tari

The early-spring sun shone brightly through Professor Yang's office window as you sat in the seat across from her desk. A warm smile spread on your lips as she went over all of the paperwork for the end-of-summer fashion design competition.

"Are you sure you want to join y/n? You'll only have a few months to prepare and turn in your design." Professor Yang asked, her eyebrows knitted in concern as she looked up at you, setting the papers back down on the ever-growing pile.

"I'll be okay, I've actually been working on a design well before I left Italy." You tell her, your smile only spreading wider as she nods her head, reaching over to pull an ink pen from the overflowing cup of writing utensils.

"You're an amazing designer, y/n, I'm just worried that you won't have the appropriate time you need." The older woman spoke about her worries, and you reassured her that everything would be fine, causing her to sigh, but she signed the papers nonetheless.

"Thank you, Mrs. Yang."

"You're welcome, y/n. I'll see you in class on Monday." Professor Yang offered you a smile of her own as she watched you stand from your seat, slinging your bag strap over your shoulder.

With one last farewell, you make your way towards her office door, pulling the heavy wood open. You barely took a step past the threshold when you noticed someone sitting on the bench that was on the other side of the hall. The sight of her purple sundress was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by the pair of sunglasses that sat upon her head.

"Dayhun?" You nearly exclaimed as you pulled the door shut behind you, eyes growing wide as you took in the sight of your best friend.

Upon hearing your voice, Dayhun lifts her head, a bright smile spreading on her lips as she hops up. In the next moment, she was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, squeezing all of the air from your lungs, and it took you patting her back before she finally released you, hands still firmly on your shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, eyebrows pinching in confusion, and a pout formed on Dayhun's glossed lips.

"I'm here to see my best friend, of course, but also tell me why I had to find out about your return through your brother and not you?" She complains, causing you to laugh softly, patting her arm as she lets them drop back down to her sides.

"I was going to call you on the way to Yeosang's." You tell her with a shake of your head, hiking your bag further up your shoulder before glancing down the hall, catching sight of the time.

"Well, it's too late now, but c'mon, I'll walk with you to your car." Dayhun hooks her arm around yours before pulling you down the hall, chatting about anything you've missed in the past few days that you haven't been able to talk to her—or anyone, really. Between packing and traveling, you hardly had any time to communicate.

The cool evening breeze washed over the two of you as soon as you took a step out of the building, goosebumps rising on your bare arms, seeing as you left your jacket sitting in your car. Dayhun scolded you as she ran her warmer hands over your chilled skin, trying to help alleviate some of the cold.

"So, what's your plan now that you're officially back?" She asked, brushing a few stray strands out of her face, and you glance at her for a split second before focusing back on the ground before you, not wanting to trip over your own feet.

"For starters, I'm gonna work my ass off to win the fashion design competition," You tell her just as the two of you walk up to your car, the sleek black paint reflecting the setting sun behind you, "but I'm also going to finally win over Jung Wooyoung."

Dayhun couldn't help but giggle at your overly confident statement and the look of determination that was plastered all over your face.

"Still hung up on Wooyoung, huh? Are you actually going to tell him this time or chicken out again?" She teases you, and you could only roll your eyes, a hint of a smile threatening to tug on the corners of your lips as you unlocked your car, pulling the door open.

"Har har," You pursed your lips, tossing your bag over into the passenger seat before turning to give Dayhun a playful glare, "I'm actually going to tell him this time, watch."

"Okay…" Dayhun laughs as she watches you step into the driver's seat, "What about Yeosang?"

A small scoff escapes your mouth as you shake your head, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Hearing those words fall from your lips made Dayhun laugh, not believing you would actually be ballsy enough to go behind your brother's back. Yet she still found your determination endearing and would try her best to get Project Mrs. Jung to home base. The sound of her laughter has your face flushing, the heat burning the tips of your ears, and you glare at her before starting your vehicle, grumbling softly.

"Well, my dear best friend, I wish you the best of luck." She winks at you as her freshly manicured fingers wrap around the door.

"Thank you, Day, we all know I'm gonna need it." You sigh, letting your hands fall to your lap as your engine rumbles and you make a mental note to see if San ever changed the oil while you were gone. "But I'm gonna get to the house before it gets too late, I'll call you later."

"You'd better, or I'll show up at your front door in the middle of the night." She threatens, causing you to look at her with an expression that was somewhere between concern and horror before breaking out into a fit of giggles.

"You're so weird."

"You love me," She sticks her tongue out at you, and you just roll your eyes before letting her shut your door. Dayhun watched as you pulled out of the parking lot before she pulled her phone out, a smile spreading on her lips as she saw one new message.

The car was filled with the soft sound of the radio playing and the heat blowing on the lowest setting, just enough to keep the chill out. Your eyes were glued to the road ahead of you as thoughts of Wooyoung and your brother crossed your mind, and you felt a sudden surge of annoyance shoot through you.

"'You can't date my friends y/n, it's weird'" You mock your brother's words as well as the stupid rule he's had set ever since you became a freshman in high school. At first, it was something that you could just ignore and go on about your day, but the more your feelings grew for his fox-eyed best friend, the more you became annoyed with it.

"Stupid rule, how about he just shoved it up his ass?" You grumble, fingers tightening around your steering wheel, but that annoyance slowly melted into guilt as you caught sight of the photograph that was hanging around your rear-view mirror. A picture of you and Yeosang from the last time you visited the local fair before he left for college, with bright smiles adorning both your faces.

Swallowing thickly, you turn your attention back to the road ahead of you, trying to ignore the war of conflicting feelings that was happening in the back of your mind and heart.

The rest of the drive was silent, save for your occasional humming along to a song that piqued your attention and the harsh gust of winds outside as the sky clouded over, telling you it was going to rain soon. Glancing up at the dark clouds, you prayed that you would be able to make it to the house before it started pouring.

Thankfully, it was just light sprinkles when you pulled into the driveway, parking right behind your brother's silver Acura. That's when you noticed the other two cars in the driveway, and you started to wonder if the other three were home as well. Making quick work of grabbing your bags, you quickly shuffle inside, trying to stay as dry as physically possible.

You were met with the sounds of shouting as soon as you walked through the threshold, a smile instantly spreading on your lips. Setting your bags off to the side, you slip out of your shoes before stepping into the living room, where you find San and Wooyoung sitting on the couch, their fingers smashing the buttons on the PlayStation controllers that sat in their hands, Mortal Kombat playing on the screen.

"Fuck off, Wooyoung, God dammit!" San shouted as Wooyoung pulled his finishing move on San's character, giving him the leeway to KO him and ultimately win the game.

As you step further into the room, you notice that your brother and Hongjoong are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear the sound of clinking from the kitchen.

You watch them for a few more moments before the duffel bag you were carrying starts to strain your shoulder. Dropping the bag to the ground with a loud thump, you cleared your throat, catching the attention of the feline-eyed male first. San's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning when he sees you standing there. He drops the controller onto the coffee table, not caring that he is giving Wooyoung the chance to win for the fourth time in a row. He was then jumping over the back of the couch, causing Wooyoung to exclaim as he nearly kicked him in the face.

"Y/n!" He exclaimed as he stumbled to catch his footing once he landed, causing you to have a mini heart attack. San wraps his arms tightly around your smaller frame, squeezing you as Dayhun had back on campus.

"Hey, Sannie." You let out a choked laugh, seeing as he was practically squeezing all of the air from your lungs, hand coming up to pat his back softly, "San, you can let go now. I can't breathe."

At the sound of the commotion, Yeosang and Hongjoong walk out of the kitchen, a smile of their own spreading on both of their faces as they catch sight of you just as San pulls away. As San steps to the side, your brother and Hongjoong come into view, their eyes already locked on you.

"Well, if it isn't my big brother." You tease as Yeosang walks up to you, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. Though he may never say it, he'd missed you over the past two years. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you missed me." You wrap your arms around his torso after pinching his side playfully, giggling when he jumps.

"For now, there's no telling how much I'll wanna send you back after a few days." Yeosang jokes, causing your jaw to drop in astonishment as he pulls away from you.

"Rude." You scoff, reaching over to pinch his arm, causing him to yelp, swatting your hand away and taking a few steps away from your reach.

Hongjoong was next in line, starting to reach out to pat the top of your head, but you just grabbed his arm, pulling him into a hug and ignoring his protests. Once he realized that he wasn't going to get out of this, he let out a huff of air before bringing his hand up to back your back softly.

Once he deemed that was enough physical contact, he was pulling away from you, a smile on his lips, one that looked a little awkward, but happy nonetheless. "You've sure grown up quite a bit since the last time I saw you."

"Joong, it's been what? Two years? I really haven't changed that much." You laugh with a shake of your head as the older male continues to give you shit about being that much younger than him.

Then he was moving to the side, and as soon as your eyes landed on the long-haired male, your breath caught in your throat. These past two years have only made him all the more breathtaking; his once short red hair, which you last saw, is now long and dark onyx.

"Welcome back, pipsqueak." He greets you, walking between San and Yeosang, before standing right in front of you. You barely got a word out before he was pulling you into a tight hug, heat rushed all throughout your body at his touch, skin tingling and mind going ninety to nothing as his cologne invaded your senses.

"H-Hey Woo," You mentally curse yourself for stuttering as you bring your hands up to his back, the fabric of his t-shirt balling into your fists.

"Alright, that's enough," Yeosang grumbles as he grabs a hold of Wooyoung's collar, pulling the younger male away from you, which in turn causes you to roll your eyes, hands falling back to your sides. Your eyes narrowed into slits as you looked at your brother, who was glaring at Wooyoung.

Noticing the tension, Hongjoong claps his hands, causing you and San to jump while Yeosang and Wooyoung look over at him, "Dinner is almost finished, y/n you can put your stuff in Yeosang's room."

"Huh? I thought I was crashing on the couch…" Your voice trailed off as you looked over at your brother, who had already made his way towards the front door to grab your suitcase.

"Come on." Yeosang nodded towards the hall before walking away, not giving you a chance to question anything further. Blinking a few times, you shoot the other three males a confused look before scrambling to grab your duffel bag, following the dark-haired male who disappeared down the hall.

"Yeosang." You call out to your brother as you walk into his bedroom, looking at the older male with nothing short of confusion. Walking further into the room, you watch as Yeosang sets your suitcase down on the floor at the end of his bed, but as you move to set your duffel bag on top, you notice two other suitcases sitting on his dark comforter. "Yeosang, what's going on?"

Yeosang stops trying to tidy up things on his bed to turn towards you, seeing the panic begin to bloom in your eyes. He swallows thickly before letting out a huff of air, which only causes your anxiety to skyrocket, believing something bad has happened.

"Okay, I need to tell you something, but I also need you not to freak out when I tell you." The dark-haired male points at you, and annoyance bubbles up to join your anxiety.

You give him a deadpan expression as you drop your hands to your side, "Well, now I am going to freak out, dumbass."

"Drama queen." Yeosang rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and you copy his movements in almost a mocking manner, easily getting under the male's skin, and he glares at you, "Stop that."

"Stop that." You mock him, bringing your hand up to mimic a hand puppet, and Yeosang's lips pull into a straight line as he watches you. Meeting his gaze, you drop your hand back to your sides, "Tell me what's going on, Yeosang."

"You can stay in my room until I get back, we thought it'd be easier," Yeosang explains; however, his words only serve to confuse you further.

'Until he got back? Where was he even going?'

"What are you talking about, dude? Get back from where?" You asked, slowly starting to get fed up with the way he was beating around the bush like you were a child. The same thing he did whenever he got accepted into college and didn't know how to tell you that he was leaving. That thought had a whole new wave of anxiety shoot through you. Was he moving back home? Did he transfer? Was he movi—

"I'm going abroad." His words slice through your thoughts, and they somehow alleviate the anxiety before shock overtook your entire system.

"What?" You exclaim, eyes growing wide as your jaw drops slightly, "I mean, congratulations, but what?"

"I found out last week. I was going to tell you before, but you were so busy with packing and traveling that I didn't want to bother you." Yeosang starts to ramble, telling you about going to a third-world country to help some of the kids there learn. His hands moving in borderline wild gestures told you that he was on the verge of panicking himself, "I'm sorry, I know you just got back and now it seems like I'm just running as soon as you get back, but I'm not, I promise—"

"Yeo, stop, my god." You laugh softly, moving over to grab your brother's forearms and forcing his attention back on you, "This is exciting. Why are you apologizing?"

"Because you just got back after being gone for two years," He starts, but you just shook your head with a wide smile, all of the earlier anxiety and annoyance melting away as you saw the opportunity that was placed in front of your older brother.

"Okay, and? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Yeosang, plus it's something that you've dreamed of doing." You shake his arms, rambles of your own starting to fall from your lips as you recall all the times he talked about being able to help children in other countries.

As the dark-haired male watched you ramble on about the stories and dreams he's shared with you, he felt his shoulder relax, the weight finally starting to lift. Then the two of you talk a little more about where he was and how long he would be gone. You weren't even sure how much time had passed until Wooyoung was peeking his head into the room, telling you that dinner was ready. The smile he flashes you makes your heart skip a beat, heat rushing up your neck and warming your cheeks.

Yeosang thanks the younger male before standing from the bed and following you as you make your way towards the bedroom door. However, before your fingers could grab the doorknob, Yeosang's fingers wrap around your bicep, pulling your attention back to him, and you start to complain about being hungry.

"The rule still stands, regardless of whether I'm here or not." He reminds you, and all the memories of previous times he warned you about dating his friends flood your mind.

With a roll of your eyes, you tug your arm out of his grasp and grab the bedroom door, throwing it open, "Yeah, yeah, I know."

However, as you walk out of the bedroom, with your brother right on your heels, you couldn't help but think that this might be the chance you've been looking for. With Yeosang out of the way, you were sure that you could finally confess to Wooyoung.

—

That night, during dinner, it was like you had never been gone. The room filled with laughter that bounced off the walls, stories falling from anyone's lips while the others listened; of course, the occasional commentary was to be expected. Then the food—food Wooyoung cooked, and the one thing that you missed the most while being gone, besides the man himself.

It was nice being back home after so long.

"God, that was amazing," You groan, leaning back in your seat as you finish off your second plate, having not realized just how hungry you were. The action pulled a mixture of teasing and laughter from the four males around you, but you paid them no mind. Letting out a contented sigh, you sat back up straight before pushing your chair back and standing, "I'll wash the dishes."

As you started making a grab for everyone's plate, you missed the way that Wooyoung's face lit up like a Christmas tree. A smile spread on his lips, and he clambered out of his seat as well, causing you to look at him. Your heart began racing the moment you met his eyes, the wide smile on his face making your stomach flutter, and you quickly averted your gaze.

"I'll help," He offered, grabbing his and San's plates before you could, and you looked at him with wide eyes, telling him that he didn't have to since he was the one who did the cooking.

"Yeah, what happened to your whole 'I cook, you clean' rule?" San asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wooyoung looks over at the short-haired male before shrugging his shoulders, eyes following your form as you round the table before disappearing into the kitchen. However, he quickly moved his gaze back down to San, "I'm feeling generous."

He then gathered the rest of the dishes before following after you, ignoring the questioning stares he was getting from the three males.

When he walked into the kitchen, Wooyoung's steps faltered just a bit, eyes widening a hair as he watched you pull your hair back, completely oblivious to his presence. Sensing a pair of eyes on you, you turn your head, a smile spreading on your lips as you take in the fox-eyed male.

"I'll wash them, you can dry and put them away." You tell him, breaking Wooyoung from his trance, and he swallows thickly, tongue jutting out to wet his lips with a nod. The action has your cheeks flushing, and you quickly turn back towards the sink, missing the hint of a teasing smirk on his lips.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as you both worked together to wash the dishes, easily falling into tandem with each other. Wooyoung's soft hums and occasional chatter were the only sounds heard in the room, and for the first time since you've landed, you feel your body relaxing, the tension finally uncoiling and allowing your muscles to rest.

"So, how was Italy?" Wooyoung asked as he took a glass from your gloved hand, his eyes trained on your face. Your eyes flicker to his for a moment before they shift back to the sink, and you hum softly.

"It was nice, a huge learning experience, and I'm glad I was able to go, but I'm more glad being home again after so long." You tell him, reaching for another plate to wash as you tell him a story or two about your time in the foreign country.

"Did you meet anyone fancy?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, and you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of your chest.

"You're a dork," You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the dishes before you, "but I did get to meet this designer I've always admired."

"Oh really?" Wooyoung looked at you with wide eyes, his lips parted just slightly, and his hands slowing on the plate he was drying.

"Mhmm, he even said that he liked my designs, that they have potential to be something great." You explain, a silly smile spreading on your lips as you recall the memory, and Wooyoung chuckles.

"Your designs have been and always will be amazing, pipsqueak." He complements you and heat races up your neck, the tips of your ears burning as you start to feel slightly lightheaded.

"I don't know about amazing, but thank you, Woo." You flash him a quick smile before letting your gaze fall back onto the sponge in your gloved hand.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, y/n." Wooyoung put the plate in his hand into the cabinet before placing his hand upon your head, ruffling your hair just a bit. You swat his hand away with grumbles before handing him another plate, stomach fluttering when he chuckles. He teases you as he takes the dish, "You're starting to look like a cherry." His words have you getting him a world-class side eye, and his laugh echoes in the room, "Okay, okay, but tell me more. How was the food there?"

"They have some really good food, but nothing will beat your cooking." You tell him, missing the way the tips of his ears started to turn a deep shade of red. You then started spouting all kinds of stories from your time in Italy, some of which made no sense to the male, but he listened regardless.

"Alright, enough about me," You shake your head after realizing how much you had been rambling, "do you still play baseball?"

Your question has an almost instant reaction, a scoff falls from Wooyoung's lips as he looks at you, almost offended by your question. His eyebrows knitted together, lips parted just a bit, and you could see the 'are you for real' gleaming in his chocolate orbs.

"Yes, I still play baseball, what kind of question is that?" He asked, putting away the cup you had handed him just moments before. You laugh, the sound flowing around the dark-haired male like a warm summer breeze, and his heart begins thumping against his ribs. "We actually have a game on Friday, you should come."

"I don't know, not sure I wanna watch you sit on a bench all game." You tease, stifling a laugh when his jaw drops. Then, before you could even move, he scooped up a handful of bubbles before flinging them at you. "Oh, Jung Wooyoung, I know you did not just do that."

"You're right, I didn't." He sticks his tongue out at you as you scrape the bubble off your shirt before throwing it back at him.

Before long, the room was filled with laughter and squeals as the two of you continued to fling water and bubbles at each other. Each of your clothes was equally soaked by the time you both called truce, the group slick with soap and water. Your cheeks began to hurt from laughing and smiling so hard, eyes gleaming under the yellow lights as you watched Wooyoung wipe bubbles from his face, a smile of his own adorning his lips.

"Alright, you go change and get around for bed," Wooyoung told you, wiping his hands on his jeans before moving towards the sink where you were still standing.

"Are you sure? There's not much left."

"Exactly, there's not, and you've had a long day, so off you go, pipsqueak." He pulled the gloves from your hands before shooing you out of the room, causing you to giggle. You thanked him before walking out of the kitchen, holding your soaked shirt away from your body as the chill of the AC started to spread goosebumps all over your wet skin.

As you walked past the other three men who were sitting on the couch watching TV, you couldn't help but think about how nice it was to finally be home. To be back with the people that you love so dearly, and a swirl of emotions welled up in your chest as you walked to Yeosang's room, a smile still painted beautifully on your face. That same smile never faltering, even long after you've fallen asleep for the night, the jet lag finally getting to you.

“You’ve got to try their croissants, they added them to their menu last year, and I’ve been obsessed.” Dayhun rambles on about the cafe’s latest addition as you open the door for her, following close behind after she walks in. She greets the workers with a wide grin before pulling you towards the counter. “C’mon, y/n.”

The cafe has definitely changed a lot since you were last here. The interior was a lot more cozy compared to the bland decorations and tables they had two years ago. Even though the menu was updated, most of the drinks you had been familiar with were either moved, renamed, or just gone. You hadn’t even noticed that Dayhun had finished ordering until she was bumping her arm against yours.

