It’s a little impossible not to look at him when he’s like this. He’s been your friend since the start of college, but your roommate for only a little over four months. You didn’t think it would be this difficult. It’s not as if you didn’t know he was attractive, of course you did, but you had always found a steady friendly rhythm with him that never turned overly flirtatious, so living with him should have been safe. It probably would have been until the firm constraints of quarantine, and now it feels like you’re trapped in a pressure cooker.

              He’s collapsed back into the couch cushions, Xbox controller in hand and his headset askew, one ear off and one ear on. He’s wearing a pair of ratty gray sweatpants, ones that have been driving you particularly insane the last few weeks, and a fitted black tank top. Yunho’s eyes are trained on the screen, intensely focused. You watch him play, one thumb circling on the left joystick, his other clicking buttons calculated and quick, the tendons in his hands jumping.

              “I said on the left,” Yunho says through the mic, his voice firm.

              Your thighs press together unconsciously, four months of this absolute sexual drought was starting to take its toll and even his irritated competitive voice was frustrating you. You focus down on your phone from your spot on the opposite side of the couch and continue scrolling Instagram.

              “Obviously it’s our left, we’re going the same way, Mingi.” Yunho groans and you bite the inside of your cheek.

              It’s almost ninety degrees today and the two measly window units you have in the apartment are working overtime, but still not bringing the temperature down to a manageable temperature. Yunho’s skin has a light sheen of sweat across it, and you find yourself swallowing hard, trying to look anywhere else but at him.

              “Nice,” Yunho comments through his headset and you can hear the echo of Mingi and the other guys shouting through the one headphone that sits half off his right ear.

              When he takes in a sharp breath, hunching over with his elbows now on his knees to focus, you have to go. Climbing over the back of the couch so you don’t have to walk in front of the TV and break his concentration, you pass through the small breakfast nook and into the kitchen to open the freezer. Sometimes when you were sure he was going to be occupied for long enough, you’d slip into the shower and take care of this frustrated tension yourself, but lately even that wasn’t working. Four months without being properly touched was officially too much.

              You don’t hear him come into the kitchen until he chuckles at you, watching you lean into the open freezer, the cold frosty air passing across your cheeks.

              “Hot?” He raises an eyebrow.

              “Yeah,” you sigh and back up from the freezer to shut the door, opting to lean against the kitchen counter by the sink behind you in your small alley kitchen, “if I knew when we signed our lease that we were going to be literally trapped inside all summer I would have said let’s spring for the better place with central air.”

              “Same,” he steps past you to reach into the fridge and grab a water bottle.

              You watch him as he cracks the seal on the top and takes a long swig, the muscles in his throat tensing pleasantly when he swallows.

              “What?” he says, noticing the way your eyes are on him.

              You clear your throat, shrugging, “Nothing, I’m just out of it today.”

              “Ah,” he shrugs. After a beat he turns to you, “What are you doing today, anyways?”

              You sigh, “probably the same thing I’ve been doing since class ended? Nothing and more nothing? Maybe I’ll finally pick up a new hobby,”

              “You’ve picked up several,” he notes, a teasing glint in his eye.

              “Yes, I know, ha ha.”

              “I just don’t know why you thought picking up knitting in the middle of June would be a good idea,” he shrugs and starts to head back out of the kitchen. “Our air conditioner’s broken? Add more wool to the problem, that should solve it.”

              “Oh, whatever, at least I’m trying to fill the time,” You retort, heading back out to the main room with him, “I seriously never thought I’d say I wish classes would start up again, but at least I’d have something to do.”

              “Yeah,” he flops back down on the couch, tossing the controller onto the coffee table and taking another swig of water, “that and the not working thing is really kind of fucked.”

              “Yeah,”

              You had both worked as servers last year until Yunho lucked into a bar tending job at a better spot. When he brought you over with him it was the financial boost you needed to start really saving some money, but now with quarantine and the uncertainty, you are both eating into your savings month after month.

              “They said it should end by September,” he shrugs, “if we made it four months, we can make it two more.”

              “Flu season,” you shake your head, “it’s not ending.”

              He rolls his eyes, “you are the least optimistic person I’ve ever met.”

              “Realistic,” you counter.

              “Yeah,” he swipes a hand across his brow, “well if we’re still not working by October that’s gonna be tough,”

              “Yeah,” you can’t help but worry the inside of your lip with your teeth, the idea of it nerve wracking.

              “Mingi said his place might be hiring,” he notes, “but the pay isn’t great.”

              “It’s pay,” you say, “and hiring in the middle of a pandemic has to be a good sign, right?”

              “Maybe,”

              “I have to figure out what I can do from home,” you murmur, “I’ve only ever been a server, I don’t know who would hire me for a desk job.”

              He sits up a bit, and you can see his brain shift into problem solving mode, one of the many things you love about him. He thinks for a minute and then says, “You could do something like a call center?”

              “Eh, maybe,” you shrug, “not ideal.”

              “Transcribe stuff?” He offers.

              “I checked into that, the pay is terrible,”

              “Okay, so a last resort.” He thinks again, biting his lip, then looking up at you with bright eyes, “maybe you could finally do some freelance stuff? Maybe put a portfolio together, I could help with the website,”

              The way he’s looking at you makes you want to melt into the couch, but you manage, “Yeah, I could do that. It might take time to make it profitable, but it’s a good idea.”

              He smiles at you, “You should, you’d be good at it.”

              “I’ll think about it,” you agree.

              His smile quirks into something a bit more wry, and you know he’s about to say something sarcastic, “In the meantime there’s always OnlyFans.”

              That is not at all what you expected him to say, and you can barely respond, “What?”

              “Calm down, I’m kidding,” he laughs at your panicked expression, “I know you wouldn’t be comfortable with that.”

              “Yeah,” his soft laugh helps you relax, and you continue, “it’s not like I have anything against the people who do, I mean, get it if you can get it right?”

              He laughs again, covering his mouth with his hand before he says, “y/n, relax. Besides, I doubt you’ve ever taken a nude photo in your life.”

              A sharp pang of heat runs through you, but you can’t help but fire back, “Yes, I have?”

              Both his eyebrows raise high, “I didn’t think you’d admit to it if you had,”

              You never talk like this with him. Short of you both checking in to make sure your respective dates went well, and Yunho having a slight history of eyeing up your past partners a little too much to make sure they weren’t total assholes, romance and sex was not a frequent topic. Something about the thick summer air and the fact that you had been trapped inside for months on end in such close quarters with him had you getting a little bold. “Yunho, I’m not a prude. I’m just selective,”

              “I’m just surprised,” he raises his hands in mock defeat, “you’ve just always seemed like kind of a romantic, less college hookup.”

              “Yeah,” you settle back against the arm of the couch, “I guess you’re right, but being a romantic doesn’t mean I don’t hookup with people. It’s just been…a while. And it’s not like I’ve sent a ton of nudes or something, I don’t mean that, I just mean that I have, once or twice.”

              “You seem nervous,” he chuckles, “I’m not judging. I think it’s nice that you’re selective.”

              “Thanks,” you manage, not sure what to say to something like that.

              He lets it lie for just a minute and then says it, unable to help himself, “who are you even sending nudes to?”

              “Sent,” you correct, “Past tense,”

              “Still,” he presses a little, a smile still across his mouth and you know that he’s just being playful. If you told him to stop, he would, if you said you were uncomfortable he would back off immediately, but there’s something open there, and if you just step through you’re not sure where this conversation might go.

              You groan, “Okay, fine,” he grins, “but we’re never talking about this again and you cannot tease me.”

              “Cross my heart,” he says, and he mimes it, his finger dragging into an X across his chest.

              “Do you remember Park Seonghwa?” You say, and your cheeks heat thinking about the very short lived but very lovely relationship you had in sophomore year.

              His mouth drops open a little surprised, “Yeah, I definitely do.”

              “What?” You press him.

              “I don’t know who I expected,” he says honestly, “you could do worse. He’s a good guy,”

              “I know, it’s a shame,”

              “What is?” he cocks his head to the side.

              “We just didn’t really gel long term,” you shrug, “but he was a really sweet guy, the kind who plans dates and stuff? Plus, the rest,” you catch yourself, blushing harder and dragging a hand over your face, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

              His mouth is pressed in a tight line, holding in a laugh before saying, “I mean you have to tell me now,”

              You sigh and let it rush out of you, “The sex was good, like really good. We just weren’t in love with each other so everything kind of faded after a while.”

              “You’re blushing really hard right now,” he grins, his tongue in cheek.

              “I said you couldn’t make fun of me,” you groan, “I don’t interrogate you about your sexual escapades.”

              “Escapades?” His eyebrow raises.

