「⋆· Anet ·⋆」

When you join YG Entertainment as a project coordinator, you promise yourself that you’ll never let the glare of the spotlight blind you to the price people pay for it. You’ve seen artists turned into products, ordinary human mistakes turned into headlines, and a single blurry photograph destroy the life of someone whose name the public didn’t even know.

And then you meet Jiyong. For the first few months, you orbit each other with professional distance. You oversee schedules, technical requirements, and budgets, while he comes up with ideas that are as brilliant as they are impossible to execute within the given timeframe. Jiyong is used to people either trembling nervously in his presence or nodding in agreement before he even finishes a sentence. All he has to do is suggest changing the entire final sequence two hours before showtime, and his managers immediately start scrambling to make the impossible happen.

You’re the one who looks up from the documents and calmly says, “That can’t be changed today, Jiyong,” while a silence so deep settles around the table that you can hear the distant hum of the air conditioning from the next room. “The technicians wouldn't have enough time to run another safety inspection on the hydraulics. You can have the lights you want or the moving stage elements, but for safety reasons, you can’t have both without another inspection. So choose.”

Jiyong stares at you with his lips slightly parted for several long seconds. He isn’t used to disrespect, but he’s even less accustomed to someone treating him with complete ease. There’s no fear in your voice, and no attempt to humiliate him. There’s only reality, something everyone else always tries to sugarcoat before presenting it to him.

“Did you just tell me no?” he finally asks, the faintest hint of amusement appearing at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m telling you that the laws of physics aren’t going to make an exception just because it’s a BigBang concert,” you reply, lowering your eyes to the documents again. “So, which one is it going to be?”

Jiyong laughs quietly and chooses the original hydraulic platform over the additional lights. The meeting moves on, and by that afternoon, you’ve almost forgotten the entire exchange.

But he hasn’t, and that’s the day he starts noticing you. At first, it’s only small things that can easily be explained away as coincidences. Jiyong begins sitting across from you during meetings, even though he used to claim the seat closest to the screen. He appears in the production office more often, despite being able to get most of the information from his manager. Whenever someone makes a funny remark, his gaze automatically drifts toward you, as though watching your reaction and hearing your laughter matters more to him than the punchline itself.

Then the morning coffee starts. Every time Jiyong orders his iced Americano after arriving at the studio, a second cup appears on the corner of your desk a few minutes later. It’s exactly how you like yours, with a splash of oat milk and no sugar.

The first time, you assume someone mixed up the orders. The second time, you glance suspiciously toward the door. The third time, Jiyong stops by your desk and places the cup next to your laptop himself.

“I heard you yawning when you came in,” he remarks in a low, slightly raspy voice, leaning against the edge of your desk. He slips his hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, and his dark eyes settle on you with far too much attention for something as simple as handing you a coffee. “You were still here after ten last night... Drink it before the ice melts.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to order me a coffee every time you get one for yourself,” you reply, forcing yourself to maintain the same matter-of-fact tone you use with him during meetings.

“I don’t have to,” Jiyong agrees, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But I want to.”

“That’s exactly the part that concerns me a little...”

His smile widens. “Think of it as a bribe so you won’t be so hard on me at the next meeting.”

“Then you’re bribing the wrong person.”

“I know,” he says quietly, looking at you for a moment in a way that stirs a strange uneasiness inside you. Then he straightens up and walks into the main studio as though he hasn’t just said anything significant.

You should have stopped his attention right then. You could have refused the coffee, established firmer boundaries, and prevented his small gestures from becoming a regular part of your days. But Jiyong is never pushy. When you’re busy, he doesn’t demand your attention, when you tell him you don’t have time for his latest idea, he only smiles and leaves, saying he’ll come back later. He never tries to corner you or use his position against you, he simply keeps returning...

He remembers things you mention only in passing, brings you something to eat when meetings keep you from taking a lunch break, and when you lean against your desk after a long day and tiredly rub your forehead, his voice automatically softens as he talks to the others, as if he doesn’t want to disturb you. His interest isn’t loud, and that’s precisely why it gets so dangerously deep under your skin…

The worst part is his eyes... Jiyong doesn’t look at you the way men do when they expect their attention to be rewarded. There’s curiosity, admiration, and growing desire in his gaze, none of which he makes much effort to hide. It’s as though he’s fascinated by the simple fact that his name, his face, and his success don’t seem to affect you the way he’s used to. Meanwhile, you do everything you can to pretend that he doesn’t affect you at all.

︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶

On your birthday, an enormous bouquet of snow-white lilies sits in the middle of your desk. It’s too large, too expensive, and above all, too conspicuous for you to pretend it’s nothing more than an innocent birthday gesture from one colleague to another. Their heavy, sweet scent fills the entire office, and several people peer curiously through the open door as they pass.

A small card made from thick, textured paper is tucked between the flowers. Jiyong’s handwriting is slightly uneven, as though he wrote the message with a tired hand late at night after returning from the studio.

Happy birthday! I hope you’ll smile at me at least once today... J.

You hold the card between your fingers longer than necessary. Although his words warm you in a way you refuse to acknowledge, the sight of the enormous bouquet fills you with unease. It’s only a matter of time before someone figures out who sent it, and that is exactly what you’ve been trying to prevent ever since you first noticed Jiyong’s interest.

About an hour later, he appears in your office doorway. He rests one hand against the frame, a subtle, almost boyish smile on his face that does little to hide his anticipation. His gaze immediately drops to the flowers before returning to you.

“Do you like them?” he asks as he steps inside, pretending he’s simply passing by rather than having spent the past hour waiting for the first opportunity to see your reaction.

“They’re beautiful,” you answer honestly, and a bright light immediately appears in Jiyong’s eyes. His smile widens, only to vanish almost as quickly when you add, “But I can’t keep them.”

For several seconds, he only stares at you in confusion. Then his brows furrow slightly, and his smile disappears completely. “Why?”

“Because you’re an artist I work with,” you explain, carefully placing the card beside your keyboard. “This is too personal.”

Jiyong glances at the bouquet as though trying to understand what could possibly be so dangerous about it. “They’re just flowers...”

“They’re flowers from a man whose picture ends up online every time he gets close to a woman,” you remind him, briefly glancing toward the open door as one of the assistants walks past. “People notice everything you do...”

Jiyong slowly moves farther into your office and closes the door behind him. He doesn’t do it sharply or angrily, but the movement still feels far too intimate. “There aren’t any photographers in here,” he objects, stopping in front of your desk.

“But there are people.”

“Let them think whatever they want,” he says with a small shrug, as if other people’s opinions truly carry no weight.

“You can afford not to care what they think,” you say, nervously straightening several papers even though they’re already perfectly aligned. “I can’t.”

Jiyong falls completely silent for several seconds. His gaze slowly moves from your hands back to your face, and a strange mixture of disappointment and uncertainty appears in his eyes.

“So, you don’t like them?” he asks, his voice quieter than before.

“I said they’re beautiful, but—”

“—but you still don’t want them...” he finishes for you, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You force yourself to nod. “No, I don’t.”

Jiyong slowly steps closer to the desk. His gaze falls on the card you placed beside your keyboard, and he stares at it in silence for several seconds. “What about the card?” he finally asks. “You can’t keep that either?”

The question sounds far more personal in his mouth than it should. The card isn’t expensive or conspicuous, no one would know who it came from if you hid it in a drawer. Still, you’re afraid that by accepting it, you would be accepting much more than a few handwritten words...

“You can take that too,” you answer after a moment’s hesitation, forcing yourself to hold his gaze so your response sounds as certain as possible, even though you aren’t certain at all.

For the first time, you see something resembling genuine hurt on Jiyong’s face. It isn’t loud or dramatic. His jaw simply tightens for a moment, his shoulders slump slightly, and pain flickers in his eyes before he can hide it from you.

Then he gives you a weak smile, reaches for the card, lifts it from the desk, and slowly slips it into his jeans pocket. His fingers linger on the edge of the paper for a moment, as though he doesn’t want to take it back.

“Happy birthday, Y/N. I hope you enjoy your day exactly the way you want to...” he adds quietly. Then he gathers the bouquet into his arms and leaves your office without another word.

Two hours later, you see the white lilies again. They no longer form one enormous, conspicuous bouquet. Jiyong has divided them among smaller vases that now sit on the desks of the assistants, receptionists, and cleaning staff. The women around them smile and admire their scent, unaware of who the flowers were originally meant for. You have no reason to keep thinking about it, and yet long after you return home, you still find yourself thinking about the card hidden in his pocket and the brief flash of pain in his eyes when you gave it back…

︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶

The greatest test comes two weeks before the tour begins. Jiyong catches you by the elevators late one evening, when most of the floor is already empty. You hold several folders against your chest while mentally going through the list of final changes that need to be completed before departure. Jiyong steps out of the studio in black jeans and a loose shirt, his hair disheveled after a full day of rehearsals, exhaustion softening some of his usual untouchability.

“Y/N,” he calls, quickening his pace to reach you before the elevator doors open. He doesn’t block your path or touch you, he only stops beside you and spends several seconds searching for the right words. “Come to dinner with me tonight.”

Your fingers tighten around the folders, but Jiyong continues before you can refuse him. “I know a small, private place in the hills above the city. No photographers, no one from the agency, and no work documents. Just dinner.”

His voice is calm, but there’s an uncertainty in his eyes that you’ve almost never seen in him. You know he isn’t inviting you because he’s bored. You know it every time he looks at you, and that is exactly why you need to protect yourself.

“I can’t,” you answer, lowering your eyes to the numbers above the elevator. “I still need to finish the budgets, and we have an early meeting tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t mean it has to be tonight,” Jiyong says quickly, a quiet urgency slipping into his voice. “It can be tomorrow, or after the concert, or whenever you want...”

The elevator doors open, but you don’t move. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes because you’re afraid you’ll see exactly what you’ve been running from for months.

“It isn’t about the time,” you finally admit, and a silence settles between you. When you eventually turn toward him, Jiyong’s expression is motionless, though his jaw tightens slightly.

“Then what is it about?”

“All of this…” you make a small gesture toward him, the building, and the entire world attached to his name. “I don’t want to be a part of all this...”

Pain appears in his eyes for the briefest moment. He hides it quickly, but not quickly enough to keep you from seeing it.

“I understand,” he says quietly, taking a step back. He suddenly looks more tired than he did only seconds ago, as though your answer has drained the last of his energy. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask again, and I won’t bother you.”

You enter the elevator, and as the doors close, Jiyong remains standing in the empty hallway with his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the floor. You know you’re hurting him to protect yourself, but you don’t understand why it’s beginning to hurt you just as much...

︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶

Jiyong feels like he’s losing his mind... You’re everything he hasn’t been able to find in an industry full of calculation and hidden motives. You’re honest, kind, and completely genuine. You never try to win his attention, and that’s precisely why he wants to give you all the attention he has. He notices the patience with which you calm anxious dancers before they step onto the stage, how you bring warm tea to a sound engineer who has been sitting at the console for almost fifteen hours, and how sincerely you laugh with people who can just be themselves around you.

You’re warm with everyone else, but with Jiyong, you’re polite yet detached, as if an invisible boundary surrounds him and you refuse to even look past it, let alone cross it. Jiyong tries to respect that boundary. He stops bringing you coffee and looking for excuses to linger near your desk. During meetings, he speaks to you only about work, and once they end, he leaves before the urge to invite you somewhere you could be alone together rises inside him again...

︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶

Another painful moment comes one evening in Seoul, a week before the tour starts. Jiyong stands by a window on the fifth floor of the building, looking down at the street. He sees you leaving with several technicians. One of them holds an umbrella over your head against the pouring rain, while another playfully nudges your shoulder. You laugh, nudging him back, as you head together toward a casual restaurant on the corner.