After ordering, you go to pay, but Dayhun knocks your hand out of the way with an almost offended expression, eyebrows scrunched in the middle, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you were reminded of Wooyoung’s face from last night. You shook your head as you watched her pay, small grumbles of you just getting back so this was her treat falling from her lips. Then she was pulling you towards the small table that sat off to the far corner of the building, the early morning sunlight shining right onto the smooth wooden top.

“So how was your first night home?” The ravenette barely let you sit down before the questions came flooding out, “Oh my god, did Yeosang cry? If he did, please tell me you got it on camera.”

“Day, one question at a time.” You tease, situating yourself in your chair after scooting closer to the table, and Dayhun plopped down in the other chair, an expectant look on her face as she looked at you. You let out a sigh, resting your arms on top of the table and leaning slightly forward as if you were about to tell a secret, “Last night was good, everyone was stoked, and no, my brother did not cry, though I would’ve loved to have that blackmail material. Oh, and Wooyoung made dinner; he even helped me with the dishes afterward.”

Dayhun’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she blinked a few times, “You mean the same guy with the stupid ‘I cook, you clean’ rule, helped you with the dishes after he cooked?”

“Yeah, crazy, right?”

“Oh, girl, that man definitely has the hots for you,” Dayhun stated in a matter-of-fact voice, causing you to roll your eyes despite the heat that bloomed in your chest at the possibility that Wooyoung might actually like you.

“I don’t know about that,” you started just as one of the cafe workers came over with your order, setting the two cups down with the croissants. “Thank you.”

The worker nodded with a smile before leaving after making sure there wasn’t anything else that either of you needed. You took a sip of your vanilla latte, eyes gazing out the window, watching as people walked by to continue their normal Saturday activities. However, your thoughts drifted back to a certain fox-eyed male, wondering what he was doing after baseball practice. Then you suddenly remembered that you hadn’t told Dayhun the news you had learned the night before.

“My brother is going abroad,” The words fell from your lips quicker than Dayhun’s brain could process, and she looked at you, confused, a simple ‘huh’ escaping her lips as she set her cup down, “Yeosang, he’s going abroad for like a year starting Friday.”

“Ohhh…” A look of realization crosses her face as your words finally click in her mind, but then a glimmer of sadness flickers in her eyes that you don’t catch as she glances over at her phone, which was sitting face down on the table. However, it was gone as soon as it appeared, a smile replacing it as she snapped her fingers and pointed at you, “Oh my god, do you know what this means?”

“Hmm?” You hum softly, bringing your cup up to your lips, letting the warm liquid chase away the chill that was threatening to close in due to the AC in the cafe.

“It means you can finally confess to Wooyoung!” Dayhun exclaims, nearly loud enough for the entirety of the cafe to hear, and your eyes grow watery as you fight off a cough after your coffee went down the wrong pipe.

“Day— you can’t… just blurt that— fuck… blurt that so loud.” You scold her between coughs, patting your chest to try and ease the burn.

“I mean, am I wrong?” She shrugs, taking a sip of her own coffee as you glare at her through teary eyes, finally getting over the coughing fit.

“No, you’re not wrong. It’s just…” Your voice trails off as you look back out the window, fingers wrapping tightly around your warm cup, “What if he just sees me as his little sister and I ruin our entire friendship?”

“Please, y/n, I think the last thing you have to worry about is him not returning your feelings.” Dayhun tried to reassure you, a soft smile on her lips when you turned to give her a look that she was all too familiar with. The ravenette lets out a laugh, “Girl, you read way too many books.” Her words have you rolling your eyes. A part of you wanted to believe her, but the other part told you that you were aiming way too high. Noticing that your mind was drifting, Dayhun reached over the table, poking the back of your hand and catching your attention, “Are you gonna go to his game Friday?”

“I want to,” You tell her as you let out a sad sigh, a pout forming on your lips, “but I have to take Yeosang to the airport that day.”

“Want me to tag along?” Dayhun asks, a playful smirk spreading on her lips, “I’ll make sure that we make it back in time.”

That was enough to pull a laugh from you, the sound bouncing softly off the walls of the cafe, “I’m not even sure Yeo would get in the car if he knew you were inside.”

“Hey!” Dayhun exclaims before a laugh of her own bubbles out of her chest, the combined sound of your laughter making your stomach flutter, having not realized just how much you missed this. Sure, both of you would call and FaceTime any chance you could, but it just never seemed to be the same as laughing together in person.

“Oh, right, there’s also a celebratory party Friday night after the game,” Dayhun tells you, wiping away the tears that had collected in the corner of her eyes.

“Isn’t it a little early to be celebrating?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, bringing your cup to your lips once more and taking a long sip as Dayhun shakes her head.

“Well, if you’d been paying attention to the campus news, you’d know that your boy has been the lucky star of the team for the past few years.” She explains, and a small sense of pride swells in your chest knowing that Wooyoung was doing so well. Dayhun then nudges your foot, “That’s besides the point, though, you could finally secure the bag that night too, if you catch my drift.”

Your heart begins to race as your face flushes, and Dayhun starts wiggling her eyebrows with a teasing grin on her lips. Grumbling at her, you finish off your coffee, and the dark-haired girl just starts laughing. But as you stood to toss your trash, you couldn’t help but think about the possibility that Dayhun was right and Wooyoung did, in fact, like you back.

Inhaling deeply you mustered up as much courage as you could, you waited years for this moment you weren’t about to let anything get in your way. Not when you had such a golden moment.

—

The first half of the week seemed to go by agonizingly slow; classes seemed to drag on, homework piled up, and teachers all seemed to want to catch up with you. Though you could only blame it on coming back in the middle of the year, but the only thing that was really on your mind was Wooyoung and how you were going to confess to him.

Thursday had started off just the same; lectures seemed to drag on when all you wanted was to go home, knowing that Wooyoung only had a half day, just like you. Knowing you’d be able to hang out with him was the only thing that really kept you pushing through the day. Then he found you in the hall before your next class, a wide grin on his face, and the sight had your stomach fluttering.

“Hey, pipsqueak.” He greeted you, stopping just a few feet in front of you, and you fixed the strap of your messenger bag, returning his smile.

“What’s up, Woo?”

“You’re coming home after this class, right?” He asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocking on his heels slightly. You hum with a nod, eyes tracing the curve of his lips as his tongue jutted out just a hair, “Did you want anything particular for lunch? I was gonna cook.”

At the mention of his cooking, your whole face lit up, the sparkle in your eyes causing the dark-haired male to laugh softly, his heart racing underneath his ribs.

“Anything you cook, I’ll eat. Woo, you should know this.” You tell him, mouth already watering at the thought of his food, and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink due to the compliment.

“Shouldn’t have expected anything less from my number one beta taster.” He teases, and you roll your eyes, but the smile on your lips never leaves. If anything, it grows wider as memories of you trying his cooking flash in your mind. Wooyoung then reaches forward, ruffling your hair, causing you to gasp, swatting his hand away, “Okay, well, I’ll see you at home here in a bit, pipsqueak.”

You bid him a farewell before watching him walk away, not noticing the lurking presence until she spoke up.

“You poor thing,” Her voice causes you to jump, head whipping around to find none other than Kyoto Yuki. The very girl who had been a thorn in your side for the past three years, always trying to find some way of one-upping you.

“What do you want, Yuki?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, moving towards the door of the classroom that she was standing in front of.

“Come on, y/n, there’s no need to be so hateful. I just wanted to give you a bit of advice, Wooyoung would never stoop as low as to date someone like you, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.” She told you with a condescending smile, her tone sickly sweet, and to any outsider, it would look like a friendly exchange of words. But you knew better; her words were anything but friendly, and you wished you could wipe that stupid, smug smirk from her face, but she had already disappeared into the classroom.

As much as you didn’t want to let her words get to you, they did, and your earlier anxiety of confessing came barreling back. You then decided that you wouldn’t risk the relationship you had now for some stupid feelings. So you swallowed down the lump in your throat as well as pocketing the thought of confessing.

You tried to go about your day like normal, but as soon as you walked into the house after your class and found Wooyoung standing over the stove, you felt your chest tighten. Then he gave you his signature smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes, and you knew then, and there you weren't going to risk this for some dumb feelings. So you laid your bag on the couch before offering to help him, enjoying the connection you had, even if it may kill you inside.

The next day, you went about your day as normal—as normal as you could at least—the lectures seemed to drag on, and your mind kept wandering to the party tonight. You weren't even sure how you had made it back to the house in one piece to pick Yeosang up, or the fact that Dayhun was already there, sitting next to him on the couch.

"You guys ready to go?" You asked, a smile pulling on your lips as you're reminded of Wooyoung's game that was waiting for you when you got back.

"Yeah, let's go." Yeosang nods, pushing himself up off the couch and walking to the door where his luggage was sitting, and a heavy feeling starts to weigh on your chest. Your older brother was gonna be gone for a whole year; the fleeting moments of seeing him after two years were something you'd hold onto until he comes back.

The drive to the airport was filled with music and Dayhun's chatter, along with your input here and there. Yeosang was sitting in the passenger seat, one hand wrapped around his phone while the other was stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. He would let out occasional comments or groans with a roll of his eyes.

"I should've just had Hongjoong take me." He mumbles as you start to talk about boys and other girl stuff that he may be used to but would rather not hear it.

Getting to the airport, you help Yeosang pull his suitcases out of your trunk and walk him inside while Dayhun sits in the car, playing on her phone. Walking up to baggage claim, you watch as the brunette checks his stuff in before he turns towards you, a faint smile on his lips. Catching his eye, you didn't say a word before wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest.

"I'm gonna miss you, but you better have a lot of fun." You murmur into his shirt, his chest rumbling as he laughs, placing his hand on top of your head.

"I'll be back before you know it, with souvenirs if you behave." He teases, and you give him a deadpan look as you pull away, arms crossing over your chest. "Don't forget the rules y/n."

"Oh my god, Yeo." You roll your eyes as you push him away after he received his tags, a grin spreading on your lips.

"I'm serious."

"Yeah, yeah. Just go and text me each time you land." You tell him pointedly before sharing one last goodbye and watching him walk away towards his terminal. Your smile falters just slightly, but it was gone as soon as it appeared before you were walking out of the airport and hopping into the passenger seat, seeing as Dayhun moved to the driver's seat.

Your heart nearly seized as she peeled out of the parking lot before you could finish fastening your seatbelt. Scrambling to buckle up, you grabbed the handle above the door as soon as you heard it latch, wide eyes flickering from your best friend, who was definitely going more than ten over the speed limit, to the road ahead.

"Dayhun, you're gonna get us pulled over!" You exclaim as you clutch the handle, wide eyes glued to the roads ahead. The dark-haired girl just flashes you a smile before she takes a turn, maybe a little too sharp, and you gasp, heart racing a million miles an hour.

You weren't even sure how she didn't get pulled over as she practically drifted into the parking lot of the stadium, only slowing down when she found a parking spot. As she puts the vehicle in park, you start to feel your spirit float back into your body, and you look over just as Dayhun looks at you with a triumphant grin.

"I told you we'd get here on time." She beams at you, her arm looped through yours after you shut the car door, knees wobbling under your weight. Dayhun giggles as she pulls you into the stadium as if she hadn't just tried out for a NASCAR driver.

"You're actually insane, oh god, my heart is gonna burst." You swallow, trying to stabilize your erratic breathing, but Dayhun rolls her eyes before spotting San in the bleachers.

"Hey guys, you got here just before the second inning." He tells you with a dimpled smile, and you bow your head in thanks before glancing over at the field, easily catching sight of the fox-eyed male.

You feel your heart stop all over again when he turns his head, catching your eyes, and a wide grin tugs on his lips. He quickly waves at you, and you smile with a wave, mouthing 'good luck' just before he is called away.

As you all watched the game, you felt excitement coursing through you, your throat almost raw from all of the cheering. You hadn't realized how much you missed being able to watch his games until now, watching as he pitched effortlessly, and even when he was up next to bat, you nearly blew Dayhun's eardrums when he managed to hit the ball far enough to gain two bases.

Then, when they win, you jump out of your seat with a wide smile, cheering with all your might until you feel lightheaded. A blush crept up your neck when you caught Wooyoung's eyes, a faint smirk playing on his plump lips, and all the air was knocked from your lungs when he winked at you.

Once the game was over and Wooyoung disappeared with his teammates, you were dragged off the bleachers by Dayhun. You try to protest, saying that you wanted to talk to Wooyoung and congratulate him on the win, but she just hushed you, saying you'd see him at the party. So you followed her reluctantly after bidding San and Hongjoong goodbye.

"Come on, you're going so slow!" Dayhun exclaims as she waits outside the bathroom door for you to finish changing.

"Well, it's not my fault you picked such a complicated top. Oh my god, how do you even wear this thing?" You groan in frustration as you try for the nth time to get the top on correctly without your boobs popping out.

The sound of Dayhun's laughter only seemed to further annoy you. "Would you like my help?"

"Please."

That's all that was said before the bathroom door was opening slowly, and the ravenette was peeking her head inside. Stifling a giggle seeing the way you have the top on, she steps inside, shutting the door behind her.

With her help, you are able to get the top on correctly before tying the string around your neck and looking at yourself in the mirror. A smile spreads on your lips, and Dayhun mirrors your expression as she lays her hands on your shoulders.

"All set?" She asked, and you nodded before following her out of the bathroom, flipping the lights off on the way out.

By the time Dayhun pulled up to the large house, the party was in full swing. People were hanging out on the lawn, red solo cups in their hands, while others were smoking what you could only guess was a cigarette or marijuana.

"Whose house is this anyway?" You asked, tugging Dayhun closer to your body as a drunk guy stumbles by.

"The baseball captain's, I can't ever remember his name." She shrugs, reaching to grab the open door when another girl pulls it open. You step inside, and you're instantly met with a wave of heat and booming music that shakes the ground beneath your feet.

"I'm gonna go find Wooyoung." You leaned closer to Dayhun to make sure she heard you, and she smirked before nodding.

"Go find your lover boy, I'm gonna grab us some drinks." She told you, nodding in the direction of the kitchen, leading you to believe this wasn't her first time in this place.

Deciding not to question it, you maneuver through the thick crowd of people, head on a swivel as you search for a certain fox-eyed male. It didn't take too long to find him; he was standing with a few of his teammates, as well as San. A smile spread on your lips, and you stepped further into the room, ready to greet the older male, but the sound of your name had you stopping dead in your tracks.

"So, Wooyoung, who was that girl who was screaming her head off during the game?" A taller male asks with a chuckle, nudging Wooyoung, who brought his cup to his lips, taking a drink.

"Yeah, she seemed really enthusiastic about the win." Another chimes in with a playful smirk, causing the dark-haired male to roll his eyes.

"That's y/n, Yeosang's sister," Wooyoung explains, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Wait, the one that's been abroad?" The first guy asks, suddenly intrigued, and Wooyoung could feel annoyance bubble in his chest, but he kept his cool.

"Yeah, she just got back earlier this week."

"She your girlfriend?" The shorter guy asked, wiggling his eyebrows, and Wooyoung chuckled awkwardly, eyes flickering over to the cat-eyed male who was immersed in his phone.

"Nah, she's like a little sister to me." Wooyoung lies through his teeth, flinching slightly as if the words physically hurt him, and your smile faltered as you heard his words.

You knew better than to get your hopes up, knowing that this was very likely gonna be the outcome, but it still hurts. A lot. Your stomach twisted into knots, bile crept up the lining of your throat, and you decided that you'd just congratulate him tomorrow and tuck tail.

Snaking back through the crowd, you find Dayhun talking to a guy who was in her major; however, as soon as she caught sight of you, she excused herself. Walking up to her, you take the cup she hands to you, taking a large swig, gritting your teeth as the alcohol burns your throat.

Dayhun looked at you with wide eyes, her smile falling and replaced by worry. She knew that something was wrong and was quick to ask, but you just shook your head with a dazed smile, the alcohol already hitting your system.

"I'm fineee, c'mon let's party!" You cheer with a wide grin, grabbing the ravenette's wrist and pulling her towards the dance floor. Figuring that you just chickened out of confessing to Wooyoung and needed to distract yourself, she danced along with you.

As the night goes on, you've downed at least three cups of liquor, finishing your fourth when Dayhun starts to worry that it was more than losing confidence in confessing. You smile brightly at a guy who walks up to you, holding out a cup filled nearly to the brim with alcohol, a gleam in his eyes that Dayhun did not quite like. You, however, were too far gone to care.

"You are a sweetheart, thank you." You thank the male with a giggle, taking the cup from him and bringing it to your lips.

However, Dayhun was quick to intervene, plucking the cup from your grasp before the rim touched your gloss-smeared lips, "Yeah, no, she's good, thanks."

The guy rolled his eyes but didn't argue before walking away, and you look at your best friend with a pout, whining that she was ruining the fun. Shaking her head, Dayhun dumps the cup into a flower pot, not caring if it was real or fake, before setting the cup on the table as she drags you away from the dance floor.

"Okay, what is going on?" She asks, grabbing your biceps and forcing your dazed eyes onto her. You giggle drunkenly, grabbing her arms just below the crease of her elbows.

"You won't be... believe it." You slur with a frown, "Wooyoung said I was just a little sister to him, and here I am just an idiot who thought she had a chance."

"Y/n..."

"No, I love him and his stupidly attractive face so much, like how can I not when he flashes that damn smile at me?" You begin to ramble about Wooyoung and Dayhun, who couldn't help but pity you; however, that pity was quickly replaced by panic when she saw the man himself walking towards the two of you.

"Y/n—"

"I can't believe I got my hopes up for no-nothing... maybe I should've just listened to Yeo." You cut the ravenette off, and she laughs nervously when Wooyoung walks up.

"Hello, ladies." He greets the two of you, and Dayhun wondered if he had heard anything, and if he was just playing dumb if he had.

"Hey Woo—"

"Oh my g-god... you're... you're so pre-pretty." You slur over your words as you turn to look at the older male, whose eyes grow wide, before they flicker over to Dayhun. "It's such a shame that... that I can't kiss you." You point at him with a pout, and Wooyoung's face turns red while Dayhun stifles a laugh.

"How much has she drunk?" Wooyoung asked, turning his attention to your best friend while you reach over, taking a cup from another girl who winks at you.

Dayhun's eyes flicker to you before letting out a sigh when you start to drink from the new glass, "a lot."

"Jeez." Wooyoung mumbles before reaching over, taking the cup from your hands, and you let out a loud whine, stomping your foot as a child would. Shaking his head, Wooyoung hands Dayhun the cup before gently grabbing your bicep. "I'm gonna take her home before she gets herself into trouble."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." Dayhun nods as she watches the fox-eyed male drag you away, and you turn to wave at her with a lopsided smile.

"Bye bye, Day! I'm gonna go kiss a pretty boy!" You exclaim in a sing-song voice, definitely loud enough for the small crowd around you to hear, causing Dayhun to snort while Wooyoung's ears burn bright red.

You hum along to the song that was blaring through the speakers as Wooyoung drags you towards the front door, your feet stumbling. It wasn't until the cool night air hit your sweaty skin that you realized that he was pulling you away from the party, and a whine reverberated from the back of your throat.

"Noo, you're being a party pooper, I wanna stay." You pout, dragging your feet, but Wooyoung just glanced at you from over his shoulder with a soft chuckle. He has known you for well over half of your life, and not once did he think he'd ever see you this drunk out of your mind, but he also worried that you may have drunk too much.

"No can do, sweetheart, we're going home." He told you, continuing his trek to his car that was parked on the side of the street, your whines and protests falling on deaf ears. Unlocking the vehicle, he opened the passenger door and looked at you expectantly, but you stood there with your arms crossed over your chest, staying rooted in place.

"I don't wanna." You turned your head defiantly, and Wooyoung couldn't help but look at you endearingly, knowing that you wouldn't remember any of this the next morning, and he could tease you for being so cute.

"What would your brother say about that, though?" Wooyoung asked, sniffling a laugh when your shoulders went rigid, and you looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, your mouth falling agape.

"You know my brother?" You asked in disbelief, squinting your eyes as if you were trying to see through him.

Deciding to play along, Wooyoung leaned against the open vehicle door, subconsciously closer to you, "I do, I know him really well."