              “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

              “I know,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease you. It’s cute,”

              Your stomach flip flops, “Great,”

              “But I’m sorry anyways, that it didn’t work out,” he leans back into his side of the couch and takes another drink of water, glancing out the window briefly before returning his eyes on you.

              “It’s fine,” you shrug, “it was a while ago.”

              “Mm,” he nods, “so that’s a no to OnlyFans, then?”

              He’s good at twisting moments back around towards a joke, keeping things light whenever there’s a serious turn in conversation. You give him a smile, “Yeah, that’s a no.”

              He takes a deep intake of breath and exhales long, bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers along the side of his knee. You love this energy he has, seemingly boundless and pouring out of him in the smallest ways. It’s been months since he’s been able to properly visit the dance studio and see most of his friends other than you, you’ve both been good and careful about the pandemic, but you can see that it leaves him tense.

              You’re about to ask him what he’s going to do with the rest of his day, when his head snaps back you and he says, seemingly out of the blue, “Just Park Seonghwa, then?”

              “What?” You ask, confused.

              “You said you’re selective,” he explains, “so you’ve only sent pictures to him?”

              You feel yourself blush again, heat spreading across your cheeks, and your stomach knots tight. He’s walking an invisible line that you’ve always kept cleanly between you, and you have no idea how you should respond. “Why do you want to know?” Your voice sounds smaller than you wanted it to.

              “I’m curious, I guess,” he shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

              You shift positions on the couch, desperately trying to ignore just how tight your shorts seem to suddenly be where the denim bunches against your core. “No, not just him.”

              “Interesting,” he says.

              “There was a guy I was talking to at the beginning of lockdown,” you explain, thinking back on your brief connection, “we were supposed to meet up for a date and then the stay-at-home orders came down, but we kept talking.”

              “Oh,” his eyes widen a little, “I’m sorry, are you guys still… are you seeing someone, and I have like no idea?”

              You laugh, “No, no,” you wave him off, “we eventually just stopped talking. We were just messing around for a while.”

              “Damn,” he shakes his head, “I thought I was just the most unobservant man on the planet for second,”

              You shake your head, thinking back to your time attempting to sext the guy you met on Tinder during the first month of quarantine. It was fun at first, but something about him just didn’t do it. He never knew what to say, was focused on himself, and he was cute, but he left you more frustrated than when you started talking half the time.

              “He wasn’t like… an asshole or anything?” Yunho cocks his head to the side when he asks, his eyes studying you.

              “No,” you smile at him, “he was nice just not really… helping,”

              “Ah,” he clears his throat, his eyes flicking away. Now you have crossed the line, officially. Standing in this strange new space where you’re alluding to your orgasms, or lack thereof, with a man who up to this point had made it clear he just viewed you as a friend.

              You glance down at your phone nervously, not a single notification to open and distract you from this. The apartment is quiet for a beat, just the sound of the wheezing window unit pumping tepid air into the room. Your head snaps back up when he says, “So he couldn’t get you off,”

              “Yunho,” your whole body feels tense and anxious at his words, “what are we doing?”

              “Talking,” he answers with no hesitation, and for the first time the way he looks at you feels different.

              “This doesn’t feel like talking,”

              He holds your gaze, “We can stop talking if you want.”

              You’ve already come this far, and whatever you’re about to do or not do might fully ruin the delicately balanced friendship you’ve crafted with him, but you’re pretty sure you don’t care. “We can talk,” you assure him.

              The space between you on the couch feels miles long. Your eyes flick over him, his position reclined against the back of his half of the sectional, his knees spread wide, and he bends his arm at the elbow to rest his hand against his lip, thinking as he watches you. Finally, he prompts you again, “He couldn’t, right?”

              You look down quickly, away from his intense gaze, “Not really,”

              “Why not?” He asks, his voice soft and low.

              “I don’t really know that it was his fault,” you admit, looking back up to him, “it’s been a while and I couldn’t really get out of my own head about the whole thing.”

              The heated flirting drops and suddenly he’s back to being your best friend, “are you telling me you haven’t come in months?”

              “Jesus,” you cover your face with your hands for a second, dragging your hands through your hair, “when you just say it like that.”

              “I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to say that,” he shrugs, “but seriously, like what… this whole time?”

              “I mean,” you nod, “pretty much.”

              “You haven’t come in four months?” He clarifies.

              You wince, and find yourself admitting, “more like… six?”

              “Six months.” He repeats.

              “You really don’t have to make me feel worse,” you pull your legs up to your chest, “it’s not for lack of trying.”

              “I don’t mean it like that,” he shakes his head, “I’m not trying to make you feel bad I guess I just… I mean is everything okay?”

              You laugh, sharp, and shake your head, “This is kind of mortifying, you know that right?”

              “It doesn’t have to be,” he assures you, “It’s just me, but if you don’t want to talk about it, we definitely don’t have to.”

              “No, it’s just,” you sigh, “I really don’t know if it’s just me, or my meds, or what, it’s just been like not working right.”

              “Oh,” he nods, and after a beat he looks up, “can I help?”

              “Yunho,” You level him with your eyes, “I appreciate your confidence here, but if I can’t get myself off, I don’t know how you’re going to, and I’m really not trying to have the most embarrassing sexual experience of my life with my best friend, who I live with, during a global pandemic.”

              “I highly doubt it would be the most embarrassing,” he grins at you.

              “Yunho,” you shake your head, “seriously.”

              “I’m sorry,” he says, softening a bit, “I just haven’t been with anyone since this whole thing started either, and with literally no end in sight I was just thinking maybe we could,”

              “Help each other?” You finish for him.

              “Yeah, basically,”

              “Listen,” you start to say, desperately ignoring the pooling heat in your stomach, “it’s not that I’m not interested, I just don’t want to disappoint either of us when we’re trapped together and make things awkward.”

              “So, you are interested?” He grins.

              “That was not the important part of that sentence,” you roll your eyes.

              “y/n,” he leans forwards, elbows on his knees, “I’ll drop it if you really want me to, but what if it’s good? We could try, just once and see.”

              “Yunho,” you manage, the indecision clear in your voice.

              “We’ll never talk about it again if it’s not good or not what you want,” he offers, “or you can tell me now to shut the fuck up and I will. I just haven’t been with anyone in months, and frankly you’re driving me fucking insane walking around the apartment in shorts that short.”

              “Oh my God,” you shake your head, laughing at his frankness.

              “Come on,” he urges gently, “I bet I can make you come.”

              A hot knife of need cuts through you, and you look down again, away from his gaze and focus for just a minute. This was likely the worst idea, and you can see forward into the future, his disappointment that he couldn’t get you there, and your continued frustration only now public and uncomfortable knowledge. His words ring in your brain. What if it’s good?

              It had been a while, but you can’t help the words that leave you, a challenge on your lips, “I bet you can’t.”

              “What?” it’s his turn to sound a little unsettled, and you look back up to lock eyes.

              “I bet you can’t make me come,” you say again.

              His eyes darken, and he drop his head a little, looking at you from hooded eyes, “Are you saying yes?”

              “I’m saying you can try,” he can’t help but smile at your words, “you can try, but it’s just this once. And you can’t complain afterwards or tease me about this.”

              The hot flirtation across his face fades instantly, “I would never do that to you,”

              “I,” you nod, “I know, it’s just embarrassing.”

              He reaches across the couch with an outstretched hand, “Come here,”

              You move without thinking, taking his hand, and letting him pull you over to stand between his knees. His fingers hook into the belt loops of your shorts, and he looks up at you, “I would never do that to you,” he repeats, “you’re my friend first, okay?”

              “Yeah,” you nod.

              “Just relax,” he says, and he squeezes your hips in his large hands. Your breath catches and he smiles at the reaction, squeezing you again to see if he can elicit the same response, “Do you have any hard no’s?”

              “Oh,” you blink, thinking for a minute and carding through your past sexual experiences, “Not really? I don’t love name calling, but I mean, it’s not a hard no I guess?”

              He smirks, “I wasn’t going to call you a whore on the first date,”

              “Yunho!” you smack his shoulder, and he smiles wide, laughing through the awkward tension and easing some of your nerves.

              “Alright,” he settles, “no name calling. Can I lead?”

              Your brow quirks up at his question, “As opposed to?”

              “You leading,” he smiles, “but I think that answers my question.”

              You blush, “Oh! Yeah, yeah, you can lead.”

              “Are we doing this now?” He checks.

              “If we’re not going to do it now, I’m going to think about it until we do.”

              “Fair enough,” his thumbs brush against the skin at the top of your shorts, soft and even.

              “Okay,” you drop your hands and rest them on his forearms, “um… where do you want to start?”

              He smiles up at you, “I want you to start by relaxing.”

              “Sorry,”

              “y/n?” He says.