Jiyong grips the handle of his mug so tightly that his knuckles turn white. It isn’t just the fact that you’re laughing with other men that hurts him, it’s the ease with which you walk beside them. You don’t need to look around to see whether anyone is watching, you don’t have to worry about your face appearing online or a casual dinner turning into a public scandal. Those men can offer you something Jiyong never could, not even with all his money and influence...

The luxury of anonymity

They can take you to a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant, sit beside you at a plastic table, and make you laugh without security guards hovering around. They can become a seamless part of your life, while Jiyong feels as though his presence would turn your entire world upside down. His fame is a cage you refuse to be locked inside, and he has no idea how to convince you that he would protect you from all of it. That he would willingly give his life just to see you smile at him the way you would at any ordinary man, if you would only give him a chance...

︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶

The preparations for the tour gradually drain the last of Jiyong’s energy. He barely sleeps, constantly double-checking every detail of the show, suddenly needing to personally oversee everything he once delegated to others with complete ease. He throws himself into rehearsals with such intensity that it seems as though physical exhaustion is his only way to drown out his thoughts of you. On stage, he reviews camera angles, lighting, the movement of the hydraulic platforms, and every change in the choreography, while offstage, he maintains exactly as much distance from you as you asked for.

He stops bringing you coffee, stops appearing by your desk, and only speaks to you during meetings when it’s absolutely necessary. His behavior remains polite and professional, but the lightheartedness with which he once teased you is gone. Gone were the days when he would smile whenever you shot down one of his ideas, or keep you behind after a meeting with questions he already knew the answers to. He gives you exactly the distance you asked for. But now that you finally have it, you begin to realize how empty your days feel without him...

The tour kicks off with a massive wave of success. The first concert is completely sold out, fans keep screaming Jiyong’s name long after he leaves the stage, and once the show wraps up, the entire team heads to a private afterparty at a club near the hotel. The air is thick with laughter, clinking glasses, and loud music. The dancers embrace, production crew members raise their glasses to a successful launch, while you stand beside one of the high-top tables with a drink in your hand that you’ve barely touched. Your gaze keeps drifting back to the entrance because Jiyong hasn’t shown up, he hasn’t come to celebrate the triumph of opening night, and something about that feels wrong.

At first, you tell yourself he’s been delayed by a quick interview. Then you assume he’s changing clothes or dealing with something with his manager, but nearly an hour passes, and he is still nowhere to be seen. His absence begins to feel louder than all the music around you, and the uncomfortable pressure in your chest grows with every passing minute.

You take out your phone and open his contact. For several seconds, you only stare at his name on the screen before finally pressing the call button. The phone starts ringing, but after a few rings, the call suddenly cuts off. Jiyong has declined the call…

You remain standing with the phone pressed to your ear. He simply doesn’t want to speak to you. Perhaps he doesn’t want to speak to anyone at all... You should respect his decision. For months, you’ve made it clear that you don’t want his closeness, and now you have no right to expect him to answer his door just because you’ve finally begun to worry about the man you kept pushing away.

Still, only a few minutes later, you’re making your way through the crowd toward the exit. You don’t need to ask anyone where Jiyong is because you know his habits well enough to understand that he hasn’t returned to the agency or gone out in the city after the concert. When he’s exhausted and his own thoughts become too loud, he retreats into the deepest isolation he can find... Right now, that isolation is his suite on the top floor of the hotel. A luxurious emptiness where no one asks anything of him, an emptiness he has spent months trying to fill with your presence…

︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of the door to his suite, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm the frantic beating of your heart. No sound reaches you from the hallway, and there isn’t the slightest movement from behind the door. For a moment, you wonder whether Jiyong might be asleep, but then you remember the declined call and raise your hand to knock. When nothing happens, you knock again, louder this time.

“Jiyong?” you call, stepping closer to the door. “I know you’re in there...”

Nothing happens for a long moment. Then you hear muffled footsteps, and the door opens only a few inches. Jiyong remains in the narrow gap, one hand resting on the handle and the other braced against the frame. He’s wearing nothing but black sweatpants and an unbuttoned shirt. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he has washed all the makeup from his face. Without it, the dark circles under his eyes look even more pronounced.

When he sees you, his entire body visibly stiffens. “What are you doing here?” he asks in a hoarse, exhausted voice. His gaze drops to the phone you’re still holding before returning to your face. “I don’t want to talk to anyone, I want to be alone.”

“I know,” you answer quietly, even though his cold tone cuts deeper than it should. “But you weren’t at the afterparty. Can I come in?”

Jiyong is silent for several seconds. Exhaustion mixed with something resembling pain appears in his eyes, but he doesn’t close the door. Eventually, he steps back, silently allowing you inside. The suite is enormous, luxurious, and almost completely dark. Only one dim lamp glows in the corner, and the city at night stretches beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. An unopened bottle of water stands on the table, and Jiyong’s phone lies face down beside the sofa.

Jiyong walks past you and returns to the wide marble windowsill where he was likely sitting before you arrived. He draws one leg closer to his body, rests his forehead against the cold glass, and completely ignores you for several long seconds.

“I told you I wanted to be alone,” he repeats quietly without turning around. “You didn’t have to come here.”

“I wanted to know if you were okay...”

At your words, his shoulders tense slightly. He slowly lifts his head from the glass and looks at your reflection in the window.

“Why?” he asks, his voice sounding so empty that your stomach tightens. “Why would you care?”

“Because I care about you.”

Jiyong lets out a short, almost disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing joyful about it. It sounds desperate. He slowly turns and slides down from the windowsill to stand on the floor.

“You care about me?” he repeats, and the first flicker of the emotions he’s been trying to hide appears in his eyes. “Is that why you won’t spend even a single hour with me unless there are work documents in front of us?”

“Jiyong...”

“No,” he interrupts, taking another step toward you. He doesn’t raise his voice, but his quiet desperation fills the room more powerfully than shouting ever could. “You came here, so finally tell me... Please.”

He stops several steps away from you. His hands are clenched at his sides as though he has to physically restrain himself from reaching for you.

“What am I supposed to tell you?” you ask in confusion, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“I saw you with them,” he continues, lowering his eyes for a moment. “That evening in Seoul. I saw you leaving with the technicians and going to the restaurant across the street. You were laughing with them. One of them held an umbrella over you so you wouldn’t get soaked, and you looked at them in a way you’ve never looked at me...”

“There wasn’t anyone else,” you say quickly, but Jiyong shakes his head.

“It isn’t just about them,” he says, and the pain in his voice burrows directly under your skin. “I know exactly why you can go out with them but not with me. They can walk down the street with you, sit in a casual restaurant, and have dinner without anyone noticing you. When you’re beside them, you don’t have to wonder whether someone is taking pictures or if your face will be all over the internet the next morning.”

He drags a hand across his face, and his voice begins to tremble.

“They can give you a normal life. The luxury of anonymity... And I know I’ll never be able to give you that, no matter how hard I try...”

He raises his eyes to yours. They’re glossy and bloodshot with exhaustion, but this time, there aren’t only suppressed tears in them. They hold all the desperation of a man who has spent months trying to understand why keeping as far away from him as possible seems like the safest choice for you.

“But why are you giving me the cold shoulder?” he asks, and his voice finally breaks. “Why can’t you stay in the same room with me for five minutes unless it’s about work? What am I doing wrong?”

He takes another step toward you, and you can feel his frustration and his need for an answer growing with every passing second.

“I’ve never tried to force you into anything, and I’ve respected everything you told me. I stopped bringing you coffee, stopped coming to your office, and never tried to invite you somewhere we could be alone together again... I tried to give you exactly what you wanted, but I still feel like my mere presence makes you uncomfortable.” The first tear slips down his cheek. “Do you really find me that hard to be around?”

“No,” you breathe immediately, and the force of your answer surprises both of you. “Jiyong, no. It isn’t like that at all...”

“Then what is it?” he asks desperately, his voice echoing off the high walls of the suite. He immediately quiets down, as though even that brief outburst has drained the last of his strength. “Because I don’t know what else to do, Y/N... Everyone tells me I can have anything I want. All I have to do is say the word...” He shakes his head, and another tear slides down his cheek. “But I don’t want just anything... I don’t want another award or another person who agrees with me because they’re too afraid to tell me the truth. I want you... I want to sit beside you even when you ignore me half the time... I want to bring you coffee and hear you tell me I bought it for nothing again. I want to be the reason you smile the way you smiled at them…at least once...”

Jiyong releases a trembling breath and looks directly into your eyes.

“I’ve spent years waiting for someone who could look at me and see a normal guy, and when I finally find you...you reject me. So, please tell me why. Tell me what’s so wrong with me, and I’ll never try to get close to you again.”

The sight of him tears through the last pieces of the defensive wall you’ve spent months building around yourself. The man who stood before tens of thousands of people only a few hours ago and appeared untouchable is now standing in front of you with tears on his face, begging for an explanation because he can’t understand that he was never the problem.

You slowly raise your hand and place your palm against his hot, damp cheek. Your thumb wipes away the tear under his eye, and Jiyong sharply draws in a breath at the first touch. His entire body stiffens, as though he’s afraid to move and discover that he only imagined the moment.

“You aren’t the problem,” you whisper, finally allowing him to see everything you’ve been trying to hide from him for so long. “It’s the opposite... I don’t keep my distance because I don’t want you. I keep my distance because I’m afraid of how badly I want you, and everything that could happen if I let you get closer to me...”

Jiyong stares at you with his lips slightly parted and trembling, as if he wants to speak but needs time to absorb every word and understand it.

“I’m afraid of your world,” you continue, gently brushing your fingers over his cheekbone. “I’m afraid of the tabloids, the fans, and the madness that follows you everywhere... I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with you and everything around you will crush me to dust...”

Jiyong remains completely still. You watch his exhausted mind slowly process the meaning of your words, and the pain in his eyes begins to transform into such profound relief that a quiet, broken sound escapes him. He lowers his head and rests his forehead against your shoulder. His arms hang helplessly at his sides for several seconds before slowly wrapping around your waist. You feel his tears soaking through the fabric of your blouse and the slight trembling of his body with every breath.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispers against your neck. “I’d do anything to protect you from that world,” he adds, holding you tighter, with even more desperation.

He lifts his head and looks into your eyes. There’s still vulnerability in his gaze, but cautious hope begins to rise beneath it, as though he still can’t believe that everything you’ve just told him is real. He doesn’t move any closer. He only continues holding you around the waist, afraid that any further movement might send you running again.

So this time, you move first. Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his open shirt, pulling him closer before you press your lips to his without any further hesitation. The first touch of your mouths is soft and almost uncertain. Jiyong returns your kiss carefully, as though he still expects you to push him away, but when you press closer and part your lips against his, a deep, trembling breath escapes his throat.

His kiss deepens, and his fingers sink into your hair. His other arm circles your waist firmly, pulling you so close that no space remains between your bodies. You can feel the frantic beat of his heart, the heat of his skin, and the growing hardness pressing against you through the fabric of his sweatpants.

Jiyong kisses you hungrily, but caution remains in every movement. His tongue slowly strokes yours as though he wants to savor every second of finally being allowed this close to you. When your first quiet moan slips into his mouth, his fingers tighten in your hair.

“You can still leave,” he breathes against your lips, pulling back only far enough to look into your eyes. His breath is hot and uneven, but beneath all his desire remains the fear that you came to him only out of pity. “I don’t want you to regret any of this in the morning...”

“Do you want me to leave?” you ask, slowly running your fingers over the exposed skin of his chest.

“No,” he answers immediately, his eyes closing under your touch. “God, no.”

“Then kiss me again...”