"I don't believe you." You squinted your eyes further until your vision was nearly obscured, and Wooyoung just chuckled, hands reaching for the phone that sat in his jeans pocket. Watching him unlock the device, you felt a wave of panic wash over you, and you quickly grabbed his wrist, "Wait, no, please don't tell Yeo, because then he'll tell Woo."

You mumbled the last part, averting your gaze, and Wooyoung couldn't help the shit-eating grin that spread on his lips. You had drunk so much that you didn't even recognize the person who was standing right before you. But he wasn't gonna ruin the fun; instead, he just shook his head and pocketed his phone before looking back at you.

"I won't tell him if…" He started, raising his hand to point a finger at you, and you turned your head, looking at him with hopeful eyes. "If you get in the car and let me take you home."

You blink a few times, cheeks starting to warm, and the fox-eyed male could see the cogs turning in your head and flicked your forehead, "not like that, take you home home."

"Oh…" You nodded your head slowly before a wide smile spread on your lips, "Okay!" Then you were hopping into the passenger seat, leaving the older male there laughing.

Once Wooyoung made sure that you were all set and buckled up, he shut the door and walked around the vehicle to climb into the driver's seat. Putting the keys into the ignition, he starts the vehicle, but doesn't move to shift the gear; instead, he turns in his seat and grabs the water bottle that he knew was still lying on the floorboards in the back. Finding it, he sits back down and hands it to you, urging you to drink the clear liquid. Thankfully, you didn't protest but drank it without a word. However, his eyes lingered on where your lips were wrapped around the rim, and heat crept up his neck, painting his face a deep shade of red, and he was thankful that it was dark out.

Without another word, he shifts the car into drive and pulls out onto the main road, reaching over to turn the radio on to help drown out the silence that was threatening to eat him alive. The two of you sat in silence for what felt like lifetimes, your eyes locked on the blurring scenery while Wooyoung's was on the road ahead.

Turning down a side road, Wooyoung's eyes flicker over to your still form, the question he had been chewing on finally slipping out, "Why'd you drink so much pipsqueak?"

"My crush broke my heart," You pouted, pulling your attention away from the window to look over at the dark-haired male whose eyebrows creased in the center. Not once had he ever heard you mention a crush, far too occupied by your uni coursework, but hearing it now, he couldn't help the dull pain in his chest.

"Who's…" Wooyoung's breath hitched for a split second before he swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat, "Who's your crush?"

"Jung Wooyoung!" You shout without missing a beat, followed by a huff as you slump back into the passenger seat; however, Wooyoung's foot came down on the brakes faster than he could react, stopping the vehicle. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look out at the night sky, "Can you believe that? I'm in love with my brother's stupidly attractive best friend."

Wooyoung looked over at you with a mixture of shock and confusion, not fully believing what you were saying. When a honk was heard behind him, Wooyoung had to remind himself that you were just drunk babbling and let off the brakes before moving further down the road, witless, you hummed along to the radio as if you hadn't just blurted the craziest thing aloud.

The rest of the car ride was filled with the soft sound of your humming along to whatever was playing through the radio and the gust of wind through the cracked windows. Wooyoung's mind was racing a million miles an hour, still stuck on what you had just drunkenly confessed. Though he wanted to say that it was just you mindlessly babbling, he knew that alcohol wasn't called the top truth serum for no reason. However, as he pulled into the driveway of the house, he decided not to dwell on it and just get you inside and to bed.

Turning the car off, he pulls the keys out before opening the door and stepping out, before helping you out of the vehicle. You murmur random nonsense as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open, though before he can stop you, you rush out of his arms and make a beeline down the hallway.

"Whoa!" Wooyoung rushed over to steady you as you nearly ran right into San's shut bedroom door. You let out a fit of giggles as he grabs your arm gently and tries to lead you towards Yeosang's bedroom, but you protest and pull him towards his bedroom.

Not finding it in himself to stop you, he just decides he'll sleep on the couch and helps you into his bedroom, a ghost of a smile on his lips when you cheer triumphantly. Walking over to his bed, he starts to let go of your arm, but you stumble over your own feet, losing balance and falling onto the mattress, pulling Wooyoung down with you.

He quickly catches himself with a huff, heart beating erratically as he realizes just how close your bodies were. Swallowing thickly his eyes flicker to your parted, gloss-smeared lips and a war waged in his mind. He reprimanded himself for even thinking about it and started to pull away, ears burning hot, but he didn't get far before your hands were grabbing his face, squishing his cheeks slightly.

"Wooyoung…" You murmur his name for the first time in the past hour and a half, and his eyes lock on your dazed ones. Your thumb brushes over the skin of his cheekbone, right over his beauty mark, and your lips are moving faster than your mind, "I love you. Even if I forget in the morning, I mean it right now."

Your confession has the male's eyes growing wide, his skin growing warmer under your palms, and his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He tried to think of something—anything to say, but all the words he really wanted to say died on his tongue, and he grabbed one of your wrists with his hand that wasn't supporting his weight.

"You're drunk, y/n, you have no idea what you're talking about." Wooyoung sighs, pulling your hand away from his face as a pout forms on your lips.

"I am not drunk." You quip, but Wooyoung just gives you a deadpan stare with a raised eyebrow, and you sigh, "Fine, maybe I am, but my feelings? Those are real, not just drunk words."

The room then falls into a tense silence as Wooyoung stares down at you, a flurry of emotions swimming in his chocolate orbs. Your dilated eyes traced every curve of his face, your fingertips brushing the skin underneath his tight jaw. Wooyoung's mind raced. On one hand, he wanted to believe that the words you blurted were true, but on the other hand, he could hear Yeosang's voice ringing in the back of his mind, and he quickly came to his senses.

Shaking his head, he pulls away from your body fully, leaving you to sit up on your elbows to look at the dark-haired male with scrunched eyebrows.

Averting his gaze, Wooyoung makes a grab for the small throw blanket at the end of his bed, "Get some rest, pipsqueak."

Then he was taking a step towards his bedroom door; however, before he got too far, there was a pull on his arm. Swallowing thickly, he looks down where your smaller hand was wrapped around his wrist before letting them travel to your face, meeting your eyes.

"Can you stay, please?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, and Wooyoung's breath hitches, ready to tell you that it wasn't a good idea, but you beat him to it, "no funny business, it's just… I feel safer when you're with me." You omit, and the boy's heart seizes in his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric of the blanket.

Seeing the vulnerability mixed with tears in your eyes, Wooyoung could feel his resolve crumbling, and in a short moment, he was nodding with a sigh. Tossing the blanket back onto the foot of the bed, he climbs into his bed next to you, not bothering to change.

"Get some slee—" Wooyoung chokes on his words when you shift around until you are lying on his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"You smell like safety. That's weird, right?" You mumble into his shirt, cheek smooshed against his t-shirt, and Wooyoung's heart hammered against his ribs. He was sure that you could hear it, but you never said a word, and within seconds the room filled with the sound of your soft snores.

Wooyoung laughs in disbelief as he finally lets his body relax, wrapping his arm around your body. He brushed some of your hair out of your face, admiring your sleeping form. Chewing on his bottom lip, he tried to fight back the feeling he was trying to keep buried under the surface.

Letting out a long sigh, he reaches over and turns the bedside lamp off before wrapping his arms around you once more, lips ghosting over the top of your head, "You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart."

—

The bright sunlight shining through the thinly covered window stirred you from your sleep, and small grumbles fell from your lips as you moved your hand to cover your eyes. Your head was throbbing, and you so desperately wished you could throw punches at yourself for drinking so much. You moved your hand to your temple, rubbing the skin, hoping to ease some of the throbbing, but to no avail. That's when you notice that your normal fluffy, soft pillow had become hard and firm, and you pouted, ready to make a grab for another pillow, but your heart all but seized in your chest when you realized that whatever—whoever you were lying on was moving.

The horrific realization woke you with a start, body shooting up, and eyes darting all over the room. Your heart began pounding in your chest; the room you were in wasn't your brother's. Dread began to fill your veins, and you squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the worst as you tilted your head down, but when you opened them again, you saw that you were still fully clothed, wearing the outfit you had worn to the party the night before.

A wave of relief washed over you, but it was quickly curbed when you realized you still had no idea who you were lying on. Gritting your teeth nervously, you slowly turn your head, expecting to see some rando from campus, but as the sight of his long hair messily strewn across his pillows, your throat threatened to close up.

Lying there next to you was none other than Jung Wooyoung, your childhood crush and your older brother's best friend. Your body jerks, and you shoot to your knees, your sudden movement waking the fox-eyed male.

Wooyoung blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyes to the harsh rays of sunlight, before he looked over at you, taking in your panicked expression. With a groan, he sat up, combing a hand through his messy locks before he spoke.

"What's wrong with you, pipsqueak?" He asked, voice heavily laced with sleep, and the sound causes your stomach to flutter, heat rushing up your neck, and makes you lightheaded.

"I— you— why am I..." Your voice trails off as memories from the previous night begin to flash across your mind, and a whole new wave of heat encases your body. Embarrassment enveloped your entire being, and you brought your hands up to cover your face, "I am so sorry! I was drinking and wasn't thinking straight. Please just forget everything I said. It was an illusion, yeah, just an illusion..."

Wooyoung watched with a sleepy smile as you continued to ramble, hands shaking as you tried your best to keep your cherry-red face from his view. However, when you started to ramble on about how he was completely out of your league, his smile dropped, and he reached towards you.

"Y/n, hey, stop that. Look at me." His voice was gentle but stern as he grabbed your wrists, peeling your hands away from your face, revealing your tear-filled eyes, "First of all, I should be the one saying you're out of my league; second, I don't want to forget what you said."

"Y-You..." You breathed out, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion as even more panic surged through you. Was he going to tease you for liking him? Would he go and tell your brother? Can you save this friend—

"Y/n." Wooyoung's stern voice, followed by his warm hands cupping your face, pulled you from your thoughts, your wide, teary eyes flicking up to meet his. You braced yourself for the rejection, holding your breath tightly in your chest, but it never came; instead, the words that left his lips nearly had you toppling over, "I like you too, it's just..."

"Yeosang." You finished his sentence, and he nodded. Wooyoung had harbored feelings for you since the two of you were still in high school. Yet he never acted on them because he knew that Yeosang could very easily whoop his ass, so he kept them to himself. Then, when he heard that confession fall from your lips last night, all of the feelings he tried so hard to suppress came rushing back, and all he wanted was to make you his.

"He's in a different country, we..." Your breath caught in your throat when you realized that you were about to throw all caution to the wind and betray your brother. "We can keep it on the down-low until we figure out how to tell him."

"Pipsqueak..." Wooyoung started, and your heart dropped, the one chance you had slowly slipping between the cracks of your fingers.

"Please, Woo. Don't let Yeosang get between us." You pleaded with the fox-eyed male in front of you, fingers tightening around his wrists, and Wooyoung could feel his resolve crumbling.

He bit his bottom lip, thoughts racing a million miles an hour in his head. On the one hand, he would be taking the safe route and risking losing the girl he's loved for years, or betraying his best friend. As he weighed the pros and cons, he began to realize that he could mend his relationship with Yeosang further down the road, but if he were to lose you now, there was no telling whether he'd be able to get you back.

So he let out a long sigh, bringing his face closer to yours and resting his forehead against yours. Neither of you said a word, breaths mingling together in the space between you, then finally Wooyoung was speaking.

"You know what? To hell with the rules." He grumbled, and your heart leaped at the sound, a smile adorning your features that was quickly sealed with Wooyoung's plush lips. The kiss was sweet and gentle, portraying all the years of longing and yearning.

Neither of you pulled away until your lungs were begging for oxygen; only then did you part, heavy pants falling from your kiss-swollen lips. A soft laugh escapes your lips before you rest your forehead against his again, hand cradling the back of his head.

"To hell with the rules." You repeat his words, a goofy smile spreading on your lips, before your eyes were fluttering when he leaned forward to kiss you again, his hand falling to your waist.

"Hey, Wooyoung." At the sound of Hongjoong's voice, both of you freeze, panic shooting through your systems, having completely forgotten that neither of you were alone in the house right now.

You quickly pull away from Wooyoung, scrambling to find a place to hide. Trying to climb off the bed, your foot gets caught in the sheets, and you tumble to the ground. Wooyoung's body shot forward to try to catch you, but it was too late. You fell to the ground with a muffled squeak and a thump, heart pounding in your chest.

You slap a hand over your mouth, body freezing when you hear the bedroom door open, thanking the heavens above that Hongjoong wouldn't be able to see you from the doorway.

"Oh, you're awake. Figured you'd still be sleeping." Hongjoong looks at the fox-eyed male who had just sat back down in bed, his hair once again a mess due to the panic. Wooyoung offered the older male a sleepy smile, telling him that he had forgotten to turn his alarm off. "Oh well, have you seen y/n? She's not in Yeosang's room?"

Wooyoung swallows thickly, jaw clenched tightly as he tries to will his heart to slow down, sure that Hongjoong could hear it from where he was standing. He then shook his head, maybe a little too fast, "No, I haven't seen her since last night, maybe try checking in with Dayhun?"

"Alright," Hongjoong taps the doorframe with a nod, either still far too tired to notice the awkwardness in the younger male's smile or just couldn't be bothered with it at the moment. Whichever it was, both you and Wooyoung were grateful for it. A yawn escapes Hongjoong's lips, and he covers it before speaking once more, "San ordered breakfast before he left for work."

"Thanks, Joong." Wooyoung thanked the tired male who just hummed before turning and walking back out of the room, the door latching quietly behind him, leaving the room in a still silence.

You let the silence linger in the air for a few long moments, making sure that Hongjoong wouldn't come back, before you slowly lifted yourself off the ground and peeked over the edge of the bed. Seeing you, Wooyoung, couldn't help but smile, then when you met his eyes, you both stifled laughs, the tension melting away.

"Stay here, I'll bring breakfast," Wooyoung tells you after catching his breath and helping you back onto the bed. You nod, situating yourself on the mattress and waiting patiently for the older male to bring back food.

After he got back, the two of you spent the majority of the day in Wooyoung's bedroom, just hanging out, seeing as the other two weren't home. San was gone, working at the car shop, while Hongjoong was probably off at the studio working on another one of his projects.

While the two of you talked or watched whatever you could find on the TV, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and happiness bubble in your chest. Grateful that you had confessed to Wooyoung—albeit not under the best circumstances, but you did nonetheless. You also thought about the bit of excitement that you would feel trying to sneak around to keep the others from finding out.

It was going to be fun, but you also hoped it wouldn't have to be like that forever.

The first week of sneaking around proved to be a lot more difficult than you had originally thought. You lost count of the times San or Hongjoong had almost caught the two of you together, leaving you to believe that you would have a heart attack before the end of the month.

Thankfully, as the weeks went on, you and Wooyoung managed to get into a rhythm that made it easier to go unnoticed. Sneaking into each other's rooms after everyone went to bed or early in the morning before classes. Even leaving with one another with the excuse that you wanted to 'save gas' or that your classes were in the same vicinity, when in reality they really weren't.

After the first month, things were easier, your lies were perfecting, and sneaking around felt like a piece of cake. All the initial stress about either of the guys or Dayhun finding out started to wash away with each passing day.

"This is so easy, I should change my career path to being a spy." Wooyoung jokes while you swat his arm as he pulls into the parking lot of your building.

"You're going to jinx us,"

"I am not, it's okay." He chuckles, turning to look at you after parking the vehicle, and you roll your eyes.

"If we get caught, I'm gonna blame you," You tell him, resulting in another chuckle, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers together before bringing them to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

"I'll gladly take that blame if it means I get to stay with you." He tells you the truth in his words, leaving you flustered, heat rising up your neck and warming your cheeks far too fast for you to catch.

"You're such a dork, but I've gotta go." You shake your head, a ghost of a smile tugging on the corners of your lips while Wooyoung looks at you with a love-sick grin.

"I'll be here after class to pick you up," He tells you, reluctantly releasing your hand and watching as you clamber out of the vehicle, bag in hand. You shut the door before walking over to his side as he rolls the window down, "I have practice tonight, but I'll be home afterward."

"Why don't we get pizza tonight? You're always exhausted after practice." You ask, a small pout forming on your lips, and Wooyoung smiles softly.

"You're so cute when you look after me," He teases, reaching out the window to pinch your cheek, and you swat his hand away with a quiet grumble, "but coach has us doing more drills tonight before the game, so I don't mind pizza."

"Good, because I wasn't gonna take a no for an answer." You tell him in a matter-of-fact tone, causing him to laugh, which in turn makes you smile. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you were sure it was Dayhun so you sighed, "I've gotta go, but I see you after class."

"Mhmm, see you then, beautiful." Wooyoung smiles, which only grows wider when you lean forward pressing a soft kiss against the corner of his lips before turning to walk away.

This became the new norm for the two of you, Wooyoung dropping you off at class, and the two of you relishing in the short, intimate moments you could share without prying eyes. You couldn't be happier where you were, and the weeks that followed seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, it had been three months since the confession that changed your life—for the better, of course.

You were sitting in the home ec. classroom, a small smile on your lips as you sent Wooyoung another text saying you'd see him at home after he got back from practice. Today was one of the rare days that you drove yourself to class because Wooyoung had an early practice, and you had planned on staying back to work on your design a bit more.

Setting your phone down, you wave goodbye to Professor Yang just before she walks out of the room, leaving you to do your own thing. Pulling out your tablet and stylus, you begin to work on your design, humming softly to yourself. You were so lost in your element that you hadn't even realized the pair of prying eyes that stood before you until she spoke.

"I don't know how you plan on finishing that before the contest; it'd be a shame to show up with an unfinished project." Yuki's voice sent a surge of annoyance through you, and you couldn't stop the sigh that left your lips before you looked up at her. "Oh come on y/n, don't be like that, I'd just hate to see you embarrass yourself in front of so many people."

Her words only make you scoff because you knew that's exactly what she wanted, but you weren't going to give her that satisfaction. However, you weren't able to say anything before the sound of footsteps was heard, and you saw your best friend glaring at the brunette who stood before you.

"Please, we all know that even a half-finished design from y/n would beat any completed design of yours any day." Dayhun scoffed with a roll of her eyes as she handed you one of the iced coffees in her hands before looking at Yuki with a raised eyebrow, daring her to go on.

Yuki looked at the ravenette in disbelief, her lips parting to say something, but nothing came out, so she stomped her foot like a child before turning and leaving the room. Watching her retreating figure, you couldn't help but giggle, sipping on your coffee before looking over at Dayhun, who had made herself comfy in the chair next to you.

"She's like a damn fly, I swear to god. I need to start carrying around a fly swatter at this point." Dayhun grumbles, causing you to burst out laughing as you go back to your design.

"Would that make me the honey?" You asked, casting a short glance at Dayhun with a smirk, and she nearly snorted, coughing on her own coffee.

The room then filled with Dayhun's rambling while you continued to work on your design, listening mindlessly to your best friend. You weren't even sure how much time had passed or when the conversation came around to a certain fox-eyed male.

"Did you hear, the guys on the baseball team are making bets that Wooyoung got into a relationship?" She smirks, eyes watching you attentively as your body goes stiff, panic crossing your features, but you quickly cover it. However, it wasn't fast enough, and Dayhun caught it, a wide smile spreading on her lips, "I knew it!"

She jumps out of her seat with a little happy dance, cheering that her plan had succeeded, causing you to look at her with wide, panic-filled eyes. You quickly set your stylus down before grabbing her arm and pulling her back down into her seat, shushing her.

"Please don't tell anyone," You pleaded with her, a blush settling over your features, and Dayhun smirks knowingly, patting your hand.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone, scouts honor." She holds three of her fingers up, straightening her back, causing you to laugh softly, relief flooding your system, and you release her arm with a thankful glance.

Then the room slowly fills with her chatter once more as you turn back to your design, a soft smile on your lips as a small weight is lifted off your shoulder. Dayhun began to ramble about the colors that you were using for your design, praising you for your perfect blending, causing you to laugh.

"Speaking of designs, how far out is the competition again?" She asks, and you sit back in your seat, twirling the stylus between your fingers as you hum.

You let her grab your tablet to look over your design, a look of awe crossing her features, causing you to smile, "The competition is in about a month and a half."