              “Hmm?” You look down to meet his eyes, sucking in a tight breath of air when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

              “Shut up, okay?”

              “Got it,” you don’t know what you should do with your hands, with anything, so you settle for biting your lip and watching him.

              He looks down dragging his fingers across your skin until he hooks them further and uses his thumb to pop the button of your jean shorts open. You’re suddenly very grateful that you decided to shave your legs yesterday and you were wearing not completely unbecoming underwear, but your mind blanks out again when he drags down the zipper and pulls the shorts off over your hips. He taps your calf softly to prompt you to step up and out of them, and he kicks them back out of your way once they’re off you.

              The t-shirt you’re wearing is oversized, and it drops low over you, brushing the tops of your thighs. His gaze is hungry, and he gathers the fabric in his hands to push it up your body just enough, revealing the soft plane of your stomach.

              “Fuck, you’re pretty,” he sighs, looking you over.

              “You haven’t seen a girl in months,” you retort.

              He doesn’t look up, but you can see that he rolls his eyes and smiles, “Learn to take a compliment,” he says, “you’re hot.”

              You can’t even begin to formulate a response, he doesn’t give you a chance before he leans forward and presses his lips to your hip, softly working kisses across the top of your panties, hooking a thumb under one side and pulling them up a bit so he can move down the crease of your thigh before moving up and humming softly, a kiss against your stomach, your other hip, your other thigh. You’re trembling already, the sensation of another person’s skin on yours enough to make you dizzy, but his slow nuzzling kisses have you feeling weak and craving.

              “Come here,” he murmurs again, and leans back against the cushions. He directs you with his hands on your hips, stepping you back and sliding a knee between your open legs before pulling you forwards and prompting you to settle on him, straddling his thigh.

              When the tense muscle of his thigh connects with your clit, despite the layers of fabric between you, you let out a soft pant. He catches your arms in his large hands, sweeping down your skin and taking your hands. He pulls you forwards slightly, and settles your hands on his chest, before returning his hands to your hips.

              He tugs on your them gently, which rolls you forwards just a little on his thigh before sliding you back to your original position, the friction against your clit warm and firm. He tenses his muscles beneath you, watching your face carefully when you drop your mouth open a little and suck in a breath. It’s obvious to you now that he’s going to be good at this, and a nervous thrill runs up your spine.

              He rocks your hips again and you catch on quickly, planting your hands more firmly on his chest and rolling your hips yourself. You’re slow to start, maintaining a steady fluid pressure against your clit, and he keeps his hands on your hips as you move. His brows are knit together, his mouth open as he watches you, and you can’t help but pant a little laugh, “I thought you were going to make me come,”

              He smirks, “you haven’t come in six months and you’re in a rush?”

              “Fuck off,” you manage, and he tenses his leg again in response which has you gripping his shirt in your hands, warm pleasure coiling through you.

              He keeps one hand on your hip, but with the other he gathers the material of your shirt in his palm and pulls up, stopping just under your breasts. He watches you, his teeth catching his lower lip as he watches you grind yourself against him. His gaze is intense, and when he leans forwards just enough to move the hand on your hip up back and then back down to cup your ass, you sigh.

              “Yunho,” you mumble, swallowing the tense knot in your throat and he relaxes his hand, looking up at you immediately.

              “You good?” He murmurs.

              You nod, “Yeah,”

              He drops your shirt and sweeps your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear and keeping his hand cupping the side of your face, “Sure?”

              Your hips still, and you come back to center to meet his eyes, “I’m okay,” you assure him, “are you?”

              “Yeah, yeah,” he runs a thumb along your cheekbone, “I’m just checking,”

              “Can we move to the bedroom?” you ask, and he drops his hands to your hips to ease you up off his thigh. He lets out a pleased hum when he sees the dark wet patch of his sweatpants where you had worked yourself against him, and without thinking further he reaches out and catches his fingers against you, feeling your damp underwear.

              You stumble a step back, the sensation catching a moan in your throat, and he snaps a hand up to grab your forearm and steady you. “Fuck,” he laughs, “sorry,”

              “Let’s go,” you tug his arm.

              “Your room or mine?” He asks.

              “Yours,” you answer immediately, “your bed is bigger.”

              He takes your hand and leads you down the hall to the room at the back, and as he crosses the threshold, he remembers an image of you passed out on top of his bed covers the first month you lived here, a few too many drinks too early in the evening. He liked the look of you in his bed, he remembers. He turns and takes you in his capable hands, maneuvering your back to the face the bed and tipping you down onto the mattress.

              “Can I take these off you?” He pulls the side of your panties.

              “Yeah,”

              He pulls both sides down over your hips, and you lift them to make it a little easier for him. He groans softly when he sees how slowly they pull away from your core, slightly stuck to your wetness. He tosses them away, pushing your shirt up again, and dropping to his knees on the floor between your open legs. Immediately you’re anxious, something about this had always been so intimate, and he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

              You look up to the ceiling, your hands bunching in the sheets beneath you. Yunho’s hands coast up your thighs, dip up over your hips, smooth across your stomach, before he stops completely. One of his large hands covers yours, slipping his fingers into your fist to relax your hand, “Hey,” he says softly, “you want to tell me why you’re so nervous?”

              You look down at him, he’s still perched between your open legs, one hand on yours and the other warmly over your thigh. His eyes are warm, open. “I don’t know,” you say honestly.

              “Is it me? Or what we’re doing?” He asks.           

              “I think both,” you confess, “you’re my best friend, this is just… it’s a lot.”

              “Okay,” he slides away from you, his hand leaving yours.

              “Wait, I didn’t mean we shouldn’t,” you exclaim, sitting up and letting your shirt drop back over you.

              “We’re not done, y/n,” he shakes his head, “just trust me.”

              You nod and watch as he pulls back the coverlet and top sheet on his bed, nodding so that you can climb under the covers. He crosses the room and lowers the temperature on the air conditioning unit a few more degrees, making it whine as it kicks into gear and starts pushing cooler air into the room. Without preamble, he pulls off his blank tank top and tosses it to the side and shucks off his sweats and boxers.

              “Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and he smiles at you.

              “Yeah?”

              “I don’t know what I expected,” you say.

              “What?” He teases, “I work out, you see me work out all the time.”

              He’s right, you do. You’re not surprised by the lean tone of his body, broad shouldered and taut arms and abs, you’re stricken by the size of him and how you’ve never once considered that he might be bigger than your previous partners.

              “You know that’s not what I mean,” you clear your throat softly, “you’re just, uh,”

              “Perfect?” He jests, climbing into bed and pulling the covers back over him, “Well-endowed? A god among men?”

              “I was going to say big,” you laugh, and he crowds you a little, his fingers tickling your sides until you giggle, slapping his hands away, “god, you’re a menace.”

              “I aim to please,” he teases again, tugging the hem of your shirt up, silently asking you to take it off.

               You pull it over your head, tossing it over the edge of the bed and twisting to try and unhook your bra. Yunho slips a hand behind you, catching the clasp in between his thumb and first two fingers and slides it just right so that the hook and eye claps fall open.

              “You’re too good at that,” you comment, sliding the straps off your shoulders and pulling it away to toss it aside.

              “It’s really not difficult,” he chuckles, pulling you into his arms and further under the covers.

              You have the urge to cover yourself, very aware that you’re naked in front of him for the first time but tucked under the blanket and pressed against his chest leaves you fairly concealed still and you try your best to stay calm and let him lead.

              “Now,” he says, his voice low, “can you relax for me?”

              His words make you clench your muscles, and he feels you twitch beneath him. He studies your face for a moment and tries again, “Can you be good for me?”

              “Oh,” you breathe, gripping his back.

              He seems to have you figured out now, just enough, and he lowers himself half over you. He cups the back of your head, pulling you closer, and he finally presses his mouth to yours. His lips are soft, and he releases a contented sigh of warm air against your cheek. He holds you close, kissing you sweetly at first and then nuzzles you gently with his nose before dipping his tongue into your mouth and flicking it against yours.

              You moan into his mouth and his hands tighten on you as he intensifies the kiss, a little desperate, hot, and needy. It’s all the intimacy you need for things to start to slot into place in your brain. Yunho’s kissing you, and he’s frankly very good at it. You draw him closer, your arms around him and pulling him down against you, your bare breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the contact, and suddenly his hands feel everywhere. Yunho kisses you again, softly biting your bottom lip, moving down your throat to lick and suck at your pulse points, nipping at your collarbone, tongue dragging a line down your chest as he turns his attention to your breasts.

              “Fuck,” you choke, dropping your head back against his pillows when he takes a nipple in his mouth.

              When you wind a hand into the back of his hair and pull him in closer, he sucks harder, sparking a line of pleasure straight to your core. He lifts up, his mouth leaving you, so he can settle on his side next to you. He pulls you close into his chest, one arm around your back as he supports you against his shoulder.