Jiyong doesn’t need any further encouragement. His mouth returns to yours, and this time, he slowly guides you toward the bed. He doesn’t stop kissing you even when the backs of your knees meet the mattress. He gently lowers you onto the soft white sheets and remains above you, supporting himself on his forearms so he doesn’t place his full weight on your body.

For several long seconds, he only looks at you. In the dim light of the lamp, his face is still marked by tears and exhaustion, but his eyes shine. His gaze slowly travels over your face, neck, and body, as though he’s trying to convince himself that the woman who rejected him for months is truly lying beneath him, her fingertips moving over his bare chest under his open shirt.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask quietly, because his stillness is becoming almost unbearable.

“I’m trying to understand whether this is real,” he admits, gently brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “I’ve imagined what it would be like if you ever stopped rejecting me, but it was never like this...”

“Like what?”

Jiyong lowers his head and kisses the sensitive spot under your ear. “This perfect.”

His lips slowly glide down your neck while his fingers begin undoing the buttons of your blouse. He doesn’t rush. Every newly exposed patch of skin is stroked first and then covered with a long, wet kiss, as though he’s trying to make up for all the months when he could only touch you with his eyes and in his imagination.

When the fabric slides off your shoulders, Jiyong stops again. His gaze drops to your lace bra, and his chest rises with a deep breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and there’s no practiced flattery in his voice. There’s only pure, undisguised admiration in his voice.

“You haven’t even seen all of me yet,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, but the final word breaks into a moan when his palm covers your breast for the first time.

“I’ll fix that,” he murmurs, slowly brushing his thumb over your nipple through the delicate lace. He watches your face as he repeats the movement. When your breath catches under his touch, a satisfied light appears in Jiyong’s eyes. He’s fascinated that you, the woman who has seemed so unreachable for months, react so sensitively to his touch and his closeness.

Jiyong unhooks your bra and slowly pulls the straps off your shoulders. The moment your breasts are bare before him, he lets out a quiet curse. He carefully cups them in his palms, brushing his thumbs over your hardened nipples and spending several seconds simply watching the way your body tightens under his touch. Then he lowers his head and draws one nipple between his lips.

The moan that escapes you echoes through the quiet suite far louder than you intended. Jiyong closes his eyes at the sound, and his tongue begins slowly circling the sensitive peak. He sucks gently at first and then more firmly, while the fingers of his other hand tease your other breast.

“Jiyong...” you breathe, your fingers sinking into his hair.

The sound of his name from your lips visibly shakes him. He groans against your skin and presses his entire body against yours for a moment, as though that single sound has stripped away the last of his control.

“Say it again,” he murmurs hoarsely, moving his mouth to your other breast.

“Jiyong...”

This time, he lightly catches your nipple between his teeth, and your hips lift uncontrollably against his body. You can feel how hard he is, and the movement pulls a deep, muffled sound from his throat.

“I’ve wanted to hear the way my name sounds from your lips while I touch you for months,” he admits, his palm slowly sliding down your stomach toward the fastening of your pants. “I had no idea it would do this to me...”

You help him pull his shirt off his shoulders and run your fingers over his smooth, heated skin. Beneath your palms, you feel tense muscles and the violent pounding of his heart. Jiyong lowers himself for another kiss while undoing your pants and slowly pulling them down over your hips.

When you’re left wearing nothing but thin panties, his hand pauses on your thigh. His long fingers travel upward along the inside, only to stop just before the place where you need him most. He watches every change in your expression, his own breathing becoming increasingly uneven.

“You spent so long pushing me away...” he whispers, brushing his fingertips over the damp fabric of your panties. “And you’re already this wet for me...”

Heat floods your cheeks, but this time, you don’t look away from him. You lift your hips and press yourself more firmly into his palm. Jiyong draws in a sharp breath at the movement.

“I thought you liked it when I didn’t give you everything right away.”

Jiyong lowers his head and presses his lips to the inside of your thigh. “I liked it much more before I knew what it was like to have you...”

His fingers catch the edge of your panties and slowly pull them down. When you’re completely naked before him, Jiyong goes still for a moment. His gaze burns across you, but there’s nothing in it that makes you want to cover yourself. He looks at you with such deep admiration and desire that you feel like the only woman in the world.

He spreads your thighs and kneels between them. The first touch of his tongue is slow. It glides across your clit so lightly that your entire body tenses in anticipation of the next movement. Jiyong grips your thighs more firmly and repeats the motion with greater pressure. You inhale loudly, your hips rising slightly off the mattress, and Jiyong moans directly against you.

His tongue alternates between slow strokes and firm circles around your clit. Every moan encourages him, and every restless movement of your hips awakens another wave of focused desire inside him, as though nothing matters more than discovering exactly how to touch you until your carefully guarded control finally falls apart.

When he carefully slides one finger inside you, you gasp sharply. His finger begins moving slowly, and after several moments, he adds a second. He stretches you gently but deeply, while his tongue continues teasing your clit. The combination of his mouth and long fingers drives you out of your mind far more quickly than you want to admit.

“Ji,” you moan, your nails digging into his skin.

He responds with a deep hum that you feel directly against your body. His fingers curl slightly inside you, touching a place that scatters the final remnants of thought behind your eyes. The tension low in your stomach tightens sharply. Jiyong recognizes how close you are from the way your thighs tighten around his shoulders. He quickens the movement of his tongue but keeps his fingers working inside you with the same deep, precise rhythm.

“Come for me,” he breathes against you. “I want to feel you come on my tongue.”

His words finally break you. Your orgasm tears through you with sudden force, your entire body tightening as a loud moan escapes your throat. Jiyong holds you firmly, his mouth still pressed against your clit while you clench around his fingers in intense waves. He doesn’t stop until the final tremors dissolve into oversensitivity, and a weak tug on his hair forces him to lift his head.

When he leans over you again, his lips are glistening and his gaze is almost black. His chest rises sharply with each rapid breath, and his hard cock strains against the fabric of his sweatpants so visibly that the sight makes your lower stomach tighten again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, lowering his head to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue, and the realization sends another rush of heat through your body.

“Like what?” you ask against his lips, your hands moving to the drawstring of his sweatpants.

Jiyong closes his eyes when your palm brushes over the hardness hidden beneath the fabric. “Like you finally want me as much as I want you...”

You untie the cord and slide your hand beneath his underwear. The moment your fingers wrap around his hard cock, Jiyong exhales sharply and rests his forehead against your shoulder.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groans as you slowly stroke him from the base to the tip.

His body tightens with every movement, and his hips press subtly into your hand. Jiyong, who always appears perfectly controlled around everyone else, falls apart under your touch just as easily as you did under his mouth moments ago...

You spread the pre-cum over his tip with your thumb and tighten your grip slightly. Jiyong crushes a quiet curse, his fingers closing around your wrist, but he doesn’t stop you. He only guides your hand more slowly along his entire length, as though showing you exactly what feels good.

“Did you imagine this too?” you ask, watching the expression of pure pleasure appear across his face.

“Far too often,” he admits, his voice catching with your next movement. “But in my imagination, you never tortured me like this.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

Jiyong opens his eyes and looks at you with hunger. Then he suddenly pulls your hand away, pinning it to the mattress beside your head.

“If you keep going, I’ll come before I’m inside you...” he breathes hoarsely, his hips pressing more firmly between your thighs. “And I don’t want that because I’ve waited too long for this.”

Before you can say anything, he presses his lips to yours, and this kiss is deeper, slower, and impossibly tender. He doesn’t rush, even though you can feel how urgently he presses against you. He touches you as if he wants to memorize every inch of your body, every shiver, and every moan he manages to draw from your lips.

He settles between your open thighs and slowly runs one hand along your side. His palm comes to rest on your waist, his fingers gently digging into your skin as he pulls you closer until the tip of his cock brushes against your wet entrance. Both of you exhale deeply at the first contact.

Then he slowly begins to push inside you. The first slide inside is deep but careful. Jiyong moves slowly, inch by inch, his lips pressed to your temple while his hot breath slides over your skin. You feel every movement, every small tremor of his body, and the way his fingers tighten around your waist as your body tightens around him.

When he finally slides all the way inside, both of you release a trembling breath. Jiyong remains completely still for several seconds. He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes tightly, as though the sensation of your body around him has struck him more powerfully than he expected. A quiet, broken sound catches in his chest, and his palms grip you more firmly.

“God,” he breathes directly against your lips. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You slowly run your fingers over his back and draw him even closer. That tiny movement is enough to release something inside him. Jiyong pulls almost completely out before sliding into you again with a slow, deep thrust that draws a loud moan from your throat.

His half-closed eyes immediately open, and he watches your face with complete fascination, as though nothing matters more than seeing how you react to him. Every thrust that follows is slow and long. He doesn’t move inside you mindlessly. He savors every inch, every clench of your body, and the way you arch under him. He kisses your mouth, cheeks, and neck in turn, while his hips maintain the same deep rhythm. One arm holds you firmly around the waist, as though he can’t bear even the smallest distance between your bodies, while his other hand moves over your thigh, hip, and breasts.

His touch isn’t hungry just for your body. It’s hungry for everything you have denied him for months. Your gaze, which no longer shifts away from him. Your hands, digging into his back. Your voice, whispering his name through the silence of the suite in a way he could only dream about until tonight...

“Jiyong,” you breathe when he changes the angle of his thrusts, and the next movement hits deep inside you, precisely where his fingers were touching you moments ago. The sound of his name makes his body shudder. He lowers his head and buries his face in your neck as his rhythm loses some of its original restraint for the first time.

“Say it again,” he whispers against your skin, his voice breaking under the weight of his own pleasure. “Please.”

“Jiyong...”

His hips move harder, a deep groan leaving his throat as his lips press against the sensitive place under your ear. Every thrust becomes more urgent than the last, but each one still holds a tenderness that surprises you. Jiyong holds you tightly, almost desperately, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear the moment he can no longer feel you under his hands.

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him even deeper. Jiyong groans loudly at the movement and stills inside you for a moment, buried as far as he can go. His fingers dig into your hip, and his entire body trembles above you.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes, lifting his head so he can look into your eyes. “For months, you looked at me as if you didn’t feel anything...” He slowly pulls out and thrusts deeply into you again. And now I can feel how perfectly you fit around me...”

His words send a sharp wave of heat through your entire body. You close your fingers in his hair and pull him into a deep kiss, your uneven moans blending together. Jiyong’s tongue meets yours again as the movements of his hips gradually quicken, and the headboard begins to softly knock against the wall.

Jiyong’s initial caution slowly breaks apart under the weight of his pleasure and the fact that you’re finally no longer rejecting him. His thrusts grow deeper and more urgent, but he never stops kissing or touching you, as though he needs to feel your entire body all at once.

One of his hands slips between your bodies. His fingers find your clit and begin caressing it in slow circles that gradually match the rhythm of his hips. Every movement deepens the pressure tightening low in your stomach again.

Jiyong immediately realizes how close you are and slows down only enough to keep every thrust long and deep, while his fingers continue teasing your clit. He watches your face, and his own expression dissolves into pure pleasure each time you shiver under him.

You open your eyes and meet his gaze. The tension low in your stomach tightens sharply, and your body clenches around him. Your orgasm moves through you in powerful, deep waves that make you arch against his body and cry out his name.

Jiyong groans at the sound, and his rhythm immediately falls apart. He thrusts deeply into you several more times while your body grips him tightly, then presses himself against you as closely as he can. His arms close around you, his face buries itself against your neck, and with one final deep thrust, his entire body goes rigid. You feel him trembling over you as he comes.

For several long seconds, neither of you moves. Jiyong remains lying over you, still supporting some of his weight on his forearms but refusing to put any distance between you. His hot breath slides over your neck, and his lips quietly brush your damp skin, as though he needs to keep kissing you even when he has no strength left for anything else.

