrashing movement against the unyielding binds. You were offering submission, anything, everything. He halted at your side, not touching, not speaking just leaning in until the heat of his breath grazed your cheek like a threat you couldn’t see his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot. “I can’t wait to be inside you again.” The promise was a violation in itself. A sob broke free from your chest, the only weapon you had left. Hot, helpless tears carved paths through the grime on your cheeks. You felt the soft silk. He brought the tie over your shoulder, the fabric slithering against your skin like a threat made real. He drew it across your mouth, pulling it tight between your lips, muffling your cries, your promises, your very breath. He tied it at the back of your head, a brutal, efficient knot. Then he bent close and kissed the back of your neck, soft and impossibly intimate, and the tenderness was the worst kind of threat. 

He untied your hands with a swift, practiced tug, then kicked the chair out from under you.  The sound of the chair clattering against the floor was so loud in the silent, expensive room. Before the echo could die, his hands were on you, a brutal, familiar ownership that turned your bones to water. He bent you over the cold, polished wood of the dining table, your cheek pressed against the grain he’d so carefully chosen. His palms rubbed down your sides, a mockery of a caress, settling on your hips with a grip that meant to leave bruises. “There now,” he murmured, his voice a low, condescending purr right against your ear. The heat of his breath was a violation. “Look at that. Gosh, I almost forgot how perfectly you fit right here. Like you were made for it. For me.”

He didn’t wait for a response you couldn’t give. The fabric of your dress was flipped up, a sudden rush of air, then the sharp, stinging crack of his palm against your ass. You jumped with a choked squeal, the sound strangled by the makeshift gag. Tears of shock and humiliation instantly welled in your eyes, blurring the room. Spit dribbled from your stretched lips, a hot, shameful trickle down your chin. Your vision swam, desperately seeking an anchor, anything to pull you out of this moment. It found the chair at the end of the table. You focused on the intricate carving on it, a spiral, a vortex. You could fall into it. You could just… go away. You were so close to disappearing, the edges of the room dissolving into static, when you felt him. The blunt, insistent pressure of him at your entrance, a slick, terrible promise. “Oh, God,” he groaned, feeling the way your body was reacting to him. His laugh was a dark, filthy thing. “Still trying to play, darling? Still think you have any control here? Cute.”

He pushed in. This was his style. Hard. And rough. A single, devastating thrust that stole the air from your lungs and drove you into the unforgiving table. Your hips hit the edge with every piston-like drive of his body into yours, a painful, rhythmic punctuation to his fucking. “This is what you needed, wasn’t it?” he grunted, the words labored but dripping with contempt. “All that pretending. acting like you could leave me behind. This is where you belong. Right here. You’re just a pussy for me to use.” He moved, his grip shifting. He grabbed your thigh, wrenching your leg up and planting your thigh flat on the table. The angle changed, became obscene, deeper than you thought possible. He plunged into you, and the sensation was a white-hot spike of pain-pleasure that shattered your fragile escape. You felt him hit your cervix, a deep, internal collision that made you see stars behind your eyelids. “Fuck,” he snarled, the curse a raw, guttural sound of triumph. “There it is. Right there. That’s mine. You feel that? That’s all me. Remember it.”

The world narrowed to the splintered grain of the wood beneath your cheek, the cold press of the table against your rising and falling ribs. His arm wasn’t an embrace; it was a bar of iron pressing across your neck, brutal, unyielding, stealing every ragged breath. Your back arched against him, helpless, presented like prey. The memory hit you like a blade, the night you thought you could escape, the night you almost tasted freedom. And now… now you were back at the starting line, trapped in the same cruel cycle, every instinct screaming that there was no way out.   A puppet master yanking his favorite doll’s strings. “That’s it,” his voice was a condescending rasp, a foul secret breathed directly into your ear. “Let me see what a desperate little thing you are. Chest all puffed up, begging for it. You’re not even a person right now, are you? You’re just a warm, tight hole for me to use.”

Each thrust was a punctuation mark on his ownership, a brutal, piston-like drive that slammed the breath from your lungs. Spit dribbled in a shameful thread from your gagged mouth, pooling on the wood. You could hear him, a raw, animal groaning that seemed to vibrate through your very bones, a sound that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with his own base, grinding pleasure. “Shit. You feel that?” he grunted, his voice thick and straining. “You feel how deep that is? I’m coming.” Your eyes flew wide. A silent, frantic plea. No. No. Not that. Your head managed a weak, jerking shake against the oppressive weight of his arm. The sound he made was a low, dark chuckle that curdled into a moan. “Awww, baby,” he crooned, the false sweetness laced with venom. He drove into you, a final, devastating plunge that stole the world. “If I want to put a baby in you, I will put one in you. This body? It belongs to me. Not to you. To me.” He moaned then, a guttural, broken sound against the shell of your ear. “Oh God… I’m seeing stars…”

“Do you have to look in the mirror a thousand times before we leave? You’re lucky I even brought you tonight.”

The words fell sharp in the cool night air, loud enough that the man guarding the velvet rope glanced up.

Heeseung had been leaning in his usual spot, one hand on the thick rope, the other folded over his chest, black T-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders. His presence was commanding without trying: tall frame, calm eyes that missed nothing, the faint buzz of his earpiece catching the whispers of his coworkers. To most patrons, he was just a wall of muscle between them and their fun. To you, he was barely a flicker of acknowledgment, a steady fixture at the door. But he’d seen you.

Every week. Sometimes twice. Always on Sunghoon’s arm. Always arguing.

You dug through your bag for your ID with your jaw tight, your lips pressed together to hold in whatever retort wanted to climb up your throat. Heeseung’s gaze flicked from the card in his hand back to your face, and the sight tightened something in his chest. Downcast eyes, shoulders slightly hunched like you were bracing for impact. He’d seen the look before, dozens of times, on countless women dragged here by men who wanted to peacock for their friends. But somehow, when it was you, it burned hotter.

“Enjoy your night,” Heeseung said, his tone flat, professional, as he lifted the rope.

He didn’t let his expression shift, not even when Sunghoon leaned closer to hiss in your ear, “Don’t embarrass me inside, alright? Just stay put. Try not to act pathetic for once.”

The words weren’t for him, but they landed anyway. Heeseung’s jaw clenched, the corner of his mouth ticking as he forced himself to stay rooted where he was. His fists curled at his sides, tendons flexing, but he said nothing.

Because that wasn’t his job. The paycheck didn’t cover meddling in strangers’ relationships, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Still, the image was carved in his mind: you, slipping past him with your head ducked while Sunghoon swaggered like he owned the world. Heeseung watched your figure disappear into the crush of bodies, into the swirling neon and the fog of alcohol and sweat, and the bitter taste in his mouth deepened. This wasn’t the first time.

He remembered the night you stormed out not even an hour into your stay, tears threatening to spill as you pushed through the crowd. He’d opened the rope for you silently, watching the way you rushed to the curb, fumbling for your phone. Ten minutes later, Sunghoon had been inside, tongue down the throat of some half-dressed girl who looked barely legal.

It had made Heeseung’s blood boil, though he never showed it. And yet, every week, you returned. Every week, you argued at the door. Every week, you sat alone at the bar while Sunghoon disappeared into the back or pressed himself against another body. Every week, Heeseung told himself it wasn’t his place, that he wasn’t here to save anyone, just to make sure drunk assholes didn’t start fights and that no one slipped past the line without paying cover.

But every week, he caught himself staring just a little too long when you passed, thinking how absurd it was that someone like you was still clinging to someone like him.

And tonight, as the rope fell back into place behind you, Heeseung already had the sense, heavy in his gut, coiled in the set of his shoulders, that it wouldn’t just be another night.

Not with the way Sunghoon’s words had cut into the dark, sharp enough to bleed.

Not with the way you looked like you were already unraveling before you even stepped inside.

The air inside the club was thick the moment you stepped through the doors, humid with sweat and perfume, the bass so heavy it rattled through your ribs like a second heartbeat. Strobe lights cut across the haze, washing everything in blue and red, shadows stuttering across the crowd like ghosts. People pressed in on all sides, laughing, shouting, drinks sloshing dangerously close to sequined dresses and white sneakers.

Sunghoon didn’t wait for you to catch your breath. He didn’t even glance back as he cut straight through the bodies, weaving toward the VIP section where his friends were already raising their glasses, hollering over the music.

You trailed after him, weaving carefully, clutching your small bag like a lifeline. When you finally reached the low table tucked into the corner, he didn’t offer you a seat. He didn’t drape an arm over your shoulders or pull you close. He barely acknowledged you, sliding in next to one of his buddies with a grin so wide you almost believed it yourself.

“About time,” one of them drawled, already half-drunk, smacking Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Thought you’d ditched us for your girl.”

Sunghoon laughed, sharp and cocky. “Please. You know me better than that.” His eyes flicked toward you for the briefest second, lips quirking in something that might’ve passed for a smirk if it wasn’t laced with disdain. “She takes forever. Always fussing.”

The group erupted into laughter, too loud, too corny. It was the kind of performative humor that made you feel like the punchline even when no one was looking directly at you. Heat crawled up your neck. You slid into the empty spot at the end of the booth, clutching your hands together in your lap, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.

He didn’t stop there. He never did.

“She should be grateful I brought her at all,” Sunghoon added, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “Somebody has to keep her entertained.”

Another round of rowdy laughter. Someone slapped the table so hard the glasses rattled. You stared down at the sticky surface, vision blurring.

You told yourself you wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

So you excused yourself. Quietly, timidly, you slid out of the booth and slipped away, hoping no one noticed, hoping no one cared.

At the bar, the music was louder. The air smelled of citrus and vodka, and the bartenders moved like clockwork, shaking tins, pouring streams of liquor, garnishing glasses with quick twists of lime. You sank into a stool, forcing your voice steady as you ordered a cosmopolitan. Just one.

The bartender gave you a look, quick, assessing, maybe even pitying, before nodding and sliding the drink toward you.

Your fingers curled around the glass, knuckles pale. You twirled the lime wedge absently, tracing it along the rim, pretending you were absorbed in the movement. Pretending you weren’t alone. Pretending you weren’t waiting for someone who wouldn’t even think to check on you.

And still, your throat ached with the weight of unshed tears.

From across the room, men noticed. They always did.

Their eyes lingered, shameless. The slow drag of pupils down your dress, across the slope of your shoulders, the length of your legs. Hungry stares, some bold enough to lean toward their friends and mutter something with a grin, others subtle but no less invasive. You felt it all, the heat of their gaze, the judgment, the want. Not one of them saw you as anything more than bait left unattended.

Because that’s what you were tonight. Again. A showpiece Sunghoon dragged along to prove he could, only to abandon you as soon as the drinks started flowing and the laughter got too loud.

You forced the glass to your lips, took a sip that tasted too sharp, too bitter. Your small voice had barely carried above the music when you ordered, but the burn of vodka was immediate, searing down your throat. You told yourself it was fine. That you were fine. But Heeseung knew better.

From his post at the door, he had a clear view of the bar. He always did, a habit drilled into him from months of watching for fake IDs, unruly patrons, hands slipping where they shouldn’t. His gaze swept the room every few seconds, cataloguing faces, movements, the energy of the crowd.

And every time his eyes landed on you, sitting alone with your half-finished drink, his chest pulled tight.

He’d seen it too many times. You arriving with Sunghoon on your arm, already mid-argument. You disappearing into the booth, plastering on a smile that never reached your eyes. You slipping away to the bar, nursing a single drink, shoulders hunched while your boyfriend played charmer with someone else.

And tonight was no different.

From his vantage point, Heeseung saw Sunghoon’s grin widen as he leaned closer to a girl in a glittering dress. She was laughing too loud, her hand grazing his arm, her body angled toward him in a way that made Heeseung’s stomach knot. He watched Sunghoon disappear into the throng with her, leaving his friends behind, leaving you behind.

Heeseung didn’t let his expression change. Not outwardly. He stayed stone-faced, collected, one hand resting on the rope as another group filtered in, IDs flashing under the dim light.

But inside, the anger curled hot.

Because he’d seen you before. He’d seen the way your pretty face your boyfriend didn’t deserve tried to stay composed, how your fingers picked nervously at napkins, how you’d force yourself to sip slowly so you wouldn’t look desperate. He’d seen the way you bolted out once, eyes red, only for Sunghoon to press his mouth against another girl’s throat ten minutes later like you were nothing.

He thought about that often, more than he should. The image of you retreating, breaking apart in silence, while Sunghoon celebrated his freedom like it was a game. And he thought about how absurd it was.

How absurd that someone like you, so striking it hurt, so clearly aching for the smallest bit of kindness, kept coming back. Kept clinging to someone who didn’t even notice when you left the table.

Heeseung’s chest tightened as his gaze slid back to you. You were twirling the lime slice again, eyes low, drink nearly untouched. Men stared openly, some shifting like they might approach, only to hesitate at the last second. Maybe it was the set of your shoulders, maybe it was the ghost of Sunghoon still hovering around you.

But Heeseung noticed all of it. Every tilt of your head, every shaky inhale, every second you sat waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back. And every second, his fists curled tighter at his sides.

Because it wasn’t his job. Because the paycheck didn’t cover this. Because he wasn’t supposed to care. But he did. God help him, he did.

And as the bass pounded and the lights flashed, Heeseung knew he wouldn’t be able to watch much longer. Not tonight.

The cosmopolitan was watered down by the time Sunghoon came back. You’d stirred the ice into slush, watching the last wedge of lime float aimlessly at the top, your thoughts heavy enough to drown in. The club moved around you, laughter, shrieks, the sticky press of strangers’ bodies, but you sat still, a lone island in a storm you never asked for.

And then you felt it.

That familiar drop in your stomach, the shift in the air when his shadow fell over you.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the music, sharp enough to make you flinch. He leaned on the bar beside you, posture aggressive, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted across the room. His hair was mussed, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, shirt collar tugged down too far, and the faint smudge of lipstick that wasn’t yours clung to the edge of his jaw.

Heat climbed your neck, shame curling its claws into your skin.

“Where the fuck have you been?” you asked before you could stop yourself. It came out too quiet, too fragile, but he heard it.

He scoffed, tossing his head back with a humorless laugh. “Where have I been? Jesus. You’re pathetic.”

The words were loud, deliberate, meant to land. Meant to draw eyes. And they did.

The couple on the stools nearby shifted, glancing your way, briefly holding their hands tighter. One of the bartenders stilled in the middle of pouring vodka in a salt rimmed glass, gaze flicking up warily. Even the cluster of guys by the jukebox turned, pretending not to eavesdrop but failing miserably. You felt the heat of every pair of eyes. Sunghoon didn’t care. He never had.

He planted a hand against the bar, leaning close, his words a venomous hiss that still carried over the bass. “Why do you always look so fucking miserable? Huh? You should be grateful I even brought you.”

Your throat locked, the breath stolen from your chest. You opened your mouth, tried to form some kind of reply, but all that came out was a strangled whisper. “Grateful?”

“Yes, grateful,” he snapped, straightening. “You think anyone else would put up with this shit? With you dragging your face like the world owes you something? God.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, as if your very existence was exhausting him. “Honestly, you’re embarrassing. You know that?”

The words hung in the air like a slap. And then he said it.

“Honestly? We’re done.”

The sound of your glass hitting the counter was lost in the swell of the music, but you swore the whole world stopped. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t soften. He just tossed back the last of his drink in one smooth motion, the amber liquid catching in the lights, and slammed the empty glass down with a clink that echoed louder in your ears than the bass ever could.

“Find your own way home,” he said, dismissive, already tugging at the collar of his shirt.

You watched, frozen, as another girl materialized at his side, the same one you’d seen him vanish with earlier. Her hair was messy, lips swollen, her laugh shrill and satisfied as she clung to his arm. Her dress was hitched indecently high, and she didn’t even spare you a glance.

And just like that, he was gone. He didn’t look back. Not once. The crowd swallowed him whole, the glitter of sequins and strobing lights masking the knife he’d left buried in your chest.

You sat there, mascara smudging, hands trembling as you clutched your bag like it might keep you from shattering into pieces. The tears burned hot, threatening to spill, but you held them back, desperate not to give him, or anyone, the satisfaction. Still, the whispers came.

“Did you hear that?” 

“God, poor thing.”

“Honestly, she should’ve left him ages ago.”

“Can you believe he just—”

Their voices buzzed around you, too loud, too sharp, slicing deeper than Sunghoon’s words. The pity was worse than the cruelty. You wanted to vanish. You wanted the floor to open up and drag you under. You pushed off the stool, stumbling slightly as your legs threatened to give out. The lime wedge slid off the rim of your glass, plopping into the watered-down mess you left behind.

Your heart was a war drum in your chest, pounding so violently you thought it might crack through your ribs. Somewhere across the room, Heeseung had gone rigid. From the doorway, he’d seen everything.

The stormclouds on Sunghoon’s face as he barreled toward the bar. The cruel twist of his mouth as he spat venom at you loud enough for half the club to hear. The way your expression crumpled, even as you tried to hold it together. And then he’d watched Sunghoon walk away, not just walk, but saunter, his arm wrapped around another girl who looked like she was one tug away from being half-naked.

Heeseung’s fists were already clenched so tight his knuckles ached. He’d been angry before. Furious, even, when he’d seen Sunghoon neglect you. But this? This was a different kind of rage. A white-hot boil that burned in his chest, demanding he throw off the rope and drag Sunghoon back by his collar, demanding he put his fist into that smug face until it caved.

But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now. So he watched instead, every muscle in his body taut, jaw locked so hard it hurt. He watched you stand, shoulders shaking, bag clutched like a shield, and he knew, knew, this was it.

The final straw. Because even from across the room, even under the blinding strobe lights, Heeseung could see it in your eyes. The devastation. The humiliation. The way you were holding yourself together with fraying thread, mascara streaking down your cheeks, and still somehow trying to walk with your head high as you pushed through the crowd.

He saw it. And he swore to himself, it would be the last time. Not if he had anything to do with it.

The air outside the club was colder than you expected, a biting kind of chill that made your bare arms break out in goosebumps the moment the door closed behind you. Bass still pounded through the walls, each thump rattling your ribs as if to mock you for being on the wrong side of the velvet rope.

Neon bled down the brick wall, sickly pinks and blues pooling in puddles at your feet. Cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air, and a couple half-drunk partygoers laughed too loudly as they stumbled past, heels clattering, perfume and beer trailing behind them. They didn’t even glance at you, the girl hugging herself tight on the curb, mascara clumping in streaks down her cheeks.

You pressed your fingers harder into your arms, as though holding yourself together physically might keep you from shattering completely. It didn’t work. The words still looped in your head like a cruel recording:

You should be grateful I even brought you. Honestly? We’re done. Find your own way home.

Each one sliced deeper than the last, the finality of his voice leaving nothing to cling to. He hadn’t even hesitated. He’d left you stranded like garbage tossed to the sidewalk.

You tried to breathe evenly, but your throat was thick, each inhale jagged. People were still streaming in and out of the club, some glancing your way, others ignoring you altogether. Their whispers felt loud enough to pierce your skin, maybe they were laughing at you, maybe they weren’t, but humiliation burned all the same.

And then, beneath it all, you felt watched. Not in the mocking way Sunghoon’s friends had always stared when he barked at you, but something steadier. A weight.

Your head lifted, eyes glassy, and through the blur you caught sight of him: The bouncer.

He was still at the rope, towering over the group of giggling girls showing their IDs, some of them were outright flirting and throwing themselves at him, posture as solid as stone. But his gaze wasn’t on the IDs. It was on you.

You’d noticed him before, of course you had. Hard not to, when he was always the first thing you saw on nights like this. Broad shoulders filling out a black shirt, sleeves hugging thick forearms, expression unreadable as his eyes flicked from one patron to the next. A sculpted face that would have been way better on camera than checking IDs at some cheap club dealing with assholes. He’d always been silent when you and Sunghoon handed over your IDs, offering only a clipped “Enjoy your night” while Sunghoon muttered something sharp at you under his breath.

But tonight… tonight, his jaw was tight. You could see it even from across the space, the way his lips pressed flat, his fists curled faintly at his sides as though he were holding himself back.

And then, to your shock, he moved. His coworker caught the next round of IDs, sliding seamlessly into his place, and the bouncer peeled away from the rope. The crowd parted around him instinctively, as though his size alone commanded a wide berth. His boots crunched over gravel as he crossed the short stretch toward you, each step impossibly deliberate.

You should’ve wiped your eyes. Straightened your spine. But you couldn’t. Not when humiliation clung like a second skin. The shadow fell over you, blotting out neon. You stiffened, breath hitching. And then, you felt  a touch. Gentle. Just the faintest tap of two calloused fingers against your shoulder, careful, as if he knew anything heavier would make you flinch.

“Hey.” His voice was softer than you expected, a low rumble that carried none of the bark he used when checking rowdy drunks. “You alright?”

It broke you. Your lips trembled, tears spilling fresh before you could choke them back. You’d been holding it in for so long, all night, all month, maybe the whole relationship, and those two words cracked something wide open.

A small sound escaped you, not quite a sob, not quite a word. Your body moved before your brain could stop it, collapsing forward into the solid warmth of his chest.

He went rigid for a second, startled. Then his arms shifted, one hesitating in the air before lowering, heavy and steady across your back. The other rose to cradle the back of your head, palm broad and rough but shockingly gentle as his thumb brushed a wet track from your cheek.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear over the muffled thump of bass. “Don’t hold it in now.”

And you didn’t. Couldn’t.

You shook against him, sobs muffled against the black cotton of his shirt, fists curling weakly into the fabric. He didn’t shush you. Didn’t rush. He just stood there, unmovable, solid, like a wall you could finally collapse against without fear of crumbling through.

The world spun on around you, girls shrieking as they hailed a cab, a couple making out messily against the brick, a group of guys arguing with the other bouncer about cover charge, but none of it touched you here, in the circle of his arms.

Just the warmth of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The faint smell of laundry powder clinging to his shirt, mixed with a trace of cigarette smoke from the crowd. You cried until your throat hurt, until your lungs ached, until the sharp edge of humiliation dulled into exhaustion.

Only then did he shift, lowering his voice again, gentler still: “I can take you home. Or… if you don’t want to be alone tonight, I’ve got a couch. Somewhere safe. No strings.”

The words caught in your ears, heavy with sincerity. He didn’t look away as he said them. He didn’t look like a man angling for anything. Just a man offering something you hadn’t felt in so long. Safety.

Your lip trembled again. Your voice was small, raw: “I don’t… I don’t have anywhere to go. He drove.”

His jaw flexed at that. You saw it in the corner of your vision, the way his teeth clenched, something dangerous flashing behind his otherwise calm eyes. But when he spoke, his tone stayed level, gentle: “Then it’s settled.” His thumb brushed away one last tear. “I’ll get you out of here.”

The walk to his car was quiet. Not silent, exactly, your heels clicked against the uneven pavement, a stray breeze carried the laughter of people still spilling out of the club, and the hum of neon buzzed faintly overhead. But between the two of you, there was no need to fill the space.

He didn’t hover. Didn’t grip your arm like Sunghoon always did when dragging you through a crowd. He just walked a step behind and slightly to the side, his long stride shortening to match yours. Every so often, his hand would hover near the small of your back, not touching, just close enough to guide you safely past a crack in the curb or the swing of a drunk’s elbow.

His car was parked a little down the block, tucked beneath a flickering streetlamp. Not flashy, not loud. A simple black sedan, spotless on the outside, like it had been carefully cared for. He unlocked it with a soft chirp and opened the passenger door for you.

That alone nearly undid you all over again. You slid into the seat, the faint scent of cedar and something warmer, his cologne, maybe, enveloping you immediately. He closed the door softly behind you, circling around to the driver’s side with unhurried movements. When the engine turned over, the cabin filled with low hum. Not the heavy bass of the club, but a steady, soothing rhythm, like the world finally slowing down after hours of spinning too fast.

You stared down at your hands in your lap, fingers knotted tight together, knuckles white. The night replayed in ugly flashes: Sunghoon’s voice raised above the music, the cruel bite of his words, the way his friends smirked and whispered, the sharp sting of humiliation when you realized he’d meant every syllable. We’re done. A lump lodged in your throat again.

“Glovebox,” Heeseung said quietly, eyes still on the road as he pulled out of the parking spot. His voice was low but steady, cutting through the tangle in your chest. “There’s napkins. Take a few.”

You blinked, startled, before fumbling open the compartment. A neatly folded stack of white napkins sat tucked inside, clearly placed there intentionally. Your fingers shook as you pulled one free, dabbing carefully beneath your eyes.

“Don’t worry about the makeup,” he added after a beat, his tone softer now. “It’s fine.”

Fine. The word landed heavier than it should have. No one ever told you that. Sunghoon always noticed, always sneered if your lipstick smudged or if your mascara ran. And here was this man, hands steady on the wheel, telling you it didn’t matter. Your chest tightened again, but not with shame this time. Something else. Something unfamiliar.

You turned your head slightly, studying him in the glow of the dashboard. His profile was sharp, jawline set in a line of quiet strength. His lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks when he blinked, and his mouth was pressed into a firm, unreadable line. But his eyes…

Every time he glanced at you, quick, subtle, there was no judgment. No irritation. Only something steady, grounding, like he was checking every few seconds to make sure you were still holding together.

The heater hummed low, blowing warm air across your legs. The radio played faintly, some late-night track you couldn’t place, the singer’s voice slow and low like molasses. For once, silence wasn’t suffocating. You pressed the napkin harder against your eyes, breathing carefully, as though any louder sound would shatter the fragile calm inside the car.

At a red light, he finally spoke again, voice pitched softer than you’d ever heard it.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. But…” His hand tightened briefly on the wheel before relaxing again. “I need you to know something.”

You swallowed, turning toward him despite the tremor in your chest. “What?”

His eyes flicked to yours, dark and steady under the glow of the traffic light. “You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

The words landed like a weight and a release all at once. No one had said them to you before. Not friends who’d watched you argue with Sunghoon, not the strangers who always looked away, not even yourself in the mirror when you tried to justify why you stayed.

Something in your chest cracked.

You pressed the napkin to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the sound that wanted to escape, a sob, a laugh, you weren’t sure which. Tears blurred your vision again, hot and stinging. His hand lifted briefly from the gearshift, hovering for a second before brushing against the back of your wrist. Just once. Just enough to ground you again.

The light turned green. The car rolled forward.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning your head back against the seat, eyes slipping shut. For the first time all night, your body stopped trembling.

The city lights blurred past the windows as he steered the car through quiet streets. Even the low hum of the engine felt soothing compared to the pounding bass of the club. Every so often, you caught your reflection in the dark glass, streaked mascara, cheeks flushed from crying, shoulders hunched as if you could fold yourself small enough to vanish entirely.

Heeseung glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Not a stare, just a careful check, like a lighthouse sweeping a harbor. His jaw flexed faintly, tension visible even when he tried to mask it. He didn’t comment on the tears, didn’t ask why you cried. He didn’t offer platitudes or awkward small talk. He just drove, hands steady on the wheel, keeping you safe in a way that was quiet but absolute.

When the building came into view, modest, brick-lined, a faint hum of neon from the corner store spilling onto the sidewalk, your stomach knotted with anxiety. Not just from the night, not just from Sunghoon, but from the unfamiliarity, accepting help from someone you barely knew felt like stepping into a fragile dream.

The car rolled to a stop. Heeseung cut the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the muffled chaos of the club and the constant low vibration of the city streets.

He reached across, unlocking your door before you could even think to fumble with the handle. “C’mon,” he said softly, voice steady and calm. “Let’s get you inside.”

You obeyed, stepping out into the cool night. The walk to his apartment was short, but each step felt heavy, weighted with exhaustion and relief. He moved close enough that his shoulder brushed yours occasionally, a subtle shield against the world outside, but never intrusive. Inside, the apartment was… a sanctuary.

It smelled faintly of cedar and coffee, neutral and warm. The walls were gray, soft light spilling from a single lamp in the corner. A blanket lay draped across a black couch as if it had been waiting for exactly this moment.

Heeseung guided you to the couch without a word, gesturing toward the blanket. “Sit. I’ve got water too,” he added, gesturing to a small glass already on the coffee table.

You sank onto the couch, legs tucked close, body still trembling. He handed you the water with a faint smile, careful and deliberate. “Drink. Take your time.”

You raised the glass with shaking hands, lips pressed tightly together. The water was cool against your tongue, grounding you in the present, anchoring you away from the night’s storm of humiliation and the faint bitter taste of the Cosmopolitan. 

Heeseung settled into a chair nearby, just within reach but not crowding you. His eyes stayed on you, calm, patient, like he was willing to wait hours if that’s what it took for you to find your footing.

The tears came again, unbidden, and this time you didn’t try to hide them. You let them fall, hot and stinging, and when your chest heaved in silent sobs, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t reach for tissues. He didn’t urge you to stop. He just stayed.

Finally, when your hiccups slowed, he shifted slightly, leaning forward. One large, warm hand rose to rest lightly on the small of your back, thumb brushing in small, soothing circles. The other reached out tentatively to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not a burden,” he said softly. “Not to me. Not tonight. Not ever.”

You swallowed, throat raw. The words felt strange and new, no one had ever said anything like them after a night like this. No one had ever offered you safety without strings, without judgment, without expectation.

“I… I don’t want to intrude,” you murmured, voice barely audible.

“You’re not intruding,” he assured you. “This… this is what anyone would do for someone in your situation. I just happen to be the one here tonight.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your temple against his shoulder. For the first time since Sunghoon’s words rang in your ears, you allowed yourself to crumble completely. The sobs were smaller now, shaking out the last fragments of tension and fear.

Heeseung didn’t move. Didn’t speak beyond a quiet murmur of reassurance here and there. He let you lean on him, let you breathe against him, let you exist in your rawest, most fragile form without judgment.

The apartment felt impossibly still, warm, safe. The soft glow of the lamp caught the dust in the air, the faint curl of steam from the water on the table, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he sat patiently near you.

Somewhere deep inside, you realized you hadn’t felt this safe in years. Not in your own apartment. Not in Sunghoon’s arms, which had always carried the sharp tang of cruelty alongside brief, fleeting affection. But here, pressed to his shoulder, his hand brushing your back with steady warmth, the word “safe” wasn’t just a concept. It was tangible.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you didn’t want to disappear.

The apartment was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. The soft hum of the heater, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere, the occasional shuffle of Heeseung in his chair, it was all a low, grounding rhythm, like the world had slowed just for you.

You let out a shuddering breath and pressed further into the couch cushions, curling your knees to your chest. Tears still ran freely, streaking your cheeks, but the panic that had lodged in your chest all night had softened into a hollow ache. Your body was heavy with exhaustion, the kind that comes from running a marathon you never signed up for.

Heeseung leaned closer, subtly shifting so that his shoulder was just behind your head. His palm rested lightly at the small of your back again, thumb tracing slow, comforting circles. It wasn’t a gesture meant to demand anything, just there to anchor you, to remind you that you weren’t alone.

“I’ve… never felt that small,” you admitted in a broken whisper, voice trembling. “Like… like I didn’t matter at all.”

His hand tightened ever so slightly, but his voice stayed soft. “You do matter. More than you know. And tonight? None of that… what he said, what he did… it’s not real. Not the way he wants you to think it is. He doesn’t get to decide your worth.”

You let your head tilt back slightly, resting against his shoulder fully now. The simple proximity, the safety in the warmth of him, made the last defenses inside you crumble. The sobs came harder this time, but there was no shame in them here. Heeseung didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. He just let you unravel, letting the storm inside you pour itself out on him.

“Shh,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And in that simple promise, something inside you unclenched. Years of being belittled, of standing small for someone else, of being dismissed and humiliated, it all felt like it could finally breathe again.

You slid slightly against him, tangling your fingers loosely in his shirt. His thumb continued its slow, comforting motion, tracing circles that somehow erased the sting of every cruel word Sunghoon had thrown at you. The tears didn’t stop, but the edge of panic and anger dulled into a softer, purifying ache.

“You’re safe,” he said, quiet but firm. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. No one’s going to touch you, not tonight. Not anyone. You’re okay here.”

The words felt like a shield wrapping around you. You pressed your cheek further against his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of soap and cedar, letting your body relax into the strength of him. It was intoxicating in a way you hadn’t expected, not lustful, not urgent, just… grounding. Like finding an anchor in a sea that had tossed you for too long.

“I don’t… I don’t even know how to—” your voice faltered, choked off.

Heeseung shook his head softly. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… be here. Let me take care of you. That’s enough for now.”

His words, simple and patient, allowed you to finally exhale fully. Your body quaked against him, and he didn’t flinch. His arms were steady, firm, reassuring. He didn’t try to push you away or force distance. He let you cry, let you be messy, let you exist in the aftermath of humiliation and heartbreak without judgement.

Minutes stretched like hours. The city outside buzzed faintly, but inside, it was still. Quiet. Safe. Warm.

Finally, when your tears slowed to occasional shuddering breaths, you peeked up at him. His eyes were soft, dark, and unreadable in the lamp light. He wasn’t looking at you like a stranger who’d rescued a damsel — he was looking at you like you mattered. Like you were precious.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said again. And this time, there was something more in the way his hand lingered at your back, guiding you just slightly closer. “You don’t have to go through that ever again. Not him, not anyone. Ever.”

Your heart thumped against your ribs, a mixture of relief, lingering hurt, and something you hadn’t dared to feel in a long time. Safety. Warmth. Desire, subtle and growing, curling gently beneath the surface like an ember waiting for permission to burn.

You let your head fall back against him, letting yourself fully relax for the first time in hours, in months, maybe even years. And he didn’t let go. Not of your shoulder. Not of your hand when it brushed his shirt. Not of the quiet promise in his gaze: that tonight, at least, someone would finally treat you right.

And for the first time since Sunghoon’s betrayal, your tears didn’t feel like shame. They felt like release.

You didn’t have to be embarrassed anymore.

You didn’t have to apologize anymore.

You didn’t have to be small anymore.

Heeseung’s hand rested heavy but gentle against you. His shoulder was solid beneath your temple. And somehow, in that stillness, in that quiet safety, you found yourself letting go of the night entirely, letting go of Sunghoon, letting go of the fear, letting yourself feel anything at all.

And even if you didn’t say it aloud, even if you didn’t even realize it yet… you trusted him.

Completely.

You had settled against him, soft and exhausted, the sobs finally reduced to quiet shudders. The apartment was still, but the quiet no longer felt like emptiness, it felt like a shield, a space just for the two of you.

Heeseung’s hand rested at the small of your back, brushing gentle circles, and after a long moment, his voice came, low, hesitant:

“I’ve… I’ve seen the way he treats you,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s… it’s not right.”

You swallowed, throat raw from crying and speaking. Your voice was small, uncertain. “I… I don’t know why I stayed.”

Heeseung’s fingers moved up, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear, brushing across your temple. His thumb lingered at the curve of your cheek, and his voice dropped even lower, soft enough that it felt like it was just for you:

“Because no one ever showed you different. Let me.”

The words weren’t just an offer, they were a promise. A gentle, steady promise that he would be different, that he would treat you with the care you’d never received. And something inside you, raw from hurt and desperate for kindness, tilted forward.

Heeseung leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple. Tentatively, he pressed his lips to yours. Just a light touch at first, testing, gentle, almost reverent.

Your lips parted slightly, and then the kiss deepened, hunger threading through it, pulling both of you forward. It was slow at first, explorative, a question of trust and desire. But the tension you’d carried all night, the frustration, the humiliation, the ache of abandonment, seeped into the kiss, and suddenly it was no longer tentative.

Heeseung’s hands moved subtly, framing your face, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled lightly in his shirt, seeking more, needing more. The kiss deepened, fast and urgent now, the restraint breaking as the pent-up emotion of the evening exploded into something tangible, something hungry.

When you finally pulled back for breath, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts thundering in sync. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, molten, holding a fierce protectiveness softened by undeniable desire.

“You’re safe,” he murmured again, lips brushing against yours, just enough to make your stomach twist. “Here, with me… you’re safe.”

And in that small apartment, in the warmth of his arms and the quiet promise in his eyes, you realized something: the humiliation, the heartbreak, the night’s terror, it had brought you somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you never expected. Somewhere better.

And now, even your body was saying yes, responding to the careful, hungry devotion of this man who’d rescued you from the night, from him, from yourself.

You had settled against him, soft and exhausted, the sobs finally reduced to quiet shudders. The apartment was still, but the quiet no longer felt like emptiness, it felt like a shield, a space just for the two of you.

Heeseung’s hand rested at the small of your back, brushing gentle circles, and after a long moment, his voice came, low, hesitant:

“I’ve… I’ve seen the way he treats you,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s… it’s not right.”

You swallowed, throat raw from crying and speaking. Your voice was small, uncertain. “I… I don’t know why I stayed.”

Heeseung’s fingers moved up, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear, brushing across your temple. His thumb lingered at the curve of your cheek, and his voice dropped even lower, soft enough that it felt like it was just for you:

“Because no one ever showed you different. Let me.”

The words weren’t just an offer, they were a promise. A gentle, steady promise that he would be different, that he would treat you with the care you’d never received. And something inside you, raw from hurt and desperate for kindness, tilted forward.

Heeseung leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple. Tentatively, he pressed his lips to yours. Just a light touch at first, testing, gentle, almost reverent.

Your lips parted slightly, and then the kiss deepened, hunger threading through it, pulling both of you forward. It was slow at first, explorative, a question of trust and desire. But the tension you’d carried all night, the frustration, the humiliation, the ache of abandonment, seeped into the kiss, and suddenly it was no longer tentative.

Heeseung’s hands moved subtly, framing your face, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled lightly in his shirt, seeking more, needing more. The kiss deepened, fast and urgent now, the restraint breaking as the pent-up emotion of the evening exploded into something tangible, something hungry.

When you finally pulled back for breath, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts thundering in sync. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, molten, holding a fierce protectiveness softened by undeniable desire.

“You’re safe,” he murmured again, lips brushing against yours, just enough to make your stomach twist. “Here, with me… you’re safe.”

And in that small apartment, in the warmth of his arms and the quiet promise in his eyes, you realized something: the humiliation, the heartbreak, the night’s terror, it had brought you somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you never expected. Somewhere better.

And now, even your body was saying yes, responding to the careful, hungry devotion of this man who’d rescued you from the night, from him, from yourself.

 the air between you was thick and charged. His hands lingered on your waist, gentle at first, as if letting you set the pace. Heeseung’s eyes searched yours, dark and intense under the soft lamp light, reading every flicker of hesitation and desire.

“Do you… want this?” His voice was low, almost reverent, each word deliberate, giving you the power to say yes or no.

You nodded, breath trembling, the small, silent confirmation enough to send something primal sparking through him. His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, but something that promised both care and possession.

He guided you onto his lap, slow, deliberate. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers pressing firmly yet carefully, as if claiming you without breaking you. You gasped softly when the thin fabric of your clothing pressed against his hardness, a friction that left your body trembling.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough, raw, vibrating through you. His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, hot breath fanning over your ear. “Sunghoon… ever make you feel like this?” he murmured, hand tightening on your thigh, pressing you more firmly against him.

You didn’t answer. You let the silence speak instead. Your hips rolled forward, pressing harder against him, giving him the friction he craved. Heeseung groaned again, louder this time, the sound almost urgent, reverent, filthy all at once.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, voice thick with need. “So goddamn perfect… feel me against you like this, do you even realize?”