              “Yunho,” you whine as his hand presses down across the length of your body, and he shudders at his name on your lips like that, finally no pretense or anxiety, just wanting.

              “Spread your legs,” he murmurs, pressing his fingers between your tightly locked thighs.

              You comply immediately, and he pushes one of your legs open wider, your leg bending the knee and up by your side to give him the most access. He wastes no time, his fingers sweeping up your wet slit until he finds your firm swollen clit at the apex of your thighs. He watches you as he rolls his fingers, testing which way has you the most breathy and pliant, what pressure makes your hand on his back tighten and dig your nails in.

              “Like this?” He asks when he finds a good rhythm.

              It is good, a hot rush of warmth radiating up from your core. It feels good to be taken care of finally after so long, safe with him pressed up against you, his lips against your forehead, soft kisses as he works your body. When you don’t respond he kisses you and murmurs again, “tell me what you like,”

              “Here,” you catch his hand in yours, and he stills his fingers. You slide his hand down further, pressing the tips of his fingers inside you and he nods against you. You let your hand fall away as he starts to press two fingers inside you, pumping them softly to ease them in until his knuckles rest against you. He shifts you in his arms to get a better angle, curling around you slightly as he thrusts them up, curling them and catching against your g-spot.

              “That,” you stutter, “like that,”

              He grins, “There you are,”

              “Fuck,” you stammer, dropping your head against his chest, one hand tight against his bare thigh.

              He pumps his fingers faster, spurned on every time you gasp and moan. You shudder against him, hiding your face in his neck, tense pleasure curling up inside you. You rock your hips against his hand and he lets you help set the pace, but you can’t reach it. He feels incredible, better than anything you’ve done in months, but just like before it feels like you’re standing on the edge looking over and can’t reach.

              He presses up against your g-spot, rocking his hand and spiking a line of pleasure up your chest but when it passes, it passes. “Yunho,” you pant, and he shushes you, mistaking your words for encouragement.

              “Yunho,” you reach down and catch his wrist, pushing his hand away and he pulls his fingers from you.

              “What?” He murmurs, pushing back your hair and shifting so he can see your face, “you ok?”

              “Yeah,”

              “I thought I had you close, why’d you stop me?” he smooths a hand up your side.

              “You did,” you assure him, “I just couldn’t get there,”

              He dips his head to kiss you, his thumb massaging soothing circles into your hip, “Let’s try something else,”

              “It’s okay,” you brush him off, “let me get you off and then we can,”

              “y/n,” he interrupts you, “I didn’t think it would be that easy. Come on, lay back,” he eases you into the sheets and you scramble up, leaning on your elbows as he shifts out of bed, “where’s your vibrator?”

              “What?” Your cheeks flame.

              “We’ve lived together for months,” he explains, his gaze direct, “I’ve heard it, so come on, where is it?”

              You throw an arm over your face and groan, “Bottom drawer of my nightstand.”

              “See? Not so hard,” He shrugs it off and and you hear him pad out into the hall and through the door to your bedroom.

              While he’s gone you recover your breath, he was right, he did have you close. You were so frustrated and desperate for it at this point you didn’t know what to do, but when you see him return with a serious smirk you blush harder.

              “You’ve got a little collection going,” he says, “but this one’s industrial.” He holds up the wand and gives you a cheeky grin.

              “Oh my God, I really hate you,”

              “You really, really don’t.” He shifts back onto the bed and pulls back the covers a bit, “Now, I have some clever ideas on what to do with this, but I’m in no rush.” He tosses it against the mattress and shifts back over top of you.

              “You’re really having fun with this, aren’t you?” You nudge his chest.

              “Yeah,” he replies, “I definitely am,”

              Wrapped up like this, you feel closer to him that you’ve felt with anyone in a long, long time. You smile, kissing his shoulder softly and looking back up to meet his eyes, “Thank you, by the way.”

              “For what?” He asks.

              “Making this fun,” you tell him honestly.

              “Sex is supposed to be fun,” he replies, “and I don’t know what has you so tense, but you’re okay with me. I’ve got you,”

              It’s things like that that make you worry this might have been a bad idea after all, dangerous words for someone so close to the edge of falling in love with their best friend.

              You nod, not trusting your words for a minute, so you pull him back down for a kiss. You’re lazy and slow together, the kisses alone helping reignite some of the heat in your core, his hands, and the way they caress you making you wetter again by the second. You slide a hand between your bodies, reaching for him now and find his hard length pressed along your inner thigh. When you shift, closing your hand around his cock, he hisses against your mouth and pulls his head back.

              “Holy shit,” he groans, watching as you stroke your hand up from the base of his cock upwards, your thumb sliding over the head and smearing the pearl of pre-cum across it. Your hand looks small wrapped around him, and your muscles clench up at the thought that at some point tonight, you’d be fitting him inside you.

              “Here,” your hand leaves him for a moment so you can push at his shoulder, urging him to lay back, “let me take care of you,”

              He complies but shakes his head, “I’m not done with you,”

              “I never said you were,” you brush his hands away from you and slide down his body now that he’s flat on his back. His cock stands up perfectly straight and straining, and you’re not quite sure just how many inches he is but you know you’re going to struggle to take him in your mouth.

              You lick a stripe up his length, from base to tip, and watch as his head rolls instantly back against the pillows. He groans when you do it again, and when you hold him again in your hand and slide your lips over the tip of him to take just the first bit of him in your mouth, his hips jerk slightly.

              “Sorry,” he says, “fuck, sorry, it’s been way too fucking long,”

              You hum, a little laugh, and the vibrations make him groan again and he fists the sheets beneath him by his hips. You bob your head experimentally, seeing how much of him you can take, your mouth stretched around him and the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat. It’s uncomfortable, but not unpleasant, so you flatten your tongue along the underside of him and drag your head up and down again. You ghost your nails softly along his thighs as you suck him, hollowing out your cheeks and pulling back up to flick your tongue firmly against his tip again.

              He moans softly when you dip your head low again, taking as much of him as possible, but still not reaching the base of him. Your gag reflex fires a little and you cough around him, easing back up to give your throat a chance to adjust and blink back the sudden sensation of tears. You’re doing your best to even out your breathing through your nose and slide back down his length again when his hand snakes into your hair and he pulls you up and off him.

              “What, what’s wrong?” You look up to him, blinking fast, but the look he’s giving you now isn’t like before.

              “I’m not going to last like that,” he says, pulling you forwards and rolling you underneath him, “and I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

              He pushes your legs open with his hand and runs his fingers up your wet slit, rocking your clit a few times and eliciting a shaky moan from your lips. You nod fast, “Please,”

              He lines himself up with your entrance, catching the head of his cock on your clit, “Wait, wait, are you safe, should I,”

              “I’m good,” you insist, “I have an IUD, just please come here,”

              He’s slow when he pushes into you, incredibly cognizant of his size and the experience he’s had with past partners, but at the feeling of your walls pressing tight around him he pauses, dropping his head to your shoulder, “Oh fuck,”

              “Yunho,” you wriggle your hips, the feeling of him stretching you better than anything, “don’t stop,”

              He bites down on your shoulder softly, groaning as he pushes further, and when he’s halfway in he pulls away to check you, “You okay?”

              “Please,” you pull at his hips, desperate for him to be closer, “I need you,”

              “Fuck, baby,” he breathes as he watches the rest of his cock disappear inside you.

              You’re impossibly full, warm in places you didn’t know could be warm, feeling tiny sparks of pleasure with every minute shift of his hips. This is exactly what you needed, the full feeling of his cock buried deep inside you and his whispered words in your ear.

              “You gotta move,” you beg him.

              He pulls out almost completely and dives his hips back in, sinking himself as far as he can go and knocking your hips together. “You’re fucking incredible,” he pants as he pistons his hips again, “you take me so fucking well,”

              You choke at his words, arching up against him as he starts to fuck you faster. He kisses you hard, one hand tightly on your cheek and the other locked on your hip as he thrusts, “like you were fucking made for me,” he says against your mouth.

              “Oh, God,” you grip his arms, holding him to you as you rock your hips back up in time to meet each move of his hips.

              “You need me to tell you?” He manages, his lips hot against your ear as he covers you, his sweat slick body hot and heavy over you, filling you, “Do you want me to tell you how good you’re being for me?”

              Your broken moan tells him everything he needs to know, and he pushes the damp hair back from your face to watch you, your eyes screwing shut at his words, shocks of pleasure running up from your core to your chest.   

              “So good for me,” he murmurs again, dipping his fingers between your lips.