When his body slowly begins to relax, he raises his head and looks at you. There are still traces of exhaustion and earlier tears in his eyes, but all the desperation that filled them when you arrived has disappeared, replaced by euphoria and profound relief.

Jiyong brushes the damp hair away from your forehead and then lowers his head to kiss you. It’s a long press of your lips that holds everything that has changed between you tonight. Then he lies beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. He covers your naked bodies with the blanket, wraps one arm securely around your waist, and buries his face in your hair.

︶ ྀི◟ ͜◞˚̣̣̣ ᪥ ˚̣̣̣◟ ͜◞ ྀི︶

Morning light begins to cut through the darkness beyond the suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows. The room no longer feels as cold as it did to Jiyong before you arrived. The warmth of your night together remains in the air, along with your mingled scent and a silence that, for the first time in months, doesn’t feel heavy.

You open your eyes, and the first thing you see is Jiyong. He’s lying on his side with one arm draped over your waist, watching you without moving. His face is peaceful in the morning light, free of makeup and all the layers of the public persona he shows the world. He looks like nothing more than a tired man who’s afraid you’ll wake up and immediately regret everything that happened between you...

“How long have you been staring at me?” you ask sleepily, and Jiyong smiles faintly.

“I don’t know,” he answers without looking away from your face for even a second. “I didn’t want to fall asleep and wake up to find you gone...” There’s such open uncertainty in his voice that your throat tightens.

Still, your rational thoughts begin to return with the morning light. Jiyong is still a man whose face is known by millions, and you’re still just the project coordinator for the tour. Outside are photographers, fans, and countless people who would create their own story from a single photograph of the two of you…

You carefully lift his arm off your waist and sit up. You pull the sheet against your chest and look at the clothes scattered across the floor.

Jiyong watches you, and you see a flash of immediate, silent panic in his eyes at the movement. He’s afraid that last night was nothing more than the result of pity and overwhelming emotion for you. He sits up beside you. His hair is tousled, and in the morning light, he looks more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. For several seconds, he only looks at you before slowly extending one hand. He places it on the sheet between you, palm facing upward.

He doesn’t demand anything. He only offers you a choice and leaves his heart resting in that open palm while he waits to see whether you’ll get up and leave or decide to stay...

“I know you’re afraid,” he whispers, his long fingers trembling slightly with nerves. “I saw it every time you stepped away from me. And you’re right... My world is loud, chaotic, and sometimes completely insane. I can’t promise there will never be people around us or that you won’t have to give things up, just as I have.” For a moment, he lowers his eyes to his open palm.

“Just let me show you that you don’t have to be afraid when you’re beside me. I’m not saying it will be easy, but... I’m only asking for a single chance.”

You look at his open palm. Your fear of the future hasn’t disappeared. The risk of being burned is still enormous. Those ordinary dinners with the technicians may never feel the same again, and the boundary between your professional and personal life has just changed irreversibly. Your defensive wall no longer exists. It has just fallen apart between you. It has been destroyed by desire, by a night filled with honesty, and by a man who could easily use the power of his name to corner you, but instead sits before you with an open palm and waits for your decision.

You slowly raise your hand and place your palm in his. Jiyong’s eyes light up with such pure happiness that you can’t help but smile. He immediately closes his hand around yours, firmly but gently, and pulls you back into his arms. He buries his face against your neck, and you feel him smiling sincerely against your skin for the first time in months.

“I’m still afraid, and I’m not promising you anything...” you warn him, even as you wrap your own arms around his shoulders.

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing you under your ear. “But it’s more than I’ve had these past few months... so much more.”

You turn away from the open window and see Daesung standing in the middle of your new living room. He’s dressed in a plain gray tank top and sweatpants stained with white paint in several places, holding a roller attached to a long pole. Fine dust floats around him in the rays of the setting sun after spending the entire afternoon trying to wrestle with a wall that looks like it might have survived the turn of the century. He looks exhausted, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and the muscles in his bare arms tense after hours of nonstop painting, but he still radiates that strange sense of calm that has kept you going all day.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Dae,” you say with a smile, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. You forget your fingers are covered in paint, leaving a long white streak across your skin.

Daesung stares at you in disbelief for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Look at you! The landlady said this apartment had a soul, but now you look like a ghost that just lost theirs!”

“Hey!” you protest with a laugh, dipping the tip of your finger into the paint tray before gleefully drawing a quick white line across his left cheek, all the way to his ear. “Now we’re even, there are two ghosts here.”

“You’re seriously childish,” he laughs, but he doesn’t wipe the streak off his face. He only shakes his head in disbelief and points the roller at the unfinished section of the wall beneath the window. “Y/N, this place doesn’t have a soul... It never had one, because this entire building is held together by sheer willpower and maybe a few prayers left behind by former tenants. There’s no hot water in the bathroom, and that floor in the hallway? Every time I step on it, I feel like I’m about to fall through into the apartment underneath.”

You laugh, even though your throat feels slightly scratchy from the dust and the smell of paint. All the windows are wide open to air the room out at least a little, and the cooler air from outside drifts in, cutting through the heavy scent. Daesung is right. The apartment is in terrible condition, which is exactly why the rent is low enough for you to afford. The plaster is crumbling in places, the wooden floors creak with every step, and the kitchen cabinets look as though they’ve survived several wars...but it’s yours. For the first time in your life, you have a place that belongs only to you, and not even the cracks in the walls can take that feeling away.

You watch Daesung put the roller down in the plastic tray and tiredly run a hand through his thick, slightly disheveled hair. He walks over to the window, leans his hip against the wooden frame, and looks outside. From the fifth floor of the old building on the hill, the entire city is spread out beneath you. The sun is setting, painting the sky in deep shades of pink and purple. Below, streetlights slowly begin to flicker on, tiny figures move between the buildings, and the streets awaken into their nighttime rhythm.

“You chose it because of this, didn’t you? Because of the view...” Dae murmurs, the teasing tone disappearing from his voice until it sounds deep and soft.

“Because of this,” you agree, leaning against the frame beside him. “When I came to look at the place and saw this, I didn’t care that the windows were drafty. I wanted to wake up every morning and see this view. It makes me feel like even though everything in my life is a little chaotic right now, the world outside is still beautiful...”

Daesung turns his head toward you and smiles. It’s his usual warm smile, the one that creates tiny wrinkles around his eyes and somehow manages to calm you even when everything else is falling apart. “You’re crazy, Y/N... and a hopeless romantic.”

“Maybe,” you reply with a shrug, watching his profile against the setting sun. A huge wave of gratitude washes over you, the kind you don’t know how to express out loud. You think about how you messaged all your friends a week ago, and how everyone promised they would help you move, turn it into a painting party, and help make your first apartment amazing... But when the day finally came, everyone suddenly had an excuse. One friend unexpectedly had to work, another had a bad back, and a third didn’t even bother replying to your message.

You were left to handle it alone... except you weren’t really alone, because Daesung is here. The one who has less free time than any of them, who just finished a grueling tour and recording cycle, and who should rightfully be at home sleeping for fourteen hours straight. But all you had to do was mention that you were moving. He didn’t even ask whether you truly needed help. He simply showed up... Throughout your entire childhood and adolescence, Daesung has been the one constant in your life. Whenever you need help, whenever you feel miserable or lost, he never refuses, never says he doesn’t have time. He’s here... always.

“Anyway,” Dae says, breaking the silence as he gently bumps his shoulder against yours and pulls you out of your thoughts. “We need to finish that corner by the door so we can finally be done. My stomach is growling so loudly the neighbors will think this building really is collapsing.”

You spend the next hour working in a quiet, synchronized rhythm. The two of you don’t need many words. You never did. When Daesung holds out his hand, you pass him a brush without even having to look at him. When you need more paint, he’s already standing beside you with the bucket. Occasionally, your shoulders or hips brush as you move through the narrow space between the trays, and every time, a strange, inappropriate shiver runs through your body, one you try to blame on exhaustion.

By the time complete darkness falls outside, you finally put the painting supplies down. All four walls are freshly painted and brilliantly white, cooler night air flows through the windows, and for the first time, the room looks at least a little like somewhere a person could begin a new life.

“And we’re done,” you breathe out with satisfaction, wiping the sweat from your neck.

“Most importantly, don’t touch the walls,” Dae warns, looking around while gesturing theatrically with his hands as though he’s about to cross a minefield. “Everything is still drying, and if either of us leans against a wall now, we’ll have to paint it again, and I won't survive that... I’ll just die here, and you’ll have to seal me inside the wall as part of the interior design.”

The room is almost empty because you moved most of the boxes into the hallway before you started. All that remains in the middle of the living room is a large stretch of empty wooden floor and your old, worn-out couch, which you pushed as far away from the walls as possible. Daesung looks at it like a man who has just discovered the only oasis in the middle of a desert and immediately heads toward it.

“Don’t even think about it!” you stop him.

He freezes mid-step and looks back at you. “Don’t think about what?”

“If you sit on that couch in those paint-covered clothes, I’ll kill you.”

Daesung slowly looks down at his stained clothes, then at the couch, whose upholstery has clearly seen better days, and finally back at you. “Y/N, I don’t want to hurt your couch’s feelings, but I think it’s already experienced much worse than my dirty clothes...”

“That doesn’t matter. Nobody covered in paint is sitting on it.”

“So I carry boxes up five flights of stairs all day, paint your ceiling, and risk my life standing on that wobbly chair, but I’m not allowed to sit on the couch?”

“Exactly.”

“This is exploitation,” Dae mutters, but instead of arguing further, he looks at the floor in the exact center of the room, as far as possible from the drying walls. Then, with an exaggerated groan of pain, he lowers himself onto the wooden floor, crosses his legs, and gestures toward you with his head. “Come here, this is the safe zone. We can’t damage the floor any more than it already is.”

You’re so exhausted that you would collapse anywhere. You walk over to him, but instead of sitting opposite him, you turn your back and slowly lower yourself to the floor. Your backs meet as you lean against each other, and your spine immediately finds a firm point of support against his broad, warm back. You feel his shoulder blades moving beneath the thin fabric of his tank top as he settles in, along with the heat radiating from him after an entire day of work. Daesung leans back slightly, transferring part of his weight onto you, and you do the same. You balance each other, and if either of you moves too suddenly now, the other will end up sprawled on the floor.

“This is actually pretty comfortable,” you admit, closing your tired eyes. You let your head tilt back slightly, the ends of your hair brushing against his neck.

“I know,” Daesung chuckles. You feel his entire back move with his laughter, the vibration of his voice traveling through his chest and directly into your own body. “We’re like a human pyramid. Just smaller and less impressive.”

“Shut up, Dae, and be grateful we’re sitting at all. Everything hurts...”

“Same,” he sighs, relaxing even more until you feel the full weight of his shoulders against your back. “I feel ten years older. Do you remember when we carried those logs through the forest to build our hideout in elementary school? It felt easier back then...”

“You were twelve and had endless energy,” you say with a smile, staring into the empty room in front of you. “And you eventually dropped the biggest log on my foot.”

“That’s not true! I caught it right before it hit the ground.”

“Don’t try to save your karma. I had a bruise for a month.”

“Fine, I’m sorry,” he says with a quiet laugh, and the deep, ringing sound vibrates pleasantly through your spine. “I carried you home on my back afterward.”

“Yes, because you were the reason I couldn’t walk.”

“Details...”

The laughter gradually fades. A car passes outside, its headlights casting long shadows across the freshly painted wall for a few seconds before the room is once again swallowed by the strange, heavy silence of the empty apartment. The muffled hum of traffic drifts up from the street, along with occasional car horns and distant voices. Daesung shifts slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans against you more firmly. You feel him inhale as though he wants to say something, but then he swallows it. Eventually, he laughs, quietly this time and slightly nervous.