"That's so soon." Dayhun gasps, wide eyes flickering up to meet yours, and you nod your head, telling her that you were almost ready to start making the dress. Your smile falters a little as you realize just how soon it was and start to wonder if you'd actually be able to accomplish everything in time. Noticing the shift in your expression, Dayhun sets your tablet back down before grabbing your biceps and shaking you softly. "You're gonna do amazing, I just know it, babes. Plus, who's the one that's won like a gazillion awards in the past?"

"I've only won four awards, Day." You laugh softly, your stomach slowly starting to unravel itself as you watch Dayhun roll her eyes.

"That's four more than some people around here." She states, and you knew that she was aiming that at someone in particular, even if she wasn't saying it outright. "Oh yeah, are you going to the charity that the school is hosting next Friday?"

A smile spreads across your face as you recall the announcement of the annual charity event that the university always holds at the end of spring. It was something that you had missed since you had been abroad, and you weren't going to miss it.

"Yeah, I'm going with the guys." You tell her, hitting the power button on your tablet, deciding that now was a good stopping point, and a smirk spreads on Dayhun's lips once more, causing you to let out a knowing sigh.

"You mean going with Wooyoung?" She teases while you roll your eyes, packing up your stuff before the two of you walk out of the room, deciding to grab dinner together while she rambles on about picking an outfit for the event and you listen just as you always have.

The day of the charity event, you went over to Dayhun's apartment to get around with the ravenette. You both laughed while eating snacks as you touched up your makeup. Then you were helping the girl fix her dress when she couldn't get it to zip up.

"There." You nod your head as you fixed the zipper and pulled it closed before Dayhun turned to look at you with a wide smile, "Ready to go?"

"Yes, ma'am, let's go before we're fashionably late." Dayhun hooks her arm with yours before pulling you out of the apartment and towards your car.

When the two of you got to the hotel that was hosting the event, you found San and Hongjoong standing outside, waiting. San had his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks while Hongjoong was looking at his phone, probably talking to his boyfriend.

"Hey." You greeted them with a wide smile, eyes flickering around to search for the missing male, while Dayhun greeted the older males, "Where's Wooyoung?"

"His coach wanted to talk to him, so he went ahead," Hongjoong explains, hitting the power button on his phone and pocketing it to look up at you. A smile spreads on the dark-haired male's lips as he looks at your outfit, "You look good, another one of your designs?"

"Thank you, Joong, and yes, it is." You return his smile, doing a small twirl in your gown, and San lets out a low whistle, causing you to giggle, "c'mon, let's get inside before we miss the whole thing."

You link your arm with Dayhun's before walking into the hotel lobby with a wide smile, Dayhun giggling as she makes a comment on the unique decor that is strung around the interior. Hongjoong and San followed closely behind the two of you, smiles of their own adorning their features, as you lightened up the closer you got to the conference room that was holding the event inside.

Inside, you and Dayhun make a beeline for the food table, stomach grumbling at the sight of expensive food. The ravenette grabs just about everything on the table, causing you to laugh while grabbing a few pastries. You both walk off talking to one another, ignoring the few disapproving glances you were receiving from some of the older guests.

"So, where's your lover boy?" Dayhun asks, stuffing another bun into her mouth while you took a drink of the juice you had grabbed, cheeks growing warm due to her choice of words.

"I'm not sure, but there's Yunho. I'm gonna go ask him." You send her a quick smile, and she nods while chewing, taking your half-filled glass and watching you walk away.

You walk over to the tall brunette who was talking to another guy, someone you've seen passing the halls, Mingi, you believe his name was. Greeting both of them, Yunho sends you a smile while Mingi nods, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Have you seen Wooyoung by chance?" You asked, intertwining your hands in front of your body, and Yunho nods towards the doors.

"Yeah, he was just out in the hall with some of the other guys."

"Thanks, Yunho." You bow your head quickly with a smile, and he nods before you walk towards the doors. Your heart began to race slightly at the thought of seeing Wooyoung all dressed up, having only seen it a handful of times, and your smile grew wider.

However, your smile quickly vanished when you rounded the corner only to find Wooyoung with Yuki, her hand caressing his arm. You didn't want to believe it, thinking that Wooyoung wouldn't do anything like that, but when Yuki leaned even closer, you felt that hope start to crumble. Your heart dropped as you took a small, shaky step towards them to try and hear what she was saying, but as you came within earshot, you wished you hadn't.

"Don't be like that, y/n will never know." Yuki's voice was sickly sweet as she looked up at Wooyoung with hooded eyes, and she started to lean in for a kiss.

Bile crept up your throat along with anger and embarrassment as you quickly spun on your heel, walking away before you had a chance to watch your boyfriend kiss another girl. Tears well up in your eyes as questions start to swirl in your mind, wondering if your whole relationship was just a joke to him.

Making your way back into the room, you find Dayhun still standing near the food table, talking with a few girls that you didn't know, your drink still clutched in her hand. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you inhale deeply and walk towards her, tapping her shoulder.

"Hey, did you find Wooyoung?" She asked, handing you the juice that was sitting in her hands, and you shook your head, eyes looking around the room with a tight jaw. It didn't take a genius to figure out that something was wrong, and Dayhun was quick to ask.

"I'm fine." You tell her blandly, taking a drink while Dayhun looks at you with a deadpan look, saying she knew that you were in fact not fine, but didn't push when you didn't talk.

Dayhun brushed your strange behavior off and walked around with you as you mingled with the guests and answered any of your old professors' questions about your time abroad. It wasn't until she watched Wooyoung make his way towards you with a smile, only for you to take one glance and walk away, that she knew that it wasn't something small. She met Wooyoung's confused gaze with one of her own before she trailed after you.

This happened a few more times: Wooyoung would try to talk to you or just walk towards you, and you would walk away, actively avoiding him. Dayhun stood in place after the fourth time, blinking a few times, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on, but came up blank. She walked over to Wooyoung, turning to watch as you walk over to San, talking to him.

"What happened?" Dayhun asked, glancing over at Wooyoung, who watched you with furrowed eyebrows, just as confused as Dayhun, if not more.

"I have no idea, do you?" He looked over at the ravenette that shifted her gaze back towards you as you nodded at one of San's friends.

"Nope, but I'm sure I can figure it out. Hold on." She pats the older male's arm before grabbing the skirt of her dress and making her way towards you, determined to figure out what in the world was going on. Walking up to the small group that you had joined, she grabbed your bicep, offering the rest a sweet smile, "Sorry to interrupt, fellas, but I've gotta steal her real quick."

"Day— Hey!" You exclaim in shock when she forcefully pulls you away from the group and towards the doors, her grip strong, keeping you from breaking free despite your attempts. She didn't let go until you both were out in the hallway and the door latched shut behind you, moving so she was standing right in front of you.

"What the hell is going on?" She asked, eyebrows scrunched in worry and confusion, while you just rolled your eyes.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing, y/n. You don't just actively avoid Wooyoung like that. Like ever. So what's going on?" Dayhun stated, causing you to huff, obviously annoyed as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Fine, I saw him and Yuki in the hallway together, alone." You start, bile starts to rise up the back of your throat as you recall what you saw. Dayhun started to say that it was nothing that she was probably just bugging him, but you held your hand up, "If you consider her kissing him 'just bugging him' then yeah, sure."

Dayhun's eyes grow wide in shock, not even sure if she had heard you correctly. The Wooyoung that had been head over heels for you since high school, the same one that pestered her for your new preferences since he found out she knew they were together. She couldn't believe that he would actually do something like that, much less anything that would hurt you.

"Babes… are you sure that's what happened?"

"I have eyes, Dayhun, I know what I saw." You were seething at this point, tears brimming in your eyes, and Dayhun felt horrible for even asking. She reached out to grab your arm, reassuring you that it might just be a misunderstanding, which only annoyed you further, and you pulled away from her.

"Y/n—" Dayhun starts, but the sound of the heavy doors closing caught both of your attention, and when you looked over only to find Wooyoung standing there, you could feel your anger build even more.

"Oh, this is just great." You curse under your breath, ready to leave the event entirely, whether Dayhun was ready or not. However, Wooyoung moved closer, blocking your only exit, and you glared at him.

"What's going on?" He asked, eyes trained on you, and confusion swam in his chocolate orbs.

"Nothing, why don't you go back and find Yuki?" You sneered, eyes narrowing further, but your comment only confused the male further, and he looked over at Dayhun, who let out a short laugh, taking a step back.

"Well, I'm gonna go… You two can figure this out." She excuses herself with a small bow of her head before turning and shuffling back towards the conference room, while you watched her, eyes growing wide before a groan fell from your lips.

"Hey…" Wooyoung's voice was soft as he gently grabbed your forearm, pulling your attention back to him, "What are you talking about? Why would I go find Yuki?"

You scoff, your hurt and anger finally bubbling over and causing you to snap, "Why wouldn't you? You two seemed pretty damn comfortable together earlier."

"We weren't—"

"Oh please Wooyoung, I have eyes I know what I fucking saw okay?" You hissed, trying hard to keep the tears in your eyes at bay while you glared at the long-haired male.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Wooyoung snaps himself, growing annoyed the longer he was left in the dark as to what you were trying to insinuate.

"What am I talking about? Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I saw you and Yuki in the hallway, alone, and watched her kiss you." You nearly yelled, voice slowly rising in pitch as you yanked your arms out of his grasp when he tried to grab you once more.

"Kiss me? No, I pushed her away, I wouldn't do—"

"Yeah, right," You scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest, which only proved to further annoy Wooyoung, who was seconds away from losing his mind. He tried to explain it to you, but you barely let him get two words out without cutting him off, and eventually, he had had enough.

"Alright." He growled, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the hotel doors.

"Let me go, Wooyoung!" You hissed, trying to get out of his hold, but it was futile, seeing as his grip was far too strong, and you had no other choice but to let him drag you towards the parking lot.

The two of you made it to his car when you let out another snide comment about him and Yuki, and Wooyoung's jaw clenched tightly. Walking up to his car, he pushed you against the door, trapping you with his body as he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you roughly, silencing your pointless grumbles. Your hands flew to the lapels of his suit jacket, balling the fabric into your fists, and he nipped at your bottom lip when he pulled away.

"I would never do that to you; you are and always will be the only one I love." He growled against your gloss-smeared lips, resting his forehead against yours as your eyes fluttered open, staring at him, "and I would do anything to prove that to you, got it?"

You didn't say a word as you stared at him, searching his eyes for any signs that he was lying, but all you found was sincerity. Guilt started to tug at your heart as you began to believe that it really was all just some miscommunication. Swallowing thickly, you move one hand to his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he grabs your wrist. You didn't give him a chance to say anything else before you were pulling him back down into another kiss, this one quickly growing more heated as he pressed his body against yours.

When it started getting too heated, Wooyoung pulled away reluctantly, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he looked at you, "We should probably go back to the house."

You looked up at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and it took all of Wooyoung's willpower not to just pull you into the car and call it good enough, but he wasn't about to let your first time be in the back of his car. So he wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you away from the car, opening the passenger door and helping you inside before buckling the seatbelt for you.

The drive back to the house was filled with tense silence, the only sounds being the soft sounds of the AC and the radio playing a random station. The dark-haired male's hand rested on your thigh, just below the hem of your dress, and squeezed the soft flesh every time you shifted in your seat. Heat started to pool in the pit of your stomach, thighs clenching together and trapping his hand when his fingers brushed the inside of your thigh.

You weren't even sure how long it took to get back to the house, mind far too occupied by the way his hand kept creeping further up your thigh and the way you were sure that your underwear was soaked. But when you did make it back, Wooyoung pulled his hand from your thigh to shut the car off and climbed out of the vehicle.

Not a word was spoken as he pulled you from the car and dragged you into the house, only stopping long enough to throw his keys into the bowl and kick his shoes off, helping you undo your heels. Then he was leading you back to his bedroom, your back hitting his door as soon as it closed behind the two of you.

His lips were on yours in record time, stealing the air from your lungs and making you lightheaded. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head while his knee pressed between your thighs. A sharp gasp fell from your lips when he latched onto your neck, nipping lightly at the skin but careful not to leave any visible marks.

"Woo…" You breathed out, hips rolling subconsciously against his thigh, and a shiver ran down your spine, settling in your heated core.

"Shh, baby, I've got you, I promise." He cooed against your skin before moving back until he could see your face, his heart seizing as he took in your hooded gaze, kiss-swollen lips parted just slightly as you tried so hard to gain that friction you desperately craved.

Without another word, Wooyoung was releasing your wrists and grabbing your thighs, hoisting you onto his hips. Your heart leaped at the sudden movement, arms wrapping around his neck while your legs locked around his waist. In seconds, Wooyoung's lips were back on yours as he walked towards the bed, laying you down on the soft mattress. Small whines fell from your lips as his hands wandered from your inner thigh to your core, pressing down enough to elicit an actual moan from your lungs.

Wooyoung pulled away from you so he could take in the way your face twisted in pleasure with every touch and how your chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. It was a sight he had only believed he'd see in his dreams, but seeing it now, he knew the real thing was so much better than any dream his brain conjured up.

Your hands then moved, one to his shoulder while the other gripped the back of his neck to pull him back down to you. His lips met yours in a sweet, gentle kiss that made your whole body feel warm. Then, when he pulled away, Wooyoung watched in amusement as you tried to chase after him with a quiet whine, but he quickly pressed his lips back against yours. This kiss was far hungrier than the last, leaving you lying there breathless as his tongue prodded at your lips.

"Wooyoung," You breathed out as his hands moved to your hips, hiking your dress higher until your black lace panties were on full display. Wooyoung's eyes darkened with need as he took in the sight, locking one hand around your hip while the other moved back to your clothed slit. A choked moan caught in your throat when he pressed down against you, feeling your arousal soak through the fabric.

"You're soaked, babydoll," He teased, bringing his lips back down to your jaw, nipping at the heated skin while your hips fought against his hold to chase that friction. "This all for me?" He cooed against your skin, and you let out a shaky sigh as your fingers threaded through his once styled hair.

"Obviously."

"Ah, watch the attitude, love," He chuckled as he pulled away to look at you, but you could hear the stern undertones in his voice, causing your stomach to flutter, "I'd hate for our first time to turn into a punishment."

Your breath hitched as he looked up at you through his lashes, his pupils dilated in a way that told you he was far from joking. Swallowing thickly, you bobble your head, begging him for more, but your mind was quickly sent to orbit when his thumb found your clit with a click of his tongue.

"Let's use our words baby." He cooed, pressing further on your clit, causing your hips to jump, but he was quick to pin them back down to the mattress.

"P-Please, more Woo." You whined, back arching into his hand as he moved back down to your covered slit. The wet fabric of your panties stuck to your folds and let you whither underneath him, desperate for the barrier to disappear.

His pace was slow as he switched between teasing your leaking slit and pressing against your aching clit, watching as your jaw went slack with each movement. A series of whines and pleas fell from your lips as he slowly brought your body close to the precipice of your high.

"Wooy— nngghhh!" You choked out his name, eyes rolling back as the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens.

"Yes, o-oh my god." You hiccuped, hand moving to wrap around the back of his neck as you leaned up to press your lips against his. The kiss was anything but neat, a messy mixture of teeth and saliva, some dribbling past your lips and down your cheeks.

"Want more?" He murmurs against your lips and gasps when he teases the hem of your underwear, dazed eyes moving to meet his.

"Please, I need you, Woo, so bad." You tell him breathlessly, hips still fighting against his hold, and a foxy smirk spreads across his lips. Hearing you plead with him for his cock was like a wet dream he never wanted to wake from, his slacks growing even tighter. However, he knew better than to move too quickly; the last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

"I have to prep you first, beautiful," He coos, pressing a gentler kiss on the corner of your lips before he pulls away, hands moving to your biceps to help you sit up. Without another word, he leaned forward, reaching for the zipper of your dress, kissing your forehead in the process.

The next few moments were spent tugging and pulling each other's clothes off, both of you desperate to feel bare skin. Wooyoung's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of your bare body before him. While your eyes traveled down the firm planes of his torso, fingers reaching out to brush over the all too familiar tattoo on his ribs. His eyes flickered down to your hand before grabbing your wrist gently and pressing your palm against his chest, right over his heart, as he leaned over you once more, pressing his lips against yours in another messy kiss.

Wooyoung's hand then found your pussy once more, the feeling of his bare skin against your sensitive fold left you gasping into his mouth before he moved to your neck. A choked moan fell from your lips as he started to circle your sensitive bud, his lips pressing wet kisses along your jugular. He soaked in all of the noises you made as your fingers pressed into his shoulders and biceps.

“Woo—” You were cut off when he slipped a finger into your tight cunt, brushing over spots that you’ve never been able to reach. Tears pricked at your eyes as he kept a steady pace, watching you closely and studying all of the expressions you made.

"You're so tight, babydoll, squeezing my fingers so tight." Wooyoung teased with a faux pout as he added a second finger, stretching you further and leaving your eyes rolling. "Just imagine how good you'll feel wrapped around my cock." He chuckled, curling his fingers right against a spot deep in your walls, he pulls a loud, nearly pornographic moan from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Wooyoung!" You cried out, thighs beginning to tremble around his waist as he added a third digit into your fluttering walls.

You've never known you could stretch this much, not even any of your toys provided this kind of sensation, but god did you want more already. A shiver raced down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach, and you could feel your high creeping up on you, only needing a little push. Noticing Wooyoung pressed his thumb against your twitching clit, circling the nub in tight circles, and that became your breaking point.

"Wooy— baby, fuck!" You cried out as he worked you through your orgasm, his lips pressing soft kisses from your jaw to your temple, whispering sweet praises against your skin. Once the high faded, it was quickly replaced by oversensitivity, making you whine and grab at Wooyoung's wrist.

You wanted to scream from the overwhelming pleasure, and Wooyoung watched with a cocky smirk, relishing in the way your eyes began to brim with tears. Your nails bit at his skin, unabashed moans falling from your lips as he worked you towards another orgasm.

"You look so cute like this, sweetheart, falling apart on just my fingers." Wooyoung's tone was mocking with a contradicting smile, but you couldn't hang on to it before your eyes were rolling back. Your high was right on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill over.

Then he pulled his fingers out of your pussy, his lips ghosting your jaw as he pulled away, and you let out a pathetic whine.

"N-No. Woo, why?" You nearly cried as your high ebbed away, the tears that once sat on your waterline finally breaking free, and Wooyoung felt his cock twitch at the sight. Leaning forward, he kissed away the falling tears before finding your lips and sealing them in another searing kiss.

"I need to feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl," He cooed, kissing you again, and you cupped his face, thumb brushing over the skin underneath his eye. He had you so drowned in the taste of his lips against yours that you hadn't even realized he shoved his boxers down until his cock sprang free.

He began to pull away from you, but you were quick to grab his neck, pulling him back towards you, and he looked at you with widened eyes, "I'm on the pill, don't you dare pull away from me."

"Oh, you're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart." Wooyoung bit back a groan, kissing you deeply as he pressed your thighs further apart.

Grabbing himself at the base, he split your fold with his tip, dragging it across your drenched cunt. Your body jolted when he bumped against your clit, a soft gasp falling from your lips, only to be swallowed by his. Then he lined himself up with your entrance, but stopped, pulling away from your lips.

"You ready?" He asked, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitancy as you nodded, but then they fixed you with a knowing look, and you inhaled sharply.

"Y-Yes, please." You nod once more, fingers tugging at his skin, desperate to feel him fully against you.

The stretch was like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fill you. “Ah, focus on me, love,” Wooyoung whispered softly, coaxing your eyes open, and you looked at him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes. “Good girl.” 

You moan at the praise, his length still pushing you until he finally buried himself to the hilt. Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape from the feeling of being stuffed full. Wooyoung groaned as his face fell to the crook of your neck; you were squeezing him so tightly that if he were to move right now, he’d cum.

“W-Woo…” You gasped as he unintentionally rolled his hips against yours. He quickly apologized before stilling his hips, his hand finding yours to interlock his fingers with yours.

Your body felt like it had been transported to cloud nine, every nerve ending firing with pleasure as Wooyoung's heavy cock sat snug in your walls. This was something that you could never achieve on your own, and that alone was making your need grow tenfold. After a few moments, the lack of movement was starting to drive you mad, and you tugged at Wooyoung's hair, pulling his eyes back to yours.

"Baby, move, please." You breathed out, eyes fluttering when his warm breath washed over your damp skin.