              You close your lips around them immediately, running your tongue across them, tasting yourself on his skin. When you open your eyes he’s staring down at you in awe, his brows tight together, mouth open and tensed, his eyes rolling when you take the length of his fingers in your mouth and suck on them gently.

              “Fuck,” he pants, and his pace falters, he pulls his fingers free and repositions, and when he drives into you with a well angled thrust that drags perfectly along your walls you rock back with a cry. Yunho catches your bottom teeth with his thumb and drags your head back down to keep your eyes on him. He’s close, you can feel it, but so are you. He draws your gaze, “say my name, baby,”

              “Oh,” you pant, “fuck, oh, fuck,”

              “My name,” he repeats, “say it,”

              You try, but it gets caught in your throat when he slams back into you and you whimper, your nails digging into his back.

              “Tell me,” he pumps his hips again, “you can do it,”

              With a gasp he pulls down on your hair, tugging your scalp with just the right pressure, “Yunho, Yunho, Yunho,” you chant, the knot of pleasure so tight in your belly you’re sure you’re going to burst, “please, please, baby, please,”

              When he pulls away from you, out of you, the cry that leaves your lips is desperate. He’s quick though, folding a pillow in half and lifting you like you weigh nothing, propping your hips up high at an angle you know is going to ruin you. He reaches across you and from the tangled sheets he pulls your vibrator out and clicks it on.

              “Yunho, I don’t,” you start and watch as he gets the setting right.

              “Shh,” he interrupts, stifling your soft whines, “you wanted to come,”

              You cry out when he sinks back into you, this new angle putting pressure in new places and stirring a sensation deep in your core. He rocks his hips, holding your thigh with one hand to grip you steady and gets his positioning right so that he can stay comfortable on his knees and thrust up into you just right. When he eases the vibrator down onto your clit you’re brain whites out, the sensations blending together in a haze.      

              “Oh fuck,” he manages, “tell me you’re close,”

              You whine an incoherent response, looking up at him through hazy eyes.

              “Yeah, you are,” he smiles, never slowing his hips, “just a little more, I want you to come for me, can you be good for me?”

              It slams into without warning, wrenching your body up and arched against him, your thighs a shaking mess. Distantly you hear his low voice, “Let go, that’s my pretty girl.” You can feel the flush of blush run up your chest to your cheeks, and when you’ve ridden it through and he doesn’t lift the vibrator you jerk your hands down, writhing and pushing it away.

              “One more,” he says, but you shake your head, “No?”

              “Yunho,” you shake your head desperately, pushing the vibrator away, the sensation far too much for the level of overstimulation, “please, I can’t,”

              “Okay, okay,” he clicks it off and tosses it aside, his hips still rolling into you just more slowly now, “I’ve got you,”

              “Come here,” you drag him towards you desperately, and he comes back down to lay across you, “please I want you,”

              “Fuck,” he chants again, “I won’t last,”

              “Come,” you urge him, holding him close and rolling your hips with his, “please, I need it,”

              He speeds up, desperate and panting, his forehead pressed against yours. When he rocks downwards, collapsing his weight a little further onto you, the angle of your bodies still propped up by the folded pillow has his cock drag perfectly over your g-spot again and you shake against him, gripping him tight and whining as another orgasm washes over you.

              When you clench down around him for the second time he jerks into you twice more, coming hard and hot inside you, your name on his lips on a loop. Your ears are ringing, your body boneless and you can barely catch your breath. When he moves to slide out of you, you whimper, and he looks down at you.

              “Oh my God,” he pants, rolling onto his side and gathering you up in his arms to lock you against his chest, “come here,”

              You shift as close to him as you can, feeling like you need every inch of his skin on yours. You’re already lolling in and out of a dazed sleep when his voice brings you back. “Hey,” his fingers stroke your cheek, “you’re okay?”

              “Okay?” You crack open your eyes, “I’m fucking fantastic,”

              “I didn’t hurt you?” He brushes a hand down your hip.   

              You shake your head and cup his cheek, “Perfect, you were perfect,”

              He grins, “I’ll remember you said that.”

              “Don’t you dare be smug right now,” you slap his chest softly, letting your eyes slip closed again.

              “I won’t,” he says, his voice shifting softer, and he nuzzles the side of your face, pressing kisses to your cheek, “That was… we should do that again,”

              “I don’t think we should ever stop doing that,” you agree, glancing up at him.

              He squeezes you tight, “Give me like twenty minutes,”

              “Yun, I’m kidding,” you hide your face in his chest, shaking your head as he laughs above you.

              “I’m not,”

              You smooth a hand down his arm, snuggling against him and closing your eyes again, “Let’s sleep first. Sleep and then I’ll let you do whatever you want to me forever,”

              He chuckles, the vibration of his low laugh against your cheek where you’re pressed against his chest, “Deal,” he says, “I’ll remember that too.”

~end~

a/n: i'm working on a companion piece to this since i'm just so soft for boyfy college yunho, so keep an eye out for that. for those of you looking for into the aurora chapters, i'm working on it too! new content will be posted soon, i'm just in a bit of a yunho mood.

San has been your neighbor for almost a year now. Recalling his move-in day brought a smile to your face. Not just because he was your gorgeous new neighbor, but because his friends came and helped him move his furniture and boxes. You were leaving your apartment to run a grocery errand and had stumbled upon yelling whispers. His friends were trying to stay quiet amongst their chaos, but it was clear whispering was not their forte. Although you didn’t stay for long, you had gathered they were arguing about how to get your neighbor’s couch through his door. Through the havoc, you had caught your new neighbor rolling his eyes with a smile on his face as he carried a box inside behind them. They were finished by the time you had come back from your grocery shopping. And even though you didn’t see your neighbor and his friends, you could faintly hear them through the door. Usually, the noise would slowly boil your blood, but it was hard to get irritated by the contagious laughing next door.

A soft click and the rattling of keys tore you from your memories. Much to your horror, you were still staring at your neighbor. You ripped your gaze to your own open mailbox and hastily grabbed what little mail you had to distract yourself. However, your stare didn’t go unnoticed as you swore you saw his lips curl into a small smile before he left without a word. 

Your shoulders sagged when he was out of your vision, eyes dropping down to the two envelopes in your hand. You had never been the greatest with keeping up with checking your mail, but after your neighbor made himself a home next door, getting your mail was the highlight of your days. It became an excuse to get a glimpse of the eye candy living adjacent to you.

Eventually, you would grow out of this strange attraction you had for your neighbor. At least you hoped you would. You had realized trying to start a conversation was harder than you imagined. It wasn’t because he gave you the cold shoulder, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to say something to him. Every time you had built up the courage, your throat would close up and prevent any words from escaping. You wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you were a creep at this point. He never struck a conversation either. Maybe you had already scared him away.

The thought had a sigh leave your lips. You didn’t want to do that.

You shut your mailbox and twisted the key, locking it. You stared at the small, metal door. Today will be the last day for a while, you told the inanimate object. You were going to give your neighbor some space. 

It was time to let go of the silly crush you had formed. It wasn’t going to go anywhere. 

Choi San was a quiet man.

He kept to himself and was never the cause for any ruckus that occurred in your apartment complex. Well, he may have been if he was with his friends, but never alone was he any trouble. He was an enigma, and you couldn’t help but feel more drawn to him because of it. You wanted to know him for more than a pretty face.

Five weeks passed when you didn’t check your mailbox every other day.  You had been accustomed to visiting your mailbox frequently, so it felt strange not to. Any time you had seen San, it was simply through passing. He would be leaving his apartment while you were entering yours or vice versa. You kept your gaze averted, forcing yourself to resist the urge to steal a glance. It wasn’t easy. Though, getting rid of any addiction was always difficult. No matter how weird it sounded, you had come to terms you were addicted to San. At least, you were addicted to the attraction you felt when you spotted him. You shouldn’t have been so down the first time you skipped going to your mailbox. Whatever trance you were lulled under in his presence was too strong to ignore.

You shook your head to yourself when you realized your thoughts were drifting to the man next door. Again. Goodness, you were hopeless.

You snatched your phone from the counter and strolled to your TV. You sunk into the cushions, pulling the blanket that was slung over the couch’s arm over your body. Despite it being the weekend, you had no plans on going out.

Last weekend was a friend’s birthday, and you were still trying to regain the energy you had expelled. The nights were fun, but you needed a few weeks to recuperate.

Twenty minutes passed before knocks at your door startled you. A quick glance at your phone’s clock informed you it was half-past eleven.

You were going to ignore the knocks as it was late, but the sounds persisted.

Sighing, you pushed off your blanket and shuffled to the door. You quietly glanced through the peephole and cursed inwardly when you saw who it was.

Normally, you would turn away from the door, but a part of you was worried about why your ex-boyfriend was knocking at your door so late. The relationship ended a little rocky, but you didn’t hate him. You hadn’t talked to him since and avoided his friends in case you would accidentally run into him. Because you didn’t dislike him enough to feed him to the wolves, you opened your door.