“Y/N,” he says into the darkness in front of him. “I just hope you’ll invite me over again once you’re properly settled... And that you didn’t smile at me just so I would paint your walls, carry the heaviest boxes up five flights of stairs without an elevator, and then elegantly cut me out of your life.”

You burst out laughing and gently bump the back of your head against his. “Please, what kind of person do you think I am? I’m really not that awful...”

“I don’t know... People change when they move into new apartments,” he continues teasing, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

“You can relax,” you assure him, allowing yourself to sink more comfortably against his back. “I promise you’re the very first person on the invitation list for my housewarming party. You’ll be the guest of honor, and you’ll have unlimited access to the food.”

“First on the list, huh? That sounds good,” Dae murmurs.

You feel the muscles in his shoulders tense slightly. He stays silent for a few seconds before attempting to ask casually, with his usual boyish curiosity, “And who else is getting an invitation? Who are you planning on inviting to this housewarming party?”

At the question, your smile slowly fades. You see all the empty chats from last week again and remember every ridiculous excuse your friends gave you...

“Actually... probably nobody else,” you say quietly, all the lightness disappearing from your voice.

Daesung goes still behind you, and you feel his shoulders stop moving. “What do you mean, nobody?”

“I mean nobody,” you say with a shrug, tucking your chin into the neckline of your shirt. “You know how many people I messaged to tell them I was moving and that I would be grateful for some help. Everyone had so much to say about how they would help me and how we would throw an amazing housewarming party. But when it came to doing real work in all this dust, everyone abandoned me...” You pause, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “You’re the only one who came, Dae. You, the person with the least free time, who should be sleeping for three days straight after the tour. So there won’t be a huge party. We’ll just sit here and celebrate, the two of us.”

Complete silence envelops the room. All you can hear is Daesung’s deep breathing and the sounds of the city outside the open windows. Because you’re sitting back to back, you can’t see his expression, but through the connection between your bodies, you suddenly feel a huge shift. His breathing is no longer steady, and his heartbeat accelerates into a wild rhythm that pulses directly against your spine.

“Y/N,” he says after a long moment. His voice is suddenly incredibly quiet and much deeper than usual. “That actually sounds really nice. Just the two of us here together…”

“You think it sounds nice because there’ll be more food left for you?” you try to turn it into a joke, but your voice trembles slightly.

“No,” he replies without a trace of humor. “I like it when we’re alone together…just the two of us. And for a long time, I haven’t wanted to be just another friend on your list, someone you call only when you need help...”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“I’m tired of pretending to be your safe childhood friend,” he continues so quietly that you have to hold your breath to hear every word. The back of his head remains firmly and motionlessly pressed against yours. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t care who you date or who likes you. Whenever I see you with someone else, I tell myself I should be happy as long as you’re happy, and I genuinely want to be... But at the same time, I hate that I’m not the one making you happy like that...”

He takes a deep breath, and his entire body trembles for a moment.

“I see you differently, Y/N... I have for a very long time. I don’t want to be just the person who comes over when you need to move a wardrobe or fix a shelf. I want to be the person you call even when you don’t need anything. I want to be here with you because you want me here.”

Daesung finishes speaking, and his entire body goes rigid. He waits, and through your connected backs, the frantic rhythm of his heart pulses directly into you. Your own heartbeat immediately begins to match his.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Suddenly, dozens of memories race through your mind. Daesung waiting for you outside school because it’s raining and you’ve forgotten your umbrella again. Daesung answering your call in the middle of the night even though he has to wake up early the next morning. Daesung knowing something is wrong before you can even admit it to yourself. Daesung showing up every single time everyone else offers nothing but empty promises...

He has been such a solid part of your life for so long that you’ve never even allowed yourself to think about exactly what he means to you. You’ve always considered his presence as natural as the sunrise, the city lights outside your window, or the beating of your own heart... But now, for the first time, you allow yourself to acknowledge how empty your life would be without him and how much you rely on him. How safe you feel whenever he’s close. How long you’ve searched for his face first whenever you enter a crowded room.

You want to tell him. You want to tell him he has never been just a friend you call when you need help. That he’s the person you want to call whenever something wonderful happens because his excitement is always greater than your own. That he’s the first person you want to see when your world starts falling apart, and that you need him far more than you have ever allowed yourself to admit.

“Dae…” you whisper, but before you can find any more words, the sharp sound of the intercom cuts through the silence of the apartment.

Both of you flinch violently, but you remain sitting back to back. Daesung quietly clears his throat, and the tension in his shoulders shifts. You realize he’s interpreting your silence in a completely different way than he should.

“That’s probably the pizza,” he murmurs. His voice sounds lighter again, but this time, the lightness is forced. “I ordered it an hour ago...”

Before you can stop him, he carefully pulls away from you and gets up from the floor. The cold left behind against your back hits you immediately. As the evening air flows through the open windows, it suddenly feels much colder than before.

You watch Daesung walk toward the door. His shoulders are still tense, and he doesn’t look back once. A minute later, he returns carrying a large, fragrant pizza box. He places it on the floor in the middle of the room and sits down again, this time facing you, keeping a safe distance between you. When he opens the box, the scent of melted cheese, baked dough, and tomato sauce fills the room.

“So,” Dae begins with exaggerated seriousness, as though the previous conversation never happened, “a fair division would be six slices for me and two for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you protest automatically, reaching toward the box. “I’m taking four.”

“Wait, wait!” He lightly slaps your fingers away. “What system are you using to claim four slices? Who did the hardest work here today? Who painted the ceiling? Whose arm muscles are practically bursting?”

“I invited you here, it’s my apartment, and I did all the precise work around the windows,” you reply, although your laughter is quieter this time. “My job required far more mental concentration. You were just mindlessly swinging the roller around.”

“Mindlessly swinging the roller around?!” Dae repeats, deeply offended. “That was precise paint application, young lady. I’m entitled to a larger share because my body burns twice as much energy as yours!”

“Fine, take the biggest slice, you precise paint applicator,” you say with a smile.

The tension between you eases slightly, replaced by your usual familiar teasing. Still, something remains hanging in the air... Daesung laughs, but he doesn’t hold your gaze as long as he normally would. He picks up a slice and focuses on it with exaggerated intensity, as though the tomato sauce were the most important thing in the universe, as though he’s afraid he said something only a short while ago that could damage your friendship...

You take your own slice and hungrily bite into it. After a while, Dae starts watching you again. An impossibly soft expression appears on his face, one he tries to hide every time you catch him looking. You eat so quickly that a small red streak of tomato sauce remains on your bottom lip. Daesung goes quiet and stops chewing.

“Y/N,” he says softly.

“What? Do you want to eat this slice too?” you mumble with your mouth full.

“You have a bit of sauce right…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He puts his slice back into the box and slowly leans closer to you. His hand rises, and his thumb wipes the sauce from your bottom lip. He should pull away immediately, you both know it, but he doesn’t. His palm remains against your cheek, and his gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth.

Another gust of cold evening air drifts through the open windows. It brushes over your exposed arms, immediately raising goose bumps across your skin. In sharp contrast, Daesung’s palm against your cheek is unbelievably warm. His thumb remains just beneath your bottom lip, and you feel his hand trembling faintly.

You place your palm over his, and Dae takes a shaky breath, but he leaves his hand beneath yours, still pressed to your cheek. Slowly, you turn your head and gently press your lips to the center of his palm. The contact is barely there, but Daesung becomes completely still. When you look at him again, his eyes are wide and filled with cautious hope.

“You didn’t give me time to answer you before...” you whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he answers quickly, as though he’s trying to rescue you from an uncomfortable obligation. “Seriously. I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you, I was tired, and I probably stopped thinking, and—”

“Dae...”

He falls silent. You press his palm more firmly to your cheek and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you this entire time. Not because I wanted to reject you. I just suddenly didn’t know how to fit everything you mean to me into just a few sentences.”

Daesung stares at you as though he’s afraid to even breathe.

“You aren’t just another person I call whenever I need something,” you continue quietly. “You’re the first person I want to call when something happens. When it’s bad, because I know you’ll calm me down, and when it’s good, because you’re always even more excited than I am...”

Your eyes begin to sting, and you have to pause for a moment.

“You’ve been in my life for so long that I started taking you for granted. Not because you aren’t important to me, but because I can’t even imagine you not being here. And now I’m realizing just how strongly I feel about you...”

Dae’s thumb gently strokes your cheek.

“I don’t know exactly when it changed,” you whisper. “Maybe it didn’t change in one specific moment. Maybe you were always something more to me, and I was simply too afraid to look at it directly. But... I love you, Dae. And I don’t want you to be just the person I call when I need help. I want you to be the person who stays when everyone else leaves...”

For several long seconds, nothing happens. Daesung only stares at you, so much emotion shining in his eyes that it makes your heart ache. Then his lips slowly curve into a smile. His eyes narrow into those familiar, cheerful crescents, but this time, you can also see the vulnerability he isn’t trying to hide.

“Say it again, please,” he whispers.

“I love you.”

His eyes close for a moment, and when he opens them again, he leans just a little closer, but he doesn’t close the entire distance between you. He stays a few inches away from your face, leaving the decision to you.

“Can I?” he asks.

Instead of answering, you lean toward him. His lips meet yours in a slow, almost shy kiss. Daesung kisses you as though he still isn’t certain this is truly happening. His palm remains against your cheek, his thumb stroking it gently. When you return the kiss and move closer, he releases a quiet breath against your mouth.

The kiss gradually deepens, but it never loses its tenderness. It holds an overwhelming amount of relief, caution, and years of feelings neither of you had been able to say out loud. Daesung doesn’t kiss you like someone who wants to take something, he kisses you like someone who has just received something he stopped hoping for a long time ago and is afraid one careless movement might make him lose it.

Your fingers slide into his disheveled hair, pulling him closer. A quiet sound escapes his throat, sending a shiver through your entire body. His other arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against him until there is almost no space left between you.

When he finally pulls away after a long while, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily.

“You have no idea...” he breathes, “...how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Maybe I do,” you reply quietly.

Daesung laughs, but his laughter is soft and unsteady. Then he kisses you again, but this time, you’re the first to pull away. You slowly rise from the floor, Daesung’s gaze following you. Without saying a word, you hold out your hand to him. He stares at your palm for a few seconds before taking it. His fingers intertwine with yours, and you pull him to his feet. As soon as he’s standing in front of you, he lifts his other hand to your waist and kisses you again.

You slowly move backward toward the couch without releasing his hand. Daesung follows without asking a single question, his lips repeatedly finding yours while his free hand remains around your waist to keep you from tripping over the buckets or abandoned rollers.

Cool air drifts inside through the open windows again. It brushes over your arms, your neck, and beneath the thin fabric of your shirt, sending goose bumps across your entire body. Daesung notices immediately. His hands slide from your waist to your arms, slowly rubbing over them as though he wants to warm you with his touch. His skin is still hot after the entire day, and the contrast between the cold air and the warmth of his hands makes you press even closer to him.

The backs of your legs hit the couch, stopping you. Dae breaks the kiss for a moment and looks at you. In the dim light of the empty room, his expression is tender but serious.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, tightening your fingers in the fabric of his tank top. “Yeah...”

“Are you sure?”

“Dae,” you say with a smile, brushing your fingers over the white streak on his cheek. “This is exactly what I want...”

The tension leaves his shoulders. He bends down and kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips again. His hands return to your waist, and this time, he holds you more firmly, but with the same caution, as though he doesn’t want to rush anything.