A choked moan tore from your lips when he rolled his hips into yours, pleasure washing over you in waves as he hit all the right spots in one single stroke. Wooyoung released your wrist and hand to grab your hips when you gave him the green light to move.

Stars danced across your vision as he pulled out before snapping his hips right back into yours. Your fingers dug into the sheets from the overwhelming pleasure. 

The mixture of your moans and Wooyoung's groans bounced off the walls as he fucked you, his fingers digging into the plush fat of your hips. He leaned down, pulling you into a kiss that was more of a mixture of clashing teeth and spit, but neither of you cared. Your nails dug into his biceps, sure to leave marks and maybe even break the skin.

It didn't take long before that familiar knot began to coil in the pit of your tummy once more, leaving you whining into the dark-haired male's mouth. Wooyoung peppered your cheek and jaw in kisses before moving to your neck and collarbones, nipping at the skin, no longer caring if he left marks or not.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," He growled, eyes fluttering as you tightened around him, and he knew that he wasn't going to last very long at this rate. However, he sure as hell wasn't going to cum until he felt you come undone around him.

"Woo— fuck! Baby, I'm so close, please." You cried out, clinging to him as your high crept up your spine, threatening to wash over you at any moment.

"Then cum, sweetheart, make a mess on my cock," He murmured, lips coming down to meet yours in a messy, spit-filled kiss, and that was your tipping point.

You came with nearly a scream of his name, back arching against his chest, and mouth falling open as Wooyoung swallowed all your sounds. He continued to fuck you through your high, a high-pitched whine pulling from his throat when you squeezed around him like a vice, nearly pushing him over the edge.

"That's it, babydoll…" Wooyoung bit back another groan, watching as your whole body started to tremble, and a small cry of his name fell from your lips. "Just a little bit more, pretty, I promise."

You let out a gasp when he leaned over you, latching his lips onto yours, and your eyes rolled again. The sudden change in positions was enough to make your brain blank out; any coherent thought that may have been left was now gone. Shockwaves were shot through your whole nervous system as he continued to roughly fuck into you.

Wooyoung bit down on your collarbone when he felt himself getting close, relishing in the way your body responded to the pain. He just couldn't get enough of your sweet cunt or the pretty sounds that fell from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Gonna fill you up, baby," He cooed, lips brushing against your ear as your hand wrapped around his neck, another weak whine escaping your lips. You knew he was getting close by the way his hips faltered and his groans turned into whines.

With a few more thrusts, you came undone underneath him once more, and he followed quickly behind you. His cock twitched as he spilled his cum deep into your womb, a loud whine, almost a whimper, falling from his lips as he continued to fuck into you slowly. His hips rocked against yours, riding out both of your highs until he came to a stop.

His body collapsed on top of yours, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, combing your fingers through his hair soothingly as you caught your breath. Wooyoung pressed soft kisses along the expanse of your chest and neck before leaning over you once more.

"I love you so much." He murmurs against your skin, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment before he pulled away, latching his lips on yours. This kiss was sweet and soft, nothing like the hungry ones from just mere moments ago, and your heart skipped. You melted into his touch, never wanting to lose the taste of him on your lips, and a whine fell from your lips when you did.

"Stay here, I'm gonna go grab a washcloth." He tells you, his soft chocolate eyes staring down at you, and you nod with dazed eyes, not fully trusting your own voice at the moment.

Then he was pulling out of you, biting his tongue to keep the whine that bubbled in his throat at bay while you gasped softly. Once he was out, he leaned over to press a gentle kiss on your forehead before grabbing his boxers, pulling them on, and making his way out of the bedroom.

After he came back and got you cleaned up and grabbed you a new pair of underwear before you both climbed into bed, pulling the covers over your near-naked bodies. You lie next to Wooyoung, your body pressed against his as you draw shapes on his chest with the tip of your finger. A small pout forms on your lips when his hand rests comfortably on your waist, relishing in your bare skin against his.

"Hey Woo," Your voice was soft as you turned your head to look at him, chin resting on his chest while he looked down at you, "I'm sorry for snapping earlier and for jumping to conclusions. I was just scared that you thought what we had was some joke."

"I'm sorry too, love, but I promise that what we have is nowhere near a joke." He reassured you, squeezing your waist softly as he spoke, "I pushed Yuki away the moment she tried to kiss me and went to find you."

"Promise?" You asked as your bottom lip jutted out slightly, causing a smile to tug at the corner of Wooyoung's lips.

He chuckles softly when your pouts deepen and grabs your hand that was still resting on his chest, bringing it to his face, pressing his lips gently against your wrist.

"I promise." He murmurs against your skin, eyes flickering to yours, "cross my heart and hope to die."

His words cause you to giggle, and you move the hand that was in his hold to pinch his cheek, "You're so cheesy."

"You love me, though." Wooyoung quips with a smirk, and you roll your eyes, letting your hand fall back down to his shoulder.

"I do… I really do." You omit as you lay your head back down on his chest, not missing the way his heartbeat quickens under your ear, and a smile forms on your lips.

"I love you too, pipsqueak." He whispered against the top of your head before pressing a kiss against your hair and shutting the bedside lamp off, letting the two of you fall into a peaceful slumber.

—

The next morning, you and Wooyoung woke up shortly after ten, spending another hour tangled in the sheets with one another. Then, finally, when you both get up, you decide you need a shower after last night's activities. So you began gathering your stuff from your bag that you had moved discreetly to the fox-eyed male's room.

Wooyoung, being well himself, declares that you could take a shower together, saying that it could 'save water,' but you knew better. However, you couldn't find it in yourself to tell him no when he flashed you his wide boba eyes, so you agreed, and before long, you both were huddled in the shower.

You weren't sure how long the two of you messed around in the shower, wasting perfectly good hot water, before you finally finished up and stepped out.

"Come on, babe, don't leave me alone," Wooyoung whined, but you just rolled your eyes before telling him that you'd be in the room before opening the bathroom door.

You barely got the door shut before a surprised yelp fell from your lips when you almost ran right into Hongjoong. The older male looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and you began to panic. Neither he nor San was supposed to be home until later in the afternoon.

"H-Hey Joong." You greet the male and mentally facepalm as you stumble over your words. Your fingers tightened around the bathroom door handle, hoping that Wooyoung wouldn't come out yet.

Yet just as the universe would have it, your grip slipped when Wooyoung turned the handle, and the door flew open.

"Pipsqueak, why are you just..." Wooyoung's voice trails off as he meets Hongjoong's eyes, and both males' eyes grow wide while you're left grimacing.

"You!" Hongjoong lifted a hand, pointed between the two of you, and you could feel heat flushing your face, nearly making you lightheaded.

The noise seemed to have caught more attention, and before you knew it, you heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Squeezing your eyes shut, eyebrows scrunching together, you could only hope they wouldn't turn this into a huge thing.

"What's going on— oh my god!" San exclaims as he catches sight of you and Wooyoung huddled in the doorway of the bathroom. "Yunho owes me twenty bucks." He mumbled to himself, earning an unamused look from you before your attention was brought back to Hongjoong.

"How long?"

"Since the morning after the party," Wooyoung tells him, followed by a nervous chuckle, and Hongjoong's eyes grew wider if possible as he began to put all the puzzle pieces together.

"Please don't tell Yeosang." You plead, pressing your hands tightly together and rubbing your palms against one another.

The older male's eyes flickered between the two of you, an obvious conflict raging behind his eyes. However, after a few long beats of silence, his face relaxed, and he let out an almost defeated sigh.

"Fine, I won't say anything, but you'd better figure out how to tell him yourselves." He looked between you and Wooyoung expectantly, leaving you feeling nearly relieved. Yet the pair of eyes that were burning into your skull had you looking over to find San looking at you with a cheeky smile. Turning his head, Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking again, "Neither will he, but don't expect us to cover for you either."

You quickly nod, tears threatening to well up in your eyes, "Thank you, Hongjoong."

Then you darted towards Wooyoung's bedroom, leaving the male to stand there in nothing but a pair of sweats and a towel hanging from his neck. Hongjoong then began lecturing him, but those words were left unheard by you as you walked into the room, deciding to distract yourself with your design. However, as you went to grab your bag, you realized that it was not where you normally leave it.

You begin to panic once more for a completely different reason, looking around the room. Soon, your search turned into frantic rummaging, trying to rack your brain for where you could've possibly left it.

"Hey, beautiful, did you want— whoa, what's going on?" Wooyoung cut himself off as he walked into the room, seeing the panic on your face. You didn't hear him walk in, much less talk, until he was grabbing your shoulders, forcing your attention on him, something he's done countless times. "What are you looking for?"

"My bag. It's gone, and my tablet with all my designs is in it. I could've sworn I sat it down here..." You began to ramble as you broke from your boyfriend's grip to search once more.

"Hey, hey, hey." Wooyoung was quick to grab your attention once more when you began to spiral, his warm hands cupping your face so you couldn't pull away easily. "I'm sure if it's not here, you probably just left it at the venue last night in the heat of the moment."

"What if it's not? Everything is on there, I can't lose it. Not when the compet—" Your breath catches in your throat when you feel Wooyoung's plush lips against yours, silencing your rambling and quieting the noise in your head. Your body finally starts to relax, and you bring one hand up to grab his wrist, melting into his touch.

After a few moments, Wooyoung breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, breaths still mingling together as he speaks, "Let's get dressed, and we can go look for it, okay?"

"Thank you, Woo." You whisper, eyes fluttering as he pulls you into another kiss before you both part to quickly get around before leaving the house, promising coffee to the other two when you get back.

During the ride to the hotel where the charity event was held, Wooyoung's hand never left your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh reassuringly. You tried not to let the nerves eat you alive as you watched the building blur by, but there was this nagging voice in the back of your mind that had your stomach twisting violently.

However, when you got to the hotel, you walked through the revolving doors, Wooyoung following close behind. Your eyes scanned the lobby, looking for a worker, since there wasn't anyone at the reception desk. Then you saw an older woman in cleaning attire walking by, and you quickly made your way towards her, catching her attention in the process.

"Hello," You greet her, bowing your head quickly before meeting her surprised gaze, "do you guys have a lost and found? I left something here during the charity event last night." You explain to her, and she shakes her head softly, and your heart drops.

"We don't have a lost and found, but I did find a messenger bag last night while cleaning up after the event." She explains, wrapping her hands around the handle of the mop she had been holding, and your shoulders visibly relaxed.

Wooyoung rests his hand on the small of your back as you offer her a smile, "Can I see it, please?"

The older woman looks between you and the long-haired male behind you for a moment before returning your smile and nodding her head. She picked up the mop before leading you towards the back of the hotel, holding the staff room door open for you and Wooyoung. Stepping inside, she walks over to a locker, opens it, and a wave of relief washes over you when you see your bag sitting inside.

"We're typically supposed to turn these in to the office, but the guard inside has a habit of stealing things, so I kept it back here just in case someone came looking." She explained, stepping away from the locker, and you looked at her in appreciation.

"Thank you so much, my wallet is inside with my ID to confirm." You tell her, but she just shakes her head with a soft smile, grabbing the back to hand it to you.

"No need, dear, you seem genuinely shaken about losing it. Make sure not to leave it anywhere else; it'd be a shame if something were stolen." She gives you this motherly look, and you nod your head, thanking her one last time after promising that you wouldn't leave it anywhere else.

She then leads you back out of the room before parting ways to continue her work while you and Wooyoung make your way back towards the entrance. You open the bag, making sure that your tablet is still inside with everything else, and your shoulders relaxed when you find that everything is accounted for. Wooyoung chuckles before he wraps his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him with a wide grin on his face.

"See, I told you that everything would be okay." He quips in that smart ass tone you've come to love, even if it annoyed you to your wits' end.

You roll your eyes while throwing the strap of your bag over your shoulder just as you make it outside the building. Coming to a stop, you turn to face the fox-eyed male, grabbing his hand in yours before leaning up to kiss him softly, leaving the male standing there with a shit-eating grin.

"Thank you, Wooyo." You thanked him, and Wooyoung squeezed your hand before sealing his lips over yours once more, not getting enough of your taste.

After a few long moments, you both break apart, and he smiles at you, "Come on, let's go grab lunch."

"What about the coffee we promised the guys?"

"They can wait," Wooyoung shrugs, flashing you a cocky smirk, knowing very well he'd get another earful the moment the two of you walked back into the house hours after you had promised to be back.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of your chest before you were nodding your head, letting him pull you back towards his car.

After classes on Monday, you made your way to Professor Yang’s office, a smile spread on your face at the thought of your design being almost finished. The older woman had wanted to talk to you about the competition to make sure that you would be ready.

“There’s only about a month and a half left, y/n. I don’t want you to run into any issues if you aren’t ready.” Professor Yang looked at you from her spot next to her bookshelves. “Is your design finished?”

You offer her a smile as you walk mindlessly around her room, just as you have many times since the first year you started college, “it’s almost done, I’m just adding some finishing touches…”

Your voice trails off, eyebrows scrunching together as your eyes spot a design sitting on the wooden desk, partially hidden under a folder. The room seems to close in around you as you take in the all too familiar design, colors, and patterns. The very ones that had been in your design.

Your heart starts to race in your chest as your shaky hand moves to grab the paper. A sudden wave of nausea crashes over you, the design—your design—was signed with someone else's name that you couldn’t quite make out.

“Oh, another student who’s competing turned that in this morning,” Professor Yang explains, setting down the water bottle she had been using to water her plants when she noticed where your attention was, “beautiful, isn’t it?”

However, you couldn’t respond to her; hell, you doubt you even heard the last half of her sentence. Your ears were ringing so loud you were sure that you’d go deaf, and the sickening feeling in your stomach only grew the longer you stared at the dress design that was sitting in your hands.

‘Who had taken it and how? When would they have even gotten the chance to take it?’

So many questions started to flood your mind, but then your heart nearly stops in your chest as the realization crashes into you like a freight train. You had forgotten your bag at the venue Saturday night after leaving with Wooyoung. The paper in your hand flutters down to the desk as your fingers go slack, tears brimming in your eyes, and panic starts to settle deep in your bones.

Your tablet had been in your bag.

“E-Excuse me,” You quickly excuse yourself, snatching your bag off the couch and making a beeline for the door. Professor Yang’s calls for you fell on deaf ears as you raced down the hallways; the sounds of your shoes hitting the linoleum echoed all around you.

You weren't even sure when you had made it to your car or how you even made it back to the house without being pulled over, though you were sure that you had ran a few red lights along the way. None of that mattered to you at the moment, what mattered to you was finding your tablet. You didn't even bother pulling the keys from the car ignition when you raced towards the house, burst through the front door.

"Holy!" Hongjoong, who had been sitting on the recliner with his guitar, exclaimed, wide eyes turning to face you. The words he had started to say died on his tongue the moment he caught sight of your teary eyes when you walked toward the couch. "Hey, y/n, are you okay?"

However, his question falls on deaf ears as your eyes scan the room before landing on the device that was still lying on the coffee table. Untouched.

Your ears began to ring as you rushed over, dropping to your knees, you scrambled to grab the tablet with shaky hands. You furiously wipe tears from your face as you turn the device on and unlock it, choking back a sob, you open your design app.

The room started to spin around you, threatening to close in as you only found an empty folder. Sobs racked your lungs as you tried to reload the screen or even check the trash, but it was all futile.

"T-They're gone." You choked out between sobs, fingers tightening around the device as your tears splashed on the screen. "All of them are gone."

"What? What's gone?" Hongjoong asked, worry laced in his words as he sat his guitar to the side before standing to move towards you. His heart lurches into his throat when you turn to face him, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

"I was in P-Professor Yang's office and…" You inhale deeply trying to keep the sobs at bay, "and I saw my design on her desk." You continue as Hongjoong crouches down, laying his hand on your trembling shoulder, his eyebrows scrunching confusion.

"Isn't that a good thing?" He asked, squeezing your shoulder gently but you hiccuped with a shake of your head.

"It wasn't my submission."

The room falls into silence, your soft cries filling the space as you desperately tried to find your deleted designs. Hongjoong's eyes went wide as he realized what you were insinuating and his eyes flickered to the tablet.

"Have you told your professor? I'm sure she wouldn't let it slide if you show her your design—"

"What design, Joong?" You asked, turning to look at him with furrowed eyebrows, "everything I had was on this tablet and now it's all gone, I have no proof."

Your chest felt so tight as if it were trying to collapse in on itself, and all you wanted to do was scream; a mixture of despair and rage bubbled in your chest. Hongjoong was quick to grab the device when you tried to throw it, setting it off to the side as you cried, the sound breaking the older male's heart. You couldn't hold it in anymore and leaned forward, resting your forehead on the cool surface of the coffee table, tears dripping from the tip of your nose onto the ground beneath you.

"It's over, all of it. What am I supposed to do now?" You choke out, heart shattering in your chest as you saw your one chance to make it big into the design world crumble right before your very eyes. Fingers curling into fists you softly bang your head on the table, the pain seeming to be the only thing to drown out the nagging voices in your mind.

"Y/n, stop that, you're going to hurt yourself." Hongjoong scolds you, placing his hand on the table under your head to soften the blow as more sobs racked your body. Then before you could even process it he was pulling your body into his, holding you to his chest and your breath caught in your throat for a moment.

His warmth seemed to chase away to chill that was threatening to close in and you felt a new wave of emotions wash over you, more sobs racked your burning lungs. Hongjoong didn't say a word as he let you cry, his hand caressing your arms as he tried to comfort you to the best of his ability. Once your sobs died down into sniffles he smoothed down that hair on the back of your head before speaking.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, you're extremely gifted, and I know that we can figure something out, okay?" He reassured you, watching as you slowly pull away from him to wipe your face with the back of your hand, tired eyes meeting his.

You were exhausted, mind running a million miles knowing that your chance had already been blown away with the wind, but you nodded nonetheless. However, as Hongjoong looked at you, he could see the defeat in your eyes, and he could only let out a soft sigh.

"C'mon, sit on the couch I'll go make tea." He gently grabs your arms and helps you sit on the sofa and you just sank into the cushions, a distant look in your eyes. Chewing on his bottom lip softly he moves around the couch towards the kitchen while pulling his phone out of his pocket, messaging the only person he could think of.

Maybe forty minutes later, the front door opened and Wooyoung walked in, worry swimming in his chocolate orbs. He sat his baseball gear off to the side and slipping out of his shoes before walking toward Hongjoong who was standing in the doorway of the dining room. Wooyoung's eyes flicker over to your still form that was still sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

"How is she?" Wooyoung asked softly and Hongjoong sighed, eyes moving to look at the younger male.

"I managed to get her to calm down a bit, but she's still pretty upset," Hongjoong explains, and Wooyoung glances at him with a nod before he moves towards you.

Wooyoung rounds the couch, his heart breaking at the sight of dried tear stains on your puffy cheeks. Taking another step towards you, he crouches down next to you, eyes flickering to the now-cold mug of tea in your hands that had been long forgotten about. Letting out a soft breath of air the fox-eyed male reaches forward to grab the forgotten mug, which in turn pulled your attention to him.

He sets the mug down on the coffee table before turning and taking your hands into his and your breath hitches, tears pooling in your eyes once more. Your heart flutters when he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, his lips lingering for just a moment.

"It's gonna be okay, love," he whispers against your skin, eyes flicking up to meet yours just as the first tear falls. "You can come up with another design, I know you can."

"W-With what Woo? I have nothing and there's only a month left." Your voice shook, fingers wrapping around his thumb that was pressed against your palm.

Wooyoung's jaw tightened slightly before he reached up with his free hand, cupping your cheek and wiping away your tears, "how about this, I'll do everything in my power to help, but I need you to eat dinner."

"I'm not hungry." You mumble, dropping your hand to your lap and Wooyoung pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he watched you avert your gaze.

"Not even if I make your favorite?" He asked and as if your body was trying to betray you, your stomach let out a low grumble causing heat to flush your face while the dark-haired male chuckled, squeezing your hand, "thought so, come on you can keep me company."

He didn't give you a chance to protest before he was standing and pulling you up from the couch. You wanted to tell him that you were just fine on the couch, but as he flashed you his signature smile, you swallowed those words and followed him into the kitchen, where he pulled a chair in for you to sit.