Hyunwoo’s eyes widen at the sound of your door opening.

“Oh, I’m sh-o glad you a-answered,” he sighed in relief, hand leaning against the frame of your door. Most of his weight was on that hand. You were sure if you moved it, he would lose his balance.

There was something off with him.

“Are you okay?” you questioned moving your hands slightly in front of you in case he was to fall. 

“Peachy,” he answered. He tilted his head as his eyes took in your night attire. The long shirt and short shorts weren’t anything designer, but it had Hyunwoo smiling.

“You not occupied, are you? ‘M just wanna shee you. Was ‘bout’a go home, but Kwan dropped’e off here. I don’t remember telling ‘im that though,” Hyuneoo rambled, his other hand waving aimlessly as he spoke. His gaze dropped as his brows furrowed at his last sentence. He looked confused suddenly.

The more he spoke, the more you realized he was intoxicated. If it weren’t for his slurring, you would know from the smell of alcohol coming from his mouth.

It was late and you did not wish to spend your weekend taking care of your drunk ex.

You glanced behind him to see if his friend had come along too—hopefully sober. Unfortunately, all you saw was empty space.

“Where’s Kwan?” you wondered. Please say waiting in the car.

“Gone. Sh-aid ‘m betta’ off here.” Hyunwoo looked up at you again, face no longer scrunched with confusion.

“Is he coming back?”

Hyunwoo shrugged and looked down when he heard something drop. Following his gaze, you saw his phone on the floor. Before you could pick it up for him, he moved the arm resting against the door frame to grab it. 

“Wait-” you tried to stop him.

“’S’kay,” he mumbled as he reached down. Barely a second later, he was losing his balance.

Your hands reached out to grab his shoulders, but his knees had already hit the floor.

“Owww,” he whined loudly, making you do a quick glance at the other doors around you. Great. Someone’s going to hear that.

“Is Kwan sober? I’ll call him and have him pick you back up.” You grabbed his phone and stuffed it in your pocket then pulled Hyunwoo up from the floor. You helped him lean against the wall outside your door.

“N-no!” Hyunwoo exclaimed and reached a hand to stop your movements. Your eyes widen at his fast reaction. “Not leaving ‘til you talk to me. Want’o talk.”

His head leaned back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. His hand still gripped your wrist. Despite your wishes, it appeared you would have to babysit him until you could figure out what to do. 

“Why ‘ou look sh-ad?” Hyunwoo pouted. The hand on your wrist slowly moved up to your face. You grabbed his hand and stopped it from caressing your face. You moved it back to his side. “Always hated sh-eeing you sh-ad.”

You ignored his words.

“Let’s get you inside while I call a ride for you,” you suggested and started to slowly move to your door. Your phone was inside, and you didn’t want to leave him outside alone. You could drive him back to his home, but you didn’t want to be responsible for him any longer than you had to. You weren’t sure why Kwan would leave him here like this, but you weren’t happy with that knowledge. 

Forgetting he was unstable, Hyunwoo hastily pushed off the wall to stop you from going inside. Although you didn’t understand what he was fearful of, you guessed it was because he wanted to stop you from calling someone.

“Hyunw-” you gasped as you felt him grip your waist firmly and begin to stumble.

Unlike before, he fell with you in his hold.

You staggered to the floor.

“Shit,” you hissed as you felt the heel of your palms burn from scraping the concrete floor. There was also an aching pain in your ass from falling backward on the hard ground.

Suddenly, the sound of a door clicking open stole your attention from the stinging in your hands. 

Standing with a startled expression was your handsome neighbor. His hair was wavy and fluffy, making you want to ruffle his locks. He wore black sweatpants with white stripes down the sides and a grey muscle tee. You wondered how such a cute face could be on a body like that. The contrast was eye-catching.

After four weeks of barely seeing him, you wanted to stay seated on the floor with your eyes glued to his. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you didn’t have the chance because Hyunwoo’s voice brought you back to your situation.

“Don’t worry,” Hyunwoo reassured your neighbor, hand waving him off as he tried to stand up. “Jus’a’lil accsh-ident.”

San’s expression soon turned into concern as his eyes darted from Hyunwoo to you. He quickly moved forward and held out his hand.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as he waited for you to accept. His voice was tender like the gaze he had cast toward you.

Even though now was your chance to feel his skin upon yours, part of you didn’t want to. You were too embarrassed at having been caught on the floor with your drunk ex somewhere behind you. You couldn’t even entertain your lingering crush on him at the moment. 

Because you didn’t want to make the situation any worse, you took his hand anyway and allowed him to pull you up. His hand was large around yours and cool to the touch. You muttered a thank you as he lifted you. He was stronger than you imagined, and you accidentally stumbled from the strength he used to help you stand.

His hands rested on your shoulders to steady you while yours came to rest on his biceps. A slight blush bloomed on your cheeks at the feel of his bare skin, and you quickly retracted your hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly then glanced behind you, not bothered with you having touched him.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m okay-”

Abruptly, San quickly held out a hand and grabbed Hyunwoo, stopping him from falling on you again and dragging you all to the floor. San’s other hand still rested on your shoulder.

He looked at you after studying Hyunwoo for a moment. “Can you walk?”

Once you nodded, San moved the hand that was on you to grab Hyunwoo. He could hold him up better. 

“Did you want him in your home, or should I rest him against the wall?” San questioned, quickly assessing Hyunwoo’s state. Although you both have never spoken to each other, the only form of exchange were head nods, you had heard his voice on occasions. Sometimes while he was on the phone or if his friends came over. Nevertheless, his voice was as smooth as you remembered. You would have indulged in the way it comforted you if it weren’t for this particular situation.  

“’M can walk!” Hyunwoo scoffed and attempted to push San’s hands from him. “Yn, tell ‘im to let me go.”

“Follow me,” you quickly said and ignored your ex’s whining. You didn’t want another neighbor to see what was happening. You stepped inside your apartment again, holding the door open as San helped Hyunwoo stagger in. You gestured to the couch then shut the door.

“Whatcha’ doing, man? I sh-aid ‘m can walk!”

San disregarded Hyunwoo’s pleads as he guided him to your couch. He eased your ex down on your couch, having to quickly push him back onto the cushions when Hyunwoo tried to stand again.

“You’ll be fine. Just sit for a while,” San said calmly to Hyunwoo, yet there was a firmness to it that made it sound more like a command than a light suggestion.

Hyunwoo huffed in his face but stayed seated finally.

“Yn,” Hyunwoo called. “He ca’eave now.” He gestured to San who was hovering near the couch in case Hyunwoo decided to kiss the floor again.

You glanced at San, wanting to tell him you were okay now, but part of you didn’t want him to go. Whether it be because you needed his strength if Hyunwoo were to fall again or if you simply wanted to be in his presence without standing near your mailbox.

As if San could sense your hesitancy, he offered, “I can stay if you want. I don’t mind.”

“But I do!” Hyunwoo protested.

“That’d be nice,” you sighed, a headache forming.

“It’s not ‘ike you’o ignore me,” Hyunwoo interjected; his body sagged against the cushions as if feeling defeated.

“May you give us a moment? Sorry. You can sit over there,” you asked San and pointed at your dining room across the room.

“Of course,” he answered politely and took a seat at your dining table. He pulled out his phone and averted his attention from you. You figured he did that more so out of courtesy than boredom. 

You moved closer to the couch to grab your phone.

“Why did Kwan leave you here?” you asked Hyunwoo. One of his hands reached up to grab your forearm. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes, lips tugged down in a frown.

“Something ‘bout me bein’ annoying. Sh-aid I needed to talk’o you.” He tugged, rougher than you believed he meant to, but it caused you to fall next to him on the couch. For some reason, your eyes quickly glanced at San, but he was still looking at his phone screen.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “What did you want to talk about?”

As you waited for his answer, you scrolled through your contacts to find Kwan.

“Us-h,” Hyunwoo said and gently rubbed your forearm. When he noticed your attention was heavily directed to your phone instead of him, he placed a hand on yours that was holding the device.

You finally glanced in his direction.

“Maybe we should talk about it another time,” you lied and tried to keep your voice low. Even though it was probably best to talk about that topic when he was sober, you didn’t want to talk about it at all. You felt the conversation would be redundant as you’ve already talked things through. At least, that’s how you felt.

“Pfft,” he scoffed and pushed himself farther into your cushions. Maybe he thought he could embed himself in your furniture so he couldn’t leave. “You’re ignorin’eh too much for me’o believe that.”

“Hyunwoo,” you sighed and gently removed his hand from yours. “It’s been a year already. I thought you moved on.”