Your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him without words. Heeseung’s grip on your thighs was possessive now, claiming every inch, grounding you even as your body melted into the sensations.

“Do you want me?” His voice was both a question and a demand, low and husky. The heat of his eyes pinned you in place, and all you could do was nod, hips pressing forward again, feeling him hard and huge beneath you.

Heeseung groaned, lips brushing your temple as he adjusted you, pressing you tighter, claiming every movement. “Good girl,” he murmured. “So wet for me… I could feel how much you want it, don’t hold back now.”

Your breathing quickened, matching his rhythm. Every brush, every press, every possessive grip was both reverent, as if he worshiped you, and filthy, marking you as his in a way that left your body alight.

Heeseung’s hands lingered at your waist, thumbs brushing over the curve of your hips as he leaned in, chest pressing against yours. The heat radiating off him made your skin ache, every nerve ending alert and craving.

Slowly, reverently, he began to peel your top upward, pausing just long enough to let you arch instinctively into him, lips parting in a soft gasp. The fabric slid over your shoulders and down your arms, leaving you bare to his gaze.

His eyes darkened, low growl rumbling in his chest when he glimpsed the matching soft pink bra and panties you’d worn underneath. “Hmm…” he murmured, brushing a finger lightly along the lace that framed your chest. “These… who were they for?”

You shivered at the sound of his voice, breath hitching. You didn’t answer with words. Instead, a soft, shameless moan slipped past your lips, head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed. Your body arched into his touch, craving more.

Heeseung smiled against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone as his hands roamed lower, tracing patterns over your folds through the thin fabric. Every movement was calculated, teasing, worshipful, driving you insane.

With deliberate slowness, he slipped a finger under the waistband of your panties, tracing the curve of your hips, dipping slightly along the folds of your wetness. His thumb found your nub, flicking it softly at first, then with more confidence as your moans grew louder, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice husky. “So fucking perfect… look at you, trembling for me already.”

His finger dipped slightly inside you, testing, drawing a low groan from deep in your chest. You pressed into his touch, hips rolling forward, begging silently for more, moaning his name with abandon.

“Fuck… you’ve been soaked for me this whole time, haven’t you?” His voice carried both reverence and raw need. “You don’t even need to say it… I can feel it.”

Your head fell back fully now, eyes closed, lips parted, moans spilling freely as his fingers continued to tease, flick, and dip. Every brush over your clit and entrance sent jolts of pleasure through your body, every calculated stroke making you arch against him, completely his.

The apartment, the quiet, the city outside, it all disappeared. There was only the heat between you, the friction, the worshipful intensity in his gaze as he claimed every inch of you with fingers, words, and hands.

Heeseung didn’t rush. Not now, not ever. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, lifting you fully onto his lap so your core was flush against his thick, hard cock. You gasped at the sudden friction, heat and pressure igniting every nerve. He groaned low, a sound that rumbled through you, possessive and hungry all at once.

“Sunghoon… never made you feel like this, did he?” he murmured, lips brushing the side of your neck. You didn’t answer. You just rolled your hips forward, grinding lightly, teasing him as much as he teased you.

“Fuck…” His hand pressed harder at your waist, tilting your hips just so. “You’re so wet for me, it’s… unbelievable.” He began to move you slowly, hips rocking against him, every inch deliberate. Each press of your clothed folds against his cock sent sparks of heat racing through both of you.

His fingers traced over your soft pink lace, dipping slightly beneath the waistband to flick and trace your clit, occasionally slipping one finger inside you. Your moans spilled freely now, head thrown back, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubbed your nub in perfect rhythm.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, voice husky. “So perfect… all mine tonight.”

You pressed into him instinctively, rolling your hips, teasing him further. Heeseung groaned again, lifting you slightly, rocking you down with a sharper motion, fingers still buried inside you, flicking that sensitive spot relentlessly.

“God, you’re so needy…” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. “So perfect and wet and desperate just for me. You haven’t been touched like this before, have you?”

You whimpered, grinding harder, rocking against him shamelessly. Heeseung’s hands tightened on your thighs, holding you close, claiming you completely as your moans filled the apartment.

“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured, voice low and thick with need. “Mine to touch, mine to fuck, mine to make feel like this…”

He began moving you with him in slow, grinding thrusts, each movement driving you higher, pushing your body toward a fevered edge. Fingers inside you, cock pressed to your folds, mouth hot on your neck, everything he did was reverent and filthy at once. He worshiped you with every motion while marking you as his.

Your moans grew louder, ragged, breaths quickening as he whispered filthy praise into your ear, asking you to roll with him, move with him, moan his name for him. Every flick of his fingers, every press of his cock against you, drove you closer to the edge.

“I’m gonna make you come for me,” he groaned, voice thick. “So wet, so perfect… come for me, yeah?”

You couldn’t hold back. With a shuddering cry, you tumbled over the edge, fingers gripping his shoulders, hips rocking uncontrollably against him as your body quaked. Heeseung groaned deep, holding you through it, riding out the friction, keeping you pinned safely against him even as your release rocked through you.

When you finally collapsed against him, breath ragged, trembling, he lowered his forehead to yours, pressing gentle kisses along your temple and cheek. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, voice soft but low. “So beautiful. So perfect… all mine.”

You melted against him, heart still racing, chest heaving. For the first time that night, the humiliation, the fear, the cruelty of Sunghoon, it all seemed impossibly far away. There was only warmth, only him, only the reverent, filthy, perfect intensity of being wanted and worshiped in every way.

Heeseung’s lips lingered at your jaw as his hands gripped your thighs, steadying you. He didn’t rush, not at first. He pressed slowly, testing, letting your body adjust to the overwhelming size beneath you. Every inch of him felt impossibly thick, impossibly full, and your breath hitched, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes from the mix of pressure, pleasure, and leftover raw emotion from the night.

He paused just inside you, warm and commanding, thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “Shh… I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing gentle kisses against your temple and along the tears streaking your face. His lips trailed down your jaw, brushing your neck with every whispered murmur.

When he finally bottomed out, you let out a shuddering cry, rolling your hips forward slightly to accommodate him, the simultaneous sting and stretch shooting waves of pain and pleasure through you. Every nerve in your body screamed with the overwhelming fullness, and Heeseung groaned low in response, tightening his hands at your thighs as if anchoring both of you in the moment.

“Fuck… you feel so perfect,” he rasped, voice thick with need. “Every inch… all mine.”

He began moving you up and down, slow at first, letting you adjust to the massive stretch. Every glide sent shivers through your spine, a delicious mixture of ache and heat. Your moans came out ragged, uneven, desperate as he gradually increased the pace, driving deeper, gathering momentum.

The reverence in his eyes never left him, even as he began to lose control, groaning and hissing your name. “God… you’re so tight… so wet… so fucking perfect for me.”

When he threw you back on the couch, you barely had time to adjust before he was pressing his chest to yours, face buried in your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he thrust harder and faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, giving him every inch he wanted.

His kisses trailed down your shoulders, over the curve of your collarbone, and even along the tops of your arms, every motion alternating between worshipful and possessive. Each thrust hit deeper than the last, every movement precise yet ravenous, overwhelming your senses.

“Do you feel that?” he groaned, voice ragged. “Feel me filling you up, fucking you like this… just for me?”

You could barely answer, only moans and breathless whines escaping as he drove into you, slow and deliberate one second, fast and punishing the next. Pain and pleasure collided in your chest, in your hips, in your core, wrapping around every inch of him and every nerve ending he touched.

His hands slid over your back, gripping, guiding, pressing you flush against him as he buried himself deeper, pressing kisses along your neck, whispering your name, your moans, telling you how perfect you were.

You couldn’t hold back, rolling your hips with his, letting every thrust pull gasps and cries from your throat, every flick of his fingers over your clit, every press of his cock into your depths sending waves of fire and ecstasy through your body.

“God… yes… just like that,” he growled, voice low, urgent, filthy. “So good for me… mine… all mine…”

You gasped, clinging to him, your body shivering with the sheer intensity, every thrust, every kiss, every press of his hands driving you closer to a release that threatened to pull you under completely. His own groans, low and guttural, vibrated through you, mixing with yours in a symphony of need, worship, and raw lust.

Every roll of your hips, every gasp, every soft cry was a declaration, this wasn’t humiliation, this wasn’t being used, this was being claimed, adored, and consumed in the most intense way imaginable. Heeseung’s control, even as he lost it, was a tether that kept you from drifting too far into sensation alone.

By the time you both hit the tipping point, it was a storm: him buried fully inside, hips pistoning with desperate, reverent need, lips pressing into your skin, hands claiming every curve, every shiver, every gasp. You trembled, rolled, pressed, moaned, your release crashing over you in tidal waves, and he followed moments later, groaning deep, claiming every inch of you as you rode it out together, bodies slick and trembling.

When it finally slowed, his chest pressed against yours, foreheads touching, every movement a whisper of aftershocks, you could feel his steadying warmth, his hand rubbing slow, soothing patterns over your soaked, quivering body.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “So perfect… all mine…”

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning into him, letting the weight of him, the heat, the worship, and the filthy intensity wash over you completely. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted, safe, and utterly claimed all at once.

The apartment was quiet now, the soft hum of the heater the only sound accompanying your ragged breaths and the faint scent of sex and sweat in the air. You lay against the couch, chest rising and falling, trembling slightly from the storm of pleasure and release, and Heeseung watched you for a long moment. His chest rose and fell as well, voice low, steady, as he murmured your name softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, thumb tracing small, gentle circles along your temple. “So beautiful… so good for me.”

You shivered at the touch, cheeks flushed, heart still racing. Your body still tingled from the relentless intensity of your shared release. Your limbs felt heavy, your muscles soft and spent, and the ache between your thighs reminded you of every thrust, every touch, every kiss.

Heeseung leaned closer, lips pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “Come on,” he murmured gently, hands sliding under your shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Your arms wrapped weakly around his neck as he lifted you carefully, cradling your trembling body against his chest. The sensation of being held so completely, so securely, sent another shiver down your spine. Your head rested against his shoulder, breath hitching, body relaxing into the solid warmth of him.

Heeseung carried you through the dimly lit apartment, past the coffee table and couch, over the small rug, and into the bedroom. The bed was soft, blankets neatly draped, light spilling from the corner lamp. He lowered you gently onto the mattress, adjusting you so you were comfortable, knees bent slightly, shoulders pressed into the soft sheets.

“Here,” he murmured, draping the blanket over your bare body, tucking it around your shoulders, letting it cocoon you. His hands lingered briefly, brushing against your arm, your side, before settling by your own.

You reached out instinctively, curling slightly against him as he lay down beside you, chest pressing gently to yours. His arms wrapped around you, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other threading softly through your hair. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the warmth of him anchoring you in a way you’d never known.

“Safe now,” he whispered, voice low and steady. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything. Not tonight… not ever with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut, body still tingling from everything that had happened. His lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, then another along your temple, before finally resting his forehead against yours. The quiet intimacy, the gentle pressure, the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours made every trace of humiliation and fear from the night dissipate.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured sleepily, hand rubbing slow, soothing circles across your back.

You hummed softly in response, relaxing fully for the first time in hours, letting go of all tension. Heeseung’s warmth, his presence, and the gentle embrace of the blanket wrapped around you both like a shield, a safe space where nothing could touch you.

Eventually, your breathing slowed, limbs heavy, head resting perfectly against his shoulder. Heeseung’s voice grew quieter, softer, until it was only the rhythm of his breath against yours.

“Good night,” he whispered, lips brushing the crown of your head one last time before sleep claimed him.

And there, cradled in his arms, you finally let yourself fall asleep. Safe, wanted, worshiped, and utterly, completely his, no fear, no shame, just the quiet, blissful closeness of someone who had finally found a place to rest.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and lazy, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. You stirred, eyelashes fluttering, and realized immediately that you weren’t in your own bed. You were warm, cocooned under a blanket that smelled faintly of him, the familiar scent of soap and cedar grounding you even more than the gentle pressure of his arm draped heavy across your waist.

Heeseung stirred slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Morning,” he murmured, voice husky, low from sleep. “You’re not going back to that club… unless it’s with me.”

A small, soft smile tugged at your lips. The memory of last night was still there, but it no longer burned you. Instead, it was replaced with warmth, safety, and a thrilling, possessive excitement.

Your fingers reached for your phone and froze. Several missed calls and messages from Sunghoon were staring back at you, the first frantic and desperate, the next cruel: “Don’t be a bitch. You know I didn’t mean it.” Your stomach twisted at the absurdity, your thumb hovering over the screen as you glanced at Heeseung.

He was leaning against the headboard, arms crossed casually, watching you over the rim of the bed with that faint, unreadable smirk you’d come to know so well. His dark eyes held a mixture of amusement and something far more possessive. He nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, giving you silent permission.

You dialed Sunghoon’s number, phone trembling in your hand. As it rang, Heeseung leaned close, his breath warm against your ear. “Give me the phone,” he whispered, lips brushing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slid over your hip, fingers brushing dangerously close to your still-sensitive core, already nudging against your clit.

Sunghoon’s voice came on the line immediately, frantic, stumbling over his words. “Hey! Baby, wait, I—”

Heeseung’s smirk widened as he tilted the phone slightly so it was pressed between your ear and his shoulder. His other hand teased your folds, flicking and pressing while his cock hardened under the blankets, brushing insistently against you. You let out a soft, helpless moan. “Mhmm… oh…”

“Uh… hello? Babe? Are you there?” Sunghoon stammered. “I didn’t mean—wait… what—”

“Oh,” Heeseung murmured in your ear, voice low and teasing, “she’s busy.” His teeth grazed the soft spot just above your collarbone, making you arch into him involuntarily. His fingers slid between your folds, pressing and flicking, making your hips buck against him even as your phone vibrated uselessly between ear and shoulder.

“Mmm! Hee… oh fuck!” you moaned, squirming, completely lost to the sensations.

Sunghoon’s frantic voice exploded again. “WHAT?! IS- IS THAT HEESEUNG?! WHAT THE FUCK?! BABE, TELL ME THIS IS A JOKE! NO, I—wait, what are you doing?!”

Heeseung didn’t answer. He just cut the call with a swift motion, tossing the phone onto the nightstand. His smirk was all teeth, all heat, as he leaned over you again, pressing the flat of his chest against yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other already ghosting over your sensitive folds.

“You don’t need him,” he murmured, lips brushing over yours. “You never will again.”

Your fingers threaded into his hair instinctively, pulling him closer as his cock nudged and teased, brushing against your wet folds insistently. Every flick of his fingers, every press of his lips, every possessive groan was a reminde.

The bed dipped slightly as he shifted, straddling you fully now, heat radiating through every inch of his body. His hands gripped your thighs possessively, thumbs brushing and teasing, while his lips found yours in a kiss that was demanding, reverent, and filthy all at once.

Sunghoon’s messages and calls could wait. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was the man hovering above you, claiming every part of you, “Mine,” he whispered against your lips, voice husky and commanding. “All mine. And you’re never going back to anyone else.”

~Fin

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq, ⟡ @strawberrykkk1

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar,  ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3,  ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee,  ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry,  ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard,  ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation,  ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito,  ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj,  ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi,  ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo,  ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz,  ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies, ⟡ @numberoneheeslut, ⟡ @lovestruck-sky ⟡ @roze-latte-zz, ⟡ @sociallyawkward18 ⟡ @lyserie @enstarzzi

the air is electric as the spotlight shines on him. the sweat sticking onto his body frames his arm muscles as they move in front of him. the click track in one side of his ear as he gazes at the front. his friends were all in the zone as they all stood at the front of the stage—standing on top of them. his left arm was shining and showing his full sleeve tattoo while playing the snare drum. his right hand was counting on the hi-hats as he had to adjust his rhythm. nicholas, who is standing closest to him, moves his bass melody around his rhythm, following the down beat from his kick bass. while euijoo and jongseong play their guitar melodies interchangeably, making the sound of his crashes and tom-toms an anchor for them to follow.

behind the drum kit, jaeyun feels at home.

his hands drumming the snare so hard as he bit on his bottom lip, feeling the ring of his piercing cool against his skin, as the beat became faster. the end of the show is so near that he had to eye the bucket of drumsticks near his legs—finding one less of them after he broke one tonight. sweat on his dyed blond hair falling down as he felt the music all come together and enter his blood veins, like drugs that he consumes through a syringe so that he could directly feel seep into his cells. his vision continues looking at the crowd, their hands in the air. some are holding their phones; but in his band's genre of music, the audience doesn't need a phone recording to feel the euphoria of the night that will be imprinted in their memory. the spotlights shining on their faces as he could see himself in that crowd, watching his favourite band as they create music live that sounds even better than their studio counterpart. then, he trails his eyes towards the front of the barricade where security guards stood. and, there is also someone holding a camera, recording their audience having fun as the figure walks in front of the stage.

the people who noticed smiles and sing towards the camera as the figure walks to the other end of the stage before turning around, letting the lens capture the band's performance as the light shines perfectly on the face behind it. you.

you hold the camera still with your hands, eyeing from the viewfinder to capture the right scene before you of the band performing their hearts out, to then the stage where his eyes find yours; a smile forming on your face when he can also feel the electricity of the music combine with the one coming from you.

his hands move to the crash cymbals as the song nears the end. nicholas, euijoo, and jongseong all sang into their microphones as he mouthed the lyrics by his mic, head lulling following the rhythm, counting the bars of music in his mind to then stop! the spotlight shines on jongseong, who continues playing his melody meticulously on his trusty guitar as the music fades away. jaeyun hears the screams and cheers from the audience as the final song ends, wiping away his nose bridge, yet his eyes still stay on your figure who is shooting jongseong's solo for the recording, ending the song like it is written.

claps and cheers fill his ears as he can feel the jitters coursing through his body. jaeyun leans back on his stool as he takes a breath after playing for two hours by now. he could already feel the scratches on the thick blisters on his fingers—courtesy of gripping the drumstick—as he felt the outermost skin peeling off. the boy stands up from his chair, eyeing the audience, you, and then the spotlight that shines on him; blinking as he captures the moment.

"this is amperhyphen! thank you and good night!" euijoo's voice rings through the microphone as the spotlight shuts down on the stage. finally, he could take a fucking breath.

jaeyun picks up his water bottle as he leaps off the foundation of his drum kit, walking behind the speakers to the wing of the stage when he sees sunghoon clapping his hands, ruffling his hair when he arrived before him, to then move and greet nicholas, who was walking behind the boy. on his side, sophia is already pushing out their small towels for them to grab and wipe up their sweats. but, jaeyun's attention is somewhere else as he eyes the moving crews that are tidying up the venue and their instruments: to bring them to the next stop of their tour.

"the fuck, jake?" jongseong comes to stand beside him. his long black hair framing his face as he felt the brush of his guitar neck by his back. "you broke another stick when playing letters. i saw it flung near me."

"that means that he was fucking enjoying it, of course. i'm surprised that my guitar string hasn't snap yet." euijoo added as he leans into sunghoon's—their band's manager—side who replied with "don't fucking jinx it.". sophia stood in the circle too as she nods at jaeyun who had already use the towel to wipe his face, looking down to see the dark eyeshadow around his eyes melting onto the material.

"oh yeah, jay. i think your d string was a bit off-tune between silhouettes and twin fantasy," nicholas added after swallowing his drink from the water bottle.

"fuck! thanks nicho. didn't fucking caught it there. thanks again, dude," jongseong answers as he pulls off his guitar and places it inside the case full of stickers of band logos—from their own amperhyphen, and to their other favourite bands such as green day and radiohead.

"we gotta fucking celebrate the night. one more stop of the tour!" sunghoon said, wiping his own sweat as jaeyun recognised his hard work behind the stage. from handling the logistics of the instruments to the audio engineering and all others that. he could only nod his head as he looked at the stairs leading to the front of the stage, and instantly, he could feel his breath hitch when the final member of the core amperhyphen team finally approached the rest. his body continues to jitter as his eyes gaze at the figure.

you are wearing a red flannel shirt outside of your white t-shirt that is short enough so he could catch the glint of your belly button piercing because of the shine of the light. the camera is in a grip between your hands as you close your distance, hearing the greetings from the other boys as sophia wraps her arm behind your shoulders.

"the crowd is genuinely so fun tonight. i was fucking scared that they could pick up the camera and shit," you said as the others giggle. your nose scrunches as he gazes at the septum piercing while the others continue to converse. only some unintelligible noise comes into his ears as he pulls off his in-ear monitors and device of his body to be packed up along with the rest of the concert equipment. then, jaeyun's eyes meet yours once again. the wide smile on your face fades away as you read his expression, from the way he licks his bottom lip to slightly biting it, his stare hot and burning against your skin as he disregards the impromptu planning for the night.

you already guessed what he was going to do to celebrate the night.

"you're coming, jake?" euijoo's voice pierces through the wall of indecipherable noise as he finally glances around at the others. and by the knowing looks on some of them, such as jongseong and sophia, they already know that he has a plan going on for tonight: a plan that involves him and you.

jaeyun shakes his head before glancing back at you who is standing still, already eyeing him and waiting for his signal. his body moves quick as he breaks away from the circle and grabs onto your wrist, hearing you yelp as he feels the chuckles bubbling when hearing the others reacting to the two of you.

"don't forget your fucking bags, you two." sunghoon shouted as you replied with a "okay, hoon" and let the darkness of the hallway consumes you both from their eyesights.

the air is crisp as you feel your bag hanging by your shoulders, jaeyun dragging you with his letterman bag that is draped with his sweater hanging and tied across his chest. his fingers already signing for hailing on the road as a taxi came by the pavement and you both step into the backseats. as you leaned back against the soft seat while jaeyun tells the hotel name, you take in the view of the town you visted even if it is just for three days, taking in the scenery of it that looks more or less like a growing city. the skyline is still full of high-rises and office towers as the car drives into the dead of the night filled with glowing signs that captures the eye.

a warm touch rests on your ripped-jeans-covered thighs, turning to the side as you see jaeyun with his hot gaze on you. his smudgy eyeliner and eyeshadow frames his eyes that pierce into you even more, biting one side of his bottom lip that you know is already swollen—because he always bites his bottom lip when focusing on something and especially behind the drum kit. the streetlights let you see his simple silver labret piercings that cool down your lips whenever you feel it-

reality kicks in as you pick his hand up and curl it with your own, giving him a look that says, "please wait just for a bit." many times, he couldn't handle it. sometimes, he had already had you wrapped around his fingers and thrust you against the vanity table in the backstage area where sophia put on his and his members' make-up. sometimes, he had already using the bottom of his palm to make you dry hump for him, lips already marking your neck as you cover your mouth to not let a sudden pant came out. jaeyun had become more behaved since the first time you both hooked up at the start of the tour three months ago. he had access to groupies and fans—much of what euijoo and jay hook up with as, usually, nicho hooks up with soph—but jaeyun: he always picks you to end his night.

as the taxi stops by the lobby area of the hotel, a bell boy opens the door for the backseat as jaeyun puts a pile of cash on the tray by the driver.

"thank you!" you shouted as the boy helped you out of the taxi.

"big bucks over here. you're welcome!" the driver shouted back as you both giggle, leaving behind the bell boy who opened the door for you and the taxi as jaeyun and you jog towards the elevator as quick as possible. because it is nearly midnight, the elevator door opens quickly as you press the floor number where all seven of you have settled. leaning back against the back wall of the small space, you looked down to see his foot moving in rhythm like it was still on the kick drum's pedal. your interlocked hands holding on tight as you trail your look up towards his arms—his left arm full of black and red-inked tattoos that create contrast with his bare skin right arm. you let out a huge sigh when the screen above the door shows your floor, and the doors slide open.

"your keycard," you whispered-screamed to him when you bumped into his back by his room. his hand instantly moved to pull out the keycard from his bag's front pocket as he pressed and saw the unlocked green light on top of the handle. jaeyun twists it and pushes the door open hard as the closed curtain greets you on the other side of the room. you haven't even taken in everything when he closed the door and pushed you to it. one palm resting beside your head as he finally kisses you hungrily.

closing your eyes, you let your hands trail around his toned and sweaty body, feeling his wet locks clumped together as his piercing's cool texture presses down your lips. your hand grips his nape when you sense his lips biting yours. you kick off your sneakers away towards the door as he does the same before pulling deeper into the hotel room.

the warm bedside lamps are turned on and placed on each side of his double bed. jaeyun pulls away as he sees you put your bag beside his bed, pulling off his own letterman bag and placing it on his desk. adrenaline courses through him as he pulls away his white compressed tank top and feels the cool air brushing against his sticky skin. turning around, you are already perched on the front edge of the mattress, outer shirt strewn away as he realises that you both were wearing nearly matching outfits for the night. your palms are pressed on the mattress behind as you push your upper body upright. darkness clouded your eyes as he felt the same aura exuding from you as he also exudes.

the boy let out a groan as he stepped before you, grabbing onto one side of your face and leaning down to kiss you hard. jaeyun felt how your clean and short nails trailed down his shoulder muscles as he pushed his tongue into your mouth's cavern. your other hand cradling his face, brushing his angular cheekbone and gripping his jaw. his hands brush down onto the end of your tee as he pulls it away, letting him see the black bra that you adorned when he pulls it off of you. his lips trail to the button of your nose, licking against your septum piercing before trailing down towards your jaw and then neck.

"jaeyun…." you moaned out when he bites another mark on your collarbone. the only people in this world who fully refer to him as jaeyun are his parents, his brother, and himself. his best friends and bandmates all call him interchangeably with jake—because of the use of his english name as his stage name—and the crowd only knows him as jake. but when he heard you moan jaeyun after he told you his birth name for the first time months ago, he felt his world turn upside down and the blood flows more into his hardened cock that makes his jeans tighter—even until now.

he licks up the trail of your skin on a path, feeling the loose band of the bra by his upper lip after you unhook it, making his hands move it away and throw it somewhere in the room. your perky nipples stand tall as his trail runs down and licks one up while gripping the other boob with the amount of force you liked. your hands burshes his fringes to look down at his head by your chest—worshipping your body as he continue to learn every time you both fuck. your favourite places to be kissed, to be touched, to be gripped, and to be marked.

a chuckle bubbles out from you as he continues downward and licks around your belly button that adorns your piercing, his hands unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans as he brushes his lip ring on your lower tummy, feeling him getting closer to where you want him. pulling the jeans away, he sees your matching black underwear sticking onto your hips as he trails kisses from your knee to your inner thigh. you lean up with one arm pushing your upright, the other hand raking on his back as you could feel the healing scars that you inflicted on him the last time—marking him the way you like it.

his breath brushes the wet spot on your underwear as your body squirms, reacting right to his touches as he licks a strip around your slit and finding your clit at the same time. you muffled your moans by biting your lip as he continues before brushing the fabric aside. jaeyun could see your libia already opening for him, letting him see your hole that is only reserved for him. your slick is already coming out as he felt how you were already wet for him, even without foreplay. like it started when you see him on stage. like he also felt the bulge grazing his thighs when he sees you below the stage whilst drumming.

"jaeyun- fuck!" you gasp at the sensation when he pushes his tongue into the hole, the cool lip ring surface touches your warm skin as he finally looked up to your face. the boys' eyes continue to pierce into you as you try your best to hold on the eye contact and not roll your eyeballs back into your skull from how fucking good he is fucking your walls orally. your hips continue to squirm as he pulls away and suck your clit, pushing two of his fingers into the entrance as they scissor you opened—widening the opening for him.

"prepping you to take me in deep until my balls hit your hips," jaeyun mumbled against your skin as he watched your knitted eyebrows from pleasure, pushing the hole wide as he thrusts up his fingers into you.

"always… prepared… for you," you mumbled back as he pulls his face away, letting you see the sheen around his lips from his saliva and your slick as you presses down your thumb to the middle of his bottom lip with his piercing, making him lick the fingertip as he continues opening you up for him. jaeyun stands up on his feet and leans forward to you once again, making you let out a free flow of moans as he continues to open you up with his fingers as both of your lips press against each other. your hands grasping his hair and neck as your toes curled up under your socks, feeling your pulsating wall after he pulls out, then giggles when your whines travel to his ears.

with him pulling away from the front of bed, you drag yourself up to the end when you felt the headboard and the pillows behind you, eyes gazing at him who is taking his jeans off as you spread your legs beside you, folding your knees before you push the area behind your kneecaps towards your chest—showing his reward to him by opening so much for him. jaeyun chuckles as he could see how desperate you by the way you are spreading your legs like he is yours, finally pushing down his boxers as his long and thick cock stands upright and taps against his abs. you eyed his member with a lick on your bottom lip as he crawls over, already prepared as ever to wrap your walls around him.

jaeyun crawls his body on the mattress and kneels by your spread hips. he brushes his sensitive part as he puts his palm before his mouth. you hear him spit then he pushes his open palm down towards your mouth, letting you spit on it as well, before he uses the palm and stroke his cock. the boy hissed at the coolness of the liquid as he already felt his pre-cum flowing out out of his slit. leaning closer, you eyed him playfully, pushing yourself to brush his tip on your lower lips.

"hmm…" you reacted with a high-pitched whimper.

"look at you. so hot and bothered for me," he spoke above you as you nodded your head. when his tip catches onto your opening, his sight focuses on you as he plunges deep. you can feel yourself getting so full—your eyes rolling back into your skull.

"fuck yes!"

"fuck yes, (y/n)." jaeyun echoes your word as he pushes himself deeper until his balls touches your hip. his tip meets your cervix as your walls clamp and adjust around him. you roll your eyes back as you gaze at his intoxicating face, his sight focusing on your rising and falling chest before he zones out. you let go of one of your legs and bring it to lean against his shoulder, breaking his trance as your free hand finds his that is gripping onto your waist.

"you can move," you whisper only to him as he gets your command, pulling back until more than halfway before plunging back in. his vision now focuses on your face as you nod even more, urging him to continue before you mouth "faster" to him. the leftover adrenaline from the concert comes back as he adjust his pace, faster like you want him.

your jaw is unhinged as you let out strangled moans that feeds into his ego, knowing that when you lose your push to voice out a moan means that you are already deep in pleasure from his cock. he groans out. sounds like skin slapping against skin and the light thumps from the mattress against the wall fill the room as you stretch yourself open for him. when he leaned down closer to your torso, you shrieked as you folded your knee towards his frame.

"s-so deep-" you moaned out, letting go of both of your knees as you folded them at the back of his upper body, letting him press you down underneath his body as his hips falter in the pace but he replaces it with how full he is filling you up. from the tip that your lips are gripping on, to then plunge deep until you feel him by your cervix. you feel the familiar burning stretch as his torso moves forward—folding yourself more than half for him. sweat continues to trail down his hairline until it reaches the outside corner of his eyes, mixing it with his black eyeshadow before it trails down and thins out on his cheek.

the bottom lip of yours is bitten as you try your best to gaze at his face. his adam's apple bopping as he swallows every breath whilst thrusting into you and you following him—not making him go fully out of you. one of your hands reaches for his inked tricep before moving to his shoulder, making him lean more as he finally smashes his lips on yours once again. your tits moving against his chest as you moaned into his lips. your hand, that is behind his left shoulder, is already curling into his skin as his hands hold himself on each side of your head, tangling it with your spread legs so he can push deeper into you than ever before.

trembles came from you as you let out a shaky breath, mouthing your impending release as he felt it on his lips before your jaw was widely agape and you sank your head into the pillow as deeply as possible. your fingernails digging into his back muscles as he continues to thrust yet slowly, letting him take in your euphoric expression with your folded legs holding onto his shoulders that continue to shake. you sense how your walls are fastening on his cock, yet still feel the moisture that is produced from your cum as he is getting even harder than ever inside you.

pushing with all your might, his body now lies on the mattress with you at the top. after fixing your position in a more comfortable one, you sink yourself down until you are practically sitting on his lap with his member inside you. your upper teeth biting onto the centre of your bottom lip as he is doing the same. eyes dark and warm gazing at you like something he is so proud to attain. in your mind, you shake your head as you wet your lips and press your hands against his abs, pushing yourself upwards before falling onto him.

you continue doing so, perceiving every muscle of your walls clenching onto him as the moist sound continues to get even louder. sneaking to look at the area where you both are connecting, you stare at how your arousal mixes together to create an opaque ring around the base of his cock: of your cum and his pre-cum. with a knowing look from you, you continue your flury of moves as you bounce on him, feeling the oversensitivity coming to you as his groan is a signal of how tight you are sucking him in.

"come here," jaeyun said as he pushed himself upwards. back now leaning against the headboard as he brought your upper body to him. you felt his knees folding behind you as you can't help but let your tongue meet his as he guides your hips while moving his own—pushing his hips up into yours. your hand is clenching onto his tense muscles as you moan back into his mouth, finding his back as you pull him into you, just like he does to you.

"y-yun." you curled yourself into his embrace and moaned into his ears. his energy pushing through to get you to come one last time.

"close?"

"yes! mpmh-" your lips meeting his again to muffle the noise that he is also letting out from the neighbours close to his hotel room. hips meeting his as he held onto your waist, feeling how your figure trembled as he moaned into your parted lips. eyes open wide, you met them with his that is frowning from how tight you are holding onto him—cumming for the second time of the night.

leaning in, the tip of your nose presses against his before you move your head to his forehead meeting yours as well. one of your hands trails to his face as you feel his thrusts getting sloppier, pressing your thumb down against his hoop lip piercing as he licks the fingertip.

"fucking cum in me," you say, full of frustration but also coated in lust as your lips brush against his when you speak. his thrust suddenly becomes quicker as he chases after his high like so many times you and he have done before. forehead pressing hard against each other's as his moan fell out between his open lips. jaeyun tilts his head to finally meet his lips against yours as you can feel his semen squirt out inside you—warming you up from the inside.

you both breathe so heavily as you sit upright. his cock inside you plugging his cum so that it doesn't slip out as you both stare at each other. with another tick, the tension melts away, and you both giggle.

"i still can't believe that you have that much energy after every gig," says you who lets both of your forearms rest on each of his shoulders.

"i got more kick of adrenaline when i know that every night, i will be here inside of you."

"oh, shush." you put a pointer finger in front of his lips as he playfully opens them to nibble on it. the cycle of breathing came from both of you as he continued to warm you from your nether region. you gazed at his dyed hair, noticing his natural black hair growing from the roots, showing just how much time has passed as you still remember his fully dyed blond hair when you first saw him. his eyeliner still sticks on his waterline with a few smudges from the sweat of performing and the tears of pleasure creating a shadow around it.

"can you help grab my bag?" you said as jaeyun's hold on you continued, moving both of you slightly nearer to the side of the bed. the movement makes your body bounce as you continue to clamp onto him, eyes already rolling at his method of doing so as he cock brushes against your walls. his muscles tensed up as he picked up your bag before placing it on the space beside you.

"you're sleepy, i know. but you gotta clean your makeup first," you muttered as you brush around in your bag—from feeling your notebook to your wallet and phone—to pick up the bottle of makeup cleanser and cotton pads. jaeyun finally leaned back on the headboard, sturdy enough to hold him upright as his hands were still splayed on your waist. after pouring the right amount of it on the pad, you exhale as he closes his eyes, letting you clean out his eye area as he reacts to the cool sensation, continuing to hold onto you.

wiping away his makeup, you let his skin breathe as you find one of his eyelids void of obvious signs of eyeshadow and eyeliner. looking from afar, you could see the inner youth jaeyun still has within him—even with some creases around his eyebag area from maturing into the fully fledge young adult. your hand rested on his jaw to help clean the canvas that is his face more easily. then, you felt him pushing his head forward with a little pout forming, making you giggle as you continued to clean his makeup.

with three pads used, you lean back a bit to take in his beautiful face before you. a few blemishes rest on his face including an unsmooth texture to a scar that blends in with the rest of his skin tone. yet this softer jaeyun is the same as the one you recorded on stage on your camcorder, banging the drums as the metronome of the songs with his best friends in a small, albeit sold-out, performance.

when jaeyun opens his eyelids, your breath catches off guard as he peers at you. his pupils looking around your face as you felt the familiar surge of post-sex sensation faltering away in an instant—making you question why you are here in the first place. looking down at the bottle and the rest of the cotton pads, you packed them into your bag as the boy's breath settled down before you. after that, you push yourself up as his cock lays on his body, feeling the breeze that comes through you as you felt his cum already near dripping out—landing more on the base of his cock as you can already imagine just how slimy your core is.

"i have to go," you said to him as you move away from his lap and stand on the edge of the bed, eyes set on your black underwear as you rush to get them and tuck it on, stopping more of his cum leaking out of you while also making the cloth now stained. and when you approached him to get your bag by the bed after tugging on your jeans and t-shirt with the flannel shirt and black bra on your hold, you felt the familiar warmth grip your wrist.

"stay," he had said, his ruffled bangs that is now covering most of his forehead making him look much more innocent even before people notice that he doesn't wear anything under it. his confident body still exposed against the cool air as you strain yourself to not trail your gaze down. but you shake your head as you pull his hand off yourself and feel its searing grip creating an imprint.

"i have to go. i still have to pack my stuff."

such an easy lie to say, knowing it is half true. because you have packed your luggage a day ago with only the clothes you'll be wearing for the next two days in the wardrobe.

a smile adorns your face as you put the rest of your clothing items haphazardly into your bag. you pivot one last time at him, seeing his familiar unreadable expression that he will always show when you have to get back and leave him behind. maybe he had felt something more than what this is. because you both had set up this situation as full of benefits that are only fulfilled sexually. no underlying emotion should seep out other than lust and how it helps relieve, or in the case of jaeyun, how it helps relax.

"good night, jaeyun," you uttered, tucking the strap of your bag on your shoulder with your hand gripping onto it.

"good night, (y/n)," he echoed, still leaning against the headboard as his piercing gaze stayed on you until you weren't seen from his spot on the bed.

hanging the pair of shoes with your fingers, you rummaged your bag's small pocket to find your own keycard as you stepped in front of your hotel room. entering it, the lights that greet you are dimmer than what jaeyun has, as only the lights from the desk and on the bedside table in between the two twin beds are lit up. you walked towards your bed and placed down your belongings before pulling out your skincare pouch from the bag.

the familiar cotton pad that once cleaned jaeyun's makeup is now cleaning yours. the liquid smooth cleansing milk moves along with your movement as you eyed yourself in the mirror. dust and makeup staining the white pad as you felt his remains still leaking out of you and nearly dripping onto the jean material you're wearing. finding your bare face from the reflection—your concept of time is fleeting out as you don't know how long it took for you to actually clean your face, you rush up and grab onto your sleeping clothes before stepping into the bathroom.

underneath the cold water shower, you feel his warm touch dispersing as you try to not think about anything further from what you have with jaeyun. 'maybe he got emotional because it is nearing the end of the tour,' you were thinking as you brush the bubbles from the soap against your marked skin, sensing the pain when you accidentally push on the skin with too much force. his cum now falling and mixing into the water as you clean your lower region while leaning against the nearest surface—numbness finally caught up to you on your hip area from the ways he fucked and manhandled you.

with your sleeping clothes on as you dry your hair as best as you could with the towel before letting it air dry, you went back to the desk again as you pulled out your nightly skincare products that involve acne care and for your dark circles. then, you hear the click of the door unlock as you turn and see sophia, your roommate for the past three months of the tour, coming in still giggling as her sway shows just how tipsy she was, even if it is only the leftovers.

"hey (y/n)," yet she said so casually.