You lie down on the couch, and Daesung carefully leans over you. He supports himself with one hand beside your head while the other brushes your hair away from your forehead. For several seconds, he only looks at you, his eyes moving over your face as though he wants to memorize every detail of this moment.

“I love you,” he whispers.

The way he says it tightens your throat. There is no hesitation in his voice, only deep, open tenderness.

“I love you too.”

Daesung closes his eyes and rests his forehead against your shoulder for a moment. He laughs quietly, but the sound trembles.

“I thought I would never hear you say that.”

Your fingers move through his hair. “Then you’ll have to get used to hearing it.”

He raises his head. “Are you going to say it often?”

“When you deserve it...”

“I’ve spent the entire day painting your apartment.”

“Then you’re on the right track...”

Daesung kisses you again, and this time, there is less uncertainty in his kiss. He remains gentle and attentive, but he allows himself to press closer to you. His palm slowly moves along your side and stops at the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t pull it away immediately. His hand stays there for a moment, his thumb drawing small circles against your skin.

“Are you really okay with this?” he whispers against your lips.

“Yes.”

His hand moves a little higher. The warmth of his palm lingers on your skin long after it moves on. Cold air from the window runs across your body again, but Daesung immediately covers you with his firm body. He kisses you slowly, your lips, your cheek, your temple, and your neck, as though he has all the time in the world. He isn’t rushing anywhere.

Every time your breathing changes, he raises his eyes to you, and whenever you press closer, his arms hold you more tightly. When your palms run over his bare arms, the muscles beneath your fingers tense, and Daesung inhales quietly against your skin. His palm stops beneath the hem of your shirt again. This time, he slowly pushes it upward, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Can I?” he asks.

You nod and raise your arms. Daesung pulls your shirt over your head and places it beside the couch instead of thoughtlessly throwing it somewhere room. When his gaze returns to you, he looks at you with open admiration and almost reverent tenderness.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

“I’m sweaty and covered in paint...”

“You’re still beautiful.”

You reach for the hem of his tank top, catching the thin fabric between your fingers. Daesung lifts himself enough to let you pull it over his head. Once the fabric is gone, you can finally look freely at his bare chest, broad shoulders, and firm arms, which you’ve been watching as he worked all day. Of course, you have seen his body before. But now, you see him completely differently... He isn’t just your childhood friend. He is the man you love, the man trembling slightly above you because this moment matters just as much to him as it does to you.

You place your palms against his chest and slowly run them over the firm muscles toward his shoulders. Daesung exhales quietly at your touch. He lowers himself and kisses you again while his hand moves gently over your side. His touches are almost cautious at first, but when you press against him and make it clear that you want more, his palm becomes more confident.

“Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable,” he whispers against your lips. “Or if you want me to stop...”

“I’m never going to say that,” you whisper with certainty in your voice.

Daesung kisses your neck and slowly continues lower. Every new touch is accompanied by his eyes watching your reaction. When he unhooks your bra, his fingers tremble slightly, and he spends several seconds struggling with the clasp.

“Do you need help?” you ask, amused.

“This is more complicated than any choreography.”

“Dae—”

“I’m nervous,” he admits with a quiet laugh. “and the way you’re looking at me isn’t helping at all...”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like you actually want me...”

You pull his face toward yours and kiss him. “Because I do want you.”

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. Once he gets the fabric out of the way, he doesn’t stop watching you. He kisses you slowly, gently, and with such careful attention that you’re already beginning to tremble beneath him before his hand even moves lower. His fingers glide over your stomach and stop at the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Is this still okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Dae, if you ask me one more time before you touch me, I think I’m going to lose my mind.”

He laughs quietly and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Okay, okay.”

He helps you remove the rest of your clothes before lying beside you again for a moment. His palm moves slowly over your side and thigh without any hurry. Even though you’re lying naked in front of him, you feel no embarrassment and no need to hide. He knows you too well. He has seen you sick, exhausted, crying, and disheveled after only a few hours of sleep. But now, Daesung’s gaze travels over your body with such admiration that goose bumps rise across your skin again.

“Are you cold?” he asks immediately.

“A little,” you admit.

He pulls you against him, rolls over you, and covers you with his own body. His skin is hot and firm, the complete opposite of the evening air streaming through the open windows. His lips brush your temple before his kisses slowly travel down your neck.

When he finally touches you between your thighs, his touch is so gentle that you instinctively inhale and tighten your grip on his arm.

Daesung immediately freezes. “Still okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Just... don’t stop.”

His eyes darken with desire, but the familiar tenderness remains in them. He begins stroking you with slow, precise movements, watching every shiver that runs through your body. When he slides two fingers inside you, your back arches beneath him, and his name escapes your lips. Daesung closes his eyes for a moment as though the sound strikes him directly in the chest. Then he leans down and kisses you while his fingers continue moving inside you.

“Like this?” he asks quietly.

“Exactly like that…”

Daesung smiles against your lips. There is no smugness in it, only genuine happiness that he can make you feel good. He holds you close, kissing your cheek and neck, and between every movement of his fingers inside you, he whispers how beautiful you are. Gradually, his touches grow more confident.

Still, he watches you as though your body isn’t something he wants to control but something he wants to learn and understand. He only moves faster when you instinctively begin rocking against his hand, and whenever your body tenses differently, he slows down for a moment.

Soon, you’re breathing heavily beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. Daesung kisses you beneath your jaw, his breath hot and uneven, and an urgency begins to appear in the movements of his hand, one he is no longer trying so hard to hide.

“Dae,” you whisper, pulling him closer. “I want you, please...”

His hand stops. For several seconds, he looks into your eyes as though he wants to make sure he heard you correctly. Then his thumb slowly strokes your cheek.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“I don’t want you to feel like we have to continue just because I told you how I feel about you.”

You stroke his cheek, your thumb passing over the white streak that still remains there. “I want to continue because I love you, and I want you.”

Daesung closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours. For several seconds, he only breathes quietly. He kisses you with new urgency, but even now, he never loses his gentleness. He removes the last pieces of his clothing and returns between your thighs. When you feel the full weight of his naked body against yours for the first time, your breath catches for a moment. Daesung notices and immediately supports himself on his forearms to give you more room. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him back down.

“Stay close.”

“I can do that,” he whispers.

He slowly rubs against you, and a muffled moan escapes his throat. His gaze remains locked on your eyes, but you can see how much effort it takes for him to remain calm and avoid rushing. He intertwines the fingers of one hand with yours while using the other to guide his cock to your wet entrance. He begins to enter you slowly, inch by inch, never taking his eyes off you. The feeling of fullness makes you release a sharp breath and squeeze his hand. The moment your expression changes even slightly, he stops. He remains completely still for a while, lowering his head to kiss your forehead and slowly stroking your side until you relax beneath him and adjust to his size. His own body remains tense, the muscles in his arms trembling with effort, but he doesn’t move even an inch.

Gradually, he begins moving inside you, pushing deeper, still slow and careful, until there is no distance left between you. He closes his eyes for a moment and exhales sharply through clenched lips, as though maintaining his self-control takes a tremendous amount of effort. When he opens them again, the desire in them is so intense that another shiver runs through your body. He holds your hand while supporting part of his weight with his other arm. When you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer, his breath catches.

His movements gradually become faster, but they never lose their tenderness. The old couch creaks quietly beneath you, and the sounds of your bodies mingle with the nighttime city beyond the open windows. Daesung kisses you in the middle of every movement, whispering your name and repeatedly brushing your hair away from your face so he can see you. When he finds a rhythm that makes your hips rise to meet him, he maintains it, never looking away from your expression.

“Like this?” he breathes.

“Yeah, Dae. Exactly like that...” you moan, tilting your head back.

He presses his forehead against your temple and quickens his thrusts. It isn’t mindless, nor is it a struggle for control. It is years of desire finally allowed to surface without fear or pretending. You feel the firmness of his body, the heat of his skin, and the way his muscles tense beneath your palms with every thrust. Still, even when his breathing becomes shaky and his movements more urgent, he never stops paying attention.

“Are you still with me?” he whispers.

“I am.”

“Tell me.”

You hold his face between your palms, refusing to look away from his eyes even though the approaching wave of your orgasm makes you want to close them and throw your head back. “I’m with you... I love you.”

Daesung moans and buries his face against your neck. His movements become deeper for a moment before he regains control and slows down. His hand slides between your bodies, and he begins circling your swollen clit with his thumb. The pressure in your lower abdomen builds rapidly, and your entire body starts trembling beneath him.

“Look at me, please,” he whispers.

You open your eyes. His expression is focused, tense, and filled with a tenderness that strikes you as intensely as every thrust. When his thumb moves quickly over your clit again and he says your name, the tension inside you finally snaps, and your orgasm washes over you in a long, intense wave. You clench around him, squeezing his hand with your fingers as his name breaks on your lips.

Only when you begin to relax beneath him does his own rhythm become more urgent. His movements grow uneven and deeper, his forehead pressing against yours before he thrusts into you one final time and comes inside you with your name on his lips.

For several seconds, he remains motionless above you, still supporting himself so he doesn’t crush you beneath his full weight. Both of you are breathing heavily, and your palm slowly moves over his sweaty back. Daesung lifts his head and looks at you. There is still a trace of concern in his expression, as though he needs to make sure everything between you is the same and yet completely new.

You smile and stroke his hair. “I love you.”

His expression immediately relaxes. “I love you too. I’ve always loved you,” he whispers before lowering his head and pressing a long, tender kiss to your lips.

A little later, you’re lying with your head resting on Daesung’s chest, listening to the slow beat of his heart. An old blanket you originally used to protect the furniture is draped over both of you, and the cold air still flows inside from the street. Daesung lazily runs his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head every few moments as though he still needs to reassure himself that you’re truly beside him.

You look around at the paint buckets, rollers, the open pizza box, and the clothes scattered across the floor, and laugh quietly.

“What are you laughing at?” Daesung asks, lifting himself slightly so he can see your face. The white paint streak you gave him several hours ago is still on his cheek.

“I imagined my first night in my new apartment a little differently...” you admit. “Definitely not surrounded by rollers and paint buckets, on an old couch in the middle of an empty room...”

Daesung smiles broadly, his eyes narrowing into cheerful crescents. “So you’re complaining?”

“No,” you reply immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. “I’m not complaining at all.”

He returns your kiss and pulls you closer. “Good, because you’re not getting rid of me easily now.”

“That almost sounds like a threat.”

“It isn’t a threat, it’s a promise.”

Daesung presses a kiss into your hair. Outside, dawn slowly breaks over the city, and the first faint light falls across the freshly painted walls. The apartment is still old, broken, and filled with boxes. The hallway floor still threatens to collapse one day. But as you listen to Dae’s heart and feel his arms wrapped securely around your body, for the first time, the place truly feels like home.

“So,” Dae says after a while of contented silence. “That housewarming party...”

“What about it?”

“Do you promise I’ll still be first on the list?”

You open your eyes and smile. “You’ll be first... But I might invite a few other people after all.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Dae—”

“Fine,” he sighs theatrically. “But I’ll be the VIP guest!”

“If you carry boxes up five flights of stairs, order pizza, paint ceilings, and do this every time…” you say, running your finger over his bare chest, “…then you have an exclusive lifetime contract for this apartment.”

Daesung laughs quietly and presses a long, warm kiss to your lips. “I’ll hold you to that, Y/N…”

💚 Taglist: @missleezylou @minattozaki @ldydeath  @akivision @sweetpanda18 @thatxxdarling @jiyongiie @yourphobiavi

There is barely three feet of empty space between you and Jiyong on the seat, but the distance that has opened between you over the last three hours feels as deep as the darkest ocean...