As discreetly as you could, you began searching through your contacts. When you found Kwan’s name, you sent a quick text telling him to pick Hyunwoo up if he was sober.

“A year?” Hyunwoo wondered. The look on his face showed he didn’t realize how long it’s been. You barely have seen Hyunwoo after the breakup–could count the number of interactions you had with him on your hands. Sometimes it was at a shared friend’s event or through passing at local stores since you both lived in the same city. Regardless, it was never more than 15 minutes at a time.

Hyunwoo’s shoulders sagged, eyes squeezing shut as if to erase that thought from his mind. “Right,” he mumbled more to himself.

A vibration in your hand turned your gaze away from your ex. Luckily, Kwan was fine to come back. A silent sigh left your lips as you felt relieved that you wouldn’t have to drive him home.

“Get some rest, okay?” you said. You wanted to say you’d talk about it later, but you knew you didn’t want to, so you refrained from the offer.

Hyunwoo’s energy must have decreased exceptionally. He simply nodded and let his head fall back. Gently, you adjusted him so he was laying down. You waited for a few minutes in case he woke up and became needy again. When he didn’t, you carefully got up, placed his phone next to him, and went to where San was seated.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with this, but thank you for helping,” you said as you sat down across from him.

San tucked his phone into his pocket and sent you a reassuring smile. Your eyes flickered to his small dimples. You never saw them too much, but they always had your heart warm in your chest. They made him look much cuter. 

“You don't need to apologize,” San assured. “I’m sorry you had to get stuck with your drunk friend.” 

You opened your mouth to correct him, but why should you? It didn’t matter if San thought he was your friend or your ex. The details were irrelevant. 

Instead, you said, “I’m still grateful you helped me.”

“‘Course,” he murmured.

His gaze moved to your clasped hands on the table. You started to feel conscious of them under his stare and began to tuck them beneath the table. However, San was quick to stop the movement.

He slowly turned your hands over, palms up. You looked at him confused. 

“You should clean this,” he instructed kindly and traced a small area on your hands. 

You averted your gaze down quickly.

On both palms were red areas with scratch marks. The areas weren’t big, but you could still see the worry in San’s eyes. 

The warmth in your chest spread at the fact he cared about your wellbeing even though he didn’t really know you and the injuries weren’t major.

“Come,” he said and carefully rose from his chair. The layout of the apartment must be similar to his because he navigated to the kitchen sink with ease. That or he saw it when he sat at the table.

Silently, he turned on the facet, checking the temperature several times as the seconds passed. You watched with more attention required. You had never imagined the neighbor you’ve been smitten with would be in your apartment. Let alone helping you clean a wound.

You took the time to stare at his profile while his focus was on the running water. He had small stud earrings and his skin was light honey. His hair fell in front of his face, the wavy locks concealing his eyes. You were partly glad for that so he couldn’t see you staring…again.

Once San was satisfied, he hastily washed his hands and then held out a hand. You quickly placed a hand in his. Probably a little too fast, but you didn’t want to be caught distracted. 

He led your hand under the water. His movements were gentle as he cleaned your scrapes. For someone who was physically strong, he knew when to be tender. After he cleaned both hands, he dried them off with a clean towel you had handed him.

“Do you have band-aids?” he asked while drying your hands.  

“I’ll be fine,” you brushed off his question. Not because you didn’t have any, but because you already felt he did enough. You didn’t want him to think you were totally useless.

San chuckled lowly and peered at your face through his hair. You had the urge to move his hair to see him clearly but resisted.

“I know,” he said, “but just let me play doctor for a few more minutes.”

His teasing tone caught you off guard and you lowered your head to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

“I-I’ll go get them then,” you replied and left to retrieve them before he could stop you. You could hear the faint sound of his laughter as you moved to your bathroom.

You wished you weren’t so nervous being in his presence but after months of admiring from afar, you couldn’t stop fumbling over your words and thoughts.

When you came back, San was leaning against the kitchen counter, hands resting behind him on the countertop. The position had his shirt stretch slightly across his torso. While he had broad shoulders, his waist tapered to give him an attractive figure. His gaze was on your ex sleeping on your couch. You couldn’t read his expression and part of you wondered what he was thinking.

“Band-aids, Dr. Choi,” you announced and held out the box. 

San turned his head to you, a smile forming on his lips at your joke. He stood up straighter at the title and took the box from your hold.

“Thank you, Ms. Yn,” he played along. He pulled out some band-aids, picked the correct sizes, then started to open them.

“Now I’m not sure if you’re my patient or my assistant. I don’t think it’s appropriate for doctors to ask their patients to bring them items.”

You giggled at his dilemma and held out your hands when he gestured for them.

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” you teased, not taking the time to consider the multiple meanings that one sentence held.

Your response had San faltering in his movements, thumbs paused as he was in the middle of pressing the ends of the band-aid flat against your skin.

“I-I meant that I didn’t care if I was a patient or an a-”

You stuttered as you tried to explain yourself; however luckily for you, loud knocking interrupted you. 

The booming sounds of the knocks startled San and he quickly jumped away from you, letting the second band-aid flutter to the floor and a small yelp escaped his mouth. You bit your lower lip to stop smiling at his reaction. You hadn’t even considered that San might be easily scared. Before you could go down the rabbit hole of thinking of his other traits, another knock emitted.

There was a groan near the couch, and you realized the knocking must be Kwan.

You quickly went to the door and swung it open, not bothering to look through the peephole.

“Long time no see,” Kwan said with a smile that didn’t seem genuine. You had met him through Hyunwoo and while he liked you initially, he started to dislike you after your and Hyunwoo’s breakup.

“Hey,” you greeted. “He’s on the couch sleeping. I can help move him to the car.”

You stepped aside to let him in. As you were about to guide him to where Hyunwoo was, he stopped you.

“What did he tell you?”

“What?” you questioned as you shut the door.

“Do you know why I left him here?” Kwan asked, not bothering to explain himself. His voice was pretty hushed. Maybe he didn’t want to wake Hyunwoo.

“Something about him being annoying,” you recalled.

Kwan scoffed. “That, but also because he’s been so pathetic lately. All he talks about is you and how you broke his heart.”

You gave him a confused expression; you didn’t like where this was going.

“The breakup was mutual. How could I br-”eak his heart? You stopped yourself from asking because there was no point. You knew Kwan would just formulate a reason that would make you feel guilty. Although you didn’t want to hurt Hyunwoo, you both ended the relationship in agreement. You were simply going in different directions in life. 

“Look,” you sighed. “He isn’t my responsibility, and he needs to move on. We’re not getting back together.”

You stood your ground even when Kwan sent a cold glare in your direction.

“Even if we did, you think I would be happy? You think me being unhappy would make Hyunwoo happy?” you tried to explain.

“You could be happy if you just-”

“No,” you stopped him with a raised hand. “I’ve moved on. Hyunwoo is a good guy-” Kwan scoffed. “-But I don’t see a future with him.”

“You’re so-!”

“Kwan?”

Both you and Kwan moved further into the apartment at his name being called. Hyunwoo sat up on the couch and began to stand. For once you were grateful for Hyunwoo. You didn’t want to hear the rest of Kwan’s sentence; it was most likely filled with profanities. 

“Hey, buddy.” Kwan moved to help Hyunwoo stand. “You ready to go?”

Hyunwoo hummed and then looked at you.

“Call me later, ‘kay?” He spoke slowly, voice a little groggy.

You stilled at the question. You would call if he wasn’t going to try to convince you to get back together, but every conversation after the breakup consisted of him dropping hints of wanting to be with you again.

You must have stayed silent for too long because Hyunwoo exhaled a defeated sigh. Kwan sent you another scowl, threatening with his gaze to say yes.

“It’s fine. Never mind,” Hyunwoo said and waved his hand as if to push away the question that was hanging in the air.

“Why can’t you just talk to him like an adult, Yn?” Kwan interrupted rudely.

“It’s fine, Kwan,” Hyunwoo repeated. “‘M not gonna’ force-”

“No, Hyun, you deserve a simple talk with her.” Kwan directed his attention to you again. “It’s the least she can do.”

You stared at him incredulously. He’s acting as if you cheated on Hyunwoo with ten guys, but you didn’t do such a thing. Why would Hyunwoo agree to break up if he really didn’t want to?

“There’s nothing else to say,” you argued.

“Evidently that’s a lie because Hyunwoo’s been moping-”

“How is that my fault?” you snapped.

“Are you serious, Yn?!” Kwan exclaimed.

“If she doesn’t want to call, then she doesn’t want to call.”

The new voice had all three of you turning toward the kitchen. You had forgotten San was still here in the midst of your personal chaos. San’s once calm demeanor turned fierce. You had never seen this side of San, but you had a suspicion he was holding back on saying more. 