"hi soph," you reply.

she steps deeper into the room as her hands find the backrest of the sturdy chair you are sitting on. her eyes nearly threatening to close before focusing on yours as you put the acne solution on the place where the area with remaining acne scars is. a pouty smile comes out from her as you could already tell that she can see the sex glow on you, like the many times she had mentioned ever since you came forward and told her your very active sexual rendezvous with jaeyun.

"did you clean jake's makeup? i really don't wanna make him get that big batch of the little pimples along his face that i had to cover up."

"yeah, i did," you answered. sophia is always meticulous as ever when it comes to the band's appearance. she will find solutions to make the boys' skin much healthier. you have heard her mad when she notices jaeyun has some pimples on his cheek and the many speeches she talks with all of them about them not taking care of themselves. it's the reason why she is always prepared with fresh, clean towels after every show—to wipe away any sweat and grime on their faces to clean themselves up. the appearance of a band that plays alternative rock and midwest emo songs is meant to be grungy, but when the stake of popularity of the band rests on their members' visuals as well as their music, especially in this economy; it becomes a great asset to upkeep.

your eyes followed sophia's as she turned her head to the side of the desk where you had another pouch open. her mind is sober enough to process a lot of things as you let the acne solution dry out on your face, creating inconsistent dots of chemical white before she then also reminds you.

"don't forget the pills, yep?" she said so nonchalantly as you glance to find your new strip of birth control pills peeking out. one pill out for today because you finished your menstrual cycle yesterday. a pout shows from you, even if it is not so prominent. you nodded your head, mind returning to the reason why you use birth control in the first place: because of jaeyun.

you have not been sexually active before you meet jaeyun. the tightness of your wall clamping onto his condom-covered cock the first time he insert himself into you is the pain you are never forgetting—because you also feel it for the first time in your life with him. he doesn't know it that way and you don't really want to announce it to the boy as of recently, but being with jaeyun made you feel wanted differently in your whole life. a life that is full of expectations, memories that some you want to leave behind yet still stick with you, and ever ever-changing job to hustle in your life. jaeyun's searing touch against your skin feels different than the romantic partners you had in your life—those that only saw you as this cool kid they would like to date because of how alternative you are—yet when you meet someone as alternative, then you can actually feel the numerous substances combining into a chemistry miracle.

and yet, you both only defined your relationship as pleasure-seeking: to end the day with calm and relaxed selves. your arrangement with each other only happens because sunghoon hired you from your personal collection of concert pictures and videos you watched since you were a freshman and sophia vouching for you since you both went to the same college. in the end, it will only be temporary. jaeyun will go on his merry way, banging his way into people's hearts with amperhyphen. while you? you don't know what to do. maybe finish your degree that's going to accumulate in cost. but you know that you want to stay close to music: you don't know if it's off stage like right now, or on stage like you used to do.

sophia quickly pecks your wet hair before approaching her side of the wardrobe full of her fashionable clothes—you know that you will have to help her pack tomorrow morning before check out. her face is flushed as the alcohol continues to seep into her cells as she picks up her sleeping clothes to end her day and start tomorrow in.

"oh yeah! where's the last stop going to be again?" you watched her from the mirror across from you, moving behind your chair towards the bathroom before facing back to you at the front of the open doorframe.

"haeyang," she answered in a beat. just like the thumping of your heart that quickens when you hear the town name.

inside you, it all comes crashing down. tinnitus showing up in your ears as you sense your head spinning. headache forming as your eyesight becomes blurry, unable to see your reflection on the hotel room mirror again. but you see something else: your reflection on that day, marred with scars and blood dripping down your face on the reflective surface as the orange sky shines upon yourself in that very moment. your trembling, bloodied hand holding your phone after calling the emergency hotline before adrenaline kicks in and makes you move.

the water runs inside the bathroom as sophia cleans away her worries, while yours come back to haunt you. every inhale feels so heavy as you shake your head to bring you back to sanity once again. but those flashbacks—nightmares—returns and will not be going away as they stake their claim in your mind for the time being. until this attack stops.

your hands reach into the pouch full of pills that you rely on for these past three months, eyes frantically scanning every brand and medicine name as you find the pill bottle that is inscribed with your name. you just hoped it hadn't expired from the last time you consumed it as you pop open the cap and take open pill out. the pill goes down along with the water as you read again what your prescribed antidepressant pills have in them before tucking the bottle away so sophia doesn't see it.

resting your head on the pillow, you turn your head towards the window covered by the sheer curtain—still letting the moonlight shine inside the room. you can feel the placebo effect of the pill kicking in as you reassure your heartbeat's rhythm is back to normal and stable, knowing that the pill's chemical will only take effect when you are sleeping. the tiredness in your muscles and your mind finally makes you close your eyes, hoping to not think of whatever tension you and jaeyun have when you clean his makeup, and especially hoping that the flashback doesn't come back to haunt you for the rest of your sleep.

because you will need this deep sleep to face the next few days.

-

the drumming engine of the 7-seater SUV trembles as jaeyun is reminded of the ghost sound of snare drum, kick drum, and hi-hat playing in the same rhythm all the time. the sound that rings every time he goes to the venue for his rehearsal. the sound that permeates when he enters the venue and goes to the stage to find his drum kit empty—only finding you, who is taking in b-roll footage to add to the videos you will then upload to social media to excite people about their last stop in the national tour.

his vision gazes at the moving scenery of the highway whilst he continues to rub against your back, your head leaning onto his shoulder as you let out little snores. even if he wanted you to stay the night and sleep with him and you reply with rejection, he is still the one who will let you sleep in the car. you always had your water bottle and a pill ready before entering the back of the vehicle with the many duffle bags resting beside jaeyun as they don't have any more space in the trunk. jay already asking what the pill is when you first do it in front of him.

"it's for motion sickness. i get car sick if i stay in a car too long."

and so, when sophia was the one who sat in the very back with you, she became your pillow as you slept your pain away until she woke you up when you arrived at the next town. but ever since jaeyun's growing relationship with you and sophia's relationship with nicho, he moves to the back and lets himself hold you upright so he could see his best friend getting it on with the girl that he likes. it is what friends are for, right?

your hair covered nearly half of your face as you slept as soundly as ever. he did notice how tired you seemed when they had to pack up, so he hoped that the pill would help to let you rest so you could be more energised when the vehicle arrived. because out of all the towns he went to, haeyang is the one he anticipated the most.

haeyang itself is a town—the marketing statistics show—where most amperhyphen fans come from. its growing hipster scene as a campus town also helps with the beautiful scenery of a mountain, hills, and the sea. he couldn't wait to explore haeyang with you because he thinks you would love the town, especially with the similarities you share with him from your relationship.

"hey, jake!" jongseong asked from the seat in front of him, turning his head so he could look at the figure seated behind him as he spoke, "when are you available for those drum lessons? jungwon is already asking me for dates after we are back home."

said boy chuckles as he replies with, "didn't your brother say that he had a college orientation? maybe before that is good."

"next week, then. let me text him back," jay types away into the chat message between him and his brother, jungwon. the little brother of two has always wanted to play drums ever since jongseong allows the band to practice in his house's garage, finding his older brother and his bandmate jamming away from covering their favourite songs to practice their own written songs every time the younger arrived home from high school. jungwon has an affinity for jaeyun's drumming, reacting in focus to how jaeyun plays the beats perfectly so that it wouldn't be too fast or slow. he feels honoured in inspiring his best friend's younger brother to play the instrument he truly loves.

the outside view continued to go past as the plains of the barricaded highway slowly were being overwhelmed by hills full of trees. the SUV goes through tunnel after tunnel and when the highway continues after the last tunnel has gone by, he could actually hear euijoo's gasp from the shotgun seat. from the view of the small window beside him, the hills are now replaced by the vast sea. islands are freckling upon the waters farther out from the shore as he felt you stirring in your sleep—somehow knowing that all of you have reached haeyang. looking through the window on the other side where you are sleeping, he found buildings on the forefront of hills—a little barricade to cover up the town's nature.

jaeyun's hand gently holds your waist as he looks to the front to see that all of his friends are staring outside of the car windows in wonder. sizzling noise of the fm radio dissipates when the frequency finds a local radio station that plays the sound of an indie folk act as the acoustic guitar fills in the space—introducing the town as this familiar and authentic place, where it is not been fully replaced by large gentrification projects unlike the towns he had performed in.

"hmm…" you hummed beside him, making the boy pivot his head to look down at your head on his shoulder, watching as your eyelids fluttered open, your sight meeting his neck before peering upwards to meet his.

"have we arrived?" your mumble reaches his ear as he nods. slowly, you push yourself against jaeyun to sit up, blinking the sleepiness away as you look around at the windows showing the scenery outside of the vehicle. he watches as you take in the view, a slow yet huge inhale and exhale coming from your body as you continue to stare outside. the sunlight captures your face perfectly as his eyes flicker on your side profile. the light shines on the surface and makes your iris colour much more pronounced. yet, your face remains still as you watch along the moving scenery—he focuses back on your eyes to see that there is something sort of blue in them.

when sunghoon mentioned that they would be in haeyang for six days as the last stop of the tour, the boys were already trying to set up things to do since day 1. catching onto the talks that they had of their last night celebration—which jaeyun and you only got to know this morning after what you were doing the previous night—they already had an idea of something to do today. and as they all check into their motel rooms at the establishment near the haeyang beach, his eyes looks back towards you who is waiting for sophia to unlock the door a few doors from him. and how your hand are clenching then unclenching before meeting sophia's sight as you give her a smile and entering the door.

as the sun sets on your first day in haeyang, all seven of you gather at a karaoke place where sunghoon booked a large room that you all can fit into and prance around. finger foods to full-on meals sit on the tables alongside bottles of flavoured soju and a bottle of tequila as jaeyun sits on the cushioned sofa, his arms resting on top of the backrest, curling it behind your figure who is sipping from the shot glass of the peach-flavoured soju. jongseong and euijoo rock out on the space in front of the tv to the green day song they're singing, both of them taking turns as they play air guitars with their hands forming the chord on their imaginary fretboard. sophia is recording them with her phone as jaeyun caught your giggles from watching the two's shenanigans—seemingly much better emotionally from when he saw you in the morning.

"oh, fuck me! we should actually cover this song next time," euijoo says as he twirls his body before collapsing on the sofa and jongseong collapsing on top of him, playfully crushing the boy as they both battle it out with their hands.

"we fucking should. i would definitely love learning that bass solo at the bridge. it's fucking rare to get bass solos in songs." nicho fans himself, jaeyun turning to see his face a bit flushing from the alcohol as he sways to lean against sunghoon, who is just looking at his friends very perplexed.

"who's turn is it?"

"my turn!" sophia exclaims as she picks up the tablet that controls the karaoke machine. the letters filling in the query box one by one as jaeyun recognises the word and the famous song it is related to.

as the percussion plays into the speaker, the familiar synth of toto's africa rings out into the room as the boys are all cheering with sophia as they all stand up, hand in hand and sway from side to side. jaeyun chuckles at what his friends are doing as he hears her sing the lyrics, trying as best to match up with the key. then, sophia reaches for the other abandoned mic on the table and pushes it towards you.

"come on, (y/n)!" she eggs you on. eyes all turn towards you as you let out a small shake of your head. in the numerous times all seven of you have done karaoke, you never sing. you've never picked up the mic and led a round of singing like everybody does. you are usually sitting there, gazing at everyone who sings their hearts out whilst giggling with a glass or a spoon in your hand, enjoying the cuisine served instead before clapping your hands when they finish performing. everyone in the room knows this, but with the boy's eyes looking at the girl's expression: sophia knows you more even than jaeyun.

"i know you can sing. i always hear you sing this song in the shower," she slips the mic into your grasp as you sit up with your back straight on the edge of the cushion, holding the mic up against your lips before downing the rest of your soju as you blinked the bitterness away. when he looks at your face, he doesn't see denial anymore—he sees determination.

"'hurry boy, it's waiting there for you~'," sophia sings before turning around, eyes on you as she signals "the chorus is yours." with a deep breath, jaeyun watches you let out a smile and lift the microphone in front of you.

"'it's gonna take a lot to take me away from you~'," you sing the first line of the chorus before the boys' cheers muffled your voice as you continue on. jaeyun's sight focuses back on sophia, whose smile is so wide as your voice rings from the speakers. your body leaning forward as you gave your might to sing the lyrics out loud.

sophia is right. you can sing, and you sing well. and so, only the presence of your body lingers beside him as sophia drags you to stand up beside her. the mic is held in both of your hands as she wrapped her arms around your shoulder, swaying you along with the song as even sunghoon can't help but to smile seeing you finally be courageous enough to sing. jaeyun leans back on the sofa, staring at your singing figure and his friends who are singing along. the timidness that he recognises thaws away as you continue to sing—even filling in on the notes sophia couldn't reach with such a perfect pitch. he knows that, if he had a voice timbre like yours, he wouldn't even stop singing. and as you continue, hearing the way your voice stabilises with confidence, even allowing you to startle sophia where you take the lead: he realises that you are in your element. jaeyun doesn't even know where it comes from, but you have only known each other for three months now. there are many aspects in your life he hasn't fully explored. and if singing is one of them and you are good at it, he is determined to know more, even with the short time he has left.

as the song's instrumental bridge plays and he looks at you and sophia dancing hand in hand, he can feel warmth spreading from your smiling face. and as you sang the first line of the chorus for the last time with enthusiasm in your voice, sophia continued along with you as the boys followed in, singing the iconic lyrics to africa and how it repeats and repeats. with his mouth following along—jaeyun's eyes are still on you as he notices how your voice is losing volume compared to the others in harmony. but then, your smile fades away in a moment. the fluidity of your movement suddenly becomes stiff as your lips, which were mouthing the lyrics perfectly, began to stagger. the lights from the screen reflected in your eyes as he notices more and more glimmering in them—looking downwards as your chest starts to heave openly before closing your eyes.

the last of the chorus fades as the boys and sophia are singing the lyrics along with the synth melody that is now stuck in their heads. however, jaeyun is the one who notices you sobbing in sophia's arms with your head tilted down.

immediately, jaeyun stands up, startling everyone, as he steps and gathers you into his embrace. your small sob grows bigger when you feel his heat enveloping you, muffled your sobs as your head rested on his shoulder while he reassures your trembling figure with a smooth rub down your back. the room turns quiet as only the last instrumental of the track is playing, and the joy slowly dissipates as they all stare at you. jaeyun's eyes were still on you, not knowing how to react to the suddenness of it all.

"you're okay. i am here," he whispers into your ear of words that just show up in his mind. a phrase so neutrally positive that he hopes they don't undermine what you are feeling. because he doesn't know why you reacted this way in the first place.

your head is droning with the numerous hits as you feel jaeyun's voice pierce through the buzz, reacting in an instant as you put your hands on his chest to push him away. but he doesn't budge as he still holds you close, the shakiness of your body makes him want to hold you tighter. yet, he gave you space as you wipe away the tears, a groan came out from deep within you as your eyes find your friends', which are full of concern.

"i, i'm okay. just-" you swallow down your saliva, "all of you can continue. it's nicho's turn, right?"

they all look around and at you awkwardly. you felt jaeyun's hand giving a pat on your back as you darted towards him, towards his eyes as you pushed out the first thing in your mind that could calm everything down. your swollen eyes widened as you looked up and down at his figure. jaeyun's face changes from worry to curiosity—knowing what your gaze is telling. then, he felt your hands reaching for him. nay, reaching for his waist underneath his baggy graphic tee.

nicholas had moved to the tablet as you still stare at him with your knowing gaze. slowly, you bite down on your bottom lip—knowing that he will take the bait as his hands curl on your back. the only coping mechanism you know that will get you away from that mindset you wanted to not even think about in the first place.

"we'll be going first, okay?" jaeyun spoke up, aiming his words for the others. your eyes still stay on him as he watches how everybody nods. nicholas is already pulling sunghoon with him when jaeyun hears a nirvana song playing in the back. as the first notes of come as you are ring around the room, the door has already been slammed open, and you pull him with you into the dark hallway.

the evening outside is decorated with a purple hue as you walk down the pavement. your eyes are looking both ways to know when to cross the street when it is clear. whilst jaeyun is just letting you pull him away—knowing the end result of it all anyway.

this is the first time you had ever been so open to fuck. usually, he is the one who signals first.

both of your feet rush down the sidewalk when you see the motel getting closer—sunghoon's SUV parked in the parking lot indicates it as you both quickly climb up the stairs to the second floor of the accommodation. jaeyun fetches his key from his bag's pocket as you wait beside him, urging him on by how tightly you are holding his hand. and as the door opens and you both clamber in, jaeyun quickly closes the door before pushing you to it, trapping you as you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hot clash of kisses. he keeps up with you, with how pushy and clingy you become as you even bite on his bottom lip near his lip ring, making him groan as he moves his hands around your body, feeling every part of you with his palm.

after both of you have kicked off your shoes, jaeyun crawls his hands down to your thighs as you accepted his signal; raising one of them before he lifts you up, holding you as he turns you both around towards his bed—lips still connected as he feels the saliva spreading around his lips from the fighting tongues. when he drops you down, he quickly removes your bag as you take off your top as fast as possible, making him have to keep up with your pace as you stand bare before him. instead of waiting for him, you kneel down quickly and help him with his bottom layers as you are met with his growing cock after tugging his pants down.

licking the underside of it, jaeyun peers down on you as you use one hand to stroke his shaft and the other hand moves to play with his balls, fondling the two as his hand moves strands of your hair to clearly gaze at you. your lips move towards his tip, kitten licking his slit before taking the head in your mouth with a pucker. a hum comes from you as he let out a trembling breath, biting his lip so hard he can feel his skin breaking when he tasted the iron. your eyes are glimmering under the minimal light, shining from taking on his member as you take more and more of him before closing your eyes when your nose ring trailing up his shaft until he felt the wall behind your mouth before you pull your head. yet when you open your eyes, you look back up at him—sticking your gaze on him.

"give it to me," you mouthed, your lips brushes against the head of his cock when you say the words as he felt the jitters from how it is getting more and more sensitive as you take him in. jaeyun watches how your free hand shifts from his balls to play with your pussy. his hands then hold onto each side of your head as you nodded as you continue to bob and take him in, making him picks up the pace as you kneel there pliantly, accepting what he is giving you as you continue to rub yourself and move your hand to his balls, edging him more and more with how much he can push himself into your cavern.

"gosh, you want me to ruin?" jaeyun asks as you let out hum with his cock in your mouth, eyes blinking towards him as he pulls away after a few fast thrust, looking at the strings of saliva connecting his member with your lips as your mouth is left agape to take in every oxygen you can.

the boy then stands you up as you let him, pushing you on the bed as he climbs on top of you, kissing your lips before going down to your neck as he gives a huge suck—knowing the hickey that will show up there when you gaze at your refelction—before he inserts two of his fingers into your moist hole covered with your arousal, earning a gasp from you as your hand reach down for his to do whatever he is doing. but he has something in mind for the girl who is craving for him.

you let out a whine that gets cut as he moves your body to rest on the side. jaeyun rested behind you before he stretched his inked left arm so you could rest on it, and he could move his hand to hold your shoulder down. his other hand lifted your leg so he could slot himself between you, resting it on top of his hip. your hand reachs down for his cock that is brushing against your lower lips, tapping against the sensitive clitoris you were rubbing before you push his tip between the rim of your hole as he pushes in, hand on your thigh as he moves his hips so he can enter more of himself in you.

a moan came out from you deliciously, making him turn his head to look at you with a squint in his eyes and a smirk forming on his face. pulling back until the bulb of his head is left, jaeyun pushes back in deeper as you let out another loud moan full of yearning. you had never moaned so loud before. even with the many times he had fucked you, you were always the silent type: gasps, small-volumed moans, trembling breaths, and unhinged jaw. but when he heard the pornographic moan you let out from this position, your body all stretched out in his liking, he knew he had to get more of them out of you.

with your body brushing against the mattress and his arm, the boy picks up the pace as he watches your facial expression full of bliss. eyes shut and jaw opens as moans came out of you following every thrust you both are receiving. his left hand that holds onto your shoulder felt your hand gripping onto it as you turned to look at him beside you, reaching with your hand to settle behind his head and get a hold of his lock as he caught the signal to press slight kisses on your lips and the corner of them. jaeyun also lets out moans as he watches you, blubbers coming out from you as your walls mold to his shape as he feels all the sensations in the right place.

jaeyun pulls your head closer, bringing him nearer to your skin as his lips touch your side of the face. whispers of dirty talk flow out of him as you opened your eyes with a hooded gaze, glancing down and watch how his cock is filling you up deliciously with how it dissapears inside of you so easily. his eyes are closed as he fully felt every nerves of him waking up from the pleasure, not realising the sniffles coming out of you as another liquid hits the bridge of his nose. pulling away slightly, he watches the tear falls from the corner of your swollen eye—the one that had cry before this and the one that had endured his cock baraging into your mouth until you almost couldn't breathe.

"are you okay?" he had asked as he slowed his pace down when he couldn't help but remember what happened at karaoke. however, he felt your hand on top of his that is resting on your tummy, pushing down on the bulge you felt so he could feel himself inside of you.

you nodded your head and replied, "letting go."

he returns his sight from your tummy to your eyes to find them all dark, goggling at him as you push your hand against the bulge he made inside of you once again, rubbing your hips against his. jaeyun can't help but force you to meet his lips, leaning down as best as he can as he continues to thrust. with every increase of the pace, more of your moans fell out as it blends well with the sticky noise coming from the skin-to-skin action as he puts a grip to hold your body still as he chases after your high, feeling how your walls are gripping his shaft like your fingers are to the pillow on his bed. then, when he pushes his fingertips and rubs them against your clitoris, he lets out a growl when your walls become tighter and eventually pushes him out as you actually scream.

squirts come out of your opening as he watches them spray across the mattress and felt them running down his thighs, leftover moans come out of your whilst jaeyun slap his hard cock against your lips as he gives a searing kiss to your temple when you peek towards him, still nodding as you continue to want more. and so, he moves you again so you now can fully clutch the pillow with both your kneecaps resting on the mattress, face against the bed as he brushes his cockhead between your buttcheeks before the tip caughts onto your hole as he thrusts in deep, feeling your cervix hitting the tip as your moans are muffled with your face burying itself into the pillow you are hugging. the boy's pace quickens as he presses kisses down your arched spine. your walls continue to clamp onto his shaft as he felt how trembling your body is, slamming his hips against your butt as he grips onto your hair and pulled the head up, letting him sniffs your scenr and sucks more hickeys onto the crook of your neck and collarbones. one of your hand grabs onto his as you guide it to grope your breast, squeezing the skin of it as he groans in your ear when felt more of your arousal flowing down as he fills you up with his semen.

breaths blow out of you both unorderly as you twist your head and find his lips, kissing them while jaeyun felt how your hips are moving against him once again. pulling out, he hastily flips you onto your back as he watches how both of your cum is flowing out of you before he stops it with the head of his dick as he pushes in. your legs are spread wide unconsciouly, watching him with a pleasure-fulled face of open mouth and tears of delight coming out of your hooded lids. with his stamina, the boy increases his speed as he leans in close to you, feeling how your belly button piercing presses against his skin as he folds you in half. your eyes then open, noticing how they are darker than before as you nod your head instinctively—not fully in control of your own body as he is the one taking charge, but also because you are slowly not feeling fully there.

"don't stop…" you mumbled out, holding your legs open for him as your eyes rolled back into your skull with every deep thrust you get. edging jaeyun even more from your actions, he makes his thrust faster and thorough as his fingers also rub your clitoris, feeling how your walls are pressing around him once again as he chases after it with his own high. when he spurt more of his cum into you, you let out a cry as another squirt of cum comes out of you, making his release flow out of your slit as you opened your eyes wide and skim to his face—his eyes also darkens like yours.

nevertheless, the only words that are is coming out of your mouth scramble his mind once again: "don't stop."

and so, he didn't stop until you both fell into exhaustion. jaeyun manhandles you into another position, thrusting upwards into you as your hands rest on his chest. your body is limping as he realises how gone you are from the pleasure—entering another space of existence. it makes him pull you down into a hug as he chases more of your release alongside his own. yet, when he fills you with another set of cum, your lips still utter "don't stop."

he fucked you in more ways that you both had actually done before. jaeyun moves you more into various positions: one with his hand pushing your head on the mattress as he kneels with your flat figure beneath, your front facing away from him as you bounce above him, and another previous position when you ride and face him as you finally crash down on his figure. your body is quivering with broken giggles coming out of your mouth as you lean down your head on his chest—feeling every cum that both of your bodies make blends in and staining the mattress. jaeyun gives you many kisses all across your face as your hooded eyes blink, feeling the muscles spasm all around your body as he feels your arms wrapped around him, making him hold you close as best as he could.

"i'm not letting you go this time," he whispers into your ear, earning a nod from you as he spreads his palm over your shoulder blades to hold you tight against him. your walls snuggling him as he glances at how your face relaxes and lets exhaustion take over in making you rest. however, when jaeyun looks at the ceiling of the motel room; he couldn't help but feel like a total shit.

'what is this feeling?' he asked himself when he unconsciously soothed down the back of your head as your breathing became much stable than before at the crook of his neck.

'it is only sex, right?' jaeyun asks again as he looks back toward your figure lying on top of him.

in this arrangement you have made, all actions are mutual. many times, he is the one who initiates sex. and if he can show his want to have sex with you, then you can also do the same with him. he will do what he was doing from the last few minutes numerous times more if you had asked for it. yet, you said you are "letting go", you indeed "let go" when he can assume how clouded your mind is. when you had said that, every vigorous thrust of his going inside you felt different—like it was coated with a different coating than what happened last time.

when he thinks about it, every caress on your body become so fucking different in an instant. he looks at how your eyes are tightly shut. tiredness taking you away into the dream state as he gives a one slow caress from your neck and following your spine until nearing your bottom. that the way he was fucking you moments ago—even if it does looks so dominant and tough—felt more in benefit for your pleasure than his, an ulterior motive you haven't been able to speak to him until now.

"i got too fucking romantic. apologies," jaeyun mumbles to himself, but it is actually for you, even if you are not awake.

the boy recalls moments of how it came to be: your trembling body against his as he soothes you down for the first time; your head resting against his shoulder as you sleep beside him in the vehicle; how he sometimes gave more of his food to you because what you order is not exactly in size from the menu; how he helps you with aiming for your pool game against on of the boys; how he lets out a small smile when he notices your camera lens recording him but he is looking straight at you instead. how soft his touch became when you said "let go," before it was replaced with "don't stop."

gosh, jaeyun's having feelings for you. but he knows you may not feel the same.

that is the nature of this established relationship you two have—how you help him relax after a night full of adrenaline—and how little you also reciprocate about it from the numerous times you have denied being with him after every intercourse. shaking his head, chuckles of bafflement come out of him. because even if you are in his arms like right now, he couldn't fucking read you. and so, the only way for him to show it is by comforting you, being your shoulder to lean on like a friend would. jaeyun does just that: his eyes looking down at you as he soothes his hand down your back in a stable rhythm—forcing his eyes to be wide open as he doesn't want you gone when they finally close.

however, his body was also exhausted as sleep beckoned him to succumb. his eyelids were already drooping and almost covered his eyes as his hands found a part of your body he wanted to hold, pushing you down onto him so he could feel your warmth pressing against his cold skin. and so, jaeyun lets sleep take him into the dream state, hoping to find you there as well.

he did find you there. you were smiling as you sat beside him. your hands interlocked with each other as you stared at the void of a view in front of you. yet he doesn't care about whatever the view before him is unless it is you there in his vision. but a brush of coolness startles him awake and he looks down to find the warmth he senses is his body covered by the bed's duvet. then, he glances to the other side of the bed, finding it still so tidy.

you were gone. just like you usually do.

a frown decorates jaeyun's face as he gulps his saliva down. shaking his head and straining his face to not let his burning eyes let out something full of disappointment, but also leftover guilt.

he sits up and rested his bare and hurting back against the headboard, feeling his flaccid cock brushing against the material as the cold hits his torso, making him snuggle more into the cover. his eyesight skims around the room—finding evidence of his rendezvous with you still there as he formulates memories to hold onto the remnants of them. jaeyun found his clothing pieces and bag scattered on the rugged floor. but he doesn't recognise the book that is lying there as well.

jaeyun's legs almost fall out as he stands up, feeling how his muscles are tired from the intercourse, meeting the sensation of being half awake as he steps onto the rug-textured floor. eyes on the book's silhouette as he steps forward and picks it up—even with his joints hurting from holding his body up to not crush you. he recognised the distinct texture of the book as a moleskine notebook when he brushed against a protruding sticky note on the top of the book. opening the page where it is sticking, his eyes widen when he looks at what is written.

five makeshift lines stretch from one edge of the page to the other horizontally. filled in circles and x symbols scattered and placed on the lines, and he also sees the flags on the right side of the circle of x. jaeyun can read these symbols, already hearing the parts playing in his head with what each of them associates with. he looks to the top of the page, finding the words "rosanna shuffle" with lots of underlines. then it clicks in his head as he recognises the sound. how the beat sound with the stops and ghost notes as it continues to the keyboard part playing in his head when he recalls the song that this very shuffle drum part comes from: rosanna by toto.

it's a drum notation. but it is not his. and there is only one other person who came into the room hours ago with him.

it must be yours.

with his mind expanding about the knowledge, he flips open the rest of the pages as he finds more drum notations with notes scribbled on the space around the main musical staves. drum notations from songs he identifies like easy lover by philip bailey and phil collins, head over heels by tears for fears, in bloom by nirvana, and even reckoner by radiohead. but when the pages he flips come nearer and nearer to the front of the notebook, he finds notations that have more scribbles to them, like they are so regularly revised. looking at the top of the page, jaeyun scans the names of songs he doesn't know. utopia? animal noises? voyager? he questioned the words as he arrived at the very first page of the notebook.

thumbing it around, he found the same phrase that shows up on the top of the page alongside those words he had questioned—the words he realises are song titles. and so, he reads the phrase he found beside each title; the name of the band that he voiced out.

"dawndreamer."

-

as the door clicks behind you, feet dragging against the rugged floor with your shoes and undergarments held within your hands, you eye the dark room with a lone small lamp lit up on the desk as you hear the sniffles coming from the sleeping sophia tucked in her bed. the sweat is sticking onto your skin along with yours and jaeyun's cum trailing down your thighs and drying there.

honestly, you feel like shit and you look like it too when you step into bathroom after dropping your items by your bed. the lights on the ceiling shine down on you as you see your reflection. marks and hickeys marred your skin from your neck to your wrists. swollen lips and eyes staring back from the mirror as you scan yourself until they dart lowly at the porcelain sink. your hands holding onto the edge of it with your fingers curling into the material—giving a small pressure on them before turning towards the shower.

in the past three months of your situation with jaeyun, never had you outwardly used him like that. yes, most of the times when you both fuck each other is when he wants to let out pent up adrenaline so he can go to sleep easily—the others are where you both are horny—but being that rough has never occured in every session you have held before the last. your mind was blanking on some memories there that look more and more like vignettes instead. the euphoric state captures you as you witness yourself from a helicopter view; how elevated the sensation is as you enter a domain filled with absolute pleasure. but when it dies down as you regain consciousness, sensing him still inside you as you didn't stick to your own bargain of the deal, which is to return to your room right after, you realise that it has consequences.

the cold water washes down your skin as you lather it with bubbles from the shower gel. hisses coming out of you when you felt a slight tinge of hurt as some part of the skin that was scraped open from that sensation. but you deserve that when you push him to do so and he also says no to it, because the memories of why you did that don't erase fully; especially now with the added weight of this whole ordeal alongside it. and so, you start to rub down your skin a bit harder, feeling the numbness of your muscles from the stretch and bruises coming from that session as well.

guilt climbs into your veins as you can taste its bitterness in your mouth, not even knowing how long you had stayed in the shower in the dead of night until you notice your fingertips getting wrinkly. when you finally wear only a simple, oversized t-shirt over your underwear and gulp down your birth control pill, you don't hesitate to quickly grab and consume your antidepressant pill as well. primarily because of what happened today and the emotions you felt when you heard the very song playing in that karaoke room's speakers. it is true. sophia knows you can sing—there are numerous times you had unconsciously sung the song you play in the shower and she has complimented you for it—but because it is the final stop of the tour and knowing it may be the last time you will have fun with the core team, you can't help but to say yes. you just didn't know that this song would hit you with that pain once again.

it has been two years since you last came to haeyang. two years since the day that changed your trajectory forever. you gaze at the lit-up path on the side of the beach from your room's window, looking at the dark waves coming closer to the ground like it is crawling back into your heart. that is when you see the shining beacon from the lighthouse, adding more to the overwhelming sensation of the muffled crashes of waves as you turn around to go and tidy up your items. all the memories that are flowing in make you push to suppress them as best as possible by doing anything else other than wallowing in those emotions invoked while waiting for the pill to kick in and make you sleepy.

placing your bag on the bed, you rummage through it as you feel everything there, your wallet, your camcorder, your phone; except one item.

quickly, you pour your belongings on top of your mattress as you scan each item. dread slowly but surely shows up prominently and filters your sight. because you couldn't find the rectangle silhouette as it is separated by its pen, now lonely between your phone and your wallet.

your notebook is gone.

fingers twitching, you recall every trace of the steps you have taken with that bag of yours. that includes when you wake up in the vehicle that is nearing the motel and when you carry it along with your luggage into the room right after it. the bag is with you when all seven of you go to the karaoke place and you never pull out anything out of it once through out that part—including when you cry at that fucking song. then, you remember your strap slipping down your body as the bag follows with jaeyun's lips on yours, brushing those thoughts away with his touches.

jaeyun might have your book.

with a palm slap on your forehead, you rub it down your face before massaging your creases as best as you could with the frown showing on your face full of embarrassment. he might've read it. he might've caught onto something that you have been hiding when you moved on. but you never truly move on, don't you? jaeyun could put all the points together with the way you can sing, especially in how shocked his expression looks when you start to sing after so long in such a loud volume amplified by the microphone.

you gazed down at your palm, seeing the calluses in creases of each of your digits as you felt them burn with the sensation. folding them into a fist all balled up, the sensation is gone as you pack up your things and put your bag on the desk before turning off the desk lamp. your figure, shrouded in darkness, walks to lie down on your designated bed. the only source of light is from the moonlight coming into the window that you haven't fully covered with the curtain as you hide your whole body under the duvet, hiding from everything, as you know that you have to confront him in the daytime. preferably today before he spreads it to his friends.

when you wake as the moonlight is replaced by the sunlight coming in from the window, you pivot back to find sophia still asleep deeply after the effect of the alcohol she has probably taken more after you and jaeyun left the place. you tug on the hoodie and sweatpants you had owned since high school as you eyed the clock that is telling you to get brunch, your rumbling tummy reminding you as well. eyeing your phone screen with notifications from the group chat that includes all seven of the main amperhyphen crew, sunghoon and euijoo are already at the american-style diner that you had remembered seeing when you walked down the sidewalk with jaeyun. knowing that if someone has already staked their position to eat, the rest will follow, including jaeyun.

your footsteps feel heavy as you walk towards the stairs to the ground floor of the motel, striding towards the pavement when you turn your head and find the diner building so near to the motel. biting your lip, you brace yourself and rush there as fast as possible.

eyes gaze at the exposed clear window where people are eating their meals, you barge in with a dingling bell sounding at the top of the doorframe. but your sight is set on the five boys with differing hair colours sitting down on the booth table whilst waiting for their meals to come, with the appearance of the boy with dusty blond hair making your nostrils flare.

when you arrived at the table, the four boys were talking amongst each other as the last one—the blond one—listened in on the conversation. but his hand was rubbing against the front cover of a notebook and gently touching the pages on the side like he owns it: your notebook.

"there she is." jay had spoken when he was the first one to find you approached. but, quickly with an eye on a gap in his hold on your book, you quickly snatched and held it close to your chest and heart. a deep frown forms on your facial expression as you look at the blond boy.

"for fuck sake, don't you know not to read what other people owns?" your statement startled the boys and also the waittress tending to the counter after the last customer other than the people you are working with steps away and go do their activities outside. your words are aimed at one person who is looking at you with wide eyes.

"(y/n)! i didn't know you are also a-"

"so what?!" you retorted, making jaeyun flinch as you glance at the faces that the others have. nicholas, who sat next to him, looks at you before looking away. euijoo, who moves his eyes to look at him mixing his milkshake with a paper straw, and jay, who has a look of curiosity in his pair. every gaze that you capture with your eyes of their eye contact goes away when you catch and decipher the look coming from them—including sunghoon, who you believe is the one most logical about this situation, still looks away from your fiery stare. because combined with the way they act, their eyes are telling everything.

they know. jaeyun told them.

your foot reacted immediately, retreating your body away from their booth as you shook your head with an even bigger swing. punishing them for their inner cats chasing into their curiosity about something so personal to you, not minding that they will get killed even with a swipe of your movement. hugging the book tight against your chest, you secure it as you run as quickly to the door—hearing the shout of your name in jaeyun's recognisable voice as you don't stop.

leaping down the small flight of stairs of the diner's entrance, your shoulder was hit as you looked back and found sophia's surprised expression quickly turning into one that was full of concern.

"are you okay?" she asked—not like you aren't the one who slammed her and you have to be the one asking it instead. but you couldn't refute like you usually do. hiding it will make it worse. the city itself, the memories you have of this city, and the love you lost in this city all come back as you stare into her soft, worry eyes. for the first time in a while in this situation, you shake your head in disagreement with sophia's question as a tear fell down your cheek. you are not okay.

you push yourself away from the diner and the parking lot as you run on the pavement. your mind is set on one place as everything you tried by coping against it—from drugs like the antidepressant to the sex like you had last night—doesn't work to get rid of it. it doesn't work when you are outnumbered by the nightmares as you let your feet carry you away, knowing where they will make you go as you turn the corner on the edge of the street, running to the one with a name that you recognise.

each steps feel so heavy, reminiscent of last night when you walked out of jaeyun's room. but you still let the aesthetic of the town sink into you as you gaze at the building no taller than five stories high. chipped painted walls of some building exteriors scattered in the view, letting you see the mostly mom-and-pop shops' signage. views of cafes with their sitting area bleeding out towards the sidewalk to some places with a small patch of soil to accommodate the growing tree rooted there. but, your eyes are focused on the signs with the street names, combing through to find what you are looking for: the intersection.

the four-way intersection is mostly clear as you can see the clear markings of newly painted crossroads on all sides and the warning yellow cross at the square between the four streets. yet, all you could see at that intersection is yourself, all tussled as you gaze down one of the streets to the truck that scurries away down the road. the corner shop staff at the intersection go out to look at the wreckage with a few other bystanders helping the other passengers—your friends—as you turn to face the reflective surface of the metal. hand on your phone from calling emergency services as you just know, you just know that you might be the only one that survived.

at the corner of the four-way intersection, alone under the sky nearing noon, you crumbled.

your figure falls onto your knees as you hug the notebook so tightly against your chest. body trembling as you let the tears fall out of you in a free fall, reaching your neck and staining your hoodie as you sobbed hard. and, with your body leaning down against the concrete into a bow, you prayed. you prayed for your friends who didn't survive that day, prayed for any higher power out there to elevate you from the memory of this place. but, even after two years, you can only sense the underlying guilt and grief remain in dormant until it all comes out at this moment.

you gaze at your wrist as you decide to bow down before placing the palm against the textured concrete surface, seeing faint slit marks of self-harm that even goes deeper and breaks a vein—many times of contemplating suicide as you just want the pain to go away. you don't deserve to be the only one living. you should've died with your friends that day. and as you remembered how pale their faces have become when you acknowledge that there is no oxygen flowing through their veins anymore, you wail into the morning space as everything that you have been suppressing all arrives back to you.

the way that you could've fucking avoid their deaths on your hands as the one on the steering wheel, to swerve or even press on the brake even if you are supposed to move because the light is green. the following court case on the truck driver as you are brought into the town's courthouse as a victim and witness. the faces of your friends' pictures as you attended their funerals, which all of your families agreed to be buried side by side with each other. their families treat you like their daughter because their own daughters are all deep under the soil. how you had lost your dream forever as it goes along with them.

your palm pushes you back to a kneeling position, feeling every tear and snot all come out of you as you don't even mind rubbing the palm dirtied by pavement onto your face. that is when you felt a warm hug around your shoulders when you heard the familiar feminine voice you've found comfort in in the last three months.