You felt a small weight lift off your chest as you watched Wooyoung fall into his element, cooking the dish that you had come to love since childhood. He told you about his end-of-term culinary exam and that he planned on making this dish, which had your stomach fluttering.

"Here, taste test." He turned to look at you, holding out and spoon, waiting as you slowly stood and walked over. You gently grab his wrist before taking the spoon into your mouth, letting the taste flood your taste buds. Despite the gloom you had been feeling your eyes light up slightly at the all too familiar taste and Wooyoung chuckles before putting the spoon in his mouth, eating the rest of it. "Good right?"

Your ears burned as you realized what he had just done and he smirked before leaning towards you, lips merely inches from yours. He teases you, relishing in the way your eyes went wide and your face flushes before you were swatting at his chest with low grumbles. Then he was pulling you into a gentle kiss, one that had you melting in his embrace in seconds and when you pulled apart a small smile tugged on your lips which in turn had Wooyoung smiling.

"There it is." He whispered softly before pressing another, quick kiss on your lips and you shook your head after stepping back so he could finish cooking.

Once Wooyoung was finished cooking dinner, you tried to help him set the table, but both he and San were quick to stop you. Dayhun, who had shown up after San called her, had you sit down with her while the boys finished setting things up. She tried her best to reassure you, her hand squeezing yours after you told her the full extent of what happened.

Then after dinner you all filed into the living room to watch a movie in hopes that it would lift your spirits. You were curled up into Wooyoung's side with San sat on your other side and Dayhun was sprawled out on the loveseat, leaving the recliner to Hongjoong.

Your fingers mindlessly played with the fabric of Wooyoung's shirt, eyes scanning the TV as the movie played. None of it was sticking in your head, mind far too occupied by your stolen design to focus on much else. Despite all your friends' reassurance, you couldn't help but feel defeated knowing that not only were you losing out on this competition, you had also lost one of your most precious deigns to someone you didn't even know the name of.

"I got it!" Wooyoung suddenly exclaims, his loud voice pulling you from your thoughts abruptly and making you jump. You didn't even get a chance to question him before he was standing and darting down the hallway, leaving the rest of you to watch in confusion.

After a few long moments his footsteps echoed down the hall once more and he rounded the corner with a wide grin on his face, holding a piece of paper up.

"You could use this as the base for your new design." He tells you, his voice hopeful as he walked towards you, holding the paper out to you while San reached over to turn on the table lamp.

"This…" Your eyes went wide as you took in the design that was being held out to you. Reaching out with shaky hands you took the paper from Wooyoung's hands, fresh tears brimming in your eyes. "This is from high school, how did you even…"

Wooyoung nodded, moving to sit back down next to you and wrapping his arm around your waist before pointing at the half-finished rough sketch, "you never stopped talking about it back then and I could see how much you loved it even when you didn't finish it so I kept it."

"But I threw it away." You told him, wide eyes moving to meet his, and he smiles sheepishly, hand moving to rub the back of his neck.

"I saw it and took it out, but good thing I did. You can finally finish it!" He tells you brightly and you couldn't help the way that your heart swelled in your chest.

"It's perfect." You murmur almost too quietly but the wide smile on your face was enough and Wooyoung squeezes your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head while the rest cheer in victory. However, the victory was short lived as your smile quickly faded, "but I won't have enough time."

"Don't worry about that, I'll help you," Hongjoong reassured you, and you looked at him with wide, teary eyes. He had always been the one you looked up to when it came to designing, and you should've known that he'd help, but it didn't keep you from feeling surprised.

"And you know I'll help, babes, I am your model after all," Dayhun tells you, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically, causing you to laugh softly, the sound causing the three males to smile.

You let your gaze fall back on to the half-finished design in your hands and you finally, finally felt that pressure lift from your chest, replaced with a newfound hope that maybe everything will work out in the end.

The weeks that followed were filled with you tirelessly working on your new design, all of the feelings that you had once felt for the piece came flooding back you carefully added new layers. With each passing day you could feel that hope growing and both Hongjoong and Dayhun helped however they could.

"This piece is cut and set, just needs to be sewn," Hongjoong told you as he brought over pieces of fabric that needed sewing, which you quickly thanked him before doing exactly that.

"Knock knock." The sound of your boyfriend's voice cut through the air and you quickly glanced up with a bright smile, greeting the fox-eyed male before focusing back on the task at hand. Hongjoong walks over to Wooyoung, blocking his view of the gown that you had spent weeks tirelessly working on.

"What brings you here?" Hongjoong asked, watching as Dayhun walks over to you to grab the piece you just finished and Wooyoung shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"I'm here to drag my girlfriend away for an intervention." He informed the older male who quickly flashed him a smile and Dayhun perked up at the mention of a break while you just tuned the conversation out.

"Yes a break is a good idea, though you may have to carry her away." Dayhun jokes as she nudges you, but you just grumble at her, saying you were too busy for a break. However, in the blink of an eye an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you away from the machine.

"Wooyoung, put me down I need to finish!" You protest, tugging at his arm but to no avail and he carried you towards the door as Hongjoong and Dayhun waved with wide smiles.

"We'll finish prepping everything you go enjoy your date." Dayhun winks at you and your face flushes as you stop fighting to get out of your boyfriends grip.

Knowing that you weren't getting out of taking a break you sighed, pinching his side resulting in a pitched yelp.

"What was that for?" He exclaimed, releasing you to rub his now-sore side while you giggle softly and wrap your arms around his. "I come to take you on a nice date and this is what I get in return?"

"Oh you big baby, want me to kiss it better?" You roll your eyes playfully, walking down the hall with Wooyoung and he looks over at you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Already knowing your answer you lean up, pressing your lips to his cheek before pulling away, "there, better?"

"Not quite, it still hurts." He pout, his bottom lip jutting out and you knew exactly what he was wanting. Laughing you shake your head before pulling the both of you to a stop to you could grab his face, pulling him down for a kiss which he melted into in an instant.

"Now is it better?"

"Hmm, I could go for another one." He teases with a smirk and you roll your eyes, pushing his face away resulting in him laughing. The sound bounced off the walls and made your stomach flutter, cheeks warming as you adored the smile on his face.

"Come on, let me see what you dragged me away for." You slide your hand into his, intertwining your fingers and allowing him to whisk you away to the picnic date he had worked on for the better half of the day, ending the night with you stargazing and you couldn't be happier where you were.

The following days repeated just the same, you'd work with Hongjoong and Dayhun on your gown, making adjustments as needed, then Wooyoung would whisk you away at the end of the week for a much needed break. He knew how much this competition meant to you, but he also wasn't going to let you overwork yourself or even let you go without eating so he made sure to pack you lunch. He even left little notes in your lunch box that brought a smile to your face whenever you saw them and you knew that you would forever be grateful for him.

For him and all of your friends.

Then the day of the competition came around and your nerves were on an all-time high as you stood with Dayhun in the dressing room, making final adjustment to the gown. Dayhun's chatter filled the room and brought you a sense of comfort knowing that you weren't in this alone and you pulled away with a soft smile.

"So have you figured out who the guest judge is?" Dayhun asked, lowering her arms when you took a step back.

You shook your head, setting your needle on the vanity before turning back to your best friend, "no, all I've heard is they're a foreigner."

"Oh, must be a pretty big deal for them to bring a foreigner." Dayhun hummed as she gently grabbed the skirt of the gown, doing a slow twirl, and the lights reflected off the red and white fabric beautifully. "However, you have nothing to worry about because this dress is absolutely beautiful, y/n."

Warmth climbed up yours neck and settled over your face in one rush as you recalled why you had initially designed this dress. Not a word would be spoken about it, but you knew that you had started designing this dress as your dream wedding dress. Looking back on it now made you beyond embarrassed, but also a little giddy thinking about that little girl once more.

"Contestants, please begin to gather for the runway show." You heard a woman's voice cackle over the intercom, and you felt that same anxiety creeping back up your spine.

"Don't worry, y/n, you've got this in the bag." Dayhun stepped down from the stand and walked over to you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Inhaling deeply, you let your eyes flutter close for a moment before letting that same breath and turning to look at Dayhun with the very confident smile she was so used to, "you're right, let's go kick ass."

You and Dayhun walk out of the dressing room, arm in arm with wide smiles as you laughed over something she had said. Once you got backstage you released Dayhun's arm as they called for the models and wished her a good luck then stepping back to watch from the screens.

You crossed your arms over your chest loosely as you watched everyone's models walk down the runway, a smile spread on your lips at all the beautiful designs. However, when one model walked out, your smile faltered, and your stomach twisted into knots. There was your original design, the colors and gems glimmering just as you had imagined them and your body broke out into a cold sweat.

"It's a pretty design don't you think?" Yuki's voice crept down your spine, leaving goosebumps to rise in its wake and your head snapped in her direction. "It's a shame you stand no chance at winning now." She gave you a faux sympathetic smile and your eyebrows scrunched together. She hadn't even been in this competition, saying it was below her, but as she stood before you the pieces started to connect.

"You stole my design." The words came out as more of a statement rather than a question, because you knew that she had taken it. She had always been trying to one up you, even during high school, so it shouldn't be a surprise that she would try it again when she saw you had such a huge opportunity. But you never expected her to stoop as low as to steal your design.

A smug smile spread across Yuki's face as she stepped towards you and you instinctively took one back, "You really put a lot of thought into those notes, thanks for that by the way."

"You—"

"Please welcome our designers to the stage!" The announcers voice interjected and you just glared at Yuki, letting your hands fall to your side.

Trying to shake away the anger you, let your shoulders relax before looking Yuki up and down, "karma is a bitch and you can't hide from her." You told her calmly before shoving past her and towards the curtains to the main stage, leaving her to glare at your back.

Stepping onto the stage you smiled at the crowd, walking with confidence as you made a beeline for Dayhun who was already smiling at you. Moving to stand next to her, she could tell that something was wrong and leaned over, whispering quietly, "what's wrong?"

"Yuki was the one who stole my original design." You gritted the words out of your teeth and you could feel Dayhun's shoulders stiffen next to you, her eyes instantly finding the brunette that was standing next to her model that was wearing your dress. However, she couldn't say a word before the announcer gathered everyone's attention.

"Hello everyone and welcome to the annual end of summer fashion contest." The woman's voice carried throughout the large room and you found yourself searching the crowd for the rest of your group. "Next lets welcome our guest judge, Matteo Russo!"

Upon hearing his name, your head snapped over to the announcer before following the light beams and seeing the man who had taught you so much during your time in Italy. He was wearing one of the suits that he had designed and you only knew that because he had you help him finish it. Turning his head Matteo caught your eye, he offered you a smile with a nod of his head before he took his seat at the judges table.

You felt bile creep up your throat as well as anxiety clawing up your spine, but you weren't given a chance to dwell on it when the judges started asking each contestant questions about their work. Intertwining your fingers in front of your body you drowned out most of them, focusing on your own, at least until you heard Yuki's name and your head perked up.

"Tell me Ms Kyoto, what inspired your work?" Matteo asked, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs as he looked at the brunette and she offered him a smile, one you had so desperately wanted to wipe away since she spoke to you earlier.

"The setting sun was my biggest inspiration for this piece. I have always loved the colors of the sunset and wanted to capture those colors in my design." She began explaining, and you couldn't help but scoff quietly with a roll of your eyes. Dayhun grabbed your arm and squeezed gently.

You looked over at her with a smile that didn't quite meet your eyes, though you have come to terms that someone had stolen your design it didn't mean that it hurt any less when you watched someone try to claim it as their own.

Matteo nodded with a thoughtful look before uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, pointing a finger at her and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. You knew that something was about to happen and anxiety started to prick at your skin.

"Miss Kyoto, if you're going to plagiarize someone else work don't you think you should at least know the original source of inspiration?" Matteo asked, gesturing towards the dress the model next to Yuki was wearing and your eyes went wide while Yuki's shoulder's stiffen. The audience behind the man broke out into hushed whispers and you looked at Matteo who was looking at Yuki with a raised eyebrow. Yuki on the other hand looked like she was about to blow a fuse, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

"Are you insinuating that I stole my design Mr Russo?" Yuki asked, her voice taunt, and Matteo chuckled with a slight shake of his head.

"I know you stole that design, and the rightful owner is right there." He pointed over at you with the end of his pen and you felt your heart leap in your chest.

"I'm sorry, but without any proof you're just slandering me." Yuki tried to fight back her fury filled gaze shifting over to you and you just pursed your lips with a shrug. You had warned her that karma was a bitch after all.

"Who said I have no proof?" Matteo asked, leaning back in his chair once more before motioning towards the screen that were behind you. Turning around you couldn't help the wide grin that spread on your lips as you watched the footage of Yuki stealing your tablet at the charity event before showing at picture of her 'design' submission, then finally a recent clip from backstage started playing.

"You really put a lot of thought into those notes, thanks for that by the way."

Yuki's voice echoed from the speakers and the crowd broke out into an uproar, however, your gaze fell on the fox-eyed male that was sitting among the crowd. Catching your eyes Wooyoung sends you a wink and you couldn't help the way your chest swelled, knowing that he had something to do with all of this.

The judges spoke among themselves while Yuki watched the screen in absolute horror, her scheme spoiled. Then the announcer spoke into her earpiece before quieting the crowd with her hands before speaking.

"With the newfound evidence of plagiarizing Kyoto Yuki will be disqualified." She announced and you let out a breath you hadn't even realized that you were holding and Dayhun's hand on your arm tightened, a triumphant smile spreading on her lips.

Yuki sent a glare your way as she was escorted off the stage, but you paid her no mind as you looked at Dayhun in absolute astonishment. Once she was off the stage the crowd fell into silence once more and you glanced over finding the eyes of all five judges on you and heat rushed up your neck, burning the tips of your ears.

"Now, Miss Kang, would you please tell us what really inspired this design?" Matteo asked, gesturing to the girl that was still wearing your stolen design and you couldn't help the smile that tugged on the corner of your lips.

"This is a design that I began working on during my last year abroad in Italy." You began, taking a step forward and motioning over to the multicolored dress, "however, the inspiration itself came from the sunset I got to see while watching the very last baseball game before I left to study abroad." The words flowed naturally from your lips as you explained mixture of red and oranges with the purples and pinks. By the time you had finished your cheeks hurt from the wide grin on your face, memories of that day flashing in your mind.

"Thank you Miss Kang," Matteo nodded his head, a knowing smile on his lips and your stomach fluttered at the impressed expression on his face. You had mentioned this design to him on multiple occasions, but you never showed him the final design until towards the end when you emailed it to him and that's when realization washed over you.

Wooyoung had probably seen him in your emails when he borrowed your laptop and decided to get him involved in seeking justice. Your heart squeezed in your chest as you looked at the dark-haired male who was clapping, a smile of his own on his lips as he watched you.

"And what about your newest design Miss Kang?" One of the other judges, Nakamura Sakura, asked as she pushed her glasses further up her nose after jotting down some notes.

Glancing back at Dayhun you felt another wave of heat wash over your already flushed cheeks, but that didn't stop you as you motioned your best friend forward. Dayhun gave you a reassuring nod and you swallowed thickly before facing the judges one more time.

"My latest design is something that I had created back when I was a freshmen in high school, but never finished until now." Your gaze flickered over to Wooyoung and he was already looking at you with an intrigue look, "It began as hope for love, hence the white at the top of the gown, but I wanted to showcase how that hope not only expanded into love, but also happiness, because in that love I have become the happiest I have ever been in my life." You spoke truthful despite how your hands were shaking as you held the microphone, your face warming so much that you began to feel lightheaded.

"Amazing," You heard one of the judges complement your work as he wrote something down and your heart jumped, lodging itself in your throat.

Not another word was spoken as the announcer took the mic back from you and moving on to the next contestant. You took a step back, grabbing Dayhun's awaiting hand and squeezing it as your nerves began to gnaw at you.

"All right, the judges will now discuss among themselves, and we will announce the winner of the annual end-of-summer fashion design contest once they've returned." The announcer explained and your ears began to ring as your clutched Dayhun's hand.

You weren't sure how much time had passed since the judges left the stand, or what Dayhun had said to you. Your mind was still trying to wrap itself around all of the events of today, but most of all, who the winner was going to be.

"Now it's the moment you've all been waiting for." The woman's voice broke you from your thoughts and your eyes went wide when you noticed that the judges had all returned to their seat. Dayhun's thumb rubbed the back of your hand reassuringly as you watched the announcer unfold the paper that she had been given.

"The winner of the Annual End of Summer Fashion Design Contest is…" She paused for a moment to let the suspension build and you could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage the longer she waited. Just when you were about to lose your mind and tell her to hurry up she spoke, "Kang Y/n!"

Everything around you seemed to slow down as you heard your name leave her lips. All the sounds seemed to grow distant, your body frozen to the spot, and you could feel eyes burning into your skin. Dayhun felt your hand shaking in hers as she called out your name, but you couldn't hear her, still too busy trying to comprehend what you had just heard.

"Congrats kid, you did good work." Matteo's voice snapped you from your daze as he walks over with the trophy. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you took it from his hands and turning to face the cameras, smiling for the pictures while Dayhun stood proudly next to you.

"Thank you Mr Russo," You bowed deeply in appreciation causing the older man to chuckle before praising you one last time then he told you that the two of you could catch up over coffee one day while he was in the country and you agreed.

"C'mon, y/n, let's get these dresses put away before something happens." Dayhun tugged on your arm after Matteo walked away, and the girl who had been modeling for Yuki followed close behind. At first, you didn't want the dress, seeing as it wasn't your own work anymore, but the girl told you that Yuki hadn't even been the one to sew everything; it was herself, and you felt bad.

"It's your hard work y/n, take it please, it's the least I can do for being involved in Yuki's schemes." She apologized once more after getting to the dressing room and changing out of the gown. She didn't give you a chance to protest before she was shoving the fabric into your arms and darting out of the room.

"At least she knows what's good for her," Dayhun grumbled and you gave her a look causing her to shrug, "just sayin'."

"Yuki was probably blackmailing her for all we know Day," You tried to sympathize with the girl but Dayhun just let out a short laugh, slipping out of her own gown so you could put it in the dress bag.

"Well, this is your special day so don't let others ruin it." Dayhun grabs your shoulders, after redressing and shaking you softly until you were giggling trying to push her away. "Now, I believe there's someone here for you."

Your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and you were about to ask her what she meant but then the door opened and Wooyoung walked into the room holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He gave you a bright smile as he walked further into the room and you felt your heart begin to race in your chest.

"Hey beautiful," He greets you, the petname making you weak in the knees and your cheeks warmed fast, color rising before you could stop it. "These are for you,"

"Thank you Woo." You beamed up at him, taking the large bouquet into your arms as he stood but a few inches away from you.

"Well lovebirds this is where I'll be taking my leave." Dayhun teases as pokes her head around Wooyoung's taller frame and you shook your head with a smile, "congrats again babes, you deserve this win."

You give the ravenette one last wave before she walks out of the room, humming a tune that had been stuck in her head since this morning. Then once the door clicked shut and you and Wooyoung were left alone you moved your gaze back to his.

"So… the sunset from my last game huh?" Wooyoung began to tease as you turn to set the flowers on the vanity and you rolled your eyes despite the heat that flushed your cheeks and turned the tips of your ears red.

"I don't even know what I see in you sometimes," You joke, turned to look back at him with your arms crossed loosely over your chest, trying your best to fight off the shit-eating grin that threatened to spread on your lips.

"Ouch sweetheart," He gives you a faux pout before stepping towards you and caging you against the vanity, his pout morphing into a smile, "congratulations on the win pipsqueak,"

That was what finally had the grin spreading on your face as you looked up at him, "you and that damn nickname."

"Mhmm, it's not going anywhere, babydoll." His voice drops an octave and heat pools in your lower stomach. He then grabs the back of your neck, holding you in place as he leans down, sealing his lips over yours in a gentle kiss.

Your hands moved to his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as he quickly deepened the kiss, tongue lapping at your bottom lip. You let out a soft gasp when he grabs the backs of your thighs, hoisting you onto the vanity before quickly kissing you again, this one far hungrier than the last.

The both of you had become so lost in each other that you hadn't even heard the commotion outside of the dressing room before the door slammed open, the wood hitting the wall roughly causing you and Wooyoung to jump.