Kwan let out a dry laugh.

“Ah, I see,” he said and shook his head. “When did you find him? A day before you broke up with Hyun?”

San clenched his jaw, body tensed as he forced himself to stay put when all he wanted to do was kick him out. Maybe not with force... Unless he had to. He saw himself as a lover, not a fighter, but that didn't matter if you were in danger.

It was clear Kwan had made a false persona of you. You were sure he believed you had done something sinister to Hyunwoo that led to the breakup. Though, it also made you realize that Hyunwoo let him believe that. Did he even try to save your face?

“I think it’s time for you to go. Thanks for picking him up,” you said and disregarded Kwan’s gibe. You didn't need, nor want, to listen to him anymore.

You moved toward the door, but Hyunwoo and Kwan didn’t follow.

“Will you call him?” Kwan asked sternly. He wasn’t going to leave unless you agreed.

Exasperated, you opened your mouth to say fine, but San cut you off.

“It’s clear she has nothing more to say. Drop it and leave.”

“The question wasn’t directed to you, pretty boy,” Kwan said, rolling his eyes.

“Yet you’re meddling with issues they need to solve on their own,” San retorted. His eyes were glued to Kwan’s. If San had acted like this when you first saw him, you would have avoided him at all costs. Everyone has their dark side, per se, but San’s was much darker than you had imagined for someone who seemed like a loving cat. 

“I have to because Hyun won’t gro-!”

“Let’s just go. M’ head’s killing me, man,” Hyunwoo said, body struggling to stay upright any longer. Although he wasn’t completely sober, the nap at least knocked some sense in him.

Kwan pressed his lips together but began to walk toward the door. You held the door open and watched as they made their way to the exit. 

As they passed you, Hyunwoo tripped. You reached out to grab him, but Kwan held a hand to stop yours. The quick action had startled you and you pulled back. You could hear San’s hurried footsteps as he came closer. You weren’t entirely sure why he was suddenly by your side, but you guessed it was in case Kwan tried to do something.

“Don’t touch him,” Kwan snarled at you and led him out the door without your help.

The second they were out the door, you shut and locked it.

You pressed your back against the door and inhaled a deep breath. Your eyes stilled on the ceiling, trying to ease your tense shoulders as the seconds ticked by.

“Do they visit often?” San asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“No. They haven’t been here in a long time,” you said and glanced down at your feet. Why did Kwan have to stir up unwanted emotions? 

“If they come back, you can just call me and I’ll come over,” he said earnestly. 

“They won’t harm me. I don’t need to burden you.”

“They are capable of it, though, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You looked up at San, head tilting as you tried to force yourself to be rational. The sentence had butterflies flapping in your stomach that you tried to ignore. He was just being friendly–probably would say that to anyone. Knowing how sweet and protective he seemed to be could confirm that suspicion. 

“Thanks,” you muttered. “But I still don-”

“What’s your number?”

You stuttered incoherent words as you tried to grasp his question. In the back of your head, you knew he was asking so you could call him if you needed his help. Though, you couldn’t stop the thought of him asking you this for another reason.

“Should I just give you mine instead?” San chuckled softly when you didn’t answer right away.

“No- I mean sure- No, wait, I can just give you mine.” 

San laughed again and pulled his phone out. He navigated his way to his contacts and added a new one.

“Number?” he asked again.

This time, you gave it to him.

“I sent you a text so you have my number. I’m serious; let me know if they come back. You won’t be bothering me. I’ll probably come over if I hear them anyway.”

“Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

San gave you a small smile. “Because I can’t let my mail buddy get hurt.”

“W-what?” you gasped and looked at him with wide eyes. San laughed, a corner of his lips quirking up in a smirk. The sound of his laughter had you smiling involuntarily; however, they quickly dipped down when he continued.

“You’re not very discrete,” San said teasingly.

“What would I need to be discreet about?”

“You know, I kept thinking I had food or something on my face,” he started to say, “but then I just realized you simply enjoyed looking at me.”

San grinned wider, eyes turning into crescents as he watched your expression change into horror and embarrassment. 

“I’m s-sorry!” you said. You were uncertain what else to say and you sure weren’t going to admit the reason why. The embarrassment you felt now would last a solid six months, even more. You didn’t want to add additional time. However, it seemed San was having fun seeing you flustered. 

“Why sorry? Who said I didn’t like it?”

A small yelp left your lips, and you brought your hands to your face to hide your flushed cheeks.

“Why haven’t you been coming to the mailboxes lately? I was getting worried.” Although San’s tone was still light, you could catch the hint of concern.

“I went.” Not entirely a lie because you did go, but very briefly and at times that no one would be there. “Must have missed each other.”

San quirked an eyebrow up in disbelief. “I highly doubt that,” he said and gave you an encouraging smile to tell the truth.

“F-fine!” you huffed and pulled your hands from your face. “I didn’t want to creep you out.”

San stared at you long enough to make you feel awkward. You were about to apologize again when San spoke.

“Why would a pretty girl staring at me creep me out? I found it endearing.”

You were sure your cheeks were already pink. Now, they’re bright red.

“Don’t say that,” you said bashfully.

“Mhm,” he hummed as if in thought and kept a smile on his face. “Very cute indeed.”

His reply made you feel he was talking to himself. You hadn’t prepared for San to say such things. Even when you daydreamed of interactions with him, they never turned out like this.

“Would you be okay with hanging out together sometime? Not just when you’re in need of a knight in– Actually, I guess I would be a doctor in sweats instead of a knight.”

You laughed at his joke, recalling how he had tended to your wounds ever so carefully. The lighthearted tone had eased your nervousness. 

“Yeah, I would like that,” you answered with a smile of your own. 

San nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you asked, surprised. You were excited to finally be able to learn more about San, but tomorrow felt too soon. You needed time to mentally prepare.

“About five? I would say earlier, but it’s already so late that I doubt either one of us will want to be up early.”

At the mention of time, you quickly reached for your phone to check. However, you had left it somewhere and from where you stood, you couldn’t see the clock in your kitchen.

“It’s two,” San said.

“O-oh wow. I’m sorry I kept you up.” You didn’t realize how long it’s been–how long you’ve been keeping San from sleeping.

“You apologize a lot, huh?” San observed to which you blushed again. “It’s okay, really. Don’t stress about it. I wanted to stay. So, what do you say? Tomorrow at five?”

“Where will we go?”

San shrugged. “I haven’t thought about that yet. Just wear whatever you feel comfortable in. I’m sure you’ll look b- I’m sure it won’t be anything fancy.”

San’s cheeks turned their own shade of rose as he quickly changed his sentence. Despite not knowing what he was going to say, you felt your heart beat a little quicker with the thought of what he had planned.

I’m sure you’ll look beautiful.

It may not be exact, but you let yourself indulge in what could be a false statement because it made you feel good. His pink cheeks were a good hint that you were probably correct, though.

It felt good to have him finally feel shy. It gave you some confidence. 

“Okay then,” you said. “Tomorrow at five.”

San beamed at you. You couldn’t wait to see more of his smile.

“If they ever come back, call me. I don’t care if it’s four in the morning, okay? You have my number.”

“Okay,” you said and reluctantly moved off the door so you could open it.

“You mean it?”

“I do.”

And you did.

Because Choi San was such a caring person you could feel how genuine he was being. You hadn’t wanted to call him at first because you weren’t sure if he was just saying that to be polite. However, you could sense he was being serious with every fiber in his body. Plus, you believed him when he said he would come on his own accord if he heard anyone disturb you.

You slowly opened the door for him and watched as he stepped outside, hands digging into his pocket to retrieve his keys.

Before he stepped into his own apartment, he glanced at you.

“Sleep well, Ms. Yn,” he said sweetly.

You giggled at his reference. Playing along, you replied, “Goodnight, Dr. Choi.”

The warm smile on his handsome face was the last thing you could think of as you fell asleep, eager and anxious for tomorrow. 

You weren’t sure where your and San’s relationship was going to go, whether it will be platonic or not. One thing was for sure, though. You wanted Choi San in your life simply because he brought a light you weren’t going to be able to replicate. And that alone was cherishable enough.

ATEEZ COMEBACK LET’S GO!!!!! I’M SO HYPED FOR IT. THESE PROMOTIONS ARE CREATIVE AND INCREDIBLE. I’m extremely amazed by the marketing strategies–unannounced posters, AirDropped codes??? These trailers for their movie comeback? Hello?! Stan Ateez lol. I love that they’re using their storyline to guide their promos. Also, my favorite stage on Kingdom was their Rhythm Ta performance, so I’m very anxious to see what all they’ve been working on. Anyway, I’m just excited to get more into the Ateez community. I need more fellow Atinys in my life! Please be my friend 😫 lol