"the boys are so fucking shitty. they were only just standing there, but i can't stay still and i had to run after you," she said into your ear, humouring you with her usual cadence in talking as you let her move your torso upright, still sobbing out as you let your head hang in her embrace.

even if sophia is just a friend that you know from attending college, she has been there since day one. she knows you had some depressive thoughts and she has seen your wrist bandaged when you went into the class you share with her. but, she doesn't know that this is the thing that triggers all of it and how severe it is with how you have to be prescribed pills to help function yourself if it gets too much. because all you wanted was to move on, to move on from those broken dreams you shared with your friends, from the fame you receive even momentarily, to live your life while able to balance your love for music—to be able to play the drums openly again. and as you kneeled there, continue with praying with your inner voice at the makeshift shrine you imagine in that corner of the intersection, you let out a huge breath that is still as shaky as ever as you turn your head, facing sophia who is looking down at your kneeling body with huge frown on her face.

"i, i have to tell you something."

jaeyun is still in a daze as he watches you running away, his feet following your path when he catches sophia's glare through the window before she chases after you onto the sidewalk you were running on. his eyes trail her figure as she disappears, feeling his heartbeat also jogging as he turns his head towards his friends. call him naive, but jaeyun doesn't know why you reacted that way. he wants to embrace you into his arms when he finds out you can play drums, proudly telling his boys that you have been playing drums by showing them the drum parts you are learning or able to play. some of the songs even shocked them as they teased him that he couldn't even play it—already set up a jamming session so you could play with them as well after the tour ended.

with your explosive reaction that startles him, he knows that there is something deeper as to why you didn't tell him or the others you used to play drums. for that reason, it left him in intrigue as his mind is echoing the name of your band.

so, jaeyun walks to the counter all by himself, sitting on one of the stools that overlooks the preparation area as he gazes at an older woman preparing the food and an androgynous-looking girl cleaning up the place. the girl hears the bell from the window in the kitchen area as she turns and picks up the orders from the table and brings them towards their booth. while the old lady picks up the plate of jaeyun's order and places it on the counter before him. her salt and pepper hair makes jaeyun let out a small smile as he peeks down to see that there is a strawberry donut he didn't order on the small plate beside his brunch.

"on the house," the old lady says, seemingly able to read his expression full of conflicting emotions.

"thank you, ma'am." jaeyun replies curtly as he gazed at the food and then at his trembling hands. one of them slowly picks up the heavy weight of his phone from his sweatpants pocket when he remembers what the guys also said when he shows your notebook to them.

"i also don't know who dawndreamer is," sunghoon said.

"wait, so (y/n) used to be in a band?" jongseong questioned, and the boys continued to discuss as jaeyun quickly grabs the open book that is placed in the middle of the table into his grasp.

his fingers itch as he finally opens his browser and types "dawndreamer" into the search inquiry. pressing enter, the first thing that shows up is the name and the subtitle underneath it: "rock band." in the picture section, he finds a monochrome photo of what looks to be a picture of four teenage girls. their faces are pretty blurry as jaeyun scrolled down to find the first two links of the band for their instagram and bandcamp.

the instagram account opens as he presses on it, letting him see the pictures that are mostly abstract arts and the band members doing something, with the recent one being a post of black background and white text: an announcement post. so, jaeyun presses the last post before it, seeing the date to see that it was last posted two years ago. most of the posts are the usual posts he sees posted in amperhyphen's own instagram account, showing their artistry and authenticity as emerging indie musicians. he scrolls through a post full of photos of the girls in high school uniform showcasing their favourite vinyl LPs they own, such as sufjan stevens to vampire weekend, like it is a showcase of who they are as musicians and their inspiration as they cultivate their own flavour. but one post captures his attention. the recognisable face he admires.

it was a picture of you behind a drum kit, the stick you are holding is blurry as the photo was captured mid-action when you are twirling it. it is a candid picture as you are looking another way towards the ride cymbal. the background is dark so as to make you the focal point. you haven't had your septum piercing as he couldn't see a glint of light under your nose even with the flash photography. staring at that image, you look so comfortable behind the kit, like he also feels as scans and recognises that your kit is pretty similar to his.

scrolling upwards, he finds the pixelated post he had scrolled past to notice that it is a video. jaeyun watches as the video starts, a band—dawndreamer—that is playing their instruments in the small venue as he presses the volume button on the side of his phone to hear it louder. the frame was so pixelated he could only focus on the sound, hearing your drum part playing tightly with the strumming guitar chords as the bass comes in, adding the harmonies alongside another voice that sings along. jaeyun's eyes focused on the drums as he could see the pixelated image of you playing the drum full of intensity, seeing the movement matching to the sound that he is hearing as jaeyun's eyebrows furrows whilst looking at your pixelated self—holding the song on as the glue between every other members instrumental parts before the video loop in back to the start.

jaeyun's breath was taken away from him as he scrolled back up to the recent post, finally meeting the announcement post he dreaded to read as he also looked at the date it was posted. two years ago. the last update of the band that he just got to know. the last update of the band you played in—a part of you you never told him before. and so, he reads what the white text says.

eyes_on_dawndreamer: thank you for everything.

for all the support, the prayers, and the words of encouragement. we won the suit in haeyang's courthouse and that is all because of your support too. we were four girls with a big dream in revolutionising alternative rock music—a dream we had shared with each other since we created this band during our second year of high school, to then releasing singles and EPs on bandcamp, to even going on tours as we have all graduated. and now, all that remains is one girl. i would like to thank gaeul, tsuki, and ningning for being there for me. they are the bestest friends a girl could have wished for. and i hope that all three of them could be happy wherever they are in the skies.

as for the band, it doesn't feel right to continue without them—as a one-woman band or even adding new members. dawndreamer is as much their band as it is mine. it is not complete without them when i can only do so much because they all complete me. and with all the respect i have for that name and that dream of ours, i decide that this is the end of dawndreamer. i would love to thank every person who helped us to reach these heights, from the crewhands to you: the fans, who have been patient with all of this process. i am saddened that this cuts away the chance for us to greet you. to perform before you.

the dawn will always rise

-(y/n), your fellow dawndreamer.

as the sombre tone of the post hums in his head, he pulls out his headphones from his bag and puts them on before opening the bandcamp website that links to dawndreamer. inside it, he sees numerous cover art of your band's releases as he presses on one of them randomly, finding out that it is one of the EPs you were talking about in the post. he doesn't hesitate to press play on streaming the digital track at the top as he scrolls down to read the comments, praises singing towards the EP as he couldn't help but smile at the comments. then, your voice pierces through the song with the strumming guitar playing underneath. the voice that hints at certain emotions as you sing the lyrics while the drum plays with the rhythm of open hi-hats and kick bass. he can already see how you will play this live and how beautiful it will be as you open the song and the show with your voice and drum playing.

jaeyun felt his eyes were burning with tears as he let the bandcamp stream play the EP when he opened another tab to continue his research of your band, finally able to scroll down the search result when the third result showed him a news headline. a headline that makes him feel a heavy thump in his heart:

dawndreamer's gaeul, ningning, and tsuki pass away in a car accident, (y/n) survives.

-

for the rest of the day, jaeyun hadn't heard back from you directly. the last information about you came from sophia who told the group that you would be joining back tomorrow, as they are setting up the stage to continue your job in recording the behind-the-stage b-roll footages. yet, he knows more about you than ever, especially concerning the car accident you experienced in this very town.

the numerous articles he had read created multiple tabs in his browser that even made him stay up at night—he can't even comprehend what you are feeling even with all the information the internet has shown him about this. about you. about your band. about the case. how you were the only survivor of the car crash, and how you were in the driver's seat that day. how you, as the only surviving band member, decided to put your effort into getting the driver jail time and pay for the damages, especially to your bandmates' family—even if you are still 18 years old. how you were on tour at that time, the day after the crash was supposed to be your concert day at haeyang. how you were a prolific drummer that even many articles have mentioned your playing, dawndreamer being highlighted as bands to follow not knowing that it will only be so short of a career. how you are technically his senior in the music industry, becoming a performing drummer at 16 while jaeyun just started making songs with his amperhyphen bandmates during college freshman year.

words are being ingrained in his head as he realises a lot of things about you that click in his mind. how you sometimes fidget in a rhythm that you caught from anywhere you can hear them, like the drop of water to tapping on a laptop's keyboard. how as you watched them rehearse whilst sitting in one of the seats by the FOH, you tapped your thighs in rhythm with his drumming; your camera on your lap as you had gotten enough behind-the-stage footage to edit for the next set of posts to publish at the band's social media. the way he could feel faint bumps between the folds of your fingers—smoothed-out calluses that he also got from playing the drums that you have also helped bandage around his fingers, eyes focusing down as he looked at you attentively, like you are reminiscing about something as you seemed to familiar in fixing up these types of injuries.

when sleep came to him, the last thing on his mind was your peaceful face when you are asleep on top of him. too tired out from your sexy time with him but full of blissfulness when jaeyun's thumb smoothed out the creases on your face.

that nagging feeling continued to last inside his mind when he came to the diner once again to order breakfast, finding sunghoon talking to the phone with the corner of his lips turned upwards. as the manager's eyes found his friend, the call ended as he turned towards jaeyun.

"the instruments arrived last night. the stage crew are setting them up as we're having the rehearsal tomorrow morning. i'll be going there after finishing up breakfast," his friend uttered with a stern voice and a slight brush of relief. the boy nods before thinking back to those ghost notes he had caught onto and seared into his memory. the ghost drumming sound that always comes up right when he arrives at the venue to do his rehearsal. if his assumption is correct, he had to go there to witness it with his own two eyes—because he has his guesses and one of them is the certainty of who is the one making those notes.

"can i go earlier with you? right after i'm done with my breakfast?" jaeyun tugs in his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, making sunghoon gaze at his body to see how truthful his friend is asking of him with raised eyebrows.

"sure. right after your breakfast." the boy looks down at the empty booth as they both sit across from each other, letting the girl from the diner last time take in both of their orders.

with his stomach full, jaeyun gazes out the window of the shotgun seat beside sunghoon, watching as the town buildings slowly morph into tall and lush forests that shade the scenery as the car continues to drive on the road. his head leaned against the glass overlooking the outside as he also found what looked to be a bus stop littering the side of the streets meters between each other. as he continued to gaze outside, the vehicle drove up onto the hilly road as it climbed up to the venue. then, a few hundred meters from the last bus stop, his sight came across slivers of a large land behind the trees as jaeyun heard the clicks of the turn signal and sunghoon moved the steering wheel to let the car go inside the lot.

it is mostly empty except for trucks and other vehicles that are parked, as he recalls that those are the vehicles bringing the stuff for the concert tomorrow. leaning forward against the dashboard, he gazes at the venue, which looks to be a lone abandoned convenience store that supposedly has everything. it is large enough to be a concert venue as he finds various posters stuck on the wall and the boarded windows with wooden planks. a concert venue that is so his style and where his band can see them perform at.

when he stepped out of the open car door, sunghoon was already walking first as he greeted one of the moving crews and the ones with the concert staff. they all gave a handshake towards jaeyun as the group moved toward the side of the buildings for the backstage entrance. behind the doorframe was a dark space that looked so faint until he stepped closer to find the silhouette getting more vivid—gazing at the lights that line up the hallways.

"are all of the instruments inside?" sunghoon had asked.

"yes, we have finished assembling the drums and speaker while the other stagehands are testing the lights. one of your crews is also checking in," the head crew said to sunghoon as jaeyun let out a slight pout. then, he heard it. the faint drumming voice from inside the venue. he had a guess who this crew member is because one of the three main crew—sunghoon, sophia, and you—only one can play the drums. jaeyun's heart is beating hastily as he peers into the darkness where the sound comes from, hoping that all of his predictions are right.

his footsteps follow the hallways lit up with the minimal lighting to test out the stagelights, arriving at the larger backstage area where he recognises the crates of his drums and cymbals. the sound gets louder and louder before the rhythm falters. then it starts again, the snare, kick drum, and hi hats moving in a mixture of a half time and a shuffle. the hesitation from the first round of playing becomes more confident as it continues. he walks down the path to the wing of the stage, noticing the beam of the light shining down on the stage as he pushes past to get to a clearer view; the sound dimmers as he stands by the wing overlooking the exposed part of the stage.

underneath that beam of light is you, sitting on the throne behind his drum kit, holding onto his drumsticks as he steps closer to the edge of the wing, one step away from the stage. jaeyun watches as you sit there, holding the sticks upright as your eyes are closed, mouths moving slowly like you are meditating. you look ethereal behind the drum kit. your posture signals that you are so comfortable there that he can relegate his space to you, too. deep down in his heart, he regretted not knowing it sooner, and you had to actually hide it because of what happened—playing behind the backs of people who are helping to succeed his band.

your head leans down and looks at the open notebook on the stand, your phone leaning against the page as he watch your finger presses on what looks to be an audio folder. after the press, your voice speaks out, but it is coming from the speaker of the phone as you count down like a metronome. then you started drumming, hitting the parts of the shuffle with your hi-hats and kick drum playing in a steady and fast rhythm as the other stick plays the ghost notes on the snare. the rhythm plays like the notations he reads from your notebook.

as piano and guitar enter, his eyebrows are lifted as he witnesses how you are doing the rosanna shuffle so well. even if he likes progressive rock music like toto and yes, he has always thought of playing their drum parts later in his career because he is not prepared enough. even with the mix meters he recognises from playing a lot of math rock, many of prog rock songs are longer to play and complicated. but you play it flawlessly, a shuffle so tight he could see your written notation floating above your head as he remembered.

the way you drum has a level of tenacity that makes him more mesmerised by you. but that constant cycle of awe cuts short as he also heard the sound of you talking back in the song—like you made the edit layered with your voice for a reason.

"here comes the slow part, one, two." your voice talks from the recording as the song enters the prechorus that stops the shuffle altogether before it ends with a few crashes and you counting down back to the shuffle as the chorus plays. jaeyun couldn't help but mouth the lyrics as he saw that you were doing the same. then, your voice gets louder as you enter the second verse, singing along with the song. a smile grows on the boy's voice on how your singing doesn't break the rhythm of the shuffle and the timing for the crash that transition to verse section b. he watches as your eyelids are nearly shut, slowly getting into the space: the space he is always so addicted to when he gets in—a flow state that he got when he is drumming. no other thing can distract him from that flow state as the world melts away.

jaeyun's head bops as he gazes at the way you smile unconsciously; the spotlight shining on you as he can see the way your lips are now grinning so widely. the realisation hits him as the numerous ghost notes he had caught listening to before his rehearsal are you practising the drum part of the song, from the half-time shuffle to the part where you move to the ride cymbal. and this is the time you are truly nailing it. every single hit of the drums, every single beat that you feel running through your body, you have done so by following the recording of your voice guiding you through the song. like a rally driver with her navigator marking each turn and each gear shift changes, cruising through the race track that is rosanna by toto. jaeyun thinks that this idea is ingenious, especially combined with the notation notes he had seen you write—maybe there's the reason why you are so brave enough to learn hard drum parts by prolific drummers of history, such as the likes of neil peart in rush and john bonham in led zeppelin.

but then he saw your eyebrows creased as the song landed in the last pre-chorus, your eyes were still closed as he noticed the wrinkles around your face's t-zone before you shook your head and continued drumming. jaeyun felt his breath hitch as he heard your sob that echoed towards him. the spotlight allows him to catch the sheen of liquid coming from your eyes as you try not to stagger with your hands that are playing the last crash transition. you mouthed the lyrics with your heart as you entered the last chorus. the boy finally noticed your tears coming down in a free-fall down your cheeks. a long exhaled breath coming out of him as he watches with raised eyebrows and squinted eyes.

he understands it now. he felt it. how cathartic it seems for you to do this, nearing the end and nearly failed but you persist. the frown of your face forming as you're realising something and he can only assume it, but you might be doing this whole thing for your bandmates who died here in haeyang. to know that you are still capable of drumming. a swan song that tells the universe that even without them, you can still drum.

as the main song ended with the fading piano solo, your drumming still continues as you play a solo section that he is also witnessing. playing the tom-toms still in the beat as you improvise with the ending, adding crashes as you interplay the half-time shuffle with your own pizzazz. with the hot spotlight beaming down on you as he could see your face wet by tears and sweat, his breath was carried away. how he could see how you pour every strand of your drumming skill into your muscles when he also got a flicker of what looks to be blood flying from the hands gripping onto the sticks. your eyes now open widen as you heave, creating the most satisfactory ending when you realized that the song and your voice that is navigating your playing has stopped, ending with cymbals crashing before the last cymbal crash, kick drum, and snare hits altogether, making you actualy jump from the stool as the sound echoes in the empty venue. his breathing noise becomes loud as the sound frequency travels from the drum kit, echoing all over the venue. then, jaeyun heard it; the sobs kicking in as you lean your head down, back hunch, and shoulders shaking.

you couldn't stop shaking, pain flowing through your body from muscles strains to heartache as you looked at your hands, opening the folded fingers while slowly holdng onto the drumsticks to witness your bloodied hands, two cuts form at the fold between your forefinger and middle of the palm on each hands as blood continue to pour and gather at the opening. your eyes looked beyond the drum kit to the space where the audience should be standing, to find no one there. to find out that your friends aren't there watching you. doubts that have haunted you numerous times during practice sessions for this drum part come in like a flood, that whatever you practice and what comes after is all a failure. that they will not come back.

they did not come back.

in the empty venue with a lone stage and a spotlight on you, your cry rings against the walls. the acoustics of the room make it even louder as you curl up to yourself as best as you can, swiftly bringing your bloodied hands to yourself so that it doesn't stain jaeyun's snare drum—not minding at all if it will stain your clothes instead. though as your heart continue to hurt, you just can't help yourself to put the your bloody palm agaisnt the left side of your chest; feeling the ache inside you squeezing in both catharticness of finally able to play the drum part until you are satisfy and the onslaught of hopelessness replacing it instead. the aftermath hurts like a drug redrawal, particularly as the realization hits that even with playing the drum part perfectly, your friends, your bandmares; they're not coming back.

that's when you heard the sound of a few sniffles coming from the stage wing. turning your head, you find jaeyun and his frowning face, looking back towards you.

you carefully wipe your tears away from your eyes, feeling the warm blood staining a little bit on your face as you say, "i'm sorry for staining your drumsticks. i can replace it if you want."

"no, no." jaeyun exclaims as he steps out to the stage, jogging towards you as he treks on to the foundation of where his drum kit sits and kneels on the floor, facing his body towards you. your fingers continue to shake as more of your grip on his stick loosens. his eyes look at them before you when he watched you close your eyes and let another onslaught of tears fall once again.

"i, i hope," you hiccuped, "that if i could play the rosanna drum part perfectly, then my bandmates can come back to me." you bit your lip even for a few moments after mumbling out, head shaking once again, "but it doesn't change anything. they're gone. they left me behind. i…" you looked down at your palm to watch the streaks of blood and it staining the wooden sticks, "i should've gone with them."

"i'm here," jaeyun could only utter. you open your eyes and meet his, feeling the sincerity exuding out of him as you continue to your jittering to get rid of it all; knowing that it is not as simple as that.

"you've must have known i'm a drummer when you found my notebook." your gaze is still on the floor before turning to face his drums for a few seconds, "i, i also want to apologise for playing your drums. i shouldn't have done that without asking for your permission."

"i forgive you, (y/n)," the boy carefully handpicked his words, knowing that you are in such a fragile state. he should've never even taken advantage of you that night, even if you pushed him on to continue, now understanding how much pain you are feeling even if he now knows you are using sex to cope with them. he doesn't mind kneeling for so long right there in front of you as you take your time to process everything. he watches over you and the way your fingers still twisted up against the drumsticks—not wanting to let go. when you hiss as the surge of pain comes from the open wound on your palm, your eyes look down at how jaeyun is holding on to your wrists so gently. the weight of his touch on your limbs lets you know that you aren't fully alone now.

your eyes blinked as you felt the warmth inside you thawing whatever rigidness you had built as a shield, knowing that yes, you have to talk about this sooner or later. all of this because he is also involved.

"can you stay by my side today?" your request had made him lift his eyebrows which you then follow with, "i feel safe with you." jaeyun nodded instantly, letting him pull the sticks of out your hands and places it in his bag as he helps you stand up, gathering your belongings into your bag before giving it back to you—not even letting go of his hold on you.

the boy stayed beside you as he watched the water turning a tint of red as you washed the dried blood on your hands, not even caring to clean up the stains of blood on your clothes, as you looked up at the mirror to find your swollen face and you exhaled with tremors. gently tapping on the hand with tissue so lightly, you met his gaze in the mirror's reflection as he watched you with a certain level of sadness. when you lean into him, he accepts you with his arm wrap around your waist as he gives a small kiss on your temple, holding you close as he follows you to whatever place you want to go.

your eyes met with sunghoon's—whose face is surprised but changes into a slight frown when he sees you—and he gives you a curt nod as jaeyun brings you away. you both left the venue's lot and stepped onto the bus. your head rested against the wide window as jaeyun still has his eyes on you, carefully holding your wrist even if he wants to interlock your fingers, because pressure on your wounds will just hurt you more. the bus drives down the hilly forest into the downtown area as you both step down at the bus stop by the beach that is overlooking the orange sky and the sun going nearer to the horizon.

you both sit down on the bench by the beach. the view of the lighthouse on top of the cliff paints more to the ambience that is the town of haeyang as you hold your hands to your lap. jaeyun is sitting beside you with his back leaning against the bench's backrest as he gazes at the beautiful view of sparkling water by the setting sun. then you started talking, reiterating what he might have known by the time he had found your book to this current moment. how you have your own band like his amperhyphen called dawndreamer, but your bandmates died in this particular town from a car accident against a truck.

"i was there, driving the car, and i can't help but be responsible for that event in my life." you let out a short chuckle as you continue to look at the glimmering water from the shining sun, knowing that jaeyun will listen. "we were listening to our shared rock playlist when we arrived in haeyang for our concert. rosanna by toto was playing as we all are basically continuing our carpool karaoke session. i also can't help but drum along by tapping against the steering wheel. as we drive to a green light four-way intersection when a truck comes through and slams into us from the passenger side of the car. we tumbled as the truck doesn't even fucking brake, continue to drive on and even slamming onto a lamp post before driving away. rosanna was the last song my friends heard as their pale skin just tells me that they're gone. the song that i will always cherish now." you can't help but blink away a little burn from the tears that are starting to form.

"you were driving in the intersection at a green light. you did the best you could."

"i should've…" you cut jaeyun off instantly before shaking your head, "i don't know why i'm telling you this. we're fucking friends after all." hearing the words that define your relationship nudges a little pain that blossoms in his heart, "but maybe, me talking about this could make you help me navigate all of this, especially because i've been using your drums too. without a verbal permission."

jaeyun moves his body and fully faces you as your fingers continue to curl and uncurl, knowing that rubbing the sweat off your palm would make the pain worse. the sunlight shines into your eyes, your side profile is mesmerising as ever, as he recalls back that your words say that you don't see him the way he sees you, especially in the ever-growing relationship you have.

"for the past three months, it has been such a wonderful time touring with you. with all of amperhyphen and sunghoon, and, and sophia too. seeing you on stage makes me feel like i live vicariously through you. we had similar genres going on with our music, so i can already imagine playing your drum parts on the stage. i was determined to be your friend, but we became something more… physical." you peek towards his side, making you tilt your head even a bit so he knows he is getting your attention, "but there is something more there as well."

you lightly bite your lip as a small scoff bubbles out from you, "you were holding me so warmly, especially in our last two stops. you always sat beside me when you first realised that i drink pills for motion sickness when we are doing long intercity trips, because that's one of the side effects from the car accident. you're trying to make me stay in your room when we agree that we will go back to each of our rooms after each fuck. but i always felt like you were stringing me along as i tried my best to stay down and deep on the ground, where i lay out myself so that i don't have to be swayed by you."

as jaeyun takes in all your words in his mind, from the denial to the bargaining, he is struggling to find the right words because he remembers all the times you left his room at night, all the times he had felt right after you went away from every fuck session you both had—including quickies and what not—and how he realizes that you're always cool at the receiving end of it all. that certain coolness also allowed him to be clingy when you reacted so naturally, but much of what you mentioned, he is doing them unconsciously. the last time you went to sleep with him was the first time you demanded him to do something, realising just how awful the power dynamic has been with knowing his situation as a musician and you are his staff. he can understand now what you meant by "stringing you around" because every time you both interact for intercourse, it is at his behest. and then he treats you more outside of it, too—knowing that that is not what you two agreed on.

jaeyun had wanted to give you a signal that yes, he does that because he cares for you. that what he is doing outside of the bedroom is his way to repay you for what you both have done. that he felt worried when you said that you were too tired or too sickly. that he discerned how his lips twitched when he heard you laugh at whatever his friends were saying. that he can't help but still be so mezmerized when watching you under the spotlight and even under the setting sun right now. he wants so much to repay you, to let him treat you like you treat him.

"every time you left after we fuck, i am always awake when i supposed to go to sleep." your eyes glance to the corner as he started speaking. your eyebrows starting to fold. "at the beginning, it was quick, five minutes to 10 minutes, when i just think about how you felt against me before that. but as we got into more of them, it gets longer, 30 minutes to one hour to then more." he lets his eyes meet yours.

"it was just me trying to take you in deeper than just surface-level memory: into my heart. when at first i was thinking about your body, then i started thinking about you in general. how in that time that feels so long before going to sleep, i was craving your warmth." jaeyun moved his hands, making you look down at how he is clenching them on his lap. "the last stop before haeyang, when you went away, i had contemplate to come and get you back, to let you sleep with me."

the boy let out a small chuckle before pursing his lips. "i did that actually. i stand in front of your door for 5 minutes, contemplating if i should get you back in my arms again for the night. but i can't, it breaks both of our boundaries that are going to be more bent beyond repair. and what happened two nights ago, when you were pushing me to fuck you so hard…" one of his hand move so he could feel yours, letting it graze your skin ever so slowly. "i'm so concerned for you, but you were having a bliss and you were pushing me to do so. so it's my turn to fulfil your wants that night. and then you stayed in my bed, exhausted. i stayed awake that night for a long time as i wrapped my arms around you and wish that i would still stay awake until you wake up, taking in that you're beside me." you peer down towards the hand that brushes against his, feeling the pain from the wound that are still there as you stretched the skin surface with your movement.

"what i want to say, in all of that rambling nonsense, is that i like you, (y/n). you playing the drums is a plus bonus because i already like you before that." his hand moved so he could touch your palm so gently, not wanting to press down on your hand as he continued. your eyes returning back to his face, who is now looking at the setting sun before glancing back to you. "i am addicted to your warmth and knowing how distant you've become the past few days makes me realize that i can't let you go like that. for the past three months, you're the one that has been there with me. understanding me when i sometimes rant out to you even if we didn't fuck that night. you were taking care of me, cleaning my makeup and patching me up when my drumstick broke and scratching my skin until it bled," he eyes your palm that is nearing to touch his, curling his fingers just for a little, but not adding pressure for a skin-to-skin contact.

"let me do that back to you. i want you to know that i'm here for you too, your beck and call, just like you are to me."

you take in his words, curving your fingers gently between his as you let out a huge sigh. you gaze back at the setting sun and the orange light filling up the sky around you. the sound of the crashing waves becomes the background noise for your process each and every phrase he had uttered about you. from the night after you left, to standing in front of the door, and his confession. you felt absolutely weird after saying what you said before him, but the lens you are seeing it through is changing from neutrality to a positive view.

after a slight squeeze coming from you in your connected hand, jaeyun lets out a silent exhale when you slip your hand from his touch, making him turn his head towards you as you still sense his light touch lingering on your skin. you finally spoke with a question.

"can you let me take it in first? let me process all of it?"

"absolutely." jaeyun immediately answered, "you're doing such a good job." he continued, leaving it so vague that it encompasses every worry you have of everything. you slowly stand up as you let your palm be grazed by the cool wind, taking a step backwards slowly towards the direction of your motel, which is so close to where the bench you both sat.

"good luck with the performance tomorrow, jaeyun."

he lets out a smile as you turn yourself around, glancing down at your swaying hands to see the blood staining your hand, then at his that was connected to your palm—seeing the little speck of your maroon blood on his skin. hollowness lets the air float inside him as he knew that that is what would happen anyway. that he does have feelings for you, he likes you and is very much interested in you, and the guilt is filling up because he was so fluctuating in his actions that he gives you mixed messages. jaeyun felt how his shoulders sag into himself. he will have to wait for you until you are ready with your answer, but for now, that worry also transfers to the state of tomorrow's performance.

the very last one. and he will have to pour it in with all of his might.

-

jaeyun's body jitters as he peeks out from the left wing of the stage, watching as more and more of the crowd enters the venue before turning around to face the backstage. he walked towards the vanity table where sophia had put makeup on him and the rest of his bandmates, lightly biting his lip ring as he gazed at the ruffled blond hair and his black and red tattoo on his left arm with the black tank top on through the mirror. he catches the sound of claps as he sees sunghoon standing nearby the stage, making him turn and walk towards him as he tucks in one side of his in-ear monitor. jongseong, euijoo, and nicholas all gather by their manager along with sophia who stands back. their faces are all full of smiles as he looks around and can't help for the smile to grow on his face too,

"come on! this is THE last stop. let's end it with a fucking banger." sunghoon had said as the other yells in excitement. he could see sophia taking the video of the band as they do their group cheer. hands on top of each other as jongseong—the designated frontman—starts the yell and they all move with their arms up high in synchrony. jaeyun's hands have bandages wrapped around the area he is most prone to cuts as he glances at the hand that taps on nicho's back and the other holding onto the set of drumsticks whilst they stay by the wing. when the lights from the building turned off, he could hear the crowd enrapturing in the darkness and he looked one last time at the wing to find no presence of you.

shaking the shivers off of him, he then steps onto the stage as more cheers come from the audience who are watching their moving silhouettes. jaeyun climbs on the foundation where his drum kit stands and sits on the stool, placing the drumsticks in each hand as he can't help to glance down, gripping onto the sticks that have your blood stains—the pair you were playing with yesterday. in this very moment, he remembered your words perfectly.

"seeing you on stage makes me feel like i live vicariously through you…"

and with the sticks you marked within his grip, you are now playing with him on the stage. he sure hoped that you were still watching him, even if he didn't see you before the concert starts.

he looks at the rest of his bandmates who are setting up their instruments, straps across their chest as jaeyun hears the familiar guitar tuning sound from the speaker. the pressure comes suddenly, digging onto his shoulders as he caught the eyes of each of his friends, all are assuring each other that they are ready as euijoo nods towards the stagehand at the side.

when he heard the click track in his ear, the spotlight lights up on jaeyun as he starts the song, knocking the drumsticks with each other as the rest of the band plays their first song, which starts with an instrumental. his head starts to buzz, focusing on the click track and also on nicho's bass as he plays the lines along with the drums. his eyebrows start to furrow, jaw tense as he plays the part and the transitions between each section of the song, like the many times he had practised and the few times he had to revise and improvised. yet, under that spotlight, he is reminded of you. you who had played his drum kit full of vigour, focusing on stabilising the rhythm and supporting the song as best as you could. jaeyun can see himself in third person, watching himself like he had watched you yesterday, drumming away under the stagelights and the vision from the audience watching them.

his hooded eyelids, a tell for him that is slowly going into the flow state, become wide open full of awareness when he gets into the right dosage, looking at every cymbal and tom before on euijoo's and jongseong's backs who are singing into their mic stand. then, he let himself view beyond his kit. his sight is looking at the fans who are watching them in awe, some are singing along, some are nodding their heads as he glimpses from one corner and trails down the barricade area. when he arrived at the other corner, he also saw a crew who had their hands wrapped with pristine white bandages that stand out from the darkness, a few bandages on the fingers and a bandage on the fold between the forefinger and middle finger on each side—similar to what he has on his hands.

jaeyun continues to look that certain way as he watches he reflecting camera lens moving downwards even for a bit, looking at the owner who doesn't focus on the viewfinder but instead on him: you. you with a smile on your face that makes him tug his own lips to mimic it as he heard jongseong yelling "hello, haeyang," whose audience cheers for the greeting before he goes to the guitar solo as the boy stabilises his rhythm to support the guitarist.

the concert continues on and jaeyun couldn't keep his eyes off of you for most of it. you're moving from one side of the room to the other as he lets muscle memory kick in after the tens of performances he had done for the tour. jaeyun had to look at the others too when they turned towards him as the band played their instrumental parts, hearing screams of his bandmates' stage name and his own "jake!" bursting into the space as they seemed, more or less, feels like jamming for themselves instead of perfoming for an audience. but that is what is desired for the crowd who continues to urge the band, as he could feel the familiar growing chemistry that combines in their performances. yet, the others didn't notice when they turned back as he continued to glance at your way.

he continues to glance at you as you record them playing on the stage, running around with your camcorder as you zoom in on the way euijoo is picking his guitar strings before turning towards its fretboard to capture his hands moving in chords as the sound continues. jaeyun can't help but peek at your face now with a new context—how you looked at euijoo with a sense of pride in them, like you are seeing your own bandmate performing on the stage and playing the guitar. when you moved to record him on stage, he turns his head in a suave way as he focuses on the drums, earning giggles from you, and he smirks as a reaction because he knows that it is only for him to notice.

jaeyun continues to play for the next hour or so, taking a bit of rest that includes the drink break as the members are all speaking into the mic and interacting with the audience for a few bits. sweat trailing down from his head to his torso to even on his exposed kneecaps of his ripped jeans as he continues. returning back into the flow state that makes his body move on autopilot as the adrenaline kicks in and produces once again. his tongue is licking his bottom lip ring unconsciously as he can feel the beat entering him, and yet, he is still holding onto the consciousness that is the unanswered confession of his to you. an anchor that makes him more aware, which in return makes him able to gauge the force he had to use to drum away—controlling his stamina as best as possible until the end of the show.

his hands move to the crashes as the last song nears the end. nicholas, euijoo, and jongseong all sang into their microphones as he mouthed the lyrics near his mic stand, head lulling following the rhythm for the last time, to then let the music stop and the spotlight shining on jongseong, who continued playing his melody as the music faded away. yet, jaeyun's eyes landed on yours when he could feel the fulfilment in him that is making him want to let out every emotion he is feeling through his tears. and he did so.

the boy smiles when he feels his eyes are burning, turning back towards the stage as euijoo says his final, final goodbye to represent the band.

"this is amperhyphen signing off from the tour! thank you so fucking much."

he heard the cheers and claps that is making his ears numb, causing him to pull out the in-ear monitor as he takes in the reaction that hits him hard. a sole tear fell down from the corner of his eye as the spotlight shines once again on the stage, seeing nicho opening his arm that is making him step out from his stool and jogs to the front of the stage. jaeyun never lets go of the drumsticks when he and his friends all gather in a group hug. finally. finally letting go of the big pressure of the touring in this last performance that has gone through without any clear hiccups. he can't help but lean his head against jongseong's shoulder, hearing euijoo whispering just between the four about how proud he is.

as he steps onto the wings when the audience all go out from the venue, his breath is knocked out of him when he feels arms wrapped around his sweaty body. arms tangles and pressed against his back as he felt the familiar warmth—making him wrap his arm around the figure as they pulled away, finding your face that was hidden in the crook of his neck when you hugged him. then, he felt one of your bandaged hands cup his cheek and make him lean into you, crashing your lips on his as his splayed hand rested to hold onto your back.

at first, he was in a daze before he could reciprocate, feeling your warm breath on his face as you let him push his tongue into your mouth, earning a muffled moan from you that made you both pull away. both of you are taking deep breaths as you lean in closer to his face.

"i like you too," you spoke to him, to answer what he asked yesterday.

"r-really?" he felt how his heart beat kick-started into a fast pace so suddenly.

"yeah, sim jaeyun. i like you too," head producing nods as you say it. then he wrapped his arms around you as you squealed, hugging you so tight as he peppered kisses all over your face. you pushed him away, making him look back at you with an overwhelmed face.

"are you alright?" jaeyun questioned so suddenly as you wiped a little drop of tears from the corner of his eyes. you lean your nose as it brushes against his.

"never been better."

the others come in as they all gather around you, feeling all the stickiness of their sweat as you roll your head to look around when you feel them hugging around your figure—even with sophia's little squeeks as she is brought into the hug as well. a group that you called family for the last three months. then, you pushed your head to rest against the exposed skin of jaeyun's shoulder.

"we're going to celebrate tomorrow, yes?" jongseong asked the group after they created their distance to look clearly at each other. all eyes are on sunghoon who looks at them with a small smile.

"yeah, one more day for us to relax here. then, the next day, we can go home."

"alright!" nicholas exclaimed as he already had sophia in his arms as all of you turned towards the backstage area. you quickly pack up your items, checking for the last time all the belongings in your bag to find them all there before you turn around to find jaeyun leaning against the wall with his arm crossed in front of his chest. his muscles are flexing as he found your eyes and lifted one of his eyebrows. walking towards him, he pushes his arm towards you as you grasp his hand, feeling his bandaged fingers meeting yours as you take a low, sharp breath when you feel the pressure that remains there.

stepping out of the back door, you and jaeyun expresses your gratitude to the stage crew who has worked hard on the concert tonight, hands not letting go as you small talk with a few of the stagehands that helped you with the recording, telling them to send the clips they have to the cloud folder you had mentioned yesterday so you can make the edit to put on the band's social media. you return to face jaeyun, who only has a warm smile as he was staring at you before turning his head towards the car that is starting its engine. you wave the crew goodbye as you both quickly go to the vehicle, the passengers are waiting for you two outside as the ones with the designated seats at the very back.

the car drives down the road that is full of trees on either side, making you lean your head against the glass window as you can see your own breath fogging it, your sight focusing on the moon's shine behind the branches and leaves of trees. then, you felt something on your shoulder as you peeked to find jaeyun's nose and mouth in your peripheral vision, letting him gaze at what you were seeing. the trees starts to thin out and more buildings start to show as you eye the downtown area of haeyang. finding that most of the businesses are all closed except for the nighttime ones, like bars and fast food restaurants. the view also includes the beach as the vehicle approaches the motel, seeing how the streetlight by the path before the sands highlights the shore area before it is being covered by the buildings and the now familiar parking lot.

"you have a key copy on you, right?" sophia turns to you as you finish stepping on the flight of stairs, still connected by hand with jaeyun as you turn to find nicholas' arm is wrapped around her shoulders, and the view of the other boys retreating towards their rooms.