Jiyong is sitting to your right. You don’t even have to turn toward him to know what state he is in. You can see him out of the corner of your eye. Strands of hair fall across his face, his head is slightly lowered, and his right leg, clad in an expensive designer shoe, bounces in a frantic, nervous rhythm. The fingers of his left hand, heavy silver rings glinting in the dim light, are clenched tightly into the fabric of his black trousers. So much anger radiates from his body, so much pure fury, that you can almost feel the air around him vibrating.

But this game isn’t just about his anger. It is about the fact that the same vile, burning jealousy destroying him is destroying you too. It burns in your throat like acid, and you are struggling not to scream and cry at the same time.

It all started at the private party you are now leaving early. Your old circle of friends had gathered there, people you have both known for years, including the other members of BigBang. But there are also shadows from the past within that group, and one of the darkest is Seunghyun. He is a man who once meant more to you than just a close friend. Two years ago, when your relationship with Jiyong was in a complete crisis, filled with his unpredictable moods, days spent disappearing into the studio without a word, and cold walls you could never break through, you turned to Seunghyun. He was the only stable point in your life, the only thing keeping you from completely losing your mind. Nothing ever happened between you, neither of you crossed that invisible line, he was simply your safe haven. He was your only support while Jiyong’s world was falling apart and dragging you down with it... Seunghyun listened to you and made you feel as though your emotions mattered, as though they were not less important than Jiyong’s. Jiyong eventually found out. The knowledge that one of the people closest to him had been your lifeline when he failed you still burns inside him like an open wound. Tonight, it became the spark that set everything on fire…

It only took a second. Seunghyun greeted you warmly at the bar, wrapping his arms around you after months apart. In his deep voice, he whispered into your ear that you finally looked happy and that it was good to see you like that. Then he laughed at something you said, leaving his hand resting against your back for a moment while ordering you a drink. That old, familiar dynamic flared between you for barely a second. Jiyong was standing right beside you. You watched his features harden instantly. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles at his temples twitched, and a dangerous flame flickered in his eyes, one you already knew far too well…

From that moment, everything went downhill. Jiyong immediately started punishing you in his own way. He refused to look at you, making a point of sitting on the sofa beside Sohee, a woman with whom he had once shared his own complicated history. You watched them all night. You saw the way he leaned closer to her, whispering things that made her laugh, and the way his gaze drifted down to her lips. You watched her curl her fingers around his forearm while they raised their glasses, and he did not pull away. The pain that hit you was physical. Seeing him slip back into that old, familiar dynamic with the woman who had once nearly dragged him to the bottom tore you to pieces…

So you did the same thing. You started openly paying attention to Seunghyun, laughing at his deep voice and deliberately leaning into his space, trying to show Jiyong that you did not care.

You did care. It was tearing both your hearts out, but neither of you was willing to surrender in front of the members and your old friends. It was a war to see which one of you could force the other to their knees first, just like it had been so many times before…

And now you are here, in the car on your way home. There is nothing but rain drumming against the roof and an unbearable tension between you. Jiyong suddenly turns sharply toward you. His eyes are bloodshot from the alcohol, his pupils dilated with anger.

"Can you fucking explain what the hell that was with Seunghyun?!" he snaps, his voice rough and hoarse. "Do you think I‘m a complete idiot, Y/N? I was watching you, I was watching both of you. The way he touched you, the way you smiled at him...like you regret not choosing him back then."

"Jiyong, I have never been with him, so shut the fuck up," you interrupt coldly, your voice sharp as you immediately glance forward. His personal driver is sitting ahead of you. The stone-faced man is professionally focused on the road toward Hannam-dong, but you cannot shake the humiliating feeling that he must hear every raised word. The idea that someone from Jiyong’s staff might see or hear your dirty laundry, all those constant hysterical scenes between you, makes your skin burn with shame.

"I‘m not arguing with you in the car in front of your driver," you say through clenched teeth, your lips trembling with rage. "Have at least a little dignity and wait until we‘re home. Then you can scream until your lungs give out, but not here."

Jiyong takes a deep, uneven breath. His chest rises and falls sharply beneath his expensive black shirt. He looks toward the driver, then back at you. The massive conflict raging inside him is written all over his face. He lets out a bitter laugh and throws himself back against the leather seat.

The rest of the drive passes in complete, suffocating silence. The dull thud of the windshield wipers and the hum of the tires against the wet road are the only sounds inside the car. You sit there with your stomach twisted into a tight knot, a single thought repeating in your head: This is the end, I cannot do this anymore...

˗ˏˋϟˎˊ˗

The car glides into the underground garage of the luxury complex in Hannam-dong. The moment the driver stops beside the private elevator, you do not wait. You do not wait for Jiyong to open the door for you. You grab the handle yourself, fling the door open, and hurry toward the elevator with quick, nervous steps. You hear the heavy, rapid thud of his footsteps behind you, but you do not turn around.

The elevator takes you directly into his enormous penthouse on the top floor. The moment the heavy entrance door closes behind you with the click of the electronic lock, leaving you completely alone, all the energy that has been building between you explodes. Jiyong tears off his jacket in one fluid, violent motion and throws it to the floor. The expensive fabric lands on the marble floor beside the couch.

"So now that we don‘t have any witnesses, explain yourself!" he hisses, much louder than necessary. There is so much force behind his voice that the hair on your arms stands on end. He turns toward you, his face flushed, his hair falling into his eyes, his entire body trembling. "Explain it to me now, Y/N! Do you enjoy it? Provoking me? Throwing yourself at Seunghyun right in front of me while I am standing there and the others are watching us?"

"I wasn’t  throwing myself at him!" you shout back immediately, throwing your purse onto the marble table so hard that your phone and keys spill out, clattering onto the floor. Your own jealousy, the poison you‘ve been holding inside throughout the entire drive, erupts from you. "You‘re going to lecture me about provoking someone?! Did you even see yourself with Sohee? That woman practically climbed into your lap! I watched you all night, Jiyong! I saw the way you touched her, the way you whispered into her ear, the way you smiled at her with that specific look! You did it on purpose to humiliate me!"

"I did it because you’re driving me fucking insane!" He crosses the distance between you in three quick steps.

His presence instantly overwhelms you. You can smell the alcohol, his expensive perfume, and the heat of his furious breath. He grabs your shoulders, squeezing them so tightly that his fingers dig painfully into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

"You were looking at Seunghyun like you regret not choosing him!" he shouts right into your face, tears of pure anger and desperation welling in his eyes. "I’m losing my fucking mind over this, Y/N! I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe because I constantly feel like you’re slipping through my fingers! Like you miss whatever it was you had with him! Like one day you’ll look at him and leave me!"

"Because you’re suffocating me!" you scream back at him, tears streaming down your cheeks, smudging your mascara and burning your eyes. You hit his chest with both palms, trying to make him release you. "I’ve never been with Seunghyun, but you keep suspecting me and refusing to trust me! Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Whenever one of our friends looks at me, you immediately punish me by throwing your ex in my face! Do you think it doesn’t hurt me too? I hate who you become around Sohee! It tears me apart when you smile at her! Your jealousy, my jealousy... we’re killing each other, Jiyong! It’s like swallowing poison every single day and hoping we won’t die from it! I don’t have the strength for this anymore. I don’t have the strength to play this game every week, wondering whether we’re breaking up again!"

"You know what?!" Jiyong hisses as another wave of tears spills from his eyes. The fear he’s been holding inside, the fear born from knowing how deeply you opened yourself to Seunghyun while Jiyong was shutting you out, finally breaks through. His expression hardens into its cruelest form. "Then go to him! If he’s your safe haven, if he was the one saving you whenever I was being a piece of shit, then pack your things and go to Seunghyun! If you think you’ll be happier there and you don’t fucking need me, I’m not going to keep you here!"

His words hit you with the devastating force of a slap. You stand there completely frozen, your breath catching in your throat. The fact that he used Seunghyun against you, turning the most fragile part of your history, the only period when you were genuinely searching for a little peace of mind without ever cheating on him, into a weapon, hurts more than you can describe. Then, almost immediately, it makes you fucking furious.

"You really are pathetic, Jiyong," you whisper, your voice trembling with anger. "You’re so fucking pathetic..." You turn on your heel and storm down the hallway toward the bedroom. Your heart is beating so violently that it pounds in your ears like a jackhammer.

You rush into the bedroom, where the only light comes from the dim lamp behind the bed. You go straight to the built-in wardrobe, throw open the sliding doors, and drag a large black suitcase from the bottom. You throw it onto the bed. The heavy, dull thud of it hitting the mattress cuts through the air like a death sentence.

You pull open the zippers and, with a shuddering breath, start ripping clothes from the shelves and hangers. You grab your sweaters, shirts, underwear, expensive dresses, and favorite hoodies. But your hands are shaking so violently and your eyes are so full of tears that you can’t fold anything properly. Caught in that hysterical storm of anger and complete exhaustion, you simply throw everything into huge, shapeless piles beside the open suitcase. Clothes fall everywhere, layering across the silk sheets and covering the pillows. It is pure chaos and desperation…

Suddenly, the bedroom door flies open with enough force to make the hinges groan. Jiyong doesn’t just walk into the room. He storms inside like a sudden hurricane. The cold mask is gone from his face, replaced by wild panic and complete desperation. He understood the weight of his words the second they left his mouth. Now he sees the suitcase, he sees the piles of clothes, and in that instant, he realizes that his thoughtless outburst has genuinely pushed you to leave. The fear turns him into something uncontrollable.

He rushes toward the bed, wrapping both arms tightly around your waist and pulling you backward against him. You start screaming, throwing your elbows back and trying to wrench yourself free, but neither of you is paying attention to where you’re stepping. Your heels catch against the edge of the bed. You both lose your balance and tumble backward, landing directly in the middle of the enormous, soft pile of your scattered clothes.

Jiyong immediately pins you beneath him, most of his weight supported by his knees and arms. In one quick, uncompromising motion, he catches both of your wrists and pins your palms against the mattress beside your head. You’re trapped beneath his lean, wiry body. You want to keep shouting, you want to keep fighting, but then your gaze fixes on his face…

You’re looking at him from only inches away, and your entire body trembles, tightening with anxiety. He looks so vulnerable. For the first time in what feels like forever, you get the sense that he isn’t hiding what’s truly happening inside him or how he really feels... Jiyong’s face is wet, with tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes are red, filled with such profound exhaustion and limitless despair that your heart aches. He looks impossibly fragile, completely destroyed. Without the perfect posture of a famous star, he’s just a broken man falling apart, terrified that his own words about Seunghyun are truly going to drive you away…

And then you understand, because you must look exactly the same. You look into his eyes and see your own reflection. You’re just as tired, just as destroyed by this endless war, just as consumed by this mad, poisonous love. The terrifying, absolute truth settles inside you. You can’t exist without him, you need him in order to breathe. Even if it destroys both of you, even if it hurts every day, walking out of this penthouse would feel like dying... You can’t live without him. Seunghyun may have been a safe haven, but Jiyong is your home, your storm and your constant…

Your anger disappears in a single second, replaced by complete surrender. Instead of continuing to fight his grip, you let the muscles in your arms go slack. Jiyong notices the change, and the pressure around your wrists immediately eases.

You’re the one who starts it this time. You lift your head from the mattress, closing the remaining inches between you, and kiss him desperately. Jiyong freezes in surprise for barely a second. The kiss hits him like an electric shock. Then he releases your wrists, his fingers immediately tangling in your hair as he grips the back of your neck and kisses you back with enough intensity to tear a quiet moan from your throat.