"Yeosang, wait!" Dayhun's voice echoed around the room and you felt your blood run cold at the mention of your brother's name, fear clinging to your spine as Wooyoung slowly pulled away from your body to look behind him.

Both of your hearts seized in your chests when you found none other than you brother standing in the doorway of the dressing room. Nothing but pure anger painted his features as he looked between you and his best friend. Then he was finally speaking, the tone enough to make you flinch slightly.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

You didn’t know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.

It wasn’t some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, “I’m clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?”

Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.

You moved in two weeks later.

That was three years ago.

When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like “Can I use your oat milk?” and “Trash day’s Thursday.” You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.

But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.

There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.

Little things, at first. But they stacked up.

Now he knows your coffee order and your worst ex’s name. He doesn’t knock anymore when your door is open. And you don’t bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch you’re already sitting on, like there’s not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when he’s feeling off.

You don’t even remember when it happened. When “roommate” became “friend,” and “friend” slowly became “best friend”.

He’s the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. You’ve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that it’s just... normal now.

This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.

It’s not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because he’s better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. You’ve learned not to interfere when he’s in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.

Still, it’s early, and he’s making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you “platonically.”

You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.

“You’re showing off,” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn’t look away from the pan. “You’re welcome.”

You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.

“I figured you’d sleep in,” he says. “You stayed up late.”

“Yea, because someone wasn’t leaving my room.” you send him a glare.

“I like hanging out with you! and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.” he points the spatula with you like it’s a weapon.

You smirk behind the mug. “Okay, that one was kinda good.”

He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like he’s done it a hundred times, because he has.

“How was your date?” you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.

Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”

“That bad?”

“She asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.”

“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.

“And when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I ‘give off commitment issues.’”

You grin. “You do give off commitment issues.”

He glares playfully. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely loyal.”

“To me.”

“Exactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.” he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You don’t blush. Not anymore.

You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you “babe” just to watch your reaction, it was different.

But now? Immunity.

Mostly.

It’s easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesn’t need explanation. No boundaries, because you don’t need them. Not when you’ve seen each other through every version of a day.

He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

***

“You know,” you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, “you could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.”

Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. “This is not childish. This is elite. You wouldn’t understand the depth of this flavor profile.”

Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you can’t go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims you’d forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.

You’re halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like he’s making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.

He’s in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like he’s reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.

And then, just your luck, you hear it.

“Oh my god, Y/N?”

You look up too slowly.

Hana.

You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.

“Hana,” you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. “Wow. Hi.”

“I thought that was you! Oh my god, it’s been what, like, forever? You look so… Anyways, it’s so good to see you!” She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. “Frozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, they’re so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyun’s Market across town. It’s organic.”

You blink. “I... like this one.”

“Sure, sure. I mean, I just think it’s better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when you’re eating it alone.”

You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t wait.

“Gosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!”

You hadn’t planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.

Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like he’s an art critic. Totally out of earshot.

“Oh, I didn’t know people talked about that,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Hana waves a hand. “Only in admiration, really. I mean, you’ve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I don’t think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, he’s gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.”

She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.

You freeze.

You know that face.

The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that he’d slept with someone else. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said, “we were just having a rough patch, right?”

Your stomach drops.

“That’s him,” Hana says proudly. “Total goofball, but he’s the best. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d find someone like him. But don’t worry, you’ll find someone too some day!”

Hana is still talking but her words blur.

You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:

“Actually, I’m dating someone.”

Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.

She turns.

Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.

“Oh?” Hana’s eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. “Look at you! I know you had it in you!” she says, nudging your arm. “You have to bring him to dinner. We’re doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minji’s coming, and Jihyun, and my husband’s inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!”

You hesitate, already internally spiraling. “Oh, I don’t know-”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I need someone there who doesn’t talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.”

She’s already taking your nod as confirmation before you’ve fully given it. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.”

Just as she’s about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.

Hana’s face lights up again. “See you soon!” she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.

Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. “...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?”

You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.

He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. “Okay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I won’t say which.”

You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “So, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Well… in those two minutes, I may have… sort of… told someone we’re dating.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”

You gesture weakly down the aisle. “That was Hana. Old coworker. She’s always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that I’m single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks we’re together, and- surprise! We’re going to a couples dinner on Friday.”

Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.

And then he grins.

Like really grins.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with delight. “This is amazing.”

“Wooyoung.”

“We’re fake dating? We’re doing the thing? Like the romcoms?”

You press a hand to your face. “It gets worse.”

His grin somehow grows. “I’m listening.”

“She’s married to my ex.”

Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”

You nod. “She showed me a wedding photo. It’s him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.”

Wooyoung’s jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is so much better than I thought.”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because,” he says, absolutely glowing, “I get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend who’s so in love with her he’d die for her. I’m going to be so annoying. I’m going to feed you food.”

“Wooyoung.”

“I’m going to wipe sauce off your mouth. I’m going to put my arm around your chair. I’m going to call you baby in front of him.”

You groan. “This is going to kill me.”

“This is going to heal you,” he says. “You know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.” He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. “This is the best grocery trip of my life.”

***

Friday morning

He’s already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.

“Good morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!” he beams.

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Too late,” he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. “Do you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?”

You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. “I’m not built for this level of energy before caffeine.”

He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. “I knew you’d be a flight risk this morning.”

You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.

“I think I’m panicking,” you say into the mug.

He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. “Hey. We’ve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend we’re madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.”

“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.

“Yes, madly.” His smile grows. “Madly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, ‘oh wow, they’re so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time I’ve known her.’”

You blink. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline I’ve ever seen.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“And besides,” he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, “we got chemistry.”

You make a face.

“We do, though. We’re best friends. We’re comfortable. We finish each other’s-”

“Don’t.”

“-sentences.”

You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.

But he’s right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt he’s going to wear tonight and that he’s going to pretend he didn’t plan it. You know he’s going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget he’s pretending.

And that’s the part that begins to make your stomach twist.

The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, you’re both getting ready for the dinner.

You’re halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.

He’s adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. He’s talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you don’t hear a word.

Because damn. He looks good.

His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. He’s tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and he’s wearing that silver chain he only brings out for “important” nights.

Like fake dates, apparently.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesn’t know that he’s the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.

And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.

You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.

You need a second. Maybe two.

You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.

You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.

Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.

He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. “Hey.”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing, because his gaze isn’t neutral.

It drops. Lingers.

Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. It’s not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.

You blink. “You’re not allowed to just come in here.”

“I knocked.”

You glare.

He lifts his hands, innocent. “You just didn’t hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way you’re fidgeting with your rings.

“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.

He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. Then after a beat, “I was wondering how much of a boyfriend I’m allowed to be tonight.”

Your stomach tightens.

He says it lightly, but there’s something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.

You meet his gaze in the mirror again. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, stepping a little further into the room, “can I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when he’s watching?”

You swallow. He’s close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.

“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, “kiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.” There’s something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually… can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“I mean… if you give me even a little room to play…” He leans in, just slightly, not touching. “I swear I’ll ruin his whole fucking night.”

You’re still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.

“No pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Your mouth is dry.

“Do whatever you want,” you manage. “Just… don’t be weird.”

He grins. “I make no promises”

You’re smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.

And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.

“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”

***

The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoung’s.

You didn’t mean to hold hands.

It just sort of… happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like they’d done it a thousand times. And now it’s too late to pull away without it being weird.

“Y/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!” Hana screams as she opens the door. You’re barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. “And this is…?”

“Wooyoung,” he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. “Babe, come meet my old co-worker!”

And there he is.

Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasn’t told. Like he wasn’t ready.

But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like you’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile like it’s nothing. Like you don’t know him. Like he’s just another name you’ll forget by morning. There’s the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. “Yeah,” he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. “You too.”

Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, “Hi,” he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. “I’m Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.”

There’s a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.

“…Right,” he says finally, taking Wooyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on, we’re just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.”

You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoung’s hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.

As if to say: I’ve got you.

But also…

Watch me work.

The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.

The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. “Everyone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.”

You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.

Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute he’s already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.

You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like they’re harmless.

“I still can’t believe Y/N’s in a relationship now,” she says brightly, like it’s a funny little update. “I didn’t believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!”

There’s a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think they’re in on something. The moment the words leave Hana’s mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.

“If loving her is a commitment, then it’s the easiest type of commitment I’ve ever made.”

You blink.

Your ex doesn’t say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung’s gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but there’s a touch of pride behind it. He’s enjoying this.

The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. “Wow, okay. You’re already winning points.”

You try to smile like your heart didn’t just skip an entire beat.

Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. “It’s not huge,” she says, with a laugh that’s anything but modest. “We just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.”

Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“And this-” Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. “This is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, don’t you think?”

You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.

“Do you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?”

Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like he’s proud of himself, but there’s something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you don’t pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.

His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.

The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasn’t said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.

The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.

“So how did you two meet each other?”

You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.

Wooyoung notices immediately.

He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.

"Oh, this one’s my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.

He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure you’re paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where he’s going with this.

“It was one of those nights you’re not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.” He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. “But then she walked in.”

Everyone leans in slightly, curious.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,” He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows you’ll let him go on.

“She came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-” He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.”

Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.

“She sat right across from me, and I swear I didn’t hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.”

It’s smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like he’s just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.

“I asked for her number before we left, and she said no.”

A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like he’s telling a bedtime story.

“She said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.” More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Which-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her… or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, ‘If she doesn’t want to give it to me, fine, I’ll earn it.’ And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“And eventually… she let me walk her home.”

Someone lets out a little aww.

“I didn’t try anything,” he adds. “I just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.”

The table is completely silent.

“And the next time?” His smile curves wider. “She kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.”

The table is enchanted.

For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, there’s a soft, stunned silence, like everyone’s holding their breath without realizing it. Then:

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

The woman across from you nudges her partner. “You never chased me like that.”

“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.

“So you’re telling me you saw her once and just knew?” another friend adds, reaching for more wine.

“I told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said ‘don’t bother.’” He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “So obviously I did the exact opposite.”

The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.

“God, that sounds so like you,” Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.

Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.

But not from everyone.

Across the table, your ex’s grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.

Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.

“And when she finally said yes,” he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, “I knew I wasn’t gonna let her go.”

Your chest tightens.

The air feels heavier.

Meanwhile, you’re frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.

And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.

The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like they’ve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.

After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything that’s happened tonight.

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wooyoung’s charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.

After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.

Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like he’s just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like he’s settling in.

You swallow hard. “You scared me.”

“Did I?” His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. “Sorry. You just disappeared.”

“I needed a second. Too many couples,” you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. “Too much… love.”

“So?” he murmurs beside you. “How am I doing?”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“The fake boyfriend thing,” he adds with a sly grin. “Convincing enough for you?”

You shrug, but your smile gives you away. “I’ve seen worse performances.”

“Cold,” he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Here I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.”

You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. “Honestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.”

“Jealous?” he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.

You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. “Please.”

Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. “You know, you’re still a little pink.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your cheeks,” he says, nodding toward them. “Blushing. Again.”

You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he whispers. He leans a little closer. “It’s kinda cute.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper, smiling despite yourself.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

The moment hangs, just a little too long. You’re standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and he’s looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.

You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. “We should go back.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening slowly. “Before someone thinks we’re sneaking off to make out.”

Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when he’s joking and when he isn’t.

You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.

You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybody’s hearts with his charm, so you aren’t concerned about him.

You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. “Seriously though,” she says, nudging your hip with hers, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up with someone like that.”

You huff a laugh. “Like what?”

“Like… funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?” She raises a brow. “Unreal.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Yeah. He’s something.”

“I mean…” She grins. “You glow around him. It’s wild. Like, he looks at you like he’s already picking out your wedding venue.”

You laugh, quiet, awkward. “He’s just… sweet.”

Hana raises her brows. “He’s obsessed. In a good way.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go grab the wine opener. Don’t let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.”

The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. It’s nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.

But it doesn’t last.

You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.

You turn your head and freeze.

It’s him.

Your ex.

He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.

You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. “Clearly.”

He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.

His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. “You look good.”

You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying.”

Another beat.

You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.

“That guy,” he says finally. “The one who came with you. Wooyoung.”

You don’t look at him. “What about him?”

He hesitates. Then, carefully: “Are you two… serious?”

You pause, then shrug. “That’s none of your business.”

He lets out a low breath. “So that’s a yes.”

You turn slowly, facing him now. “Why are you here, really?”

“In my own house?”

“No,” you say. “Why are you in this kitchen, right now?”

He stares at you. Silent.

“I fucked up,” he blurts, “Okay? I know I did. I’ve been thinking about it since-”

“Don’t,” you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. “You don’t get to come here, pretend we’re still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. You’re married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like you’ve just hit him.

“You moved on?” he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. “With him?”

You step back. “You don’t know him.”

He scoffs. “I might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.”

You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. “I just don’t get it. After everything-”

“No,” you say firmly, holding your hand up. “You don’t get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.”

There’s a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.

And then…

“Everything okay in here?” Wooyoung’s voice is cold. Threatening almost.

You don’t need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.

He’s leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.

But his eyes?

They’re fixed on your ex.

And they could kill.

Your ex straightens, caught off guard. “Uh-, yeah. We were just-”

Wooyoung steps fully into the room like he’s walking through water, unconcerned by the tension that’s thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.

His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.

“You okay, baby?”

The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.

Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.

“Then I’ll ask one more time,” he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. “Is there a problem?”

Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. “No problem at all.”

Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.

“Then I’ll make this simple,” he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If not…” His jaw tightens just once. “Walk away before you make me repeat myself.”

Your ex doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t look at you. Just leaves.

And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch. It says everything he hasn’t:

Try it again. I dare you.

When it’s just the two of you again, Wooyoung’s fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.

Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.

His voice drops. Low. Controlled.

“You okay?”

You nod once, but it’s tight. Too tight. And he sees it.

His brows pinch just slightly. “Did he say something?”

“No,” you whisper, and it’s true, mostly. “He was just… being him.”

Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like he’s trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.

His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like he’s not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.

“I didn’t want to step in too early,” he says, voice soft now. “You looked like you had it under control. You did.”

There’s something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.

You meet his eyes.

He’s not angry.

He’s present.

“I know you don’t need anyone to defend you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m here. If you ever want me to.”

That part lingers. A gentle offering.

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesn’t want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make it clearer you’re taken.”

Your heart skips a beat.

His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, “You ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?”

You smile. “Let’s go.”

Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesn’t trust the room not to try and touch you.

The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.

But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.

The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.

Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. “Come outside with me for a sec?”

You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. “Yeah. Okay."

He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.

He pulls you just far enough into the yard that you’re framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.

“Do you trust me?”

You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. “Of course.”

But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.

His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.

You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesn’t miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.

Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”

His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.

“Fake boyfriend of the year, right?” he adds, a low smirk in his voice.

It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.

And then he looks up.

Over your shoulder.

Still smiling.

You don’t turn. You don’t even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. He’s known from the moment he stepped outside.

“Oh, hey,” he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. “Didn’t see you there.”

You blink, startled, then turn.

And there he is.

Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that he’s no longer drinking. He’s been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoung’s hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.

He’d been watching.

Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just… secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.

Your ex stares, jaw tight.

Wooyoung doesn’t wait. His posture is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he adds, like it’s nothing. “Stars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.”

You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. He’s still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.

Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, “Some of us came out here to be alone.”

Wooyoung cocks his head. “Oh, totally fair. Should’ve said something.”

There’s a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesn’t move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.

Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.

“Oh-, wait,” he says, voice still sweet. “You want us back inside?” He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. “Damn. That’s on me.”

Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. “You always this annoying?”

Wooyoung grins. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

“Y/N! Wooyoung!”

Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.

“Oh my God, there you are!” she grins. “I was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!”

You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoung’s smile stretches.

“Hot couple,” he echoes, biting back a laugh.

Hana gasps dramatically. “Don’t act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.”

“I'm not mad about it. She’s got great taste,” Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. “Eventually.”

Your ex’s jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.

But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:

"Success, baby"

He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.

The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someone’s passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoung’s excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. You’d felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.

Hana’s had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.

“Okay,” she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. “New question for the couples.”

The table quiets, interest piqued.

Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. “What’s your favorite physical thing about your partner?”

A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” she warns, laughing. “And no safe answers either. I don’t want to hear about how they ‘have a nice smile’ or ‘beautiful eyes’, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when you’re not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.”

You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.

“I’ll go last,” Hana says, clearly loving this. “Y/N, go.”

You freeze. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Her smile is practically villainous. “He’s not even here. You can be honest.”

Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.

You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.

But he doesn’t.

You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, “His hands.”

“Ooh,” someone says. “That’s a good one.”

You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. “They’re just… nice,” you say, not looking up. “He moves them a lot when he talks. And they’re always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always… moving.”

Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.

You don’t realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no one’s said anything back.

And then...

“I should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.”

And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.

Your breath halts.

There’s laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hana’s grinning at the perfect timing. “There he is,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Right on cue. We’re playing favorites.”

Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”

“Favorite physical thing about each other,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “And no cop-outs like smile or eyes. We’re talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turn”

He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Her neck.”

A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.

You feel your body go still.

Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. You’re suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasn’t touched you.

“She’s got this curve,” he says, quieter now, like he’s letting everyone else fade out. “Right here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. “Right where her hair rests.”

Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.

“In the mornings,” he says, like he’s letting the rest of the room fall away, “when she’s still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this part’s just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-” He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “It makes it really hard to be on time for anything.”

The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.

It’s weighted. Personal.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making any of that up. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.

“Plus,” he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, “it’s really unfair that you smell the way you do.”

“Okay, damn,” someone says from across the table, but you can’t even register who.

Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesn’t lean back, doesn’t settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You don’t move.

The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoung’s stare.

When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.

And everything in his face is different.

Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. He’s quiet now. Studying you, like he’s not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesn’t want to know.

And then, another gaze.

You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. He’s watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.

Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. It’s warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.

You close your eyes.

Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.

Wooyoung slips into the hallway like he’s done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.

“You always vanish when it gets too loud,” he says, his voice low.

You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t vanish. I relocate.”

He hums. “Right. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.”

“That was one time.”

“It was still dramatic,” he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. It’s playful. It’s Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.

“I-, what?”

He grins, slow and lopsided. “Just saying. I don’t think I told you earlier.”

You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.

“I’m honest,” he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. “I mean, you always look good, but tonight…” His voice dips, softer now. “It’s kind of unfair.”

You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. “Is it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?”

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can. Your heart’s already too loud in your ears.

He nudges your arm gently. “You know, for someone who lives with me, you’re really bad at accepting compliments.”

You try to play it off. “Maybe you just give too many.”

“Mm,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just really easy to compliment.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. “Can you not?”

You finally glance at him, and he’s already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like he’s holding back.

He doesn’t say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.

And somehow, that says more than the rest.

You try not to smile. You fail.

Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. “You don’t have to rush. But I’ll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive… in case that helps.”

You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.

Your stomach dips.

Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.

“Wait,” you breathe, reaching out without thinking.

You grab Wooyoung’s shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Do you trust me?” you ask now, your voice quieter now. There’s a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.

Wooyoung’s expression shifts, softening. “Yes,” he says, instantly. “Of course.”

That’s all you need.

Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in.

When you break the kiss just slightly, you don’t step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, “He’s watchi-,”

You don’t get to finish. Wooyoung’s lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesn’t care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he can’t stop now that you’ve let it happen.

This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.

You can’t help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l

You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your ex’s presence across the room.

His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.

It’s a performance. That’s how it started.

But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And he’s kissing you like he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.

And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.

But then… it passes.

The air changes again.

You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.

You pull back first, just enough to look at him.

His eyes are already on you. There’s something different there now, an emotion you haven’t seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.

You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think that worked.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a second. He just studies you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But it’s not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.

At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.

“Get home safe, okay?” Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as you’re about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “You two are seriously adorable. Like… sickening. I love it.”

You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoung’s arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.

“Thanks, Hana,” he says, flashing her a grin. “She keeps me in line.”

You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. “Barely,” you murmur, playing along.

His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. “Bye, lovebirds.”

The door closes behind you.

The air outside bites cold against your skin.

And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.

Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You don’t know if it’s the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but it’s different.

The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.

You're both staring straight ahead.

The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.

Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.

Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.

You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.

“So,” you offer, light and a little too bright, “that was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.”

No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesn’t glance at you once.

You try again, a bit more playful. “Think we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.”