"yeah!"

"nice!" she replied with the same enthusiam as you before a smirk came out on with an expression, "though i don't think that we will be needing them anyways." nicho giggles at her saying when she turns towards him, making you raise your eyebrows before turning to the boy beside you to see him wiggling his own, which you reply with eye roll.

"well, have fun, you two. just like we will have fun." nicholas gave a wink to both of you as he guided sophia, who gave you both a small wave, to his motel room—leaving you behind in the corridor with jaeyun.

"let's go?" he voices out, returning his eyes from his friends' figures to you as you meet them with yours.

"let's."

the walk towards his room feels different from the last time two nights ago. when the previous one has more energy to it—both of you are necessarily tipsy and full of lust; this time is much more comfort-based, where you both are just happy being in each other's company. you had a restless night the last two nights and you don't want to make it worse with your overreliance on antidepressant pills. that the night before the concert, when you told jaeyun everything, you had watched sophia's breath whilst sleeping as you thought about your feelings for him, not being able to sleep yourself. how you used him for yourself at first—joining the crew just so that you could relive those concerts again whilst memorising it digitally—but also for your closure and how it affects him and you.

leaning back on the cold pillow last night whilst you stare at the ceiling, you realised that you do like jaeyun. his sizzling touches turning soft as he guides you to the car, or when you're hanging out with the others with him. the conversations still felt normal, like what friends should have, but his warmth felt different whenever he sits beside you or tells you to sit beside him. having the same position in a band—the same job if you squint at it—makes you more open with him, even if you didn't tell your other side to him at first. but the chemistry is already there. you have a lot of things in common that you can now voice out after acting so nonchalantly about the band that creates music you actually listened to. trying to create this image of yourself that just doesn't feel authentic when you are more similar to the boys than the image of a typical social media person—where sophia's attentiveness to the cracks makes you open it fully, especially in this very town.

you tugged your sneakers off after loosening the laces. jaeyun is already a few steps away as you view his room. his suitcase is closed so tidily with his other belongings on the desk. placing his stuff by his bedside table, including the drumsticks he used today that he hasn't let go, he turns towards you and helps you pick up and place your bag.

"you wanna join me?" jaeyun asks, his head turning to the open bathroom door beside you already with its lights on. facing him once again, you looked back at his eye-shadowed and eye-lined eyelids as you just knew what you were doing next and nodded. you walked towards him as you pulled out a pouch from your bag and the makeup cleanser and cotton pads before walking into the bathroom. there, you find items strewn across the sink counter. but the one that caught your eye is the box with the photo of the bandages that are wrapped around his fingers.

scooting a bit more, jaeyun stands beside you as you catch his reflection on the mirror across from you both. his fringe was all floppy from the sweat accumulated from performing. his eye makeup was melting to the side of his cheeks as he caught your eyeline. giving a thin smile, you put the items on the counter between both of you. and as you grab onto your cotton pad, jaeyun follows as he spreads the cleanser flat on the pad he is holding before letting the coolness touch his skin. he watches you as his hand mimics yours that is moving around your face, wiping away the eye area as he can see the dark colour smudge there.

you also wipe your lips and cheeks, letting your cream blush and most of the colour of your lipstick all gone as you chuckle when you turn your head to him, making you point at the upper lid of your own eye as jaeyun wipes there. serenity washes both of you as you wait for him to finish, looking at your covered hands as you slowly curl your fingers, feeling the strain of the muscles there—but also the leftover pain of the wounds.

a hand reaches for yours as it wraps around your wrist and pulls you towards the closed-lid toilet. jaeyun brought you to sit on his lap, your breath knocked out as you pulled back to look at him below you. but his attention is on your bandaged hands.

"let me help," he mumbles before peering up at you, making you nod as he brings one of your hands before him. with his left hand holding it still, you watched him slowly pulling away the bandage on the space between the two fingers, the slight pressure dissipating from your hand. the cool air graces your scar as he flips the hand with the palm now facing upwards. his hand then continued to remove the other bandages sticking onto your skin, now letting you see the scabbed scar as he could see the little blisters around from the broken skin surface that is healing up.

"we need to get another layer of antiseptic after showering on these two wounds." jaeyun uttered as you watched him, not expecting for him to actually kiss the skin around scar as he hold it so carefully. that action makes you cup onto his jaw and pivot his head for you to easily kiss his lips. jaeyun instantly reciprocates, moving his pair in tandem with your other bandaged hand resting on his face until you move away and your forehead rubs against his.

gently, you helped him open his bandages as he continued with yours. he reacts with a hiss when he sees the blisters on your fingers that the first layer of skin couldn't keep safe, waiting for the cells to regenerate. while you admired his fingers and felt the hardened calluses on them and how they're more spread than the ones on your hands. both of them have proof of drumming as you both adjust on how to grip the sticks in your own ways, creating friction against the skin that rubs too much and creates chaffing you both have to endure. and as the last of the bandages is placed on the counter, both of your hands then peel off each other's clothes.

skin-to-skin contact makes shivers run down your spine as you breathe out so shakily. your body already recognises his touch as you feel his muscles on his chest and toned arms. the black and red tattoos gracing his skin as you felt his lip ring adding coolness to his warm kiss on your neck—feeling your nipples hardening against his skin as jaeyun stands in front of you. helping you to stand up, you both then tugged down your bottoms as you stood bare before him as he to you. usually, when you both are fully naked, one of you will jump on the other and initiate that habit you had created with him. however, as you stand before him now, those acts were being pushed back as you eyed each other before he leads you to the shower area behind the glass.

the shower head pours out water as you stand at the back, letting him test the water out before asking "is this alright for you?" as you place your hand against the falling droplets.

"yes, it is," you answered as jaeyun steps first and you could feel how your breath hitches. as you stand across from him, you watch as he lets the downpour hit him with his eyes closed and head tilting back, letting the water glisten down his body. from his nose, down to his adam's apple. from the chest and it trails down following his abdominal lines before going to his v line as they drop from his big hanging cock. you lightly bit the inside of your cheek before returning to his face, finding him already watching you as he moved to the side to let you stand under the pouring water.

you let it flow down your skin, feeling the grime washing away down the drain as you stood in front of him. the water wetting your hair as the strands get heavy, brushing against your skin as it flows down until your nether region and dripping down the side of your thighs. your hand brushes against the skin, making you wince even a bit as the water grazes the blisters across your hands. jaeyun moves to the side as he squeezes the soap that the motel gives in the bathroom before turning towards you.

"i can't imagine how much you're struggling in soaping yourself," jaeyun mentioned as you chuckle, letting bubbles show up between his palms after rubbing them.

"i'll help," he mumbled and you nodded, making your turn around from him as he lathers the soap across your back. you let out a huge sigh, feeling the pressure of his movement massaging your muscles, especiallly your shoulders. as it continues to go to your waist, you then turn around to let him pour some soap on your palm before, as careful as ever, spread them against your palms without hurting yourself as you help him too. his hand brushes against your belly button piercing as you spread against his upper chest.

as you both continue to spread soap on each other's bodies, the air feels different. gone was the lustful atmosphere around you when you two are doing something so domestic, so calm and careful, as you also reciprocate his impromptu massages with you doing it to his back muscles as well.

you both stood by each other, his hand that was spreading soap to pull the dirt off of you now rested against your waist. your head is tilting forward as you brush the shampoo away from your hair. jaeyun is also doing so until there is no slippery surface you can feel. his warmth combined with the relaxing warm shower, but then he starts to do more.

tilting your head to face the tiled walls, you sense his hand moving down to your hip before moving closer to the middle. you stepped back and felt him behind you. his skin touching yours as you felt a gush of your arousal that was threaten to show as you kiss him backstage finally showing up—and you also feel his cock becoming harder, felt it sliding between your buttcheeks.

"you're gorgeous," he whispers into your ear, making you lean your head back to graze against him as his hand moves now to your middle. his fingertips brushing against your lower lip before finding your clit.

"hah!" you gasp as he rubs his fingers against your sensitive bud, which you like. and with his haggard breaths against your skin and the pelting water flowing down between you two, you reached out behind your figure until you felt his cock and wrapped your hand around it.

in all that time of jaeyun brushing his thick lips against your skin, you could feel yourself getting warmer against even the warm water. shivers continue to spread across your body when you feel his other hand moving closer to your core. the moisture you are excreting is evident in his touch as his breath gently caresses the leaf of your ear. eyes now closed, the eyelids only letting a small amount of light seep inside your vision as jaeyun continues to trail kisses from below your neck and to your shoulder. your hand continues stroking him, feeling how his blood runs in his veins and makes his member harder.

opening your eyes even with droplets sticking onto your eyelashes, you turn your head to the side and bring your free hand to cup his cheek, guiding his lips to yours as they crash against each other—both of your breaths are taken away. your lips pursed as you felt two of his fingers plunge inside you, combining with the one caressing your clitoris as you adjusted your stroke to his pace as you also mind about your wound. water runs down between your faces as your hooded eyes meet his, breathing against each other's lips where every brush of movement makes them meet.

you could feel him pushing you towards your edge as jaeyun groans, his jaw unhinged as you also have your mouth agape. shaking your head, you know you can't take much longer after all the sud have been down the drain.

letting his cock go, you turned yourself around in his embrace as your force push him towards the tiled wall. hands on his nape as his naturally moved to your hips when jaeyun lets you kiss him hard. his head knocked against the wall softly as he sense how you are rubbing yourself on him. a leg slowly lifts up against his and that makes him cup both of your cheeks, pulling you back to face him. jaeyun nudges forward, letting his nose brush against yours as he says, "let me love you on the bed."

nods came from him as you follow, blinking slowly at the boy as one of your hands grabs his and he turns off the shower. the soft towels dried most of the liquid from your skin as he brought you to him and helped dry yourself as best as he could. your hair is still full of water as you brush your lips against his—earning giggles as you try to squeeze as much out as possible.

as the bathroom door opens and jaeyun throws the towels somewhere near it, you throw yourself on his bed before scooting up to feel the soft pillows under you. his wet blond hair sticks onto his forehead as he crawls above you, pressing and trailing his lips from your ankle towards your leg and arriving at your core—giving a long lick that makes him hum and you gasp because of his lip ring. and it trails upwards. licking your belly button and its piercing, to your sternum and giving sucks to both of your nipples, to your neck and sucking eac side to give you little lovebites, to your jaw, your cheek, the button of your nose, and then your lips as you open your mouth to let his tongue in; hands bracing him as it settle between you.

his hard and red cock presses up against your lower lips as your hand moves to grab it, making him move back a little as he watches you guiding his tip to your slit. finding the hole where it catches, you use your other hand's fingers and spread it open, creating a perfect target for him to push in as you both fleet your eyes back to each other. the sensation is all so familiar, but something you both aren't tired of—especially now when many more emotions are flowing between the two of you. stakes much higher than ever before as this is the first time you lay beneath him bare—both physically and psychologically.

small moans came out of you as you held eye contact with him, sensing the delicious push as your walls formed around him once again, gripping onto him as something so familiar. jaeyun's look on you has something different other than lust, evident with him brushing the baby hairs sticking onto your forehead as he brought his lips closer to yours. your eyebrows folded as he pushed himself until he reached the hilt, caressing his tip against your cervix as you bite your bottom lip before raising your head slightly to give him a small kiss. your hand curling against his wet locks of hair as you nodded at him, folding your legs near his hips as he rolls into you.

jaeyun watches how your face contorts, the silent moans combine with the loud ones from before, creating a perfect balance for you. a stable balance to receive his passion as he felt your fingernails moving against the skin on his back. eyes continue watching his—never letting go.

"you're mine…" you mumbled out as one of his hands rested on the pillow beside you move to brush against your lips. his thumb is dragging your bottom lip as jaeyun continues to thrust into you slowly, feeling your arousal coating him to create smoother movements.

"i'm yours and you're mine," jaeyun echoes, forehead leaning against yours as you gaze into his beautiful irises.

"always has been yours," you trail your hand across his back and cup his cheek, making him lean into the touch with his now enlarged eyes—asking an unsaid question about what you said.

a small chuckle comes from you as you reply, "you're the very first that claims me." and the corner of his lips lifted as he reads into every word you said. and as you move down your hand to his back, pushing him deep as you both let out gasps, you make it clearer to him. because you have nothing to lose anymore when he knows everything—he wants to know everything about you and you want to know about him too.

"the very, very first and forever."

jaeyun let out such a delicious moan as he pressed his lips on yours, making you brace yourself against him as you sense how his thrusts become faster. your heels digging into his skin as you give your control to him. moans bounce against each other as you can't help but grip onto him so tightly. his wet hair forms in clumps as it dries when you touch them. your eyes flipping back into your skull as you nodded to him, eyes speaking to him with whatever you want to convey.

"yeah?" you nodded to his reply.

"please…" his mouth caught onto your whispers.

"voice it out for me," jaeyun follows with a groan, baring his teeth that are gritting against each other. "let me hear what you say to me out loud."

"please… fill me up with you. i'm all yours- fuck- yun!" your head continues to move as he slams his forehead against you, rooting his body on you there as his hips moves against yours—your own also moving in rhythm to chase that high. the moist sound fills the room as the skin-to-skin contact is proof of the passion you have for each other. your thumb traces his bottom lip that he is biting before letting it and the coolness of his piercing meets your swollen pair. eyebrows furrowed as you felt your muscles spasming as he didn't let go, making your warnings swallow by him as you felt yourself shaking against him.

jaeyun moans into your mouth as he continues moving, your walls clamping down as his sound vibrates against you when your hands cup his cheeks to hold him tight. a warm liquid spurting inside your walls as he holds you close and tighter than ever before. pulling away, your saliva is sticking to each other as the lamp beside you shines on the glistening skin around his thick lips. giggles bubbling out of you as he follows, pecking your kiss before flipping his position—making you straddle onto him with your hand bracing against his tattooed arm.

you teasingly wiggle above him, feeling his cum and yours trickling down and pool against the base of his groin. leaning down, your chin rested against his chest as he fixed his pillow's position. his hand moves to your back, caressing from your pubic bone and up your spine as you smile at him—knowing that you both aren't going to have much sleep with the leftover lust in his eyes full of love. turning your head towards the bedside lamp, you caught onto the wooden texture of his drumsticks when you actually had to do a double-take. mouth slightly open at seeing the realisation of the crimson spots on the grip side.

the pair of drumsticks was littered with blood stains. the drumstick you played with yesterday—the drumsticks he was playing with tonight.

your hand reaches for one of the sticks as jaeyun watches, feeling the wooden material grazing your skin as you fixed your grip—the stains are mostly covered up with the way you are holding it as you eye your numb wound that is very much alright with the contact. eyeing back to the boy, he only tilts his head at you: confirming every thing you are thinking about as he gets his reward by a small kiss under his eye.

pushing yourself to sit upright, you fix your position as if you are sitting on the stool behind the drum kit—feeling how his cock is still snuggled inside you and how messy this will be. but you were too tired and tangled to even be thinking of going away from him, and then, jaeyun watches you as you twirl your drumstick in your hand. the wooden stick glides across your fingers as the momentum of the swing feels so familiar for both you and him. you lightly bit your bottom lip to see how you are doing the twirls you do when you are so in the zone when playing.

"since when did you play drums?" jaeyun asks a crystal clear question between the two of you that he didn't ask yesterday. but you already had an answer in mind about it.

"since i was seven years old," his eyebrows widen and jaw agape with your answer.

"seven?! i thought i was early when i started playing at nine." his reply earns chuckles from you before you purse your lips, eyes looking away from him for a bit as you gather your childhood memories with drums from your mind's filing cabinet.

"in a way, it's earlier than that." your hands rested on his chest, the stick between his skin and your palm as you leaned a bit closer to him.

"i joined a marching band corps when i was in kindergarten. i wanted to do the xylophone, but the slots are all filled. so they move me to the colour guard position. you know, those who twirl the coloured flags," both of your hands move to hold the drumstick in them, twirling it around like you are holding the flag pole. "after training with it for two weeks, the instructor suddenly tells the team that they are one short in snare drum. so i volunteered and played a snare drum in the marching band. we actually won a few regional championships—whenever there's a kindergarten level for them, of course."

jaeyun watches as your hand holding the stick moves once again into a grip he recognises as the traditional grip. the palm facing upwards instead of down as you play with it, feeling the tip of the stick brush his skin as you mimic how you drum back then.

"i took a liking in playing it. then i had to graduate kindergarten and my parents notice me liking it so much. so on my seventh birthday, they give me this mini drum kit for that is child-size in our living room and i swear, they regret the day after because the only thing i wanna do after school is banging some toms and crashes." laughter flies between the two of you as you then continue, "then dad starts to introduce me to the music he listens to. typical dad rock music like rolling stones, ac/dc, and toto. but i got addicted. and yeah, that's how i became a full-fledged drummer."

"you have more flight hours than me in drumming," he startes as you felt him holding onto your waist, "that you are so confident in playing prog rock that when i saw that fucking rush's tom sawyer notation, i swear i was baffled." jaeyun's hands pulls you into his embrace once again, making your chest rest against each other as you felt how his touch turns to tickles.

"i have to hear you play it. better yet, can you teach me?" you lightly tapped against his chest, licking your lips while holding in from showing a wide smile—which you fail to do.

"hey! you're also familiar with odd time signatures, baby," the nickname came out unexpectedly. but then you felt him wrap his arms behind you, to bring you closer. now chin to chin, you still held your head up to look into his eyes, feeling him shaking his head side to side.

"tom sawyer and fucking rosanna are a different beast than what i play, baby," he echoes the nickname to you as you roll your eyes playfully. a pout forming on your face as you look back at him. then all of the muscles on your face relax as you take a huge breath with a long exhale.

leaning down, you rested your head against the crook of his neck. the free hand moved behind him as the other grips onto the drumstick that now rested on the pillow beside his head. jaeyun heard the little sobs coming from you, making him move his hand to your shoulder blades. you tugged him closer, bridging the gaps between the two of you as you let the night bring you anywhere you both want. any conversation opened for both of you, and you both know that you won't let this moment down, even if sleep reminds you multiple times.

-

"you two are lucky i have made several sketches for drums." those are the first words uttered as jaeyun spoke to soobin, the tattoo artist you both got assigned to for your walk-in session.

your hisses continue as you watch the blond-haired tattoo artist finish the stencil pressed on your right inner forearm. the ink colour blooming against your skin as your left hand grips onto jaeyun's right hand that already has his matching tattoos inked in the same position. the tattoo of the drum kit with smooth lines as jaeyun has his kick drum area to be tattooed with the ampersand symbol that strikes through with a hyphen symbol that he had drawn: ampherhyphen's logo. while your kick bass drum has a cursive writing of dawndreamer on it, exactly as the one you have of the kick drum back in your childhood home.

eyes gazing back at jaeyun, his eyes met yours as soobin prepares to wrap your arm with plastic as aftercare. the older boy glances towards jaeyun as he nods, "all done. you know your tattoo aftercare." he tilts his hand towards the full-sleeve tattoo that he asks jaeyun about and how great it looks. "show your girl what to do with it too."

"got it, mate," he replied as you both stood up from the seat. your eyes look at the fresh tattoo etched on your skin that is so vivid as you glance back at the tattoo artist, giving a curt nod as a thank you, as he also nods his head.

with your tattooed right arm connecting its fingers with his tattooed left arm, you both walked down downtown haeyang for the last time. both of you are on standby for sunghoon's chat when you are ready to go and celebrate the ending of the tour. but you also need your closure, and when you found the familiar street, you let out a sigh as you took every step forward with confidence.

standing at the corner of the four-way intersection, your eyes are burning with tears as jaeyun notices—his fingers wrapping tighter around you to let you remember that you are not alone. that he sees you. that he understands you.

"hi gaeul, ningning, tsuki…" you started, eyes focused on the very middle of the intersection where all of the streets come together. a tear slipped out from the corner of your eyes as you remembered your crashed car, but in front of it, you see three apparitions appear before you. all are wearing the clothes you remember, all wearing their guitars and bass across their chest like you always see them when you all jam out.

"i hope you're proud of me…" you nodded your head as you spoke, holding still on the confirmation as you felt the heavy weight you were carrying on your shoulders tumbling down. turning your head to face jaeyun, he had already watched you with a reassuring smile. you reciprocate as you press your forehead on his.

"i, i don't know what to do after this," you said to him, truly. after the conversation you had last night, opening up about everything to the last thing about the impromptu matching drum kit tattoos with your respective bands, the aftermath of this tour lingers in your head because of sudden separation after being with him—being with them—for so long.

"you still have college to do, right?" jaeyun speaks slowly before as he feels you move your head in nods. "i also have mine to finish," he lightly bites his lip before continuing, "but i will get back to you all the time. i will drive to pick you up and bring you with me. therapy, gigs, concerts to watch, i will be with you in the entire journey."

a small gasp comes from you as you brought your arms behind his figure and presses him against you in a tight and warm hug, letting his shoulder become a place to cry on as you let out such many sobs—pushing all those feelings out as your eyes gaze back at the intersection, seeing the ghosts of your best friends all smiling at you. your lips brush against his ear.

"thank you, jaeyun, for making me realise i am not fully alone"

you lean back as the boy looks at you with such an endearing smile, his thumb brushing the fallen tear trailing down the apple of your cheek as he nodded and mouthed back a "thank you to you too." he brought his hand to connect back with yours when your ringtone rings at the same time, the sound coming from the group chat as jaeyun lifted his phone and show you the notification of sunghoon telling you all to gather around so you all can go to where you will be celebrating.

nodding in agreement, you let him take the lead to bring you back to your friends. yet, you still turn your head back to look at the intersection, finding the hazy apparition of your friends smiling back at you before they fade away as they move on—and you have to do so too. pivoting back to see jaeyun looking back at you, you let out such a wide smile as you take steps to stand beside him so you could walk together. leaving haeyang and this chapter of your life as you walk on to a healing path with jaeyun beside you—celebrating his band, all of the work, and your relationship that is getting richer and richer than the sound of drums playing in a crescendo.

taglist: @raeyunshm @leilasmom @evidive @boba-beom @kwiwin @heesw1fe @aloverga @fancypeacepersona @endzii23 @fluffyywoo @camipendragon @hiqhkey @wccycc @cha0thicpisces @y4wnjunz @yeehawnana @beansworldsstuff @kimipxl @blurryriki @amazzwon @sunpov @ineedsomezzz @reallysmolrenjun @stealanity @zyvlxqht @deobitifull @gandaengene @kristynaaah @m1kkso @amaraeofsunshine @nyxtwixx @shinrjj @jiyeons-closet

a few heads stayed down, still no laughs. except jake. jake was sitting in the middle row, clapping like he was at a broadway show, his laugh way too loud for the size of the room. heeseung shot him a glare that said please shut up, but jake only leaned forward and shouted, “that’s my boy!” which made it worse, because now everyone knew they were friends. the bartender was drying glasses with the kind of disinterest only a man paid minimum wage could master. one guy near the corner ordered wings in the middle of the set and the waitress carried them in front of the stage like heeseung wasn’t even there. “okay, tough crowd,” he muttered, but he kept going, because quitting halfway through would mean admitting this was a mistake. and maybe it was, but at least jake was still laughing, doubled over now like he’d just heard the best joke of his life.

heeseung had been trying these open mics for a while, long enough to know the bartenders by name. he wasn’t the kind of guy who spent hours writing careful setups and punchlines. he was funny, sure, but more in the way he told stories and stumbled through them until something ridiculous slipped out. it didn’t always land on stage, though. usually it didn’t. but he kept going because all of his friends, for some reason, thought he had something. maybe not a clear plan, maybe not a career path, but something. at home, things weren’t much more glamorous. he shared a cramped apartment with jake and jay, both of them musicians. jay was a producer, and jake called himself a songwriter, though most of the time he was just mumbling melodies that sounded suspiciously like songs that already existed. they were convinced heeseung was destined for a break. he didn’t see it that way, but he appreciated that someone did.

most mornings, heeseung worked the early shift at dunkin’ donuts, handing out coffee to people who didn’t make eye contact. by the afternoon, he was driving uber, driving strangers around in his beat-up car. at night, he found himself on those tiny stages, trying to make people laugh while wondering if it would ever stop feeling like humiliation dressed up as ambition. he wasn’t bitter, though, not really. he laughed about it with the guys, he teased jake for being his only fan, and he told himself that maybe all this was just practice. it was tiring, yes, but it was also the only thing that made him feel like he was moving toward something, even if he couldn’t name what that something was. and well, maybe that something was you, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

heeseung kept going with the set, even though the silence in the room was louder than his own voice. he decided to stay on the dating-in-la theme because at least it gave him material, and material was better than staring at seven people who all looked like they regretted coming. “you know dating apps are a scam, right?” he said, adjusting the mic stand even though it didn’t need adjusting. “like, you match with someone, they say they love dogs, you say you love dogs, and then three messages later they disappear. did the dog die? did they die? or did they just realize i also drive uber?” still no laughs. except for jake, of course. he was clapping again, laughing so hard the guy next to him physically leaned away. “thanks, jake,” heeseung muttered, not even bothering to cover the mic. “every comedian dreams of their roommate being the only person laughing.”

that got a tiny chuckle from someone in the back, but it was more of an exhale than a laugh. still, it counted. heeseung carried on, making fun of how half his dates ended in venmo requests and how no one in l.a. seemed to eat anything besides salads that looked like lawn clippings. it wasn’t killing, not even close, but he’d done worse. and that’s when he noticed you. not because you were laughing, you weren’t, you hadn’t cracked a smile since he started. but you were really watching him, like you were trying to figure him out. and every so often, you pulled out a pen and scribbled something down on the back of a receipt or a folded napkin. it threw him off for a second. most people in the audience weren’t even looking at him, and here you were, taking notes like this was homework. he couldn’t tell if you were judging him or studying him, but either way, it was weird enough to make him stumble on his next line.

“uh, yeah, so… first dates in l.a.,” he continued, trying to shake it off, “sometimes they’re so short you don’t even finish the appetizer. like, i’ve had breadsticks last longer than a date.” jake howled, slapping the table like he’d never heard anything funnier in his life. heeseung gave him a look, but his attention slid back to you almost immediately. you weren’t laughing. you were still just watching, pen tapping lightly against the paper. and for reasons he couldn’t explain, that made him more nervous than the silence from everyone else.

when the set was finally over, heeseung stepped off the stage with the kind of relief you feel when a dentist appointment ends. jake was already on his feet, clapping like he’d just witnessed the next big netflix special. “that was hilarious, man,” jake said, grabbing his shoulder. “the breadstick line? genius.”

heeseung gave him a look. “yeah. seven people in the room and i managed to make one of them laugh, and he happens to pay half my rent.”

jake just grinned, totally unaffected. “a third!” he corrected. “but it doesn’t matter. i’m telling you, you’re getting better.”

heeseung wasn’t convinced. he felt like he was one bad set away from shaving his head and rehearsing joker monologues in front of the bathroom mirror. the joaquim phoenix one, just to be clear. not that he would admit that out loud, instead he just nodded, letting jake’s enthusiasm do the work. but then he remembered you. the girl in the back who hadn’t laughed, hadn’t clapped, hadn’t done anything except watch him. heeseung scanned the room again, but you were gone. no trace, no napkin on the table, nothing. “there was this girl,” he said suddenly, turning to jake. “back row. she was taking notes. didn’t laugh once. just… wrote stuff down.”

jake frowned. “notes? on what?”

“i don’t know,” heeseung said. “me, i guess? the set. it was weird. she didn’t look bored, though. more like… i don’t know, like she was studying me.”

jake smirked, already finding a way to make it sound less serious. “maybe she’s a critic. maybe you’re famous now.”

heeseung rolled his eyes. “yeah, or maybe she just needed a surface to write her grocery list. either way, she’s gone.”

still, he couldn’t shake it. the silence from six people didn’t matter, the loud laugh from jake didn’t matter, but the fact that you sat there scribbling something down and then disappeared before he could figure it out, oh, that stuck. but he had to keep going, because his life was not moving the way he thought it would be. most days felt the same and he caught himself wondering if that was good or bad. he told himself routine was better than chaos, that at least he knew where he had to be every morning and how much money would be in his account by the end of the week. but underneath that, he knew he wasn’t happy with how small things felt.

back at the apartment, he tried not to think too hard about it. jake and jay made the place noisy in a way that distracted him, guitars and half-not-so-half-finished songs everywhere, jay chasing some new beat while jake claimed it was going to be the one that finally made them money. they were confident in him too, always telling him he was getting closer, that he was funnier than he thought. sometimes heeseung believed them, other times he just nodded along, a little bit comforted and also a bit annoyed that they seemed to have more faith in him than he could find for himself.

the days kept stacking up. he wasn’t miserable, but he wasn’t exactly thriving either. but then one afternoon, in between rides, his phone buzzed with a message from a guy he knew on the comedy circuit, beomgyu, and it was an invitation to do a set at a club that was actually known, the kind of place where real comics tried out material and audiences showed up on purpose. it wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t nothing. when he told jake and jay, they reacted like he’d open for chris rock or something. jay asked if he had a plan for his set, and yeah, heeseung didn’t, not yet, but he said yes anyway, because it felt better than admitting he was nervous. 

heeseung never really enjoyed the comedy scene in l.a., he thought most of the people in it were arrogant, the kind who laughed at their own material louder than the audience ever could. he hated those bigger shows because they felt more like networking events than comedy, but he also knew he had to be seen. so this time, he tried something different. instead of forcing punchlines, he wrote out a story. “you know how everyone has that one friend who’s constantly in a side quest?” he said into the mic, glancing at the crowd. “like, the main plot of life is just… not enough for them. they always need to be doing something that makes no sense.”

a few people nodded, and he felt encouraged enough to go on. “for me, that friend is niki. funny guy, terrible influence. he used to go around changing everyone’s phone language to something random, just because he thought it was hilarious. one time i finally got him back and switched his phone into the cyrillic alphabet. the man doesn’t read russian, so he spent two days trying to figure it out. you know who fixed it for him? nikola jokic. yeah, the nba player. i don’t know how they even met, but apparently jokic was just like, ‘yeah, no big problem,’ and honestly, easy thing for him to say because he’s six foot ten, nothing is big enough for him.”

there was a ripple of laughter, the kind that made heeseung loosen his grip on the mic. “and that wasn’t even the weirdest part. niki also swears he once went to budapest with john cena. i still don’t know what the hell that means. what do you even do with john cena in budapest? i’m just saying, if john cena orders goulash, does the waiter even bring it out?” the audience actually laughed hard at that one, and heeseung felt the first real wave of confidence. “but my favorite one? niki once got called in to audition for travis kelce. i don’t know how that happened. he’s five foot ten, skinny, japanese, twenty years old. someone made a mistake. i hope they got fired, and i really hope it wasn’t taylor swift.”

the room broke into proper laughs now, people clapping and nudging each other like they’d just heard something worth repeating later. heeseung felt it, that tiny lift that came with knowing he’d actually landed something. and then he saw you. you were there in the crowd, not scribbling this time, not taking notes, just watching him again with that same steady focus. for a second, he almost lost his rhythm, but he kept going, because now he wanted to see how long you’d stay.

heeseung wrapped it up with one more callback that tied his little niki saga together, and when the crowd laughed and clapped this time, it didn’t feel polite, it felt real. a couple people even whistled, and he let out this small laugh into the mic before muttering a quick “thanks, that’s my time.” he stepped off with his shoulders lighter than usual, like for once he wasn’t walking straight into that pit of self criticism he usually carried after every set. and as he came down from the stage, his eyes swept the room, and that’s when he noticed you again. you weren’t laughing or clapping, but you were there, notebook open this time, pen moving quickly across the page. the second he was fully off stage you closed it, almost like a switch flipped, and tucked it away. it hit him for a moment that you weren’t studying comedy at all, you were studying him.

before he could linger on that thought, sunghoon, one of his friends that were trying to make it in comedy scene in l.a., was waiting by the side, arms crossed. he gave him a nod and a pat on the back. “finally,” he said, voice steady. “that’s what you’re good at, just telling shit the way you actually see it.” it was the closest thing to a compliment he’d ever gotten from sunghoon, and it stuck heavier than the applause had. then he dragged heeseung off to meet other people, conversations he wasn’t fully in the mood for. 

after a while he slipped away toward the kitchen, grabbed a soda, and leaned against the counter. the chatter was loud, plates clattering, but somehow it felt like the quietest part of the whole place, because that’s when he saw you again. you were crouched down near the snack table, your hair fell forward a little as you reached for snacks, and he hesitated, wondering if he should say something or just keep watching. the notebook was tucked under your arm now, pen still clipped to it, resting instead of racing.

you left the area and started walking toward the balcony, and heeseung didn’t think twice, he just followed. he grabbed another soda on the way out, and by the time he got outside, you were leaning against the railing, scrolling your phone. he stepped up a little closer, cleared his throat, and said, “hey.”

you looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, a little sharp, a little sassy. “hey,” you said back.

heeseung didn’t move for a second, just watched you, with a look that clearly said you’re not going to tell me why you were writing my stuff down? and you didn’t, instead, you blinked at him, calm, and he said a little more directly, “i remember you. i saw you at the open mic bar the other night.” you raised both eyebrows, with a look that said back, yeah, and? so heeseung leaned against the railing, a little frustrated. “look. i know you were taking notes on my jokes. what are you gonna do with it?”

you let out a short, sharp laugh. “your jokes? why would i take notes on your jokes?”

heeseung narrowed his eyes. “so what were you writing down, then?”

you looked at him, straight faced for a second, then said, “i have an audition next week. i’m applying for a role as a stand-up comedian who… doesn’t really make it.”

heeseung paused, squinting. “oh. you’re an actress. okay. have i seen you anywhere before?”

you hesitated a little, a little awkward. “i work at a coffee shop on the warner brothers lot.”

heeseung tilted his head, a little dry. “oh. you’re a barista. well now i see how you can look down on me from all the way up there.” he said that even though heeseung was a barista himself, but he thought it wasn’t really necessary to bring that up right now. 

before either of you could react further, beomgyu came around the corner, slapped heeseung on the shoulder. “heeseung, second set.”

he turned to look at you, more serious this time, and you smirked. heeseung shrugged, like he had no choice. “he doesn’t tell me what to do.”

you arched an eyebrow. “he just told you what to do.”

heeseung let it slide. “i let him.” he paused, you paused, and after a beat, he looked back at you. “what’s your name?”

“y/n.”

heeseung nodded once, slow, deliberate. “well, y/n, guess i’ll see you in the movies.”

so he went back up on stage, and he tried to focus on the story he had written, the one he thought might finally land properly. but then he caught sight of you again, across the crowd, tucked in a little corner near the balcony doors, you had the notebook open again. heeseung froze for a second before shaking it off, trying to get back into the text, but his eyes kept flicking back. he could see you writing, like you were copying his brain word for word onto that stupid fucking notebook. it made him annoyed, and he didn’t know why he cared, didn’t know why he wanted to see what you were writing so badly, but he did. and fuck, it threw him off every time he tried to nail a punchline.

the whole set felt both like the best thing he’d ever done and the most distracting thing he’d ever done. when he finally wrapped it up, the claps were real this time, he stepped off the stage, nodding and muttering a quiet thanks to whoever made eye contact, but all he could think about was you. but when the crowd started shifting, laughing and mingling, you were gone, disappeared into the mass of people like you had never been there at all. heeseung walked straight home after that, uber silent, replaying the set in his head but mostly thinking about how you had been sitting there, how he couldn’t stop imagining what the hell you’d written. he lost you to the crowd that night, and for some reason, that annoyed him more than bombing on stage ever had.

heeseung had been keeping himself busy, mostly to keep his brain from obsessing too much about that night at the party. jay had dragged him to an open mic one night, insisting he needed to watch jungwon perform. heeseung didn’t hate it, actually, jungwon had this weird timing that made everything land in a way heeseung kinda envied. after that, he met sunghoon for coffee, and they spent an hour talking about scripts, story structure, and how networking was more about awkward dinners than talent. sunghoon gave him some pointers, told him to focus more on the story than the punchlines, which made sense, even if heeseung hated thinking that way. and well, he thought about inviting sunghoon to grab something at the coffee shop on the warner brothers lot, because curiosity got the better of him like a total idiot, just to see if you were there. he didn’t, though.

the uber shifts were something else, because afternoons spent driving strangers across l.a. gave him material for days. there was the guy who insisted he was a secret agent, the girl who ranted about her cat like it was running for president, and the old man who told stories about losing his toupee in a windstorm. heeseung memorized everything, laughing to himself while steering, thinking, okay, this is gold, i’ll use this someday.

and then, one day, while he was working the morning shift at dunkin’ donuts, he saw you. he was behind the register, handing a bag of donuts to some random customer, and the bell above the door jingled. he looked up, and there you were, walking in, scanning the counters and displays when you looked at him. he froze. you froze. then you raised an eyebrow, smirked, and said, “oh! a barista.”

heeseung blinked at you, because yeah, he probably deserved that, thinking back to that night when he’d made that comment about you being a barista yourself. sure, he’d been joking, but still, he was trying to make it in l.a. too, probably the same way as you. and here you were, leaning over the counter, smirk on your face, and he couldn’t stop looking at you even as he swiped the register screen. he coughed a little and said, “ok, i admit i was a little curt that night.”

you raised an eyebrow, “curt?”

“ok, i was an asshole,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing. heeseung then muttered, “but making fun of a serious comedian like me, that’s a little much.”

“oh my god,” you said, smirk still there, “did you just call yourself a serious comedian?” to which he nodded and mumbled a small yeah, shrugging like it was obvious. you stared at each other for a moment. you tilted your head, voice playful, “ok, serious comedian, i’d like to order a chocolate glazed donut and a medium iced coffee.”

heeseung sighed quietly to himself. he didn’t want this to be happening, didn’t want to feel flustered over a coffee order, but he jotted it down anyway, trying to stay professional. “anything else?” he asked. you shook your head once. heeseung typed it in, glanced at the screen, and said, “that’ll be five and eleven.” you handed him the cash, and then waited, leaning slightly on the counter, eyes on him, silent like you were studying how he moved even now.

he tried to focus, but his brain kept skipping tracks. he was thinking about the way your smirk had this ridiculous effect on him, how calm you looked, how unfair it was that you could walk into a dunkin’ donuts and completely ruin the rhythm of his morning shift without even trying. he cursed himself quietly, telling himself to stay chill, stay professional, but it was impossible. he was halfway through punching in the order, trying to act like a guy who had his life together, but all he could think was, damn, she’s still paying attention, and he didn’t know if that scared him or made him stupidly happy. and then heeseung makes your drink, puts the bag with the donut on the counter, and while he’s sliding it across he says, “i didn’t see you at the bar again, you know, studying me.” he says it pretty casual but inside he’s kind of waiting for your reaction.

you picked up the cup and looked at him, not smiling, “yeah, you actually improved your set. you’re no longer useful as my research subject.”

he blinked at you, not sure if he’d heard right. “research subject?”

you shrugged like it was obvious. “yeah, i was gonna use you as an example of a bad comedian.”

he kept staring, trying to figure out if you were joking, because it sounded way too straight-faced to be a joke. “so… that’s your way of admitting i’m funny now?”

you shook your head, still calm. “i didn’t say i think you’re funny.”