This kiss isn’t an apology, it’s an admission that you’re both caught inside the same trap... Jiyong bites your lower lip hard enough for you to taste the metallic trace of your own blood. His tongue claims your mouth with complete dominance, and you respond with the same wild intensity. Your hands move across his chest, ripping the buttons open. You grab the expensive designer fabric and tear it down until the shirt splits apart, several black buttons falling to the floor with quiet clicks. You need to feel his skin, you need to hold him as though you’re about to fall from the edge of a cliff…

Jiyong struggles just as desperately with your clothes. His hand searches blindly for the zipper of your dress, but neither of you has enough patience. He yanks it down, the fabric catching and tearing slightly near the seam as he pulls the dress off you. Your heels slip off and fall onto the floor beside the bed. The rush, the overwhelming arousal mixed with the fear of being alone, is stronger than anything else. The expensive clothes you were trying to pack now become the bedding beneath your madness. When he strips you down to your underwear, he stops above you for one brief second. He pushes himself up on his arms, and his gaze slowly travels down your body. He knows every inch of you. He knows the slight asymmetry of your breasts, the small birthmark on your hip, and every tiny imperfection you always try to hide from him. But in his eyes, you’ve always been perfect, more perfect than anyone else. Right now, you’re the only goddess he believes in…

"Perfect," he whispers in a rough, broken voice, pressing hot, damp kisses onto your stomach and hips, directly over the places you dislike and he adores. He sucks at your skin as though he wants to draw out every drop of poison that is infecting your relationship. "All mine, only mine...forever."

You’re undressing him now too, pushing the torn remains of his shirt off his shoulders and pressing your palms against his bare chest. Your fingers trace his ribs, traveling over his tattooed skin. You know what every tattoo means... You remember the nights when he was so emotionally destroyed that he could not even eat, when you held him in the darkness of this penthouse while his entire body shook. You love all of him, you love the vulnerable man hidden beneath the perfect mask of G-Dragon.

Jiyong kicks off his shoes, then pushes his trousers and boxers down his legs with impatient, rough movements. The fabric catches against his ankle for a second before he kicks it away. Then his hands return to you, tearing away the final pieces of fabric separating your bodies. When you’re both completely naked on top of the pile of clothes, the air in the bedroom feels ready to combust.

Jiyong settles between your spread thighs, pressing his body tightly against yours as he kisses you again. He rocks his hips instinctively, his cock dragging between your thighs and against your wet heat. The friction sends a sharp rush of pleasure through you. You lift your hips to meet him, grinding against him as your fingers dig into his back. With every desperate movement, he grows harder between your bodies, hot and heavy as he rubs over your clit. A broken groan leaves his throat. He buries his face against your neck, breathing hard while his hips continue to move, then slides one hand between your bodies. His fingers find you, circling your clit slowly at first, then with more pressure when your thighs tighten around him. He keeps touching you until your breaths turn into helpless gasps and your body begins to soften beneath him. When you whisper his name and pull him closer with your legs, Jiyong grips your hips, digging his fingers into your skin so tightly that you know he will leave marks tomorrow. He guides the head of his cock through your wetness, rubbing it against your entrance before slowly beginning to push inside. He watches your face, giving your body time to take him inch by inch until he’s buried completely inside you.

A loud, hoarse moan tears from your throat, and Jiyong immediately swallows it with a kiss. The feeling of being completely filled after such a violent argument leaves you momentarily paralyzed. At first, Jiyong’s thrusts are deep and measured, allowing your body to adjust around him, but then the last of his restraint disappears. His rhythm becomes harder, each movement driven by mutual jealousy, anger, and the overwhelming relief that you’re still beneath him. He drives into you with his entire body, pressing you into the soft layers of clothing beneath your back. You arch beneath him, your toes curling against the mattress.

You know each other’s bodies far too well. Jiyong knows exactly how to angle his hips. He knows where to touch you and how deeply to thrust to make you lose every remaining trace of reason. You look at his face above you, contorted with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Drops of sweat slide down his temples. His mouth leaves yours, moving wildly over your neck, shoulders, and collarbones. He bites and sucks your skin, deliberately leaving dark marks behind. They are marks that clearly say who you belong to. They are marks that won’t disappear by tomorrow, marks that everyone will see the next time they meet you…

"Jiyong... oh God, Jiyong," you whisper, your legs locking around his waist and pulling him even deeper, into the most sensitive place inside you. Everything begins to blur. The tears, the sweat, the heat of your bodies, and a burning love so intense that it borders on insanity.

You lose control when you see Jiyong arch above you, the muscles of his back stretched tight. There is so much love in his face, and so much fear at the same time, that it breaks your heart to look at him.

"I’m here, baby, I’m here," he whispers breathlessly into your ear as his thrusts become more urgent, faster and deeper. "I’m never letting you go, I need you just as much as you need me..."

His words and the relentless rhythm finally break you. Your orgasm hits like an explosion. Your inner muscles tighten violently around him as you cry out his name into the darkness of the bedroom. The force of your body clenching around him immediately drags Jiyong over the edge with you. With a deep growl, he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself as deeply as possible. His body shudders, and he comes inside you with a ragged breath. He buries his face against your neck, and you remain motionless together in the middle of the pile of clothes.

"Love you to death," he murmurs into your skin.

˗ˏˋϟˎˊ˗

When you open your eyes, the bedroom is filled with warm morning light. The chaos on the bed is exactly the same. Clothes are scattered everywhere, the suitcase has fallen from the mattress onto the floor, and several torn black buttons lie scattered across the room. The space beside you is empty, but the mattress is still warm. You hear the quiet clinking of dishes from the kitchen and smell fresh coffee. You pull one of Jiyong’s oversized hoodies over your naked body and slowly leave the bedroom.

Jiyong is standing at the kitchen counter. He’s wearing nothing but black sweatpants, his hair is disheveled, and there’s a mug in his hand. A simple breakfast of toast, fruit, and coffee has already been prepared on the counter. When he sees you, the hand holding his mug stops and trembles slightly. His gaze drops to your neck, where purple marks from the night stand out clearly against your skin. There’s no triumph in his eyes, only deep regret and shame.

You sit at the kitchen island and wrap both hands around your mug. Jiyong takes the seat across from you. The silence between you isn’t as tense as it was last night. It feels tired now, washed clean by the storm you survived together.

"I’m sorry," Jiyong whispers first. He sets his mug down and looks directly into your eyes. His voice is rough. "What I said about Seunghyun was disgusting. Sometimes I’m just too damaged to make you happy the way you deserve."

You study his face, the hollow cheeks and the dark circles beneath his eyes. Your throat tightens again, but this time with tenderness and genuine regret.

"I’m sorry too, Jiyong," you answer quietly as you reach across the counter. Your fingers find his, intertwining between his silver rings. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I just...I love you so much that sometimes it feels like it’s killing me."

Jiyong squeezes your hand tightly, his thumb moving over your knuckles. "I love you too, I love you so much it drives me crazy, and maybe that’s why I do these things even though I regret them afterward. In my entire universe, you’re the only person who exists. You always have been..."

"I know," you say with a weak smile, your first one since last night. "And you’re the only person who exists for me. You’re my life, and I don’t know how to leave you, even when I’m packing my suitcase and screaming that I hate you..."

Jiyong smiles tiredly but sincerely because he’s exactly the same. He rises from his chair, walks around the counter, and crouches beside you. He rests his head in your lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the fabric of the hoodie. You slowly run your fingers through his hair.

Your phone suddenly vibrates on the counter. There’s a new message in the group chat from Seunghyun.

Seunghyun: Hey, you two left really early last night. Are you okay, or should we be preparing for the end of the world? Jiyong looked like he wanted to murder me...

Jiyong turns his head, looks at the screen, then glances up at you. He reaches for your phone, typing a reply with tired fingers.

Jiyong: False alarm. Everything is perfectly fine.

He drops the phone back onto the counter and wraps his arms more tightly around your waist. The two of you simply aren’t breaking up. The problems are still there, hidden beneath the surface, but in the morning light, with coffee and your fingers intertwined, you’re safe again. At least for now….

˗ˏˋϟˎˊ˗

After breakfast, you return to the bedroom. The morning sun is shining brightly now, mercilessly revealing the battlefield you left behind during the night. The room looks as though a tornado has passed through it. A huge pile of wrinkled clothes rises from the center of the bed, the black suitcase lies overturned on the floor, and several black buttons from Jiyong’s shirt glint near the nightstands.

Jiyong stops in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He studies the destruction, then looks at you. His usual slightly crooked, boyish smile appears on his face.

"Well, I suppose you could describe your packing style as somewhat...expressive," he teases, his voice still hoarse.

"Shut up," you say with a laugh, immediately nudging him with your shoulder. "You’re the one who threw me onto those clothes. And you’re the one who tore my dress apart like your life depended on it."

"It did," he answers immediately, and this time there’s no humor in his voice. For a second, he looks deeply into your eyes. The shadow of last night’s terror flickers across his face, but Jiyong quickly hides it behind another smile. He bends down, picks up the suitcase, and throws it back into the wardrobe. "All right. It’s time for a serious cleanup. I’ll collect the buttons, and you can save whatever’s left."

You get to work. You sit in the middle of the bed, slowly picking up one piece of clothing after another. You smooth out the wrinkled fabrics, folding sweaters and shirts back into neat piles. Jiyong crawls around the bed on his knees, quietly swearing as he searches beneath the nightstands for the missing black buttons and stray pieces of your clothes.

"Hey," Jiyong suddenly says. He rises from the floor holding the dress you wore last night. He lifts it by one shoulder, showing you the torn seam near the zipper and the damaged fabric along the side. "I don’t think this is salvageable. Although, surprisingly, it wasn’t my teeth...I swear."

You throw one of the pillows at him, hitting him directly in the chest. Jiyong staggers dramatically and falls onto the bed beside you with a loud laugh. Taking advantage of the situation, he catches your ankle and pulls you toward him, pulling you down until your head rests against his chest.

"Y/N?" he whispers, his fingers gently tracing your jaw before moving down to your neck, where his thumb brushes over one of the purple marks he left during the night.

"Mmm?" you hum, listening to the steady, calming beat of his heart. You’ve both completely forgotten about the cleanup.

"You look beautiful like this... Messy hair, wearing my hoodie, lying on top of a pile of ruined clothes..."

"You’re awful," you say with a smile before gently biting his shoulder.

Jiyong wraps his arms more tightly around you and kisses your hair. For a while, you both fall silent. But inside that silence, drifting through the bedroom along with the warmth of the morning sunlight, you can both feel the same thing. It is an unspoken, instinctive certainty. You both know that you didn’t solve anything today. The jealousy inside both of you hasn’t disappeared, it has only gone into hibernation... You know there’ll be another party, another meeting with the members, another glance that awakens the possessive demon inside Jiyong, and another deliberate provocation from you that drives him to madness. You know that in a week, a month, or two months, you’ll probably be standing in this exact room again, screaming at each other until three in the morning and covering the bed with clothes while you hold an open suitcase…

It’s a toxic, endless cycle, a dance along the edge of a cliff, but neither of you says it aloud. Why would you? You both know how it will end. No matter how much it hurts or how many things you destroy along the way, you’ll never leave him and he’ll never leave you... You’re two damaged pieces of the same broken puzzle, and somehow, no matter how many times you tear each other apart, you always fit back together.

Jiyong lifts himself slightly above you, looks at your peaceful face, and playfully taps the tip of your nose. "Come on, the bed isn’t going to clean itself. And afterward, you have to teach me how to mend my shirt."

"G-Dragon doesn’t know how to mend a shirt?" you tease with a smile.

"G-Dragon only designs and tears shirts, baby," he says with a wink, kissing you briefly but firmly before returning to the cleanup.

Outside the windows, Seoul pulses with life, but in here, surrounded by scattered clothes and quiet laughter, you’ve found your own perfectly imperfect peace again, at least for a little while. Exactly as it always is with you…