He finally looks at you, just looks. And it’s a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.

You clear yours softly. “Anyway. Um. I’m gonna-, I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Still nothing from him.

You nod quickly. “Night.”

You turn, heart hammering now, and you’ve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.

“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”

You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“…you know where to find me.”

You turn back toward him slowly. He’s still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like he’s daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.

You don’t.

You meet his gaze, and it’s only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.

Then you nod.

Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just… quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with. You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.

You don’t even remember walking to your vanity. You’ve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didn’t.

There’s a knock.

A soft one.

You straighten up fast, like you’re guilty of something. “Come in.”

The door creaks open behind you.

You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

You manage a breath. “Not tired?”

His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. “Not really.”

Then silence again.

But it’s not awkward, it’s thick. Charged.

“I was thinking about something,” he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.

You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. “Yeah? About what?”

Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. “You’re better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.”

You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”

A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”

He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like he’s trying to memorize it. But you know that’s not what this is.

He’s letting the silence stretch.

He’s letting you squirm.

You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but it’s no use. He’s everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.

“And the things you said tonight,” he says, voice soft but pointed. “Those were part of the act too?”

You try to keep your tone even. “What things?”

He tilts his head. “The part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when I’m not looking.”

You freeze just slightly.

"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.

“Funny,” he says softly, “You think I haven’t noticed? When I’m cooking. When I’m fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.”

His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” he says. “I do love your neck.”

You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.

“In the mornings,” he murmurs. “When you’re in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,” he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesn’t touch. “barely covered.”

You’re not breathing properly now.

“And I try,” he continues, “I really try to keep it together, but you standing there like that…? That does something to me.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.

And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.

You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.

“You know,” he starts, voice casual, “if this wasn’t fake…”

Your breath hitches.

“…I would’ve done a lot of things differently tonight.”

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he begins, like it’s casual, like he’s not setting you on fire, “I wouldn’t have let you leave my side once tonight. I would’ve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.”

Your stomach tightens.

He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.

“I’d bring you home,” he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, “take your hand, lead you to your room like I’ve been waiting to all night. And I wouldn’t rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress I’ve been dying to take off you.”

He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.

“I’d unzip it real slow…”

You hear the faintest shift of fabric.

“Let it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right here…” he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, “and here…” another just below your ear, “until you were shivering.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear.

You’re at a loss for words but you’re hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.

“If it hadn't been fake, I’d press you against this vanity,” he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Make you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.”

You can’t look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like he’s known this body forever.

“I’d hold your hips right here.” His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. “And I’d make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.”

"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. “I’d make you see stars. I’d fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.”

You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.

He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.

“You’d be mine. I’d make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.”

You’re a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily you’re giving into the fantasy.

His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.

“But then again…” he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, “this is all fake… isn’t it?”

You stiffen.

He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. “None of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?”

"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.

His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. He’s pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired… and me just…” His hand glides over your hips. “Peeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?”

He hums, tilting his head. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.

He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. “You haven’t said much,” he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. “Should I stop?” His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. “Because we’re faking it, right?” He lets out a slow, amused breath. “And I’d hate to make things confusing.”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.

“Unless you want me to keep going,” he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. “But you’d have to say it, sweetheart.”

His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.

You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. “Wooyoung…”

His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.

“I’d take you like this,” he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. “Make you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow… deep… mine.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. “But maybe we should stop.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.

“No, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."

His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.

“There she is.”

His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesn’t say a word.

Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.

Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.

You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.

The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.

His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.

“God, you sound so pretty when you do that,” he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.

You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.

You can’t speak. You can’t think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly it’s almost cruel.

“Still pretending?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or can I finally touch you like I’ve wanted to all fucking night?”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.

He chuckles under his breath.

“Thought so.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.

The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and he’s quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like he’s starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. “You’re a goddamn dream.”

You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.” His lips press behind your ear again, “Tell me you want it,” he demands.

And you can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. “I want it.”

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.

He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. “Already this wet for me, baby?”

You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.

His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."

Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. “Fuck, Wooyoung…” you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.

Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.

“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.

“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”

You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.

“There we go,” he whispers, dark and pleased. “So fucking tight.”

He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You let me in so easily.”

When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.

You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, right there-, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.

“Good girl,” he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. “Let me hear you.”

And you do.

Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.

Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesn’t relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands softly.

“So good,” you breathe. “It’s-, god, Wooyoung-”

“That’s right,” he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. “Say my name like that.”

He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.

“Come on,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.

But he doesn’t let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.

“No. Look,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “I want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.”

You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.

The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.

You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesn’t slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.

You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.

He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.

“Stay just like that,” he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.

“Stay like that,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “I want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.”

You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like he’s been aching for this.

And when you see him… you go still.

He’s thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Oh?” he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. “Surprised?”

You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. “You’re gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.”

Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Claiming.

He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

“God-, fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.

You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.

“More,” you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. “Don’t stop-, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“You want more?” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at this mess. Look what I’m doing to you.”

He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.

Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like he’s lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.

He kisses it once. Then again, slower.

“You gonna come like this?” he demands, voice thick and breathless. “Bent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?”

“Yes-,”

But he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.

You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.

“No…” you whimper, voice trembling. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I said so,” he growls behind you, breathing hard. “And if you’re mine now… you come when I let you.”

A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.

“Oh, you like that,” he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. “Look at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.”

His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before he’s walking you backward toward the bed.

“You think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?” he growls against your lips. “Not a fucking chance.”

You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way he’s used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

Then his eyes narrow.

“Spread your legs wider.”

You do, instantly.

His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, he’s not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.

You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.

“Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Did it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.

Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.

“Look at this,” he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. “So swollen. So wet. All for me.”

His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. It’s not hurried, no, it’s maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.

Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.

And then-

He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.

“Fuck-!” you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Wooyoung-,”

He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. “Oh yeah,” he says, eyes heavy with lust. “You liked that.”

Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.

He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you take it like that.”

Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. “Dripping. You get this wet from just my hand?”

He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.

Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. “Fuck, Wooyoung-, don’t stop-”

He chuckles low and hungry. “Didn’t plan on it.”

With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.

You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.

“No. I get to fuck you when I say so,” he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s ever tasted good.

When he finally thrusts in, it’s a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like he’s drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he growls against your lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

So you do.

His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But it’s his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.

You’re gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.

“You feel that?” he pants into your mouth. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine.”

He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.

“Shit-,” you sob, clinging to him now. “You’re so deep-, I can’t-,”

“You can,” he growls. “Oh, fuck, baby-, that’s it,” he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. “You feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.”

He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he can’t stop touching you.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me make you feel so fucking good.”

You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.

“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”

“Yeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.

“God, baby,” he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. “You feel so-, fuck, I’m not gonna last-,”

You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

That does it.

With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.

You can’t help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he can’t hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like he’s fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.

When he finally exhales, it’s a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.

Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way you’re still dazed and boneless beneath him.

And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.

“God,” he says, voice low and pleased.

You blink up at him, heart stuttering. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like he’s memorizing everything. The mess he’s made of you. The way you still haven’t caught your breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. “Like… stupid beautiful.”

Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you can’t even look at him right now.

But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. “don’t get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.”

“Wooyoung-“ you try to protest, flustered, but it’s useless.

He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. “Nope,” he growls playfully.

When his mouth crashes into yours, it’s not sweet or teasing, it’s intense. Deep and all-consuming, like he’s starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.

“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Never.”

***

You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you can’t help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.

Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you can’t help it.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoung’s ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. You’d teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.

You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.

Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.

The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.

“Morning, roomie,” he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. “Is that my cereal?”

You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouth’s gone dry. “It was calling to me.”

He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times. Only now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.

You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. “You, uh… want some?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like it’s nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.

He hums like it’s gourmet. “God, I love this shit.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He’s too close. Too warm. Too real.

And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.

“Good morning, beautiful,”

Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. There’s no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something that’s always been there but is only now being acknowledged.

His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.

You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.

“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “You gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?”

You eye him, lips twitching. “Still weighing my options.”

He shrugs, hands still warm where they’re resting on your thighs. “Take your time. I’ve got all morning.”

“You’re literally the most impatient person I know,” you mutter.

“Mm,” he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. “Not when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.”

You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.

It’s completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isn’t a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.

And maybe… maybe it was.

“You know,” he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, “I thought about that last night.”

“What, the cereal?” you ask, trying to level your voice.

He nods, all faux-innocent. “Had this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.”

You squint at him. “You didn’t even eat any.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Fell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.”

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

“And hungry,” he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like he’s thinking about sin. “Might be craving something a little messier, though.”

You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.

You think that’s the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. “Also, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldn’t hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-”

“Stop,” you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.

He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I’m just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.”

You shoot him a look. “I was literally getting cereal.”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, “Yeah, and you still looked hot.”

You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that he’s still standing between your knees like he belongs there.

You open your mouth, no idea what you’re even going to say, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like it’s just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.

And god, maybe it is.

A date with a shared friend of your two roommates, one you originally didn’t want to go on, but were now somewhat excited for. You haven’t been on a date in a while, which you didn’t think much of, but it seemed everyone and their mother was more than concerned for your love life than you were. You were content with San and Wooyoung, your two roommates, and your one year old black lab named Sweetie who was almost as big as you.

After fighting both San and Wooyoung’s attempts at convincing you to go out with Yunho for a week, you finally agreed, days into the follicular phase of your cycle, mere moments out of the month when you craved the touch of a man. Now, mid-ovulation, you weren’t completely sure where you wanted to end up tonight. 

You knew Yunho well. Being a friend of both San and Wooyoung, he was over your apartment all the time, with his shaggy brown hair, cozy clothes that made him look like a librarian, legs that stretched on forever. Sometimes you caught yourself staring at his veiny hands for a second longer than what was considered appropriate, but you never thought of Yunho as an actual option. 

When you came home after a long day of teaching, blabbing to San and Wooyoung how the other teachers at the studio teased you for being single yet again, telling you that you should at least go on dates, the pair took it upon themselves to find you a suitor. Silently, without your knowledge, they hooked you up with Yunho, one of the only other single people in their friend group. Your friend group.

“I guess the second one?” You tilted your head to the side in thought, turning to stare at yourself in the mirror again, a black dress that hugged your curves dangerously. “Maybe this is more club than it is dinner and drinks.”

“Try on the other one again,” San tilted his chin toward the brown dress you tossed on the chair in the corner of your room, the one usually tucked under your desk that held your two-monitor PC setup. Used mainly for The Sims 4. No one had to know that part, though, your set-up was sick. 

You whined, head falling backward, effectively giving up. Sweetie’s head picked up, and San’s amused smile grew as you trudged across your bedroom, crawling on your bed, sprawling yourself across your best friend who rolled on his back, opening his arms to welcome you in. 

San chuckled, your head tucked below his chin, vibrations bleeding through your skin. His body was so hard beneath you, so warm and inviting, you could happily stay here, buried into him forever. He turned his head, making room to press a kiss to the top of your head, “You’ll have fun, Yunho’s a great guy. He’ll treat you well.”

“What if I just want to cuddle and watch movies all night? Is it so bad to cancel now?” You mumbled, voice muffled by the cotton white tee he wore, one from the pack you bought him a month ago. His home uniform, a white tee that clung to his body like latex, and gray sweats that hung so low on his hips you wondered how they didn’t fall off sometimes. 

“Come on,” San ushered you upward, his chest pushing on your cheek until you pulled your arms under your body to lift yourself off of him. You pouted, he smiled, dimples joining the party on your bedspread. “If you don’t like him, you leave, no harm, no foul.”

“He’s your friend,” you whined again, bottom lip jutting out in the most exaggerated way. “Why did I agree to a set up with one of your friends?”

Just as San was about to protest that Yunho is one of your friends too, you heard the front door snap open, sneakers hitting the wall as he kicked them off his feet, you always heard him before you saw him. Yours and San’s heads turned to your opened bedroom door as Wooyoung yelled from the living room, “It’s date night!”

You sighed, sitting backward, legs tucked under you. Sweetie got up from where he snuggled against San and joined your pity party by laying across your lap, head nuzzling into your tummy. Like a reflex, you scratched your fingers along his back, on the top of his head, he pushed air through his nose in delight. 

Wooyoung ran into your bedroom, halting dramatically in your doorway, both hands propped up on the frame on either side of his head. His eyes danced between you, San and your dog, but they landed on San. “Why isn’t she ready?” Eyes sliding to you, “Why aren’t you ready?” 

“I don’t wanna go,” your head tipped back again, whining, “Sweetie doesn’t want me to go either, look at him, he’s so cozy. He wants me to stay home and cuddle with him.” 

Wooyoung’s lips flattened in a line, “You can’t cancel on him, Shy. He’ll be here in thirty minutes to pick you up, it’s rude if you cancel now. Get up, girl.”

Your top lip curled in distaste, you hated when he said your name like that, even if it was the nickname they both had for you. Really, it was San’s nickname, which was originally your mother’s, he picked it up when he was three, when your entire family called you their shy girl. The nickname had always stuck with him, even after moving away from your hometown and into the city that your family thankfully wouldn’t step foot in, even after almost a decade. When you met Wooyoung your junior year of college, he thought the nickname was so damn cute he started calling you Shy, too. 

Wooyoung moved to the center of your room, movements fluid, eyes dancing about the space like he was your fairy godmother. Picking up the brown dress thrown over your chair, he cheered, “Aha! I love this one on you.”

Sighing, you tapped on Sweetie’s head, a warning to him before you stood up. He crawled off your lap and back into San’s chest, settling in his side just like he had before you interrupted. You stood up off the bed, pulling your dress down your thighs, and Wooyoung grinned, eyes flaring, “That dress is an option? What, are you planning on fucking him?”

Eyes narrowing, you scowled at him, crossing the room to snatch the brown dress from his hands. In all black, jeans, tee and jacket, he wore his hat backwards on his head, hiding his short, cropped black hair. Rings adorned his fingers, silver necklaces on his neck, he and San so opposite it still made you laugh at how close the three of you are. 

You supposed you were the glue. To Wooyoung’s hotheaded, outspoken, free-bird self, San was more emotional, logical, he actually thought before he spoke, when his feelings didn’t cloud his mind. You were the perfect combination, spontaneous yet level-headed, in tune with your emotions, in tune with theirs, you were the ground they stood on, the final word in their decisions. Why did you need to go on this date when all you needed was in this room with you?

“No,” you bite, throwing the dress on the bed while you pull the one you already wore up and off your body. 

Woo laughed, sitting down on the chair he stole the dress from, “No? Your panties match your bra.”

“I just wanted to be prepared,” you throw the dress at him as soon as it's off your body and he catches it with one hand, eyes obviously drinking in your figure. Too close for comfort, that’s what the three of you were, roommates and best friends and an enigma no one around you can understand. 

When you turn to San, his eyes are on Sweetie before him, his fingers lightly scratching his head. Always polite, always considerate, you grabbed the brown dress you threw on the bed, forcing yourself to not recall the days where he wasn’t so respectful. 

“Did you shave? Be honest,” Wooyoung’s eyebrows raise as you step into the low cut, bodycon brown dress. You snort, walking towards him so he can zip it up your back. 

“I trimmed,” you answer simply, amusement dancing in your tone, pulling your hair to one side to give him access to the zipper. He straightens in the chair, one hand on your hip as the other tugs the chilly zipper up your back, he stands back up to reach the top. You turn to him, hair still grasped in your fist, brows raised as the thought crosses your mind, “Should I have shaved?” 

“Hell no,” San responds from the bed, eyes trained on you and Wooyoung standing feet away from him. “Yunho’s a man, like, a man. He doesn’t give a fuck if you have a bush or whatever.”

“You should have left the bush,” Wooyoung’s smile is swimming in his eyes too, half-joking, half-serious, “it’s like unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.” 

You peel away from him with a laugh as you stand before your full-length mirror, hands gliding down your body as you twist from side to side, head tilted to look at yourself from every angle. You look good, the color compliments your features, accentuates your curves just enough, you didn’t know if the heavy feeling in your gut was anxiety or if you didn’t feel confident or what. It’s been a long while since you’ve been on a date. You sigh, “I just feel like it’s too much.”

Wooyoung comes up behind you, one of his veiny hands on your waist, his cologne in your nose. Woody, notes of creamy sandalwood, spicy, you ease into his touch as he swings a pair of pumps around your front for you to look at through the mirror. You missed when he grabbed them from your closet. “You’ll feel better with these on,” his voice is low in your ear, velvety even if it wasn't intentional, “Your legs will look longer. He’ll wanna eat you from across the table instead of his food.”

You nod, swallowing, ridding your thoughts of all things incriminating about your roommate and best friend. He moves to crouch down on one knee in front of you, your heels on the floor beside him. San, on his stomach now, is beaming while he watches Wooyoung give you princess treatment as if your heart wasn’t reaching tachycardic level, “It’s like you’re Cinderella. Shinderella.”

Your brows scrunch as a punched laugh rushes from your chest, one palm holding the hat on Wooyoung’s head for leverage as you slip your foot into the deep maroon heel he’s holding out for you. “That was an awful joke, Sannie.”

“I liked it,” Wooyoung smiles up at you, sincerity in his eyes, all warmth and love as he grabs the other shoe, “You deserve to be treated like a princess, so if he doesn’t hold the door open for you, pull the chair out for you, if he doesn’t pay the bill, you come home straight to us.”

He stands up on two feet to lean forward, pressing a kiss to your freshly done hair, hands squeezing your shoulders, “Why does this lowkey feel like a big deal?” He turns around to look at San while your face flushes aggressively, “I feel like we’re giving her away.”

San snorts a laugh, tucking a muscled arm under his head to lay his cheek on, “She knows she’s ours at the end of the day.”

You roll your eyes, hands on your hips again as you turn to San, disagreement in your body language but in your heart you know it’s fucking true. Ever since you were little, you’ve looked up to San in a way, always taller than you, stronger than you, older than you. Even if it’s only by a year, you’ve always seen him as someone wiser, someone you could count on no matter what, if you needed him, he’d be there. Because of that you’ve always stuck by his side, never treading farther than arm’s reach, because as much as you were San’s, he was also yours. 

And he knew it in his bones, too. 

“It’s one date,” your voice is full of reassurance as you walk to your closet, pulling out your collection of bags, totes, purses, already having one in mind. Finally finding the tiny black Coach purse as you realize what you’d just said, you whip around to look at his dimpled-cheeks deep in the pocket of his elbow, purse tucked under your arm, “Why was I just about to convince you why I should go? This is getting very backwards.”

“Because you love us so much, you don’t want us to sit here all night, all sad because some six foot sexy man is taking you away from us,” Wooyoung’s voice is full of humor as he sits back on your bed, one leg tucked under him, one hand rubbing San’s exposed ankle. He sits up a little straighter, “You should still go, though. We won’t be that sad.”

With your features blown into offense, you scoff, “I’d expect you two to be crying, nervous wrecks while I’m gone. You’re telling me you’ll be fine and dandy while I’m off getting pounded by that same six foot sexy man?”

“Pounded?” Wooyoung and San answer at the same time, their eyes wide, eyebrows in their hairlines. San even picked his head up from the pocket of his elbow. 

You laugh loudly as you put your everyday purse on Wooyoung’s lap, transferring all your necessities into the tiny handbag. San sits up, crawling behind Wooyoung with his legs straddling the younger man’s back, “You’re really gonna fuck him?!”

“Do we need to have the talk?” Wooyoung blinks at you, face completely shocked, leaning back into San’s arms that wrapped around his front, “When was the last time you even had sex?”

“I’m twenty-eight years old, first of all.” You hold up two hands in front of you, palms flat, facing both men. “Second of all, I don’t know! Who knows? If the date goes super awesome-ly then I might end up in his bed, yeah.” You point a finger at Wooyoung, eyes narrowing, “Third of all, screw you. Two years, shut up.”

Wooyoung raises his arms in defense, lips tucked between his teeth to stop himself from giggling. San still looks surprised, cheeks pink, jaw slack and eyes wide, “I– I don’t know why I’m so shocked that you admitted that so easily.”

“You’re acting like I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” you close the clasp on your purse, “I may have not fucked in two years but I’ve fucked plenty.” Looking at Wooyoung again, you ask, “Can I wear your Chrome Hearts jacket? The leather one?”

Wooyoung nods with his face scrunched like it was no biggie before