“oh yeah?” he asked, leaning back a little, curious now. “what am i then?”

you grabbed the bag, met his eyes for a second, and said, “just a serious comedian.” then you turned and started walking to the door like the conversation was already done. he stood there watching you leave, the bell on the door ringing as it shut, and just before you were gone, you tossed back, “see you around, funny guy.”

heeseung stayed behind the counter, not moving, trying to figure out what just happened. he had no idea if you meant it as an insult, or if that was supposed to be a compliment, and the way you said it left him standing there like an idiot, wondering why he even cared that much. so after that day, he was kinda expecting you to show up again. he wouldn’t call it waiting, but it was in the back of his head whenever he was working or even when he was driving around doing uber runs. los angeles was too big for coincidences to keep happening, or at least that’s what he told himself, but then again, hadn’t he already seen you like three times in the past month? and he saw plenty of random faces all the time in his car, at dunkin, on the street, people came and went so quickly they blurred together. but you didn’t.

he didn’t think it was fate, though. he wasn’t that type of guy. he’d been in enough relationships to know better than to think some stranger bumping into him more than once meant something cosmic. still, he couldn’t figure out why he kept going over the last time he saw you, replaying the way you’d called him a “serious comedian” like you were poking fun but also not entirely wrong. it bugged him, but it also kind of amused him, and that combination stuck around longer than he wanted to admit.

then came saturday night. jake and jay had begged him to come out because their band with niki and sunoo had somehow booked a pool party gig. it was this random house in the hills, full of neon decorations, retro posters taped to the walls, and people who were way too into the theme. the whole thing was 80s/90s throwback, and the boys were leaning into it hard, blasting through covers like “i ran” and “take on me.” the crowd thought it was hilarious, which was the point, and heeseung was just there to support them because they always supported him when he did open mics.

by the time the set wrapped and people went back to swimming, drinking, or making out in random corners, heeseung figured it was time to leave. he made his way up to the front to grab his car keys from the little plastic tray where everyone had dumped them on the way in. and then he heard someone calling him. well, not by his real name, but something else, loud enough that he knew it was aimed at him. “hey, bo burnham!”

of course, bo burnham, a serious comedian. he froze mid step, keys halfway out of the tray, and slowly turned his head like he already knew who it was. you were standing up the steps near the patio, talking to some guy in a bucket hat. the second your eyes met, you grinned like you’d been waiting for this moment all night. heeseung let out the smallest sigh, then turned fully around, his expression somewhere between annoyed and tiredly amused. of course it was you. of course you’d pop up here, at this random retro pool party. los angeles was supposed to be huge, and somehow he was stuck in a loop where you kept finding him anyway. “what?” heeseung said back, kind of flat.

“can you grab my keys?” you asked, pointing lazily toward the table with a pile of car keys.

he looked at the table, squinting a little. “which one?”

“the prius.”

he turned his head back at you, then back at the table. it was basically all prius keys. “that does not help me at all.”

“the one with the green ribbon,” you said like it was obvious.

he spotted it, picked it up, and held it in his hand for a second before you made your way down, saying a quick half hearted goodbye to the guy you’d been talking to. you didn’t really wait for a reaction, just walked straight up to heeseung, took the keys from his hand, and kept walking like you assumed he’d follow. he didn’t even know why, but he did.  after a few steps he finally asked, “why’d you leave that guy standing there like that?”

you shrugged, not even looking back. “he was talking for twenty minutes about the stock market and how los angeles is full of beautiful women. also he was shorter than me and wearing a bucket hat.”

heeseung laughed at that, shaking his head. “wow, now i get why you ditched him for me.”

“see?” you said, smiling, and heeseung looked away because you looked way too good for his own liking. you both kept walking down the street, the noise from the party fading behind you. at some point you slowed down and mumbled, “i don’t really remember where i parked my car.”

heeseung let out a small groan, somewhere between frustration and amusement, and glanced at you. you were unpredictable, and kind of reckless, but there was something about the way you pulled him into things that made him curious enough to stick around instead of just handing over the keys and leaving. so he kept walking next to you, not really sure why. he kept glancing at you while you looked around, clearly trying to remember where you parked, and he noticed how you didn’t really seem embarrassed about forgetting. you just kept scanning the street like it was no big deal, and he realized he kind of liked that about you, how you didn’t try too hard to look put together. it made him want to keep watching, like maybe you’d do something else unexpected.

eventually, after you gave up on actually remembering what street you parked on, you both ended up by this overlook, and the timing was just right because the sun was dipping and the sky had this weird mix of purple and orange. you stopped walking and leaned on the railing, pointing out how nice it looked. “the sky looks really pretty,” you said, squinting at it.

heeseung nodded and looked at it too, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the sky. “yeah, very pretty,” he said, then added without really thinking, “some other girl and guy would love this view.”

you turned to him, frowning a little. “what do you mean by that?”

he scratched the back of his neck, realizing how that sounded but deciding not to take it back. “it’s a perfect view for two and we’ve got no shot.”

you raised your eyebrows, kind of surprised at his honesty, and smirked just a little. “oh, well, let’s make something clear,” you said, looking straight at him now. “i think i’ll be the one to make that call.” heeseung didn’t really know what to say back, so he just stared at you for a moment, and looked at you with that kind of expression where he wasn’t saying anything but his face was basically asking so what’s your call?, and he let you keep going because you clearly wanted to. then you went, “look, i know you look so cute in your polyester suit—”

he immediately cut in, “it’s wool.” 

you barely even blinked, just kept talking, “but you’re right, i’d never fall for you at all.” 

the sky was this weird purple orange mess behind you, and he was half watching that and half watching you, not sure if you were messing with him or if you actually meant what you said. he tilted his head a little, smirking, and went, “yeah, what a waste of a lovely night.” 

you caught the tone and laughed because you knew he was joking, so you shot back, “yeah, i’m frankly feeling nothing about that view.”

he raised his eyebrows, playing along, “is that so?” 

and you went even further, “or it could be less than nothing.” 

he let out a short laugh, “good to know, so you agree.” and just like that, in the middle of all this bickering, the two of you finally spotted your car down the street. you unlocked it and were about to climb in when he leaned on the door frame for a second and asked, “by the way, did you get the role?” you shook your head and said you hadn’t gotten a callback yet but the audition had been on thursday. he straightened up a little, nodding, then said, “well, now i’m curious to see if it was worth studying a serious comedian like me.” 

you got in the car with a smirk, rolled down the window, and tossed out, “let’s see about that, funny guy,” before driving off, leaving him standing in the middle of the street watching your car disappear.

after that night heeseung didn’t really see you around. he was busy anyway, he’d started working on some bigger things, writing comedy bits for shows here and there, and his stand up sets were slowly pulling in more people than before. he figured out people liked it most when he told stories from when he used to drive uber, because the stuff that happened there was just naturally funny, and he had a ton of it. but even with all that going on, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. it wasn’t like he was sitting around miserable or anything, it was just that every time something reminded him of that night, like seeing a prius blocking him on the street, you’d pop back into his head.

then one night after a set, he was sitting at a table in the bar with jake and jay, just hanging out, when this girl walked up. her name was chaewon, and she was definitely into him, like leaning closer, smiling a lot, clearly giving him an opening. but heeseung didn’t really take it anywhere, he was polite but he didn’t follow up, and eventually she wandered off. jake and jay were both kind of stunned. jake looked at him like, “dude, what was that? she was seriously hot.” 

heeseung just shrugged, like, “i don’t know, i’m not in the headspace for that right now.”

that’s when jake leaned back with that face like he figured something out. “ah, i get it. you’re upset that your little friend hasn’t shown up to see your sets anymore.”

jay blinked. “what little friend?”

and jake grinned. “some time ago this girl was hanging around, studying heeseung for a role, apparently she was auditioning to play a failed comedian.”

jay just laughed. “that’s the worst pickup line i’ve ever heard.”

heeseung rolled his eyes. “me and her don’t have anything. i barely know her. i just know she’s a barista, works at some café, drives a prius, and has big eyes.”

jake smirked, totally sarcastic. “wow, you know so little about her, like you definitely haven’t been paying attention or anything.”

they all laughed, but heeseung didn’t say much after that. he kept thinking how, honestly, he did want to see you again. it just sat there in the back of his mind, even while he pretended he didn’t care that much. so later that week heeseung just decided to drive over to the warner bros lot for no real reason other than he felt like it. he didn’t even have a plan, he just thought about the coffee shop there and ended up turning into the street. somehow he talked his way past the guard, and the excuse he used was that his car was part of some production. the guard didn’t seem too bothered, waved him through, and suddenly he was actually parked outside the same place you worked at. he walked in like it was nothing, and you froze when you saw him.

he immediately noticed the look on your face, that mix of shock and amusement, and you looked at him and said, “how the hell did you even get in here?” 

he just smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world and said, “i told them my car was a prop.” 

you raised an eyebrow and asked, “and it actually was?” 

he shook his head right away, “no, of course not, i just said that so they’d let me in.” you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it was, shaking your head while he leaned a little closer to the counter like he was actually here just for coffee. 

“so, what would you like to order?” you smiled softly and pretended to act polite while you leaned against the counter to type his order.

he said, “i want an espresso. and also, i want to know what time do you get off?” you went wide-eyed for a second, like you weren’t expecting him to just ask that straight up, and before you could even answer, he added, “for research purposes, of course. i want to write a set about a barista trying to be an actress.” 

you smirked and laughed again, clearly knowing he was teasing, and said, “i get off in thirty minutes.”

he nodded like that was enough, then added, “so get me an espresso and a sandwich or something to eat while i wait for you then.” 

you grabbed the tablet and typed it down, still smiling a little, and just as you were turning to get his order, you asked, “anything else?” in the exact same tone he had used when he saw you at the dunkin’ donuts a while back. heeseung replied a quick no, smiling softly and cheeky, while he noticed the way your eyebrows lifted for a second, like a little quirk in your face that didn’t go unnoticed, and he saw how your lips curved in a tiny, controlled smile while you typed. he grabbed his order, smiled a little to himself, leaned back at his corner table, and waited. thirty minutes later you finally walked out, pulling your bag over your shoulder. heeseung was leaning against the wall near the side door like he’d been waiting there his whole life, though he tried to play it cool the second you spotted him. you raised an eyebrow like you weren’t sure if you should laugh or ask why he hadn’t just left, but you didn’t say anything, and he just fell into step with you as you both started walking across the lot.

he let the silence hang for a bit, then asked, “so what’s it actually like? being an actress.”

you shrugged like you’d been asked that too many times already. “i mean, i haven’t gotten many roles yet, but i’m trying. auditions, workshops, all that stuff. it’s not glamorous.”

he nodded slowly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “still sounds ambitious to me. you sat through my terrible open mics just to study for a part. that’s dedication.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “they weren’t that bad. you’re funny.”

he stopped walking for half a second, turning to stare at you. “wait, finally. you admitted you think i’m funny.”

you shot back, grinning now. “i said you’re not that bad.”

he pointed at you like he was keeping score. “no, you said the f word. i win.”

you rolled your eyes but laughed anyway, you didn’t argue further, and the two of you kept walking until you passed by a live set. a couple crew members waved at you both to keep quiet, and you stopped near the barricade. “we need to wait here,” you whispered.

“i know,” he whispered back, trying not to smile. “they shoot movies on my street.” then, like he was proving a point, he added, “c-stands. apple box. don’t forget to sign out.”

you laughed under your breath, shaking your head, but then the camera rolled and everyone went quiet. you turned your attention to the scene unfolding, the fake living room lights, the actors hitting their marks, the director crouched behind the monitor. heeseung didn’t watch the scene as much as he watched you watching it, noticing how your whole expression shifted into something brighter, like this was the part you really loved. when the director finally called cut, you let out a small sigh. “i love this stuff. makes coming to work easier.”

heeseung looked at you, then nodded. “yeah. i know what you mean. i used to work at this bar that did stand-up nights. every week some big names would roll through. i’d be bussing tables while chappelle or ali wong or whoever was testing new material right in front of me. it was kind of crazy, like being backstage without actually belonging there.” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “anyway, it’s a samba-tapas place now.”

you turned to him, confused. “a what?”

“samba-tapas,” he repeated with a shrug. “it’s… exactly. the joke’s on history.” you laughed, shaking your head again, and he let the corner of his mouth tug up like he was proud of himself. “anyway, that’s l.a.,” he said. “they worship everything and they value nothing.” you laughed again, but this time it was smaller, kind of embarrassed, like you knew he was right but didn’t want to admit it too fast. he didn’t say anything right away, just watched you for a second while you both started walking again. after a few steps he asked, “how’d you get into all this?”

you looked over at him like you were about to brush it off, but then you didn’t. you just started talking. “oh — i — my aunt was an actress. she was in this traveling theater company. and there was this little library across the street from my house when i was growing up. and one day, my aunt flew into town, and she showed me the library’s old-movie section. we spent a whole day watching one after the other. bringing up baby. notorious. casablanca. i started putting on plays in my garage. i’d write the scripts and print up programs, and she’d give me props to use from wherever she’d just been — new york, london, paris. and then she’d jet off again and i wouldn’t hear from her for another year.”

heeseung kept quiet while you talked, not because he didn’t know what to say but because he was actually just interested, like, genuinely interested. the way you told the story didn’t sound rehearsed, it just sounded like someone remembering something that actually mattered to them. and for some reason, he liked hearing you talk like that. it was the kind of thing that made him want to ask more questions just so you’d keep going. “who would you invite to watch?” he asked after a moment. “your parents?”

“god no — i didn’t invite anyone. that would have been terrifying.” you let out a small laugh at yourself. “honestly, i wish i loved something else. i’ve tried so hard to want other things.” heeseung kept looking at you while you said it, and he didn’t interrupt. he was thinking about how most people don’t admit stuff like that out loud, especially not to someone they barely know. and he liked that you did. you kept going, not even pausing to check if he was still listening. “i left school after two years to come here, my fourth manager just dropped me, and my last audition was for a teen soap pitched as stranger things meets gossip girl.” you paused for a second, then added, completely deadpan, “should’ve been a lawyer.”

heeseung let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, because the world needs more lawyers.”

you looked at him, still a little serious, and said, “it doesn’t need more actresses.”

and he didn’t have a comeback for that right away, but then glanced at you, a little amused, a little serious. “you’re not just an actress.”

you frowned at him. “what do you mean, ‘just an actress’?”

“you said it yourself,” he went on, hands in his pockets. “you were writing plays in your garage when you were ten. you basically called yourself a child-prodigy playwright.”

you laughed. “that is not what i said.”

“you’re too modest to say it but it’s true,” he said, nodding like he had proof. “so you could write your own roles. write something that’s actually as interesting as you are.” you made a face, half smiling, half annoyed. heeseung continued, shaking his head. “all i’m saying is, richard pryor could’ve just told safe little knock knock jokes. what did he do instead? he made history.”

“ok,” you said, dry, “i’ll stop auditioning and make history instead.” he laughed again, and for a second it felt like that was enough. but then you glanced at him with this tiny grin, like you were holding something back. “anyway — i’m getting a feeling there’s something i should tell you…”

he looked over, curious. “yeah?”

you shrugged. “i hate stand-up comedy.”

heeseung stopped walking like you’d just said the most offensive thing possible. “what does that mean, you hate stand-up comedy?”

“it means when i watch one i don’t like it,” you said, completely straight.

he turned to face you, eyebrows raised. “that’s such a blanket statement. it’s like saying ‘i hate animals.’”

you didn’t flinch. “i do hate some animals.”

he stared at you for a beat, then let out this short laugh, rubbing his face like he couldn’t believe it. after a moment, he dropped his hand and asked, “do you need to be anywhere right now?”

you shook your head, your smile disappearing for a bit, your tummy getting anxious, but that was all it took. heeseung led you out of the lot, and eventually into this old spot in l.a. that looked like nothing special from the outside, but he started talking about it like it was a museum. he said it was one of those places that had hosted open mics for years, and big names used to come through when they were still nobodies. he opened the door and the place was half empty, just a few people scattered around, but he gestured to the stage like it was church. “most people say they hate stand-up comedy because they don’t have context. they don’t get where it came from.”

you tilted your head, sitting down at a booth with him. “i thought stand-up was just, i don’t know, chris rock.” heeseung stared at you with a look that said what?, still he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. you smirked, realizing instantly you’d hit a nerve. “i mean, i associate him with stand-up. it’s dork and easy.”

he leaned forward, gesturing at you like you were out of your mind. “it’s not easy! you know joe rogan once almost got into a fistfight with carlos mencia because he accused him of stealing jokes? that shit went down on stage, in front of a live crowd.”

you blinked, amused. “ok, fine, but chris rock is still the most famous one, right?”

he dropped his head into his hand, groaning. “y/n. these are things you can’t unsay.” you started laughing, louder than you expected, and the way he looked at you only made you laugh harder. he shook his head again, but then he slipped into one of his comedy-nerd rants. he told you about mitch hedberg, how he blew up with his deadpan one-liners but was also one of the most depressed people in the business, and how that mix of funny and broken was basically the soul of stand-up. you didn’t interrupt, you just watched him go off, and you thought it was kind of cute how he lit up when he talked about it, even though he pretended he didn’t care most of the time.

after a while he sat back, the edge of his smile fading into something smaller. “stand-up comedy is dying,” he said quietly. “everybody just wants to go viral on tiktok. you see comedians chasing clips, not sets. no one wants to bomb anymore, no one wants to actually get better. it’s all about what gets likes. the world tells everyone to move on, says stand-up had its moment. but i love it too much. i’m not moving on.”

you didn’t tell him, but in your head you thought it was kind of sweet, the way he cared so much about something that everyone else treated like a throwaway. it was nerdy, yeah, but it was the good kind of nerdy. and maybe that was the first time you admitted to yourself you liked listening to him talk, even if half of what he said sounded like an argument only he could win. the conversation drifted for a while after that, both of you just sitting in the booth like you’d known each other longer than you actually had. you were about to ask him something else when someone showed up at the edge of the table. “heeseung,” the guy said, leaning in a little.

heeseung looked up, surprised, then stood to give him a quick handshake. “soobin. hey, man.”

you watched while they greeted each other, and then heeseung gestured in your direction. “this is y/n,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to introduce you. “y/n, soobin. he’s a comedian too.”

soobin smiled politely at you before turning back to heeseung. “i saw your set the other night,” he said. “the stuff about your uber rides? that was good. crowd loved it.”

heeseung gave a small shrug, trying not to look too affected. “thanks.”

soobin kept going. “seriously. you’ve been getting sharper. listen—shoot me a text sometime, alright? i might have something for you. like, a spot. could be good exposure.” he pulled out his phone like he was ready to type in a number right there.

heeseung nodded slowly. “yeah, sure. thanks, man. i’ll hit you up.” his voice was polite but not overly enthusiastic, and you could tell he wasn’t putting much weight on it.

soobin clapped him on the shoulder. “do that. anyway, good to see you.” he gave you another polite smile before heading back toward the bar.

the moment he walked away, you turned back to heeseung, eyebrows raised. “what was that?”

heeseung sat down again, opening his soda like nothing had happened. “that was soobin.”

“i gathered that,” you said. “you didn’t look that interested.”

heeseung laughed, shaking his head. “he’s just… one of those guys. he used to do stand-up for real, but now he chops up clips for tiktok, and the industry loves him because he’s marketable.” he took a sip, then added, “he’s fine, but it’s not my thing.”

you studied him for a second, still curious. “so are you actually gonna text him?”

heeseung shrugged again, leaning back in the booth. “probably not. guys like him want you to play the game their way, and i don’t feel like being someone else’s content machine.”

you tilted your head. “he sounded like he was offering you something.”

“yeah,” he said. “but not the kind of something i want.”

and you didn’t push further, but you couldn’t help thinking it was strange. here was this guy who kept saying he wanted a break, and the second someone dangled one in front of him, he brushed it off like it was nothing. then your phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the low hum of the bar and making you flinch a little. you picked it up, saw the missed call, and your face shifted without you realizing. “shit, i missed it,” you muttered under your breath, already standing and excusing yourself as you hurried toward the door.

heeseung watched you leave, leaning back in the booth with his soda in hand, curious but trying not to look like he was eavesdropping even from across the room. he saw the way you held the phone tight against your ear just outside the window, pacing a little as you spoke. he couldn’t hear a word, but he could tell it wasn’t just a casual call. a minute later you walked back in, still holding your phone. you slid into the booth again, and for a second you didn’t say anything. you just stared at the screen before setting it face down on the table. heeseung raised an eyebrow, waiting. you looked at him, hesitated, then finally said it. “i got a callback.”

heeseung straightened up. “really? for what?”

“that show i told you about,” you said.

“the failed comedian one? stranger things meets gossip girl?”

“yeah. well… they’re saying it’s more like rebel without a cause.”

heeseung’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward with this grin you hadn’t seen yet. “that’s huge! ‘i got the bulletssss!’” he dragged out the line in a dramatic voice. you laughed, shaking your head, but he caught something in the way you did it. “wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “you’ve seen it, right?”

“obviously,” you said too quickly, then paused. “...no.”

“what? you’re the movie person.”

“it’s the one i lie about,” you admitted, half embarrassed, half daring him to make fun of you.

he just stared at you, looking almost offended. “you can’t do this audition and never see rebel. come on. the rialto’s showing it. i can take you. for research.”

you hesitated, leaning back in the booth. “for research?”

“yeah,” he said, nodding like it was settled. “10pm monday. the rialto. cool?”

you thought for a second, then smiled. “ok.” you repeated it, slower this time, like you wanted to make sure it was locked in. “for research.” you looked at him, and he looked right back, both of you trying not to show how much that tiny plan suddenly felt like something more.

monday night came quicker than you expected. you had promised him you’d be there at ten, but the day completely slipped away from you. you picked up an extra shift because one of your coworkers called out, and then traffic leaving the lot was worse than usual, and by the time you finally got home you realized you still had to change. you told yourself you had time, but then you got caught up looking for your jacket, and suddenly it was ten already and you were still standing in front of the mirror, annoyed at yourself for running late. you grabbed your keys, rushed out the door, and texted him a quick “on my way” that you weren’t sure he even saw before you shoved your phone back in your pocket.

heeseung, meanwhile, was already inside the rialto. he got there on time, of course, because he thought it would be stupid to be late when he was the one who suggested it. he didn’t know if you’d actually show. he sat down in one of the middle rows, hands in his lap, and tried to look casual, but the truth was he was disappointed when the minutes kept ticking by and you didn’t appear. inside the theater the lights started to dim, the usual hush falling over the crowd as people settled into their seats. heeseung sighed quietly, leaning back, telling himself he should’ve expected this. maybe you got busy, maybe you forgot, maybe you just didn’t want to come after all. the projector flickered on, the opening credits started, and for a moment he was sure he’d be watching the whole thing alone.

then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the aisle. he turned his head, and there you were, walking carefully in the dark, scanning the row numbers. when you finally spotted him, you looked straight at him and gave the smallest smile, like you were half apologizing, half relieved you’d made it. heeseung blinked, then sat up straighter, making sure you could slip into the seat next to him. you leaned in, whispered, “sorry, i’m late,” a little out of breath, and he just shook his head like he wanted to act annoyed but couldn’t actually hide the fact that he was glad you came.

the movie kept rolling, the screen lighting up both your faces, and for a second he didn’t even look at it. he just glanced at you, still catching your breath, your jacket half slipping off your shoulder, and he thought maybe being a little disappointed before made sense now, because it only made this part feel better.

half an hour went by and the two of you had barely spoken since the movie started. heeseung had his arm resting on the armrest, casual at first, but you felt it there and hesitated, your hand hovering like you were debating whether to move closer or stay put. then he shifted slightly to his right, enough that you caught it. you moved back a little too, like it was instinct, the two of you awkwardly negotiating this invisible line between your seats. a few minutes passed, and you edged your elbow onto the armrest. he caught that, the space between you kept shrinking little by little, just small movements that added up. your hands were close enough now that you noticed every twitch of his fingers, and you weren’t sure if it was on purpose when yours inched toward his, but either way they were almost touching. your breath quickened just slightly, and you could feel his attention shift in your direction even if he kept his eyes on the screen. then finally, finally, your hands touched.

then you turned your head, and for the first time that night, you caught each other’s eyes in the dark. the flicker of the screen lit up your face just enough, and suddenly it felt too deliberate, like you were both aware of how close you actually were. heeseung’s chest tightened a little in that kind of way that happens when you realize this might actually go somewhere. so he leaned in, just slightly, waiting to see if you’d do the same. and you did, not all the way, but enough that it was clear neither of you were pulling away.

and right in that exact moment — just as james dean and natalie wood arrived at griffith observatory — the screen burned out. a white flash cut across the film, the sound warped, and then the projector shut down completely. the screen went blank, the theater lights snapped on too quickly, way too bright, and the entire room filled with groans and complaints. people started murmuring, standing up, looking around for answers. heeseung leaned back, blinking like he needed a second to process it. he couldn’t believe his luck. out of all the times for this to happen, it had to be now.

you let out a laugh, not that you thought it was actually funny, but the situation itself was so ridiculous you didn’t know what else to do. he turned his head toward you, annoyed but amused, while you kept shaking your head like you couldn’t believe it either. then you looked at him, eyes brighter now, and said, “i have an idea.”

you left the theater before anyone else, both of you laughing a little at how abrupt it all ended. heeseung followed you out to the parking lot, and by the time you climbed into his car, you were already telling him to just drive. he gave you a look, but then he turned the key anyway. the road up to the griffith observatory was long and curved, the windows were down, the night air cool against your face, and every time the road bent, you caught glimpses of los angeles below, lit up like it was trying too hard to impress someone. heeseung didn’t say much while driving, but you could tell he was focused, maybe even nervous.

when he finally pulled up near the observatory, the place looked mostly quiet, a few cars scattered around, no big crowds. you got out together, walking slow, checking if there was a way in. after circling for a bit, you found an unlocked side door and slipped through like you weren’t sure if you were allowed, but neither of you stopped. inside it was quiet except for the hum of the building, and you wandered past the exhibits like you’d just stumbled into a school trip after hours. the tesla coil sat in the corner, buzzing faintly, sparks jumping every few seconds, and you both stopped to watch it for a moment before continuing up the stairs. when you reached the top floor, the air felt different, the quiet heavier, and heeseung finally broke it. “you know, i always wanted to come here,” he said, looking around like he was trying to take it all in. “just never had anyone to go with.”

you glanced at him, grinning. “so am i good enough company?”

he gave you a look, half smug, half sincere. “you’re the best.”

before you could answer, he reached out and took your hand, like he’d been thinking about it for a while. he didn’t let go as he led you into the planetarium, where the dome ceiling stretched above, filled with stars projected in perfect stillness. you both stood there for a moment, just watching, his hand still in yours, and for once neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. it was just the hum of the projector throwing stars across the dome. you were still holding his hand, both of you looking up, when heeseung suddenly cleared his throat. at first you thought he was about to say something serious, but then you realized he was humming. it was soft, almost like he didn’t want you to notice at first, but after a second the melody was clear. he was mumbling the words under his breath, barely singing, “you must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss…” the tune from casablanca.

you looked at him, eyebrows raised, and laughed. “are you seriously singing right now?”

he shrugged, still smiling and humming. “what? you’re the one who said you love old movies. i’m just trying to set the mood.” before you could roll your eyes at him, he squeezed your hand and gave a small tug, stepping back and turning his wrist so you spun lightly in place. you stumbled into the movement, laughing as he guided you into it, and when you stopped, he was already gesturing for you to keep going, like he was trying to make a dance out of nothing. you were giggling the whole time, trying to whisper “stop” even though you clearly didn’t mean it. heeseung had that serious but playful look on his face, like he was committing to the bit now that he’d started, and he kept his hand firm on yours as the two of you circled the floor slowly.

the “music” was just his voice, still humming the same old tune, slightly off-key but not enough to ruin it. you were shaking your head, laughing at how ridiculous it was, and he was grinning like he couldn’t believe you were actually going along with it. the two of you moved around the empty planetarium, your shoes squeaking lightly against the floor, your free hand clutching at your jacket so it wouldn’t fall off while he tried to spin you again. you almost tripped, caught yourself, and the both of you burst into louder laughter that echoed in the empty dome. heeseung didn’t let go this time. instead of spinning you out, he pulled you in, his hand slipping naturally to your waist like he’d been thinking about it for a while but only just got brave enough to do it. you froze for a second, surprised, but you didn’t move away. so the dancing slowed. no more silly turns, no stumbling. just the two of you standing close, swaying a little to the quiet rhythm of his off-key humming. your hands found their place, one resting lightly on his shoulder, the other still in his.

he looked down at you then, studying your face like he was trying to figure out if you were really okay with this. his voice came low, almost hesitant. “you know, i didn’t actually think you’d come tonight.”

you tilted your head, smiling. “why?”

he shrugged, still holding your waist, his thumb brushing against the side of your jacket. “i don’t know. you just… you have this way of keeping me guessing. i never know if you’re going to show up, or laugh at me, or tell me i’m an idiot.”

you laughed softly. “i can do all three.”

“yeah,” he said, nodding, smiling at that. “and i like it more than i should.” you looked at him, really looked, and he didn’t look away. there wasn’t a punchline waiting this time, no joke to break the silence. you were both standing there, too close to pretend it was still just dancing. his hand stayed steady on your waist, yours hovered on his shoulder like you weren’t sure whether to pull back or hold on tighter. the stars projected above flickered quietly, but neither of you were really paying attention to them anymore.

heeseung was looking at you in this way that made it obvious he was deciding whether to take the step or wait for you to do it. you could feel it in the way his breathing slowed a little, in the way he didn’t crack a joke to cut the tension like he usually did. he leaned in just a bit, careful, and when you didn’t move away, his eyes flicked down toward your lips before going back up to meet your gaze. you leaned in too, just slightly, enough to close the gap between you both. when your lips met his, it was soft and hesitant at first. heeseung let out a small breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his grip on your waist tightening just a little as if to keep you close.

you kissed him back, steady and unhurried, and even though it was quiet in the planetarium, it felt like the whole room shifted around that moment. there wasn’t any orchestra, no audience, no big finish — just the two of you finally giving in to something that had been building for weeks. he pulled back slowly, just enough to look at you again, his forehead almost touching yours. he didn’t say anything right away, but the look on his face was enough, like he was still surprised you hadn’t pushed him away. you were smiling, though, and that was all the confirmation he needed before leaning in for another kiss.

you kissed him again, slower this time, and when you pulled back, you were both smiling in that way that wasn’t polished or practiced, just uneven and real. heeseung didn’t let go of your hand, and instead of saying anything, he tugged lightly, pulling you a step forward. you looked at him like you were waiting for him to explain, but he just gave you this little grin and moved his hand back to your waist, guiding you into another dance even though there was still no music. so you went along with it. the two of you circled the empty planetarium floor again, not fast, not in sync, but close enough that it didn’t matter. your shoes scraped quietly, his shoulder brushed against yours every time you shifted, and he kept humming that same half-forgotten tune under his breath, off-key and casual like he didn’t care how it sounded. you laughed a couple times, mostly at how ridiculous it was to keep dancing after everything, but you didn’t pull away. he held on like he didn’t want to let the night end yet, and you didn’t either. it felt like the kind of thing you’d both always remember. and you did.

more than a month went by, and somewhere in between you and heeseung had accidentally built a routine. it wasn’t official, no one said anything about it, but it was there. heeseung would pick you up after shifts and drive aimlessly just to end up at the same diner you both started going to, the one with fries that weren’t even that good but somehow tasted better at two in the morning. you sat through a couple of his sets, some good, some rough, and every time he came off stage, you were there with the same half-smile that made him feel like it didn’t matter which way it went. one weekend you dragged him to a thrift shop near your place, and he spent an hour trying on the most ridiculous jackets he could find until you were crying laughing. he claimed one of them was “for stage presence” and actually bought it. coffee runs, walks that went on too long because neither of you wanted to go home yet, him showing up at your apartment just to play you clips of old stand-ups you “needed to know.” it was enough that a month later it felt weird to think about not seeing him almost every day.

one night you were at your desk, notebook open, pen moving fast. you’d been scribbling dialogue for the past hour, trying to shape it into something solid. it wasn’t an audition monologue or someone else’s lines this time, it was yours. character headings, scene headings, bits of dialogue stacked on top of each other in your messy handwriting. yunjin, your roommate, wandered in, pajamas on, a bowl of cereal in her hand. she stopped at your door, tilting her head. “what’s that?”

you looked up quickly, almost defensive. “it’s a play. i’m going to put it on myself.”

from her room, you heard sakura, your other roommate’s voice call out, muffled but clear. “a play? you better give us roles!”

you sighed, laughing. “actually… it’s a one-woman show.”

there was a beat of silence and then, from both sides of the apartment, loud groans and mock screams like you’d just committed some crime against theater itself. you rolled your eyes and tried to focus again, but that’s when it came the sound of a the honk. long, sharp, echoing up through your window. yunjin froze mid-bite, spoon still in her mouth. “...is that gonna happen every time?”

you smiled instantly, not even bothering to hide it. “i think so.”

outside, parked at the curb, was heeseung’s car. he was leaning forward over the steering wheel like he always did when he laid on the horn, probably grinning to himself at how annoyed your neighbors must’ve been by now. you rushed out of your building, running down the steps when you saw his car already waiting. heeseung leaned over from the driver’s seat, window rolled down, grinning at you like he’d been planning this moment all afternoon. you didn’t slow down, you yanked the passenger door open and slid right in, throwing your arms around his neck before he could even say anything. he laughed against your lips when you kissed him, the kind of laugh that comes out because he wasn’t expecting it but liked it too much to stop.

when you pulled back, still close enough to feel his breath, he tilted his head and said quietly, “so, where do you wanna go tonight, pretty?”

the word hit you before the question did, and you blinked, caught off guard, smiling because you didn’t know how else to react. “uh… surprise me.”

he smirked at your answer, hand sliding to the gearshift like he was already one step ahead. “good. i was planning on it anyway.”

and for once he wasn’t bluffing. an hour later you were both stepping into a small restaurant tucked away in a quieter part of the city, the kind of place that wasn’t trying too hard but still felt like you should’ve dressed up for it. heeseung had ditched his usual hoodie for a button-up that still didn’t sit right on him, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair pushed back just enough to make it look like he’d actually tried. you wore something simple but nicer than usual, and the second he saw you step out of the car, he stared for a moment longer than he should have before catching himself. inside, you sat across from each other in a booth, menus open but completely ignored. heeseung leaned his chin against his hand, eyes on you instead of the page. “so if i order something really boring, like grilled chicken, are you gonna judge me?”

you shook your head, laughing. “no, but i’ll tell everyone about it.”

he grinned, leaning closer across the table. “what if i order the most expensive thing just to impress you?”

you raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “then i’ll know you’re full of shit.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. “okay, fine, maybe i just wanna impress you without going broke. is that allowed?”

the way he said it caught you off guard again, you looked down at the menu to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your reaction, but he noticed anyway. heeseung leaned back, smug in the most harmless way, like making you flustered was the highlight of his night. and honestly, it kind of was. the food came and went, heeseung had been telling you about this one guy who bombed so badly at an open mic last week that he forgot his own punchline and just walked off stage without saying goodbye, and you were still laughing when the conversation shifted.

“you know what i actually want?” he said, pushing his plate away. “like, long term? i wanna open my own bar. but not just a bar — a place where people can come do open mics without it feeling like they’re begging for five minutes.”

you raised your eyebrows, smiling. “so like a safe space for bad jokes?”

he smirked at you. “for bad jokes that turn into good ones. you’d be surprised how much people can do if they’re not terrified of being judged.”

you nodded, playing with your glass. “honestly, that doesn’t sound bad. i’d probably end up writing a whole play about it. i’m working on one now, actually.”

his face lit up, genuine curiosity replacing the usual teasing. “the one-woman show you mentioned?”

“yeah,” you admitted. “i’m trying to finish a draft. it feels stupid half the time, but i can’t get it out of my head.”

he leaned forward, elbows on the table, like he was trying to catch every word. “it doesn’t sound stupid. it sounds like something people would actually show up for. especially if you’re in it.”

you rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks. “you’re just saying that.”

“no, i’m not,” he said quickly, grinning. “i mean, i’d heckle you a little, just to keep you on your toes. but i’d still buy a ticket.”

you shook your head, laughing. “thanks, that means so much.”

he chuckled, then hesitated. “soobin asked me to do something for him. like, for his youtube channel. clips, sketches, whatever. he said it could get me more traction, but…” he trailed off, fiddling with his napkin.

“but you don’t know if you want to?”

“yeah. it’s like… i don’t want to just be another guy chasing clicks. i want to actually get better at stand-up, you know? like, really work at it. not just throw out for the algorithm.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “then think about what gets you closer to that bar you wanna open. what’s actually going to help you get there. not just what looks good right now.”

heeseung blinked at you, then smiled slowly, almost like he was impressed. “that’s… actually good advice. i thought you’d just make fun of me.”

you leaned back, smirking. “i mean, i can still do that if you want.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “nah, i like this version better. supportive, smart, and still kind of scary.”

“scary?” you raised an eyebrow.

“yeah,” he said, leaning closer again, voice low enough that it sent a tiny shiver down your spine. “because you actually make me think about stuff i’ve been avoiding. that’s dangerous.” you tried to come up with something clever to throw back at him, but the way he was looking at you made your words catch. you just shook your head, smiling into your glass, and heeseung leaned back in his seat like he knew exactly what he’d just done.

the drive back was nothing like the quiet rides you’d had before. heeseung had the windows cracked just enough for the breeze to slip in, and he was messing with the radio like it was some kind of game. every time a song came on, he’d either sing it badly on purpose or change it within the first five seconds, waiting to see your reaction. when you finally told him to just pick one and stick with it, he stopped on some old r&b track and immediately started drumming on the steering wheel, shooting you a grin. “you like this one, right?” he asked, already singing along before you even answered.

you laughed, shaking your head. “you don’t even know the lyrics.”

“doesn’t matter,” he said, leaning toward you a little, his voice dropping into something exaggerated and silly. “i’m making them up as i go. it’s my version.”

you tried to hide your smile, but he noticed anyway, and it only made him sing louder, just off-key enough to make you cover your face with your hand. by the time you pulled into his street, the music was still low in the background, and you were still shaking your head at how ridiculous he was. he parked, turned the engine off, and glanced at you for a moment longer than necessary before hopping out and jogging around the front like he was going to open your door for you. you rolled your eyes but let him do it, and he bowed dramatically when you stepped out, which made you laugh all over again.

inside, the place was dark and quiet. he flicked on the light and set his keys down on the counter. “jake and jay are out tonight,” he said casually, kicking his shoes off, then glanced at you with this little grin. “which means i actually get you all to myself.”

you laughed, trying not to look as flustered as you felt. “is that a good thing?”

“it’s the best thing,” he shot back immediately, closing the door behind you. heeseung didn’t even wait for you to put your bag down. his hand was sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until your chest bumped into his. before you could say anything, he kissed you deeper. your hand grabbed at his shirt automatically, keeping yourself steady while his arm tightened around you. when he finally pulled back, just slightly, his lips still brushing against yours, he was smiling in that way that made your stomach turn over. “see?” he murmured, voice low, almost smug. “told you it was the best thing.” you blinked up at him, catching your breath, and he grinned wider, leaning in just enough to kiss you again, shorter this time, playful. then he tilted his head like he was really thinking about it. “you know, you could’ve just admitted you’ve been waiting for me to kiss you like that.”

you shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to laugh, but he caught your hand before you could move it away, still holding you close like he had no intention of letting go. ​​his lips brushed your jaw before finding your mouth again, and you let out this small sound you hadn’t planned to, which only made him tighten his grip on your waist. he walked you back a few steps until the back of your legs hit the couch, and you ended up sitting down without even realizing that’s where he was steering you. he leaned over, bracing one hand on the armrest beside your head, and the other trailed along your thigh before tugging gently at your knee so you’d pull him closer. “you’re really not gonna admit it, huh?” he teased between kisses, his voice low, rougher now, but still carrying that smug tone that made you want to roll your eyes and kiss him harder at the same time.

“admit what?” you shot back, even though your hands were already under his shirt, fingers brushing against his skin like you’d been waiting for this moment longer than you wanted to confess.

he let out a soft laugh, kissing down your neck as he murmured, “that you wanted this just as much as i did.” his mouth lingered there, making it harder for you to argue when your breath kept catching. ​​you tugged at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he finally leaned back just enough to let you finish, and the second it was undone he shrugged it off, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. your eyes dragged over him before you could stop yourself. his chest defined, his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat with just enough muscle lining the sides, and the light from the room caught on his skin in a way that made you pause longer than you meant to. he caught the look, of course he did, and grinned like he’d been waiting for it. “you’re staring,” he teased, voice low, almost amused.

you smirked back, not even pretending to deny it. “the view’s nice.”

he raised a brow, leaning down again until his face was close enough that you could feel his breath. “oh, yeah?” he murmured, like he wanted you to repeat it. before you could fire back, he kissed you again, one hand braced on the couch beside you, the other sliding along your waist like he was reminding you he was still the one pulling you closer. his hand moved lower, finding the hem of your dress and tugging it up slowly. in one motion he pulled it over your head, tossing it aside with the same ease he’d dropped his own shirt earlier.

he looked down at you then, eyes dragging over every inch of skin he’d just uncovered before settling back on yours. “so fucking pretty,” he muttered, not bothering to hide it, the words half soft and half smug. he bent down again, kissing you harder for a moment, teeth catching your bottom lip, then pulling back just enough to kiss you softer, almost playful. his mouth trailed away from yours, finding your jawline, kissing slow along the curve of it before moving down your neck. his lips lingered there, pressing at the spot just below your ear before working lower, mouth brushing across your collarbone. heeseung’s hand tightened at your side as he kissed down, pressing slow, unhurried kisses across your chest until he reached the line of your bra. he paused there just for a second, his breath warm against your skin, before dipping down and kissing right between your breasts, like he was claiming every bit of space he could get.

“fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured against your skin. he kissed you again there, softer this time, then dragged his lips up the curve of one breast, his hand sliding higher to brush over your shoulder. he caught the thin strap of your bra with his fingers, tugging it down slowly, eyes flicking up to yours with that smug little grin. “so fucking pretty,” he repeated. his mouth followed the path his hand made, kissing over your bare shoulder, then moving back down to press another kiss right at the edge of your bra. he slid the strap the rest of the way down your arm, fingers steady but slow, like he wasn’t in any rush. the other strap followed, and before you could even think about it he had the clasp undone, letting the bra fall away completely. his eyes dragged over you for a second, his grin curving wider as he settled between your legs, letting your thighs wrap tight around his hips like it was the most natural place for him to be.

“jesus,” he breathed out, his hand brushed up your side, pausing just under your breast before he leaned down and kissed over the curve of it, then lower, his mouth closing around your nipple. his tongue dragged slow, teasing, and when he pulled back just enough to suck again, his other hand was already cupping the other side of your chest. he glanced up at you when you let out a small moan, his lips shiny, his voice low. “been trying not to think about this since the first night i saw you.” another kiss, slower, then a small bite before he soothed it with his tongue.

he moved to your other breast, kissing all over before finally closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking gently like he wanted to draw out every sound you were holding back. “look at you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his words spilling between kisses. “you’re unreal… fuck.” your legs tightened around his waist when he pressed closer, and he let out a quiet laugh against your skin, squeezing your hip with one hand. “yeah, that’s it… i knew you’d feel this good.” he kissed across your chest again, then went back to your nipple, sucking a little harder this time, groaning softly like he was the one losing control.

his hands slid down your sides until they settled on your hips, fingers pressing in a little firmer this time. before you even realized what he was doing, he shifted and pulled you up with him, making you gasp as your legs automatically wrapped tighter around his waist. “got you,” he muttered, grinning like it was no big deal that he’d just lifted you off the couch. you clung to his shoulders, laughing a little under your breath, but he only tightened his grip, carrying you like he’d done it a hundred times before.

he nudged the door to his room open with his foot, and leaned down just enough to kiss you again as he walked, dropping you carefully on the bed, his body following right after so he was hovering above you. he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up your bare thighs. he trailed his mouth down your neck, slow and unhurried, nipping lightly before moving lower, across your collarbone, over the top of your chest, and further down until he was at your stomach. his palms pressed to your hips as he kissed along the soft skin there, his grin brushing against you every time he glanced up.

by the time his lips reached your hipbone, he tugged at the hem of your panties just slightly, enough to make you twitch. he mouthed over the thin fabric, kissing right where you were already sensitive, his tongue brushing against the cloth in the laziest, most teasing way. “you like this?” he asked, voice muffled against you, kissing again just a little harder through the fabric. his hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady when you shifted under him. “yeah, you do,” he said with that same smug softness, kissing you once more, slower this time, his nose brushing against your skin.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hair falling into his eyes a little, his fingers still firm on your hips. “you’re already fucking soaked through,” he said, not even trying to hide the smug edge in his voice. his thumb dragged across the wet spot on the fabric like he wanted to make a point of it, and then he looked back up at you with that smirk that made your stomach twist. he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged the fabric down slowly, dragging it past your thighs, tossing it off the side of the bed without bothering to look. he spread your legs wider with his hands, his thumbs brushing over the inside of your thighs as he lowered his head again.

the first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, from the bottom up, and he hummed low in his throat like he was tasting something he liked. he kissed right against your clit, soft at first, then sucked lightly, just enough to make you gasp, and when you did, he pulled back with a grin. “yeah, that’s it,” he muttered, lips brushing against you as he spoke. “don’t hold back. i wanna hear it.”

he went back down without giving you space to answer, tongue flicking against you faster, then slowing down just to tease, like he was pacing himself on purpose. every now and then, he glanced up at you through his hair, eyes half lidded, like he was checking to see exactly how wrecked you were getting from just his mouth. “you taste fucking amazing,” he said against you, then sucked on your clit harder this time, one hand sliding up to press your stomach down lightly when you tried to jerk up. your head tilted back against the pillow, your breaths getting shorter, messier, and he noticed, he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips shiny, his voice low and amused. “you’re close, huh? i can feel it,” he said, his fingers digging in slightly as he pushed your legs wider. then his mouth was back on you, sucking at your clit harder, tongue pressing and flicking until the noises spilling out of you got sharper.

“heeseung—” you moaned, his name breaking out of you half breathless.

he groaned against you at the sound, like it turned him on just hearing you say his name like that, and doubled down, his pace quickening, more focused now, like he wasn’t letting you out of this until you gave in completely. your hand flew to his hair, pulling a little, trying to ground yourself, but it only made him grin against you, his muffled laugh vibrating straight through you. “let go, baby,” he muttered, sucking harder, tongue flicking in perfect rhythm until your whole body clenched and your cry broke out sharp. you came hard, thighs trembling around his head, hips lifting despite his hand holding you down, your fingers clutching his hair. he didn’t stop until you were gasping, only then easing his mouth off, slowing down, kissing you soft through the aftershocks like he was savoring every second of it.

when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin wet, he climbed up your body slowly, pressing light kisses along your stomach, your chest, up your collarbone, until he was hovering over you again. you were still catching your breath, skin flushed, and he leaned down, brushing his lips over your jaw, then your cheek, soft kisses that contrasted how wrecked you felt. “you’re unreal,” he whispered against your ear, his voice low, almost hoarse, and then his tone shifted, smug and obscene all at once. “you just came so hard on my tongue i could fucking drown in you.”

you groaned at his words, your hands immediately moving down, slipping under the waistband of his jeans without even thinking. he didn’t stop you, he let you, his bulge pressing against the fabric obvious now, and the second your fingers brushed him, he smirked, leaning back just enough to watch you. “can’t wait, huh?” he teased, one hand still stroking your side gently while the other braced on the bed. ​​you surprised him when you suddenly pushed at his chest, urging him back until his shoulders hit the mattress. he just let you, smirking like he’d been waiting for this, one arm sliding lazily behind his head like he was comfortable letting you take control, at least for now.

you straddled his hips, fingers already tugging at the button of his jeans, and he raised an eyebrow at you, smug as hell, like he wasn’t going to lift a single finger to help. “go on then,” he murmured, watching you struggle with the zipper. you shot him a look, bratty, but you still tugged his jeans down, peeling them off along with his underwear. he was already hard, his dick was huge, thick and heavy against his stomach, and you paused for a second, eyes flicking up to meet his, and he smirked even wider like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “don’t stare too long, princess,” he drawled, his tone soft but taunting. “you can handle it, right?”

you rolled your eyes, pretending like you weren’t affected, but he caught the way your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist. you leaned down anyway, your lips brushing against his length in the lightest kiss, testing, and he hummed low in his throat, smug and approving at once. “that’s cute,” he said, his voice rougher now, though his arm was still lazily tucked behind his head. “but you’re gonna have to do better than that.” you smirked up at him, deliberately licking along the side of his cock, slow and teasing, ignoring the way he exhaled sharply. then you wrapped your hand around him, stroking once before leaning down to take him into your mouth, slow, not giving him all at once. he groaned, finally moving his free hand to your hair, his fingers curling in loosely like a reminder of who really had the control. “fuck, just like that,” he muttered, his tone both encouraging and commanding. “open wider, don’t be shy.”

you pulled back enough to glare up at him, your lips shiny, and he smirked again, smug and relaxed, still with that arm behind his head like he was enjoying a show. you sank down lower this time, taking more of him in until he hissed through his teeth, his hand tightening briefly in your hair. he laughed, low and breathless, his voice strained but still cocky. “fuck, yeah, take it.” you hummed around him, his hips twitching up slightly before he forced himself to stay still. his voice was ragged now, but he still kept that smug edge. “fuck, you look good like this. keep going, don’t stop.” he let you take your time, but every word out of his mouth, every little tug on your hair, made it clear he was only letting you think you were in charge.

your pace picked up, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, and heeseung finally lost that perfectly relaxed posture he’d been keeping. his head tipped back into the pillow, his lips parted, and his hips started twitching just a little, betraying how close he was. his breathing got rougher, groans breaking out every time you slid down deeper, and then his hand suddenly tightened in your hair, tugging just enough to pull you back. “fuck,” he hissed, his chest rising and falling hard now, his cock shiny and wet from your mouth. “i have to be inside you when i cum.”

he tugged harder, pulling you up, and before you could protest he was rolling the two of you over, his weight pressing you into the mattress. you looked up at him, a little dazed but still smirking, and said, “couldn’t handle me?”

he barked out a laugh, smug even while catching his breath, his hand pushing your thighs apart. “cute,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you rough, messy, like he didn’t even care you could still taste him on your tongue. “but you’re mine now.”

he shifted down, the head of his cock sliding against your clit, teasing, making you jolt under him. his grin widened immediately at your reaction, and he did it again, slower, just to watch your face. you grabbed at his shoulder, glaring. “stop fucking around. just do it.”

he raised his eyebrows, his tip circling you again, the pressure maddening. “you’re really still gonna act bratty when you’re literally begging for me?”

your hips bucked against him involuntarily, and you tried to cover it up with attitude. “i don’t know if i can take it,” you shot back, your voice shaking but sharp.

heeseung’s smirk softened into something darker, more certain, and he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispered, “oh, i know you can.” his tone was so confident it made you clench around nothing. but instead of pushing into you right away, he pulled back and slipped his hand between your thighs. his fingers pressed against you, slow at first, rubbing along your slick folds like he was testing how ready you were. he slid one inside, then two, curling them just right, his thumb brushing over your clit as he worked you open.

you moaned loudly, your legs tightening around his hips, your nails digging into his arm. “heeseung—”

he groaned at the way you said his name, his mouth dropping to your neck again, kissing and sucking like he couldn’t help himself. “that’s it. fuck, you’re so wet for me. you were made to take it.” he kept fingering you, faster now, his wrist twisting slightly to hit deeper, his thumb relentless on your clit. your hips were rocking against his hand, chasing it, and he was watching you the whole time. his fingers worked deeper, rougher, curling just right, and you couldn’t stop the way your body arched into him. his lips brushed your jaw, then your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “yeah, that’s it. i can feel you fucking squeezing me so tight. you’re so desperate for my cock but look at you, already falling apart on my fingers.” your moans came louder, he laughed under his breath, smug as ever, and pushed his fingers harder into you, fucking you fast, messy, relentless. his thumb rubbed rough circles over your clit, and you whined his name again, broken. “moan for me,” he demanded, his pace quickening. “louder, come on.”

“heeseung—please,” you gasped, voice cracking, and his grin widened against your skin.

“fuck, hearing you moan my name like that,” he muttered, low and filthy right into your ear, “you love this, don’t you? letting me wreck you like this.” his teeth grazed your earlobe, and his fingers pumped harder, faster, until the sound of how wet you were was obscene, filling the room. you clenched hard around him, your whole body trembling, and he groaned, smug as ever. “gonna cum for me, huh? be a good girl and cum all over my fingers.” your back arched off the mattress, your cries sharp as the pressure built and snapped. your release hit so hard your legs shook, your thighs pressing desperately against his arm, but he didn’t stop, he kept fucking you with his fingers, driving you higher until you gasped and choked out sounds you couldn’t control. and then it happened — wet, messy, your body giving out as you squirted all over his hand, the sheets, your own skin.

heeseung let out a low groan, smug and thrilled, his fingers still moving through it. “fuck, look at you. you’re soaking everything. i knew you had that in you.” he pulled his hand back just enough to see the mess glistening on his skin, smirking as he wiped his fingers over your inner thigh, teasing, spreading it back on you. “so fucking good for me. you’re mine, oh my god.” you were still trembling, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering half shut, and he kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, like he couldn’t get enough of you even while you were wrecked under him. “aw, baby” he whispered against your skin, smug but softer now, “you just made a mess all over me. you know how fucking hot that is? i could watch you do that over and over.” heeseung pulled his hand away slowly, his fingers glistening as he looked down at you wrecked on the bed, your thighs still twitching, your chest rising and falling fast. he leaned over you, brushing his lips against your jawline, soft for just a moment, and murmured, “are you okay?”

you nodded quickly, still catching your breath, but the desperation in your eyes said more than anything. “please,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, “i need you—”

his mouth curved into that smug grin, the one that made your stomach flip, and he pressed a kiss against your cheek, dragging it down to your lips, slow and teasing. “so needy,” he muttered, his voice low and amused, “you’re shaking and you’re still begging for me.”

he shifted, his cock heavy and hard against your thigh. you looked down for a second, your lips parting, and he caught it immediately, chuckling against your skin. “yeah, i know,” he teased, brushing the tip against your entrance, dragging it slowly up and down your folds just to watch you squirm. “you can take it, baby. i know you can.” you let out this desperate little whine, your hands gripping at his shoulders like you couldn’t stand him dragging it out anymore. he groaned low, finally lining up, pressing in slowly, stretching you inch by inch. his head dropped forward, his breath catching, and he cursed, “fuck. that pussy feels so good, baby. so fucking tight for me.” you gasped, your back arching as he slid deeper, the stretch making your nails dig into his skin. he didn’t stop, pushing all the way in until his hips were flush with yours, and he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours. “shit,” he groaned again, smugness bleeding into the roughness of his voice, “you’re fucking perfect. i could stay inside you all night.” he gave a small thrust, just enough to make you cry out, and his grin widened. 

he pulled out halfway and pushed back in harder, the sound of your body taking him filling the room. his hand slid down your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist, giving him more room to drive deeper, and you whimpered against his mouth, moaning his name. “fuck, heeseung—”

he laughed, breathless but smug, kissing the corner of your lips. “that’s it, baby. say my name just like that. let everyone fucking know who’s inside you right now.” he started moving faster, harder, his cock hitting deeper every time, and each thrust had you clinging tighter, your moans spilling against his mouth. his hand gripped your hip tight, holding you steady, making sure you felt every inch of him. “this pussy’s mine,” he muttered against your neck, kissing, sucking, biting softly between thrusts, “so wet for me, squeezing the fuck out of me. god, i’m never letting you go.”

heeseung slowed down suddenly, pulling out almost all the way and leaving you clenching around nothing. you let out a frustrated sound, half whine and half moan, your hands clawing. he smirked, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “turn over for me, baby,” he said, his tone calm but expectant, like he already knew you’d listen. “on your stomach. i wanna see that perfect ass while i fuck you.” you hesitated only long enough to catch your breath, then you rolled over, pressing your cheek into the pillow as he helped move your hips, lifting you just the way he wanted, your knees digging into the mattress. his hands gripped your waist, holding you steady, and he groaned under his breath at the sight of you spread out in front of him. “fuck, look at you,” he muttered, dragging the tip of his cock slowly along your slit, teasing you without giving in yet. “dripping for me. you want it this bad, huh?”

“yes—please,” you gasped, trying to push back against him, desperate for more friction.

he laughed quietly, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulled you back just enough to stop you. “so impatient,” he teased, leaning forward to kiss along your shoulder blade, his breath hot against your skin. “don’t worry baby, i’m gonna give you everything. but i’m doing it my way.”

he pressed forward finally, sliding into you from behind, inch by inch until he was buried deep. the stretch had you moaning into the pillow, your fingers curling tight into the sheets. “fuck yes,” he groaned, his hands spreading over your lower back as if he was steadying himself. “so fucking tight around me, taking all of it like you were made for me.” he pulled back and snapped his hips forward again, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and before you could catch your breath he lifted one hand and smacked your ass, the sting making you jolt. “you like that, baby? you like me fucking you like this?” he muttered, watching the way your skin flushed under his palm. 

you whimpered, your voice muffled against the pillow, “fuck, yes, heeseung—”

he grinned, leaning over your back, his mouth against your ear now, his hips moving in slow, deliberate thrusts that had you gasping with every push. “tell me how good my cock feels inside you.”

“so good—” you moaned, your voice breaking as he thrust deeper, his cock hitting the spot that made your whole body shake.

“that’s right,” he groaned, kissing along your jawline while still driving into you. “no one’s ever gonna fuck you like i do.” his rhythm picked up, his thrusts harder now, his hand on your ass again, another smack echoing in the room before he grabbed you tighter and pulled you back onto him. “fuck, baby,” he gritted out, his breath hot against your skin, “you feel unreal. keep clenching around me like that and i’m gonna lose it.”

heeseung’s thrusts were getting rougher, his hips snapping into you harder, and you could feel the way his rhythm started to falter just slightly, like he was getting close. his groans were deeper now, his grip almost bruising on your waist as he buried himself inside you again and again, and for a second you thought he was going to let himself go. but then he stilled, pulling out all the way, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. you whined immediately, your body arching back, desperate for him, your face pressed into the pillow as you protested with little sounds. “no—don’t stop—”

heeseung smirked, catching his breath as he ran a hand slowly down your back, his voice low. “relax, baby. i’m not done with you yet. i’m not wasting it this fast.” before you could respond, he leaned forward, kissing along your spine, his mouth trailing lower, down the curve of your back until he reached the swell of your ass. you tensed in surprise when he pressed his lips there, first a light kiss, then another, slower, more deliberate, his hands spreading across your hips to hold you steady. “fuck,” he muttered against your skin, kissing one cheek and then the other, his lips hot and wet as he took his time. “you look so fucking hot like this, laid out for me.”

his hands slid further down, gripping and spreading you open, and he looked at the sight of you with that smug little grin that always made you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. he lowered his mouth again, this time pressing a slower kiss right between your cheeks, then dragging his tongue across your folds, giving you one long lick that made you jolt. you gasped, your breath catching in your throat, and heeseung chuckled against you, his tongue moving again, this time teasing lower, circling your other hole in one quick swipe. your whole body shuddered, your fists tightening in the sheets, a shocked moan falling from your lips. he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice dripping with that smug amusement that only he could pull off. “oh, you like that, baby? you like my tongue on your ass?”

your only answer was another broken moan, your hips jerking against his face like you couldn’t help yourself. heeseung laughed quietly, shaking his head before diving back in, his tongue alternating between licking over your pussy and circling your ass again, slower this time, more deliberate, watching the way your body reacted to every movement. “fuck, you’re losing it already. didn’t think you’d like this so much,” he muttered, his voice rough and teasing before going back to licking you, his grip on your hips keeping you spread wide so he could get everywhere he wanted.

finally he pulled back, lips wet, his hands sliding back up your waist as he pressed himself flush against you. he lined himself up carefully, the head of his cock nudging your entrance before he slid all the way in with one slow push, burying himself inside you again. your walls clenched tight around him and he let out a deep groan, his mouth brushing against your ear as he leaned down close. “fuck, that pussy feels so good around me, baby.” his thrusts started slow, steady, each movement deliberate, grinding into you deep enough to make you lose your breath. as he set the rhythm, his lips brushed your ear again, his voice lower, almost a growl. “are you gonna let me fuck your ass one day, baby?”

you gasped, your face heating instantly, your words shaky but desperate as they spilled out. “yes—please.”

heeseung smirked against your skin, the answer making him groan as his hand slid down your back, his thumb spreading over your ass until he pressed lightly against your hole, just teasing it while still fucking into you. “such a good girl, so dirty,” he muttered, smug and approving at the same time, pushing his thumb in gentle circles over you while he thrust harder, making you take every inch of him. the combination made you lose it, your body twitching under his grip, your moans breaking into needy cries as he worked you open with his cock and thumb at once. he kept whispering filth in your ear, every word more obscene than the last, telling you how tight you were, how good you sounded, how perfect your ass was. his thrusts got deeper, rougher, his pace building as he pressed his thumb firmer against you, teasing like he was imagining what it would feel like to be inside you there too, and the thought alone made his voice raspier every time he praised you.

heeseung was already fucking you deep, his thumb pressing and teasing at your ass while his cock filled you completely, and he felt every squeeze of your body pulling him closer to the edge. his thrusts were steady but rough now, his breath ragged against your neck as he groaned right into your ear. he couldn’t hold back anymore, his voice breaking through in a low desperate rasp, “please let me cum inside you, baby… i need to feel you take it.” the second the words left his mouth you moaned loud, louder than before, your whole body tightening around him as if the sound alone was your answer. he grinned against your shoulder, smug as ever, loving how your voice cracked on his name when you tried to say it. “fuck, you like that, don’t you? you like me begging to cum in your tight little pussy,” he muttered, pushing deeper, grinding his hips until you cried out again.

he pulled back just enough to slam in harder, his hand still gripping your hip tight, and with the other he brought a sharp smack down on your ass, the sound echoing through the room. your moan broke into a scream, your whole body jerking forward, and he laughed breathlessly, fucking you through it. “that’s it, baby, scream for me, let everyone know how good i’m making you feel.” you were completely gone by then, clenching down so hard around him that he could barely keep control. heeseung groaned low, fucking into you harder, chasing the high right along with you. “cum with me, baby,” he growled, biting at your shoulder, his thrusts deep and relentless. “cum all over my cock while i fill you up.”

and you did, your orgasm hitting you sharp and overwhelming, your voice breaking into loud desperate moans as your body shook under his grip. he cursed, almost losing it from the way you squeezed him, and then he buried himself deep one last time, his own release hitting hard as he spilled inside you. his groans mixed with your cries, both of you caught up in it together, his hips jerking until every drop was inside you. he held you tight through it, still grinding shallowly, still muttering filth against your skin even as he kissed the back of your neck and shoulder. “fuck, baby… taking me so good… i could stay buried in this pussy forever,” he said, his voice still smug even as it cracked with how hard he was breathing. his hand smoothed over your ass where he’d smacked it, soothing while still gripping you possessively, his cock still deep inside you while you both tried to catch your breath.

the room was quiet except for the sound of both of you trying to breathe normally again. heeseung rolled onto his back but pulled you with him, one arm still tight around your waist like he wasn’t ready to let you move yet. you were sprawled half across his chest, skin still damp, hair sticking to your face a little, and when you tried to brush it away he caught your wrist, grinning even though he looked just as wrecked as you felt. “don’t even,” he muttered, eyes half closed but his smile smug. “you look way too good like this.”

you snorted, raising your head just enough to look at him. “yeah, you’re really getting the best version of me right now.”

“perfect combo,” he shot back immediately, squeezing your waist just to make sure you didn’t try to roll off. you laughed quietly, settling back down, and for a moment neither of you said much. his breathing slowed, and when he spoke again his voice was softer, almost hesitant. “i like you, you know. like… properly.” you shifted a little against him, not answering straight away, but your hand tightened slightly where it rested on his chest. heeseung didn’t push. he stayed quiet for a beat, his fingers drawing lazy shapes against your back. then, because he couldn’t resist, he added, “and, by the way, you’re never beating that. what you just pulled off? easily the best show i’ve ever been part of. crowd went wild. ten out of ten, no notes.”

you groaned, smacking his chest lightly. “you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah, but you like it,” he grinned, you shook your head, but the smile on your face gave you away, and heeseung noticed, which only made him look even more pleased with himself.

“you really don’t get tired of talking, do you?” you mumbled after a bit, your voice muffled against his skin.

heeseung laughed quietly, his chest shaking under you. “not when it’s you. i could listen all night. though, to be fair, i think i’m carrying most of the material.”

you tilted your head up just enough to give him a look. “material? like you’re workshopping this for your next set?”

“obviously,” he said, grinning. “crowd’s a bit small tonight, but the feedback’s solid.” you groaned, shoving lightly at his chest, but he caught your hand and pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles before you could pull it back. the room was calm again, quieter than before, and after a long pause he murmured, “you’re good company, y/n.” his tone was casual, but you felt the weight behind it, and it made you smile into his chest.

“so are you,” you said softly.

he shifted just enough to kiss the top of your head, then let out a content sigh. “alright. don’t move. i’m staying like this forever.” you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, letting your body sink into his as the quiet stretched. eventually your breathing matched his, steady and slow, and that was how the night closed — the two of you tangled up, laughing less now but still smiling, comfortable enough that neither of you needed to say another word.

you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, the notebook open on your lap, pages covered in your messy handwriting. heeseung was leaning back against the headboard, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, listening as you finished reading the last bit of dialogue out loud. your voice trailed off at the end, quieter than before, and you glanced at him nervously like you were already bracing yourself for his reaction. he was quiet for a second, then let out a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “it’s beautiful.”

you frowned immediately, closing the notebook halfway. “you’re just saying that.”

“no, i’m not,” he said quickly, and the way he looked at you made it obvious he wasn’t joking.

you let out a breath, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t know… is the whole thing too nostalgic? like, maybe it’s too much.”

“that’s the point,” he said without hesitation, shifting so he could face you more directly.

you picked at the edge of the page, not convinced. “but do you think people will actually like it?”

heeseung leaned back, smirk tugging at his mouth. “fuck ‘em.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you always say that.”

“yeah, because i believe it. seriously, who cares if they like it? it’s yours. that’s the only thing that matters.”

you looked at him, smiling despite yourself, and then said softly, “fine. but only if you sit front row, because i’ll probably throw up in the middle of the stage otherwise.”

he grinned, reaching over to squeeze your knee lightly. “i’ll be front row. always.”

you stared at him for a moment longer, the words sinking in, and you realized how much it actually meant to you to hear him say it like that, casual, but also completely sincere. you smiled wider, closing the notebook fully this time, feeling lighter than when you’d opened it. “i made something for you,” you said suddenly, hopping off the bed before heeseung could ask what you were doing. you dug through your tote bag in the corner until you pulled out a folded piece of paper.

heeseung raised an eyebrow, watching you climb back onto the bed with it in your hand. “what’s that?”

“it could be the name design,” you said, unfolding it and holding it out for him. “like, on the door of your bar.”

he took it, eyes narrowing as he read. “‘hee’s’?”

“that’s what you should name it,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“never,” he shot back immediately, shaking his head.

“heeseung, no one’s gonna go to a place called ‘the comedy closet,’” you argued, grabbing the paper back before he could crumple it.

“you don’t get it,” he said, leaning forward like he was about to deliver some lecture. “there used to be this basement spot where every comic in l.a. passed through. it was tiny, damp, smelled like stale beer, but it was history. i want my place to have that same kind of energy. the comedy closet makes sense.”

“no,” you said, laughing. “drop the closet. just drinks and comedy. people don’t wanna feel like they’re cramming themselves into someone’s wardrobe to hear jokes.” he rolled his eyes at you, but you could see the smile tugging at his mouth. “and,” you added, “it’s time to start looking at other spots anyway. you can’t just sit around wishing for the perfect place. make your own perfect place.” heeseung looked at you then, like the words hit harder than you meant them to. he didn’t say anything for a second, just sat there holding the paper you’d drawn on. finally, he let out a quiet laugh. “you know,” you said carefully after a beat, “you could always call soobin. he did offer you a gig.”

heeseung groaned immediately, dropping his head back against the wall. “no way. not happening.”

“why not?” you pressed, nudging his leg with yours. “look, maybe it’s not your dream job, but it could give you something. some money, some connections, whatever you need to actually open your bar one day. better that than bouncing between dunkin donuts shifts, driving uber in the afternoons, and open mics every night. you’re gonna burn yourself out.”

he turned his head toward you, lips quirking into a smile. “you rehearsed that, didn’t you? sounds like a proper intervention.” you shot him a look, but he only grinned wider. “no, seriously,” he added, softer this time, “i know you’re right. i just… hate the idea of being one of those guys chasing clicks. it feels cheap. like i’m selling the bit before i’ve even worked it out.”

“it’s not selling out if it helps you get to where you actually want to be,” you said. “it’s just… picking your battles.”

heeseung let that sit for a moment, then sighed and ruffled his hair, still holding the paper with your doodled name design. “alright, alright. maybe i’ll think about it. just because you said it in your scary-serious voice. otherwise, i’d never cave.”

you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “you’re impossible.”

“yeah,” he said, leaning closer with that smug little smile that was becoming way too familiar. “but i’m your impossible.” before you could even come up with a comeback, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, like he was sealing the statement right there. you smacked his arm lightly in protest, but you were laughing against his mouth anyway, and heeseung only leaned back with that same grin, way too pleased with himself for winning the last word.

but after you said that, he decided to give soobin a chance, so he called him. the two of them set up a time to meet, and a couple of days later heeseung found himself standing outside this office-slash-studio space, the kind that looked like it used to be a warehouse before someone threw in a coffee machine, a few couches, and way too many ring lights. inside, it felt both messy and professional at the same time. there were stacks of half-finished props in one corner, camera equipment on tripods everywhere, and a big whiteboard covered with scribbles — lists of sketch ideas, casting notes, dumb inside jokes that only made sense if you’d been there when someone wrote them down.

soobin was waiting for him near the couches. “you actually showed,” he said, grinning.

“you sound surprised,” heeseung muttered, dropping into the couch across from him.

“i am,” soobin admitted, leaning back. “you’ve been brushing me off for weeks. but i get it. stand-up guys don’t usually wanna touch this kind of thing.”

heeseung shrugged, picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. “i mean… i’ve never acted in my life. i don’t even know if i could.”

“that’s fine,” soobin said quickly. “you wouldn’t have to act-act. this isn’t shakespeare. it’s sketches. it’s like stand-up but broken into pieces. you’d help with writing too, which i know you can do, because i saw your set the other night. you’re good at taking the dumbest shit and making it work.”

heeseung narrowed his eyes. “is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“yes,” soobin said firmly. “listen, the channel’s been growing, but we need new voices. new blood. people who don’t just repeat the same tired formats. you’ve got the perspective, you just need a platform. that’s what this is.” heeseung stayed quiet, so soobin leaned in a little, like he was trying to make his point land harder. he didn’t want to admit it, but he felt the words land. soobin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “look, maybe it’s not exactly what you pictured. i’m not saying this is the dream. but it’s a step. and you don’t have to change who you are to do it. i’m not asking you to turn into some corny influencer. i’m asking you to bring your voice to a bigger room. if it’s not your thing, tell me now, and i’ll stop bothering you. but if you want it, the spot’s yours.”

heeseung leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. he hated the idea of admitting soobin had a point, but he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe you’d been right too, maybe this was a way to move forward without giving up. so in the weeks that followed felt different, like everything finally started moving instead of stalling. heeseung decided to take soobin’s offer, and before long he was spending his afternoons in that chaotic office-slash-studio, brainstorming dumb sketches with the team, rehearsing lines, or sometimes just sitting in front of the camera while someone handed him a wig and told him to improvise. he quit driving uber, and the relief of not checking his phone every two minutes for another ride was written all over his face. he’d come home actually smiling, telling you about whatever ridiculous bit they’d filmed that day, and sometimes showing you the raw clips before they even went online. you, on the other hand, hit a breaking point at the warner bros café. one day you were wiping down tables when you realized you’d rather put all that energy into your script instead of refilling iced lattes for celebrities. so you quit. it was terrifying, but also freeing, and the second you told heeseung he practically picked you up off the ground in excitement. from then on, you gave yourself fully to the play, mornings spent scribbling in your notebook, afternoons rehearsing lines alone in your room, sometimes dragging yunjin in to test out bits even though she laughed through most of them.

the two of you fell into a rhythm together. when you got stuck, you’d text him to come over, and he’d sit cross-legged on the floor of your living room, reading your lines out loud in over-the-top voices until you were crying with laughter. when he had new material, he’d drag you to the studio to watch him stumble through it, looking at you after every punchline to see if it landed. you became each other’s first audience, the safe one, the one that could say “that was awful” without it hurting too much, because you knew the other person would always try again. and then there were the dates. they weren’t fancy, at least not most of them. sometimes it was just walking around griffith park with a bag of chips between you, sometimes it was cheap sushi where he insisted on trying to eat the biggest roll in one bite just to make you laugh. once he surprised you by taking you to a tiny comedy club neither of you had been to before, and halfway through he leaned in and whispered, “i could do better than this guy,” making you snort loud enough that people turned around.

but there were also softer nights, the ones where he showed up outside your apartment honking until yunjin threatened to throw something at him, and you’d climb into his car, both of you a little dressed up, heading to some tucked-away restaurant he’d found online. those nights, he was shamelessly flirty, calling you pretty like it was the most natural word in the world, making you blush even though you tried to play it cool. at home, when it was quieter, you’d show him new pages of your play. he’d listen, really listen, eyes fixed on you the whole time, and then he’d give feedback that actually made you rethink entire scenes. and when he pulled out his notebook, the one where he jotted half-finished jokes, you’d lean over his shoulder and help him stretch them into full bits, tossing lines back and forth until it turned into something solid.

at first it didn’t feel like much had changed, because even when heeseung got busier you still found ways to see each other, but slowly the rhythm you’d built together started slipping. his days at the studio stretched longer, sometimes he’d text that he was still editing a sketch at midnight or that he had to wake up early for some dumb promo shoot, and you’d roll over in bed already knowing he wouldn’t make it back that night. when he did come home, he was usually wired from work, talking fast about whatever chaos happened that day, and then crashing hard like someone had pulled the plug. you split your time between his apartment and yours, never really planning it, just ending up wherever felt easier that week. sometimes you’d wake up at jay and jake’s place, making coffee in the kitchen while heeseung was already gone, his side of the bed cold. other times he’d stay at your place, slipping into your room after a long shoot, trying not to wake yunjin and sakura, but still tripping over the shoes by the door and making you laugh even when you were half-asleep. it wasn’t bad, exactly, just messy, like you were both living out of two apartments without ever fully belonging to either.

the weirdest part was how much free time you suddenly had compared to him. you were still writing your play, filling notebooks with dialogue and scene directions, but there were whole afternoons where you just sat at your desk staring at the page, the silence in the apartment stretching out while sakura binged dramas in the living room and yunjin practiced lines for her own auditions. you’d check your phone, see no new messages from him, and go back to scribbling something down, crossing it out five minutes later. heeseung didn’t mean to be absent, you knew that, but there were nights he showed up late, dropped onto your couch with fast food, and fell asleep halfway through telling you a story. other times he’d cancel plans last minute, calling from some airport to say the team needed him in vegas or san francisco for a shoot. he always promised it wouldn’t be long, that he’d be back before you even noticed, and technically he was right, but it still left you in this strange space where your life felt paused while his was on fast-forward.

and yet, you stuck around each other anyway. even if it meant you sitting on the floor of his room while jay worked on a beat in the corner and heeseung typed half a sketch into his laptop, or him lying on your bed scrolling through emails while you tried to read him a new scene. the energy wasn’t always balanced, but you kept showing up, and so did he, even if sometimes he was too tired to do much more than fall asleep next to you. heeseung called you one night while you were half asleep on the couch. his voice came through the speaker, a little rushed, like he was walking somewhere. “hey, you busy friday?”

you rubbed your eyes, sat up, and mumbled, “probably not, why?”

“we’re doing a live show,” he said, and there was this small pause before he added, “like, with the whole cast. not just filming sketches. real stage, real crowd. you should come.”

you blinked, suddenly awake. “a live show? like a stand up?”

“kind of,” he explained. “it’s improv and bits and some of the stuff we do on camera, but bigger. people actually bought tickets.” then, quieter, “i want you there.”

you smiled into the phone even though he couldn’t see it. “okay. send me the details.”

friday came and you found yourself standing outside this mid size theater downtown. the line stretched around the block, people holding tickets and laughing like they’d been waiting for this all week. you hadn’t expected that many, honestly. you found your seat and before long the lights went down, the host came out, and the cast started doing what they did best — throwing themselves into dumb sketches, playing characters that fell apart halfway through, and somehow making it funnier that way. when heeseung finally walked on stage, the reaction was immediate. the crowd started cheering louder, people stood up, a few rushed closer to the stage like they needed to be right in front of him. he looked different there, not because he was acting, but because everyone else in the room knew who he was too. you’d gotten used to seeing him in messy apartments or asleep on your couch, and now you were watching hundreds of people clap and laugh just because he stepped into the light.

you were proud, really proud, but the more the show went on, the more the crowd pressed forward. the people around you stood up, blocking your view, and you found yourself edged further back without even meaning to move. everyone was craning their necks, shouting, phones out trying to get pictures, and you were the one person who felt like you were sliding out of place. on stage, heeseung was in his element. he was riffing with soobin, stealing the bit halfway through and getting the loudest laughs of the night. the improv moved fast, one game into the next, the kind of rhythm that made the whole room feel electric. but from where you stood now, pushed near the back wall, it almost felt like you were watching from the outside, like you were just another person in the audience.

he didn’t notice, not because he didn’t care, but because he was too busy keeping up with the chaos on stage. you stayed there, watching, your chest tight with this mix of pride and something else you couldn’t quite name. you clapped along when the crowd clapped, laughed when they laughed, but you also kept thinking about how much bigger he looked up there than he ever did sitting across from you on your living room floor. when the show finally hit its closing bit, the whole theater was on their feet. people were shouting, stomping, filming, and the energy was insane. you stood there at the back, eyes on him the whole time, trying to take in the fact that this was really happening, that he was really becoming someone people knew. and even if it stung a little to feel out of place in the middle of all that noise, you couldn’t help smiling, because you knew how hard he’d worked to get here.

so after that week, you were at heeseung’s apartment one night, even though he wasn’t there, sitting at their kitchen table with a half eaten pizza between you and jay, who was scrolling on his laptop with cables stretched across the counter, and jake was leaning back in his chair, strumming his guitar. “where’s heeseung now?” jake asked, plucking at a string.

you shrugged. “i think san diego today. i’m not sure.”

there was a pause. jay looked up from his screen and said, “you should come over more often. we make dinner sometimes, but don’t let that stop you.” he smirked, and you laughed a little, shaking your head. jay studied you for a second before saying, “you miss him,” jay said, not as a question but like he already knew.

you shifted in your chair. “i guess. i’m adapting.” you didn’t smile back right away. “do you think he’s happy?” jay tilted his head. “i mean with all of it,” you said. “the show, the travel, the work.”

jake shrugged. “he worked his whole life in a job he didn’t care about, and every night he’d pull out his jokes like that was the only thing that actually made him feel alive. so when i look at heeseung now, doing comedy and actually getting paid for it, i think he’s lucky. i think we’re happy for him.” you glanced out the window when someone walked by on the street, your thoughts drifting for a second before he turned back to you. “dreams change,” he said simply. then, seeing your face, he added, “don’t think too hard about it. he’ll be back soon.”

you knew that. but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to miss him anyway. so three days later you were sitting at your desk with a plate of leftover takeout next to your laptop. you typed between bites, scrolling back up every two minutes to change a sentence. on the screen was a draft, half finished, where the words “one-woman play,” “one night only,” and “7pm” stood out in the middle of the mess. you paused, read it back, then sighed and reached for your phone. you dialed heeseung. it rang and rang, then went to voicemail.

“hey, it’s me,” you said quietly. “not sure where you are… maybe san francisco? or seattle? i haven’t heard from you in a while. i miss you.” you hesitated, then added, “ok… bye.” you hung up and set the phone face down before going back to typing.

you decided to walk around downtown that day, just to clear your head. when you came back home later that night, yunjin and sakura weren’t home, you walked through the courtyard toward your apartment, juggling your bag and a stack of notebooks.  when you opened the door, the first thing that hit you was noise — not the usual quiet of your place but loud music blasting from the living room, some chaotic playlist heeseung had probably put on shuffle. you jiggled the handle, finally got the door open, and froze. heeseung was in the middle of the room, moving around a table that was actually set, with plates and candles. he was rushing back and forth, lighting one candle, adjusting another, and when he spotted you standing in the doorway, he grinned. “surprise,” he said, holding the lighter in one hand like he was proud of himself.

you couldn’t help laughing a little as you stepped inside. “what is this?”

he moved quickly to the table and lifted one of the trays he’d set down earlier. “dinner.” under the cover was roast chicken, and next to it pasta that smelled way better than anything he usually made. then he darted back to the kitchen, pulled something out, and held it up with both hands. “and… apple pie. twenty-five pounds of apples went into this. probably ruined a farm somewhere, but it tastes good.”

you covered your mouth, laughing harder now. “you baked a pie?”

“well, technically i bought it half-baked and then pretended it was mine, but yes,” he said, completely straight faced.

you dropped your bag by the door, still shaking your head in disbelief. “i can’t believe you did all this.”

he set the pie down and looked at you, more serious now. “i’ve been gone a lot. i know. so i wanted to make up for it. at least tonight.” the music was still playing way too loud in the background, but for a moment it felt like the room went quieter. “i have to head back in the morning, but i needed to see you tonight.” you looked at him, your throat tight for a second, and before you could stop yourself you walked and wrapped your arms around him. he hugged you back, and when you kissed him it wasn’t rushed or casual, it was the kind where you both stayed there for a long time. later you sat across from each other at the table, your glasses half full, music still playing low in the background. “feels so good to be home,” he said, exhaling like the thought alone calmed him down. then he looked at you, more curious. “how’s the play going?”

you hesitated, then admitted, “i’m nervous. i’m nervous about being on stage at all,” you said honestly. “i’m terrified.”

he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “they should be lucky to even see it. it’s going to be incredible. i can’t wait.”

you tried to smile but it came out a little strained. “i can.” a pause hung between you. you broke it with, “what time do you leave in the morning?”

“6:45.”

“ugh.”

“yep,” he said, popping the p. “boise.”

you blinked. “boise?”

he nodded. “you should come.”

“to boise?” you asked, almost laughing.

“yeah. you could knock it off your bucket list.”

you laughed for real this time. “wish i could.”

he looked at you for a second before asking, “why can’t you?”

“because i have to rehearse.”

“can’t you rehearse anywhere?”

you frowned at him. “you mean anywhere you are?” he hesitated. “all my stuff is here, and the show’s in a few weeks, and i don’t know… it doesn’t seem practical.”

“right,” he said, leaning back, the edge in his voice sharper now. “i just— we’re going to have to figure something out, otherwise we’ll never see each other.”

you nodded slowly. “i know, but… when are you done?”

his brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

“when are you done with all this? the shows, the traveling, everything?”

heeseung didn’t answer right away, just stared at you like he didn’t even know what to say. he rubbed his hands together, frustrated. “but as soon as we’re done with this round of shows, we’re back filming for the channel, and then we go straight into another run. that’s how it works.” you stared at him, not sure you understood. “we do live shows so people find the channel,” he continued, “and then we do more shows to keep it growing.”

you let that sink in before saying quietly, “so it’s… the long haul? you’re going to be with this group for a long time. traveling, filming, all of it.”

heeseung frowned. “what did you think was going to happen?”

“i don’t know,” you admitted.

“you didn’t think we’d be successful,” he said flatly.

“no, that’s not what i meant. i just didn’t think it would mean you being on the road for years.”

he leaned back. “yeah. feasibly, i could be doing this for years with just this run of shows.”

you looked at him for a moment, then asked, “do you even like the material you’re doing?”

“i don’t know why that matters,” he shot back.

“it matters if you’re giving up your own dream for this,” you said. “it matters if you’re burning yourself out on sketches you don’t care about.”

he stared at you. “do you like the stuff i’m doing?”

“yes,” you said honestly. “i do. i just… didn’t think you did.” he opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. “and now i hear you could be stuck in this loop for years, and i’m—”

“what are you doing right now?” he interrupted, voice sharper. “why are you starting this? this is what you wanted,” he said, almost accusing.

“what, you to be in this group?”

“to have a steady job.”

you hesitated, then said, “yes, i wanted you to be stable, to take care of yourself. so you could work toward your own stuff.”

“and i’m doing that. so why aren’t we celebrating?”

“why aren’t you working on your bar?” you asked, your voice rising.

heeseung laughed bitterly. “no one cares about that kind of bar! no one wants to sit through an hour of story-based stand-up—no one cares about stand-up. not even you,” he cut in, not even letting you finish.

“i do care now. because of you.”

but he wasn’t listening. “what am i supposed to do? go back to open mics in half-empty bars, telling jokes about salad prices just so i can save up for some dream no one actually believes in?”

“people will want to see it,” you argued. “people love when someone does what they actually care about.”

heeseung shook his head. “not in my experience.” and silence stretched for a moment. then he muttered, “anyway, it’s time to be realistic. this is what i’m doing. if you had a problem with it, you should’ve said something before i signed the contract.”

you tried again, softer this time. “you had a dream. you were sticking to it. that meant something.”

“this is the dream,” he said firmly.

“but,” you whispered. “this isn’t your dream.”

he exhaled hard, frustrated. “guys like me go their whole lives and never do anything people actually like. i’m finally doing something that works. what’s so wrong with that?”

you looked at him, your voice almost shaking now. “since when you care so much about being liked?”

heeseung’s voice cracked as he finally snapped, louder than before. “you’re an actress! what are you talking about?” the room went dead quiet. the playlist that had been humming in the background had stopped, leaving only the faint hum of the speaker. you could hear your own heartbeat in the silence, and for a second you just stared at him, waiting for him to take it back. he didn’t. instead, he looked straight at you, jaw tight. “maybe you liked me better when i was on my ass because it made you feel better about yourself.”

your chest tightened instantly. you felt your eyes burn, and you tried to swallow it down, blinking fast like you could push the tears back, but it was useless. “are you kidding?” you asked, your voice low but shaking.

“no,” he said, flat.

you couldn’t believe he actually meant it. after all the nights you stayed up listening to him rehearse, after all the hours you spent watching him bomb at open mics and telling him to keep going anyway, after the times you cheered him up when he swore he was wasting his life — and now he was throwing it back at you like you only cared about him when he was failing. it made you feel small, like everything you’d given him didn’t count anymore. you stared at him, and he stared right back. the tension was thick, nothing moving except the sound of your own uneven breathing. and then, suddenly, the fire alarm went off, shrill and piercing, snapping you both out of it. heeseung whipped around toward the kitchen and saw smoke pouring out of the oven. the pie he’d bragged about earlier was burning. he jumped up to open the oven, coughing as the smoke hit him, and when he turned back you were already on your feet, grabbing your bag with shaking hands. “wait—” he started, reaching out.

but you were already at the door. you didn’t want to hear another word, not when your throat felt tight and your stomach was heavy with everything he’d just said. you opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it shut behind you. inside, heeseung pulled the ruined pie from the oven, the alarm still blaring, the smoke clouding the room.

the week after the fight, you kept yourself busy. you told yunjin and sakura you were fine, and for the most part you meant it, but every time your phone buzzed you felt that sting in your chest when it wasn’t him. still, you didn’t want to lose focus, not now, because thursday was the premiere of your play, and you’d worked too long to let the fight swallow all of your energy. you threw yourself into rehearsals. mornings were spent in the theater, running through lines with no one watching, afternoons tweaking small things in the script, evenings talking with the stage manager about props. you were anxious, of course, but underneath that was a strange kind of confidence. you knew the play was good, or at least that it was honest, and you believed in it enough to put your name on the poster outside the building.

the day of the show, you walked up to the theater carrying a box of props. taped to the glass door was the poster with your name on it — “y/n” in bold letters, “one night only.” you stood there for a second, the street quiet around you, and then pushed the door open. inside, the theater was dark and empty, rows of seats disappearing into the shadows. you put the box down and stood still, taking in the silence. it was intimidating, but it was also yours. you breathed in, nodded to yourself, and started setting everything up.

meanwhile, across town, heeseung was finishing a run-through with the rest of the cast. the energy was high, people cracking jokes even after the practice ended, but he wasn’t all there. he stuffed his notebook into his backpack and was halfway out the door when soobin called after him. “you’re good for tonight, right?”

heeseung stopped, frowning. “tonight?”

“the shoot,” soobin said, not looking up from his phone. “seven o’clock. hybe magazine.”

heeseung blinked, confused. “i thought that was next thursday.”

“no, it’s tonight.” soobin finally looked at him, reading his hesitation. “is that a problem?”

heeseung didn’t answer right away. he checked the time on his phone, his jaw tightening, but eventually he just nodded. “yeah. it’s fine.”

that night, people started filing into the theater where your play was set to open. you were backstage, dressed in costume, pacing with your phone in hand. it was 7:04. no texts from him. you set the phone down, rubbed your palms against your pants, and took a breath. on the other side of the curtain, the murmur of the audience grew louder, people settling into their seats, waiting. the house lights dimmed, the hush came, and you closed your eyes for one last second. you could do this. then you stepped out into the light.

meanwhile, heeseung was still at the photoshoot, that was supposed to take an hour, two at most, but it dragged on forever. the photographer kept adjusting lights, telling him to try a different pose, making heeseung swap jackets three times just to decide the first one was better. the rest of the cast was laughing through it, but heeseung kept checking the clock on his phone, doing the math in his head, realizing how late it was getting. he shifted from one background to another, holding a fake microphone, then pretending to laugh mid-shot like he was in the middle of a punchline. every click of the camera felt longer than it should. by the time they wrapped, it was already way past seven. he grabbed his bag, muttered something about needing to go, and bolted out the door, heart pounding.

and you were still on stage, not in costume anymore, just yourself in ordinary clothes. behind you was the small set you’d built: a wallpapered wall, a little window with a projection of a starry night, your props carefully placed, like the globe from your room, an old suitcase, a roll of maps, little things that made the space feel real. the scene ended quietly. you reached for the lamp, switched it off, and the stage went black. then the house lights came up. the silence broke into thin, scattered applause. you forced a smile, bowed, and when you looked out, the sight hit harder than you expected. less than a quarter of the seats were filled. and the one in the front row with the “reserved” sign — the one you’d saved for heeseung — was empty.

you bowed again quickly and left the stage. in the dressing room, you started pulling your things together, not wanting to linger, when voices carried in from the hallway. “if i have to sit through one more wannabe writer talking about nostalgia i’m gonna lose my mind,” someone said. “seriously,” another voice agreed. “she’s not even good. that window bit? awful.” their laughter echoed. you froze where you stood, your hands gripping the costume bag tighter. you couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe right. the words sat heavy in your chest, louder than the applause had ever been. by the time their voices faded down the hall, you sank into a chair, staring at the floor.

later that night, heeseung’s car screeched to a stop outside the theater. he ran to the door, tugging at it, but it was locked. the building was dark now. he spun around, panicked, until he saw you. you were coming out of a side door, carrying the box of props back to your car. “y/n!” he shouted, sprinting toward you.

you turned, your face tired but unreadable. he ran straight to you, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you like he could erase the distance of the past week in one move. “stop,” you said, pulling back, firm.

he froze, staring at you like he didn’t know what to do with his hands now. “i’m sorry i missed it. i’m sorry for what i said, and for being an asshole. i swear i’ll make it up to you.”

“it’s over,” you said simply.

there was no anger in your voice, just a kind of finality that left him stuck in place. he blinked. “...what do you mean?”

“i’m done embarrassing myself,” you said. your voice cracked a little, but you kept going. “no one came. i can’t even pay the theater back.” his mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. “i’m going home for a while,” you added.

he swallowed hard. “this is home.”

you shook your head. “not anymore.”

he stood there silent, his jaw tight, his eyes glassy. you didn’t say anything else. you put the box in the car, got in, and drove off, leaving him standing outside the theater alone.

and after you left, heeseung’s life didn’t suddenly crash or fall apart, but it also didn’t really feel right anymore. he still had the shows, the shoots, the group laughing around him like nothing was wrong, but the quiet parts of the day started to stretch out in weird ways. he’d wake up in the apartment and for a second expect your shoes by the door or your notebook on the counter, and when they weren’t there, he’d just stand still for too long before getting dressed. mornings turned into coffee in a rush, a bagel he barely touched, then heading out for whatever meeting or rehearsal was scheduled. he didn’t miss calls because he couldn’t afford to, but he started spacing out in the middle of them, nodding at soobin or the director while his head was somewhere else.

on stage, he looked the same. if anything, he was sharper, because throwing himself into the bits meant he didn’t have to think. the crowd didn’t know the difference. they screamed and clapped, and he smiled back, timing the punchlines perfectly, but backstage he barely lingered anymore. the others would want to celebrate, maybe grab food after a show, and he’d come up with an excuse, say he was tired, and head home. but home wasn’t quiet either. jay and jake tried to pull him out of whatever mood he was in — jay making jokes about how he’d turned into the “brooding guy in the corner,” jake offering to play guitar while he wrote new material. sometimes it worked, but most nights it didn’t. he’d sit at the kitchen table, open his notebook, write a line, cross it out, and just stare at the page until he shut it again.

he didn’t call you. not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he pulled up your name, his chest tightened and he thought about that night at the theater, the way you’d looked at him before leaving. instead, he just kept your contact pinned at the top of his screen, scrolling past it every day like some kind of punishment. the routine became predictable — wake up, work, stage, home, notebook, sleep. except the “sleep” part was usually just lying awake until three, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were actually better off without him.

heeseung was half-asleep on the couch when his phone started buzzing. he almost didn’t answer, figuring it was jay or jake asking if he wanted food, but the number was unknown, so he picked up anyway. “hello?”

“hi, i’m trying to reach y/n.” the voice was polite, a woman’s voice, not familiar at all.

heeseung blinked, sat up straighter. “wrong number,” he muttered, already pulling the phone from his ear to hang up.

“she’s not answering her cell and i was told i might find her here,” the woman cut in before the line went dead.

he froze, phone still to his ear, pulse quickening. “yeah, well… not anymore,” he said, his voice flat but betraying the way his chest tightened just hearing your name out loud.

“ok. if you do talk to her—”

“i won’t,” he cut in quickly.

“—please tell her wonhee at big lift casting is trying to reach her.”

heeseung blinked hard, suddenly wide awake. “casting…?”

and just like that he was on his feet, grabbing his keys from the counter, not even bothering to put shoes on properly before he was out the door. the drive felt like a blur. he pulled up in front of your place, laying on the horn the way he always did, except this time it wasn’t playful. after a minute, the door flew open and yunjin stormed out, arms crossed, her face unimpressed. “jesus christ, can you not?” she snapped, glaring at him from the top of the steps.

he leaned across the passenger seat and rolled the window down. “where is she?”

yunjin’s eyes narrowed. “she’s not here.”

“then where?”

she took a few steps closer, still glaring. “you really hurt her, you know.”

heeseung exhaled, leaning his head back for a second before looking at her again. “i know i was a dick, okay? you don’t have to tell me twice.” his tone was smug but still admitting defeat, like he didn’t know how else to defend himself. “but i’m trying to fix it. i just need to talk to her.”

“fix it?” yunjin scoffed. “you think you can just show up, honk like a maniac, and fix it?”

“no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “but she got a call, some casting thing, and they’re trying to reach her. i don’t know the details, but it sounded big. i’m not just gonna sit here while she misses out on that because of me.”

yunjin studied him for a moment, her expression softening just a little, though she still looked pissed. “she went home,” she finally said. “back to her parents. she said she needed time.”

heeseung’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “home,” he repeated quietly, then nodded once. “ok.”

yunjin sighed, arms dropping to her sides. “don’t make it worse.”

“i won’t,” he said, his voice more serious now. he gave her a quick nod, rolled the window up, and pulled away from the curb, already turning the car in the direction of the freeway. the drive was long, longer than he expected, but he didn’t care. heeseung barely stopped, just filled the tank when he had to and grabbed whatever snacks he could from the gas station. the whole way, his head was buzzing with what he’d say when he saw you. half of him was rehearsing lines like he was on stage, the other half was panicking that maybe you wouldn’t even listen. he thought about the fight, about the way your face looked before you left, and every mile he drove he felt that pit in his stomach get heavier, but he kept going anyway.

at your parents’ house, things were quieter. you were sitting at the kitchen table with your mom and dad, a plate of cut fruit between you, trying to convince yourself you felt calmer there. your dad was asking you about the play, your mom asking if you’d thought about grad school, and you were answering half-heartedly, because you didn’t really want to get into it. and then came the sound. a car horn, loud, drawn-out, echoing down your street. your dad nearly dropped his fork. “what the hell…?” he muttered, already standing to look out the window. you froze. it couldn’t be. but when you walked to the front room and pulled the curtain back, there he was — heeseung’s car parked right in front of your house, him leaning across the wheel like he wasn’t disturbing the entire block. a neighbor shouted at him to cut it out, but he didn’t care, his eyes already finding yours through the glass. you blinked, disbelief written all over your face.

a moment later you were outside, standing next to his car. your arms were crossed, your stomach twisted. “why did you come here?”

heeseung was out of the car now, looking at you like he hadn’t slept in days but still managing that smug little smile, like he needed it as armor. “because i have good news.”

you raised a brow, unimpressed. “ok…”

“wonhee,” he said quickly, almost tripping over the name. “the casting director.”

your face tightened. “i know who she is.”

“she was at your play,” he said, eyes lighting up for the first time. “and she loved it. she loved it so much that she wants you to audition for this big movie she’s working on.” he looked genuinely excited, like he’d been holding this in the whole drive.

but you just shook your head. “i’m not going.”

heeseung blinked. “...excuse me?”

“i’m not going,” you repeated, more certain now. “that will kill me.”

“that’s it? that’s your answer?” you nodded. he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “why won’t you come?”

and finally you snapped, all the weight you’d been holding in spilling out. “because it’s another audition!” your voice cracked, louder than you meant it. “i’ve been to hundreds of auditions, heeseung. do you know what happens? they cut me off after two seconds, or they laugh at me while i’m crying, or i’m one of a hundred girls in the waiting room who all look exactly like me. there’s always someone else, always someone better. and maybe—” you hesitated, then said it anyway, “—maybe i’m just not good enough.”

he shook his head immediately. “yes you are.”

“no. maybe i’m not,” you said, softer now, but honest. “maybe i’m one of those people who wants it but never gets there. maybe it’s like you said — maybe i need to grow up. i can go back to school, figure something else out. i tried, it didn’t work, and i don’t want to keep hurting myself over it.”

he shook his head, stubborn as ever. “no. i told them you’d be there tomorrow at five-thirty. i’ll swing by before i head back at eight. either you’ll be outside or you won’t.”

he walked back to his car, and you just stood there, silent, the words still hanging between you. before getting in, you called after him, “how did you even find me?”

he turned, a little bit grumpy and serious, but softer this time. “the house across from the library.”

and sure enough, when you looked up, there it was the same library that had been across from your childhood home, the one that had introduced you to old movies in the first place. you froze, your throat tight, because of course he would notice that. he got into the car and drove off, leaving you staring at the library, your thoughts louder than you wanted them to be.

the next morning, heeseung’s car pulled up in front of your parents’ house right on time. the clock on the dash read 8:02. he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front door like he could will it to open. nothing. a couple more minutes passed. he shifted in his seat, leaned back, and shut his eyes. 8:10. he looked again. the door was still closed. he sighed, already feeling that weight in his chest, and reached for the keys to start the car. he put it in gear, ready to pull away, when he heard a loud knock on the passenger window. he jumped, and whipped his head around. there you were, standing outside the car with two fresh cups of coffee balanced in a tray and a little paper bag of pastries in your hand. your hair was a little messy from the morning wind, your cheeks flushed, and you looked at him like you weren’t sure if he’d be annoyed or relieved.

heeseung broke into a grin immediately. he leaned over, popped the door open for you, and said, “took you long enough. i was about to leave.” but the smile on his face made it clear he wasn’t serious.

you slid into the seat, setting the coffees down in the holder. “figured if we’re gonna do this, we should at least have decent breakfast.”

“so you’re coming,” he said, more like a statement than a question.

you didn’t answer right away, just handed him the bag. “eat before you get cocky.”

a couple of hours later, the two of you were walking side by side through the studio lot. the sky was overcast, a gray kind of afternoon, but the place still buzzed with people moving around, golf carts zipping past, crew carrying gear across fake city streets. you passed a set that looked like new york, brick facades with fire escapes that went nowhere, and another corner painted with old hollywood posters that looked like they’d been there for decades. neither of you said much. heeseung kept stealing glances at you, like he was waiting to make sure you wouldn’t bolt. eventually you ended up in the waiting lobby. the place was plain, white walls, a couple of framed posters from past films, a long row of chairs against the wall. you sat down, your leg bouncing nervously, and heeseung dropped into the chair beside you. the door to the audition room opened, and an actress walked out, brushing past quickly without looking at anyone. a moment later an assistant leaned out with a clipboard in hand. “y/n?”

you froze, your throat tight, then stood. you glanced at heeseung once, your eyes flickering with panic and gratitude all at once. he gave you the smallest nod, like he was saying, go. you took a breath, squared your shoulders, and stepped inside. inside the room, wonhee sat behind a desk, seated just behind her was taehyun, the director, watching quietly. “hi, y/n,” wonhee said. you answered, your voice careful, polite. “i’m wonhee, this is taehyun. we’re glad we found you.” you nodded, gave a small smile, and sat down. “the movie shoots in paris,” wonhee explained. “there’s no script yet.”

taehyun leaned forward, his hands folded. “we want to build the character with you. it’s a process. three months of rehearsal, four months of shooting.”

you hesitated, nodded slowly. “...ok.”

“so why don’t you just tell us a story?” wonhee asked.

“...about?” you shifted in your seat, unsure.

“about anything,” she said simply. you nodded again, your throat tight. there was a pause. the silence stretched, and for a moment it looked like you weren’t going to find the words at all. “whenever you’re ready,” wonhee added. you sat there in the silence for a moment, eyes flicking between wonhee and taehyun, both of them waiting without saying a word. for a second you thought about telling them the realest story you had, how you once met this frustrated comedian who swore the world didn’t care about him, and how somehow he ended up becoming someone people actually stopped to listen to. it was tempting, almost natural to bring him into the room with you. but then you caught yourself. the film was set in paris. this was supposed to be about a place and a feeling, not him. so you let that thought pass, swallowed it down, and reached for something else you carried with you. you took a breath, let it sit in your chest for a second, and then started. 

“my aunt lived in paris for a while,” you started, your voice careful but carrying. “she used to come home with these stories about what it was like to live abroad. i grew up listening to her talk about it like it was this other universe, one that was messy and beautiful at the same time. i remember once she told me she jumped into the seine, barefoot. no planning, no thinking, she just went for it. she said the water was freezing, that she spent a month coughing and sneezing after, but if she had the chance, she’d do it again. that was who she was. she didn’t wait for the safe choice. she believed in doing things that scared her, even if she looked foolish. she said that’s what gives life its color. that a little bit of madness is what pushes us forward, because without it we’d all just repeat what came before. she used to say, ‘they need people like us — the ones who make a mess of things, who fall apart and still try again. because that’s where new things come from.’ so when i think of her, i don’t think of the mistakes or the bad days. i think of that moment she described, smiling with her hair dripping wet, saying she’d do it all again even if it hurt. because she believed that was the point. so here’s to the people who jump without looking, to the ones who try even when it breaks their hearts, to the ones who get it wrong a hundred times but keep going anyway. because maybe they’re the only reason anything changes at all.”

you felt like you were floating on stage. they smiled. you sighed in relief. maybe coming here was worth it after all.

after the audition, you and heeseung ended up at griffith park. the sun was low but not gone yet, the sky breaking open with streaks of orange and pink, the observatory standing behind you like something pulled out of every postcard of los angeles. you both sat on a bench, shoulders close, not really talking at first. it was one of those pauses that wasn’t awkward, just heavy, like the moment needed space to breathe. heeseung finally looked at you, his voice soft. “when do you find out?”

“they said the next couple of days,” you answered, eyes fixed on the view instead of him. “but i’m not expecting anything.”

he shook his head immediately, leaning closer like he couldn’t let you get away with that. “you’re going to get it.”

you let out a small laugh, not really believing it. “no, i’m not.”

“you are. i know these things,” he said, smug as always, but there was no joke in his tone.

there was a pause, and then you asked quietly, “where are we?”

he glanced around, confused for a second. “griffith park.”

you shook your head, pressing. “i mean… where are we?”

heeseung went still, his smile faltering. “i…” he admitted after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. “i don’t know.”

“what do we do?” you asked, and for the first time your voice cracked a little.

he sat back, exhaling. “i don’t think we can do anything. because when you get this—”

“if i get this,” you cut in quickly.

“when you get this,” he corrected, firm. “you’ve got to give it everything you’ve got.” he held your gaze, no grin now, no flirty remark to hide behind. “it’s your dream.”

you looked down at your hands for a moment, then back at him. “what are you going to do?”

he shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. “i’ve got to stick with my plan. stay here. keep building something for myself. you know…” his voice trailed off. you nodded slowly. he looked at you again, trying for a lighter tone. “you’ll be in paris. good comedy there. and you love comedy now.”

that got a small smile out of you. “right.”

another silence passed, and it wasn’t the same as the ones before. it felt heavier now, almost like if either of you spoke too quickly, the whole thing would snap. heeseung shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and finally said, “i guess we’re just going to have to wait and see.” his voice was steady, but underneath it was this quiet resignation, like he already knew what wait and see really meant.

your chest tightened at his words. there was something final in the way he said it, even though he hadn’t admitted it out loud. your eyes stung, and you hated that you couldn’t hide it from him. you nodded, but your voice was small when you managed, “you know i’m always going to love you.” it came out almost like you weren’t sure you had the right to say it anymore, but you needed him to hear it.

he looked at you instantly, like the words had hit harder than he expected. he swallowed, his jaw tight, and for a second he didn’t say anything, just blinked like he was trying to hold back too. when he finally answered, his voice was quiet but firm, no hesitation at all. “i’m always going to love you too.” it was simple, but you could feel how much weight it carried, how much he meant it. he smiled then, not wide, not flirty, just soft a smile that was more sad than happy, but still real. he didn’t add anything else because there wasn’t anything left to say. from a distance, you looked like two people just sitting side by side on a bench, the city stretching out below you. but up close, it was clear you were both holding on to every second, trying to memorize it, because you knew the second you stood up, things would never feel the same again.

five years later…

you were back in los angeles. paris hadn’t been forever, but it had been the start of everything. the movie that came out of it wasn’t just good, it was huge. critics called it brave, audiences loved it, and suddenly your face was on billboards you never thought you’d see. after that came more scripts, more roles, and slowly you built a career that didn’t feel like a gamble anymore. now, walking down the familiar side streets near the warner brother’s lot, you moved differently. there was a calmness in you that hadn’t been there before, like you weren’t second guessing every step. you passed façades that looked almost parisian, fake ones from the studio backlot, the kind you used to only dream of walking through, and pushed open the door to a coffee shop you recognized instantly. inside, heads turned for a second — people always noticed now — but you kept moving to the counter with an ease that showed you’d gotten used to it. “hi, iced coffee, please,” you said, your voice steady, polite.

the barista nodded quickly, a little flustered, while the new manager brought your drink over himself. “on us,” she said with a smile.

“no, no, that’s fine,” you replied, handing over a few bills anyway. you dropped another into the tip jar, the barista smiling at you in return, maybe remembering this was once your spot behind the counter, not in front of it. a few minutes later, you stepped back out into the california sun, cup in hand. waiting for you was a studio golf cart, the kind reserved for talent and execs. a crew member waved, you climbed in, and the cart zipped you away down the lot, past sets and murals, like it was all just part of an ordinary day now.

later that evening, you pulled into your driveway. when you opened the door, the first thing you heard was laughter from the living room. your husband was sitting on the couch, your daughter bouncing in his lap, both of them looking up the second you walked in. “mommy!” she shouted, reaching her arms out to you, and you felt your whole body relax as you set your bag down and crossed the room. you scooped her up, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck, and for a second all the noise of the outside world fell away. your husband stood, smiling, and leaned in to kiss you hello. this was your life now. stable, full, grounded. no rushing from audition to audition, no wondering if you’d make rent that month. you had the work you always wanted, but you also had this: a family, a home, and a sense of certainty that had once felt impossible.

that night you and your husband were supposed to go to some dinner. the babysitter was already at your place, your daughter happily distracted with cartoons on the couch, so you left the house dressed up but not exactly excited. within twenty minutes you were stuck in traffic, cars barely moving, your husband drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while you scrolled on your phone. after a while he glanced at you and said, “do you really want to do this dinner?” you shook your head almost instantly, and he laughed. “how about we skip it and just find something to eat?” the idea hit you as relief, so you both agreed, pulled off the main road, and ended up wandering down a quieter street. it was cool out, and walking felt better than sitting in the car. you passed a row of restaurants, most of them crowded, until you heard laughter spilling out of a place on the corner. it wasn’t just a couple of laughs either, it was loud, the kind that carried onto the street and made you curious. your husband slowed down, looking at the entrance. “let’s try here,” he said casually.

you nodded, but when you stepped closer you froze. on the door there was a logo, a simple design, but one you knew immediately. it was the same sketch you’d drawn years ago for heeseung when he’d talked about opening his own bar. the same lines, the same shape, only now printed onto glass and lit up like it had always belonged there: hee’s.

you stood staring at it, your stomach twisting, your husband already reaching for the door. “this looks fun,” he said, oblivious, and pushed it open. then he looked back at you, smiling like he was inviting you to come on, so you followed, still stuck in that weird haze. inside, the place was full, people of all kinds filled the tables, some groups crowded near the stage, others at the bar. laughter rolled through the room in waves, and you realized this wasn’t just some bar, it was a comedy club. your eyes darted around as you followed your husband toward the bar, recognizing little details. photos on the wall of comedians you knew had worked with him, a stool near the side of the stage you’d seen in countless rehearsal rooms. it was his space.

“y/n?” your husband said, snapping you out of it. you nodded quickly and sat beside him as he found two seats near the stage. the set on stage wrapped up, applause breaking out. a young comic waved, thanked the crowd, and left. then another figure stepped up to the mic. heeseung.

the crowd cheered before he even said anything. he adjusted the stand, smiled, and said, “give it up one more time for yang jungwon, everyone.” the audience clapped harder, a few whistles in the mix. he waited, then grinned wider. “i told him to do knock knock jokes, but he didn’t listen.” the room laughed, and as the noise settled heeseung let his eyes sweep over the crowd. it was casual at first, the way performers always do, making contact, checking the energy of the room. then his gaze landed on you. he froze mid-breath. his smile stayed, but something behind it cracked for a split second. it was the first time he had seen you in years, and the weight of that hit him harder than the spotlight. there was a long pause, so long people started shifting in their seats. finally, he forced himself to keep the grin in place and said, “welcome to hee’s.” the audience clapped again, not noticing the way his voice dipped slightly on the words.

he gripped the mic stand like he needed the anchor, cleared his throat, and launched into his set. “so… a few years back, i was really bad at comedy. like, not just unfunny — like, embarrassingly unfunny. i was bombing so hard that people weren’t even booing anymore, they were just politely checking their phones.” the crowd laughed. he let them. “it was so bad that one girl — one actual actress, real famous now — decided to start studying me. i’m not making this up. she told me she was preparing for a role as a failed stand-up. like, joker-level failed. joaquin phoenix without the oscar. and she looked at me and went, ‘yeah, you’ll do.’” people cracked up, a ripple of laughter rolling through the room. your husband laughed too, clapping his hands once. you didn’t laugh. you sat still, your eyes locked on him, because you knew exactly who he was talking about. heeseung went on, pacing a little now, warming into the rhythm. “and the worst part is — she wasn’t wrong. i was the definition of pathetic. i’d get up there, sweat through my shirt, tell a joke about driving uber and the audience would just blink at me.”

the crowd howled again. “but here’s the thing,” he continued, leaning into the mic. “that girl — she stuck around. she told me when my jokes sucked. which was… always. she laughed when i was trying too hard, and somehow that made me want to keep going. and i swear, the first time i got a laugh from her that wasn’t pity, i thought, ‘ok, maybe i’m not completely hopeless.’” a softer laugh moved through the room. he let it breathe, then smiled at the crowd. “so i guess what i’m saying is, if you ever want to be good at something, find someone who believes in you just enough to tell you the truth. or, if you’re me, find an actress who literally thought you were audition material for the role of world’s saddest clown.” 

the audience cracked up again, clapping and cheering, the energy lifting with him. you clapped along too, but inside your head something snapped open. it was like watching him there pulled you back to the beginning, and suddenly a reel of every possible version of your life with him started running all at once. you saw the first night again. the open mic party, the smell of cheap beer, the way heeseung leaned against the railing trying to look casual but mostly looking annoyed. “i remember you. i saw you at the open mic the other night,” he said, then he pressed, “look. i know you were taking notes on my jokes. what are you gonna do with it?”

you laughed in his face, sharp and quick. “your jokes? why would i take notes on your jokes?”

but this time, in the version in your head, he didn’t just stand there with his arms crossed. this time he kissed you right there, and you kissed him back, no hesitation. then the reel kept rolling. you saw nights of him showing up at your place, not tired or distracted, but ready, carrying takeout and scripts, both of you sitting on the floor until sunrise, your heads pressed together while you read lines and wrote bits and actually finished things instead of letting them trail off. you saw the premiere of your play, but the seats were full this time, packed with people laughing and clapping at the right moments, and in the front row he was there, smiling so big it almost embarrassed you. afterwards he pulled you into the hallway and kissed you against the poster with your name on it, telling you that you killed it, that he’d never been more proud. you saw his shows too. the same club you were sitting in now, but different. back then, in this version, you were the one rushing to grab the best seat, waiting for him to step out, and when the crowd roared you were the loudest one cheering. afterwards you met him by the bar, and instead of leaving with other people, he left with you.

the reel sped up, mixing real memories with imagined ones. the sushi dinners where he didn’t fall asleep in the car on the way home, the late nights where he didn’t choose rehearsal over you, the mornings you both actually woke up together instead of alone in separate apartments. you saw him meeting your parents, awkward but trying, and you saw yourself with jay and jake, laughing at how messy their apartment was while he tried to cook something edible. it all kept blending, flipping through versions of the same story until you didn’t know which ones were the past and which ones were just the fantasy. you saw a life where you stayed, or that he went to paris with you, where the fight never happened, where instead of walking away that night outside the theater, you listened, he listened, and you figured it out. in every version, you and heeseung ended up together. maybe not perfect, maybe still messy, but together.

the noise of the audience snapped you back. the applause had died down, and heeseung was back on stage, shifting into his next bit, his voice steady, his timing perfect. your husband leaned in, laughing, nudging your arm like this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. you smiled faintly, but your eyes stayed on heeseung. you weren’t sure if you were watching him now or watching the reel still playing in your head. all you knew was that for a few minutes, you let yourself believe in every version of the story, even the ones that never happened.

the crowd was still buzzing when the lights shifted again. waiters moved between tables, glasses clinking, and the chatter grew as another comic prepared to step on stage. your husband leaned closer, his hand brushing your arm. “do you want to stay for the next set?” he asked, his voice casual, warm.

you shook your head, quiet but certain. “no,” you said softly. “let’s go.”

he nodded, smiling, and stood, reaching for his jacket. you followed, but before stepping away, your eyes drifted back to the stage. heeseung was there, still under the lights, laughing at something one of the other comics whispered, like years hadn’t just folded in on themselves the second your eyes met his. and then, as if he felt you looking, he glanced up. the room was loud, the crowd restless, but for a moment it was silent between you two. heeseung didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just held your gaze. you smiled first, small and certain. he smiled back, not the stage smile, but the one you remembered. the truth was, the two of you had already done what you were meant to do. you’d shown up in each other’s lives at the right time. he had pushed you toward the stage, and you had pushed him toward the mic. the dreams that once felt impossible were now real, solid, standing right in front of you both.

the love had been real too, even if it didn’t last. and maybe that was the point all along. because sometimes it isn’t about staying. sometimes it’s about appearing, about being the person who changes the course, even if only for a while, because someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know, the one to finally lift you off the ground. someone in the crowd could take you where you wanna go, if you’re the someone ready to be found.

» RONNIE'S NOTES: hiiiiii guyssssss i seriously loved writing this fic BRUHHH it’s honestly the longest one i’ve ever written and i had so much fun with it even though the ending is kinda sad lmao i really love how it turned out especially cause i feel like it really fits the la la land vibe which is MY FAV MOVIE BTW if you haven’t watched the movie you might not get it, but if you have, you’ll see the plot is pretty similar. ps in my head the channel soobin is part of that heeseung group is smosh LLMAOOO and honestly yk sometimes life is just like that—people come into your life not to be a romantic thing but to put you exactly where you’re supposed to be and that’s kind of what this story is about (also sorry for totally losing it on the smut scene, i got kinda carried away lol) anyway HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT BYYYYYEEEEE!!!! <3 <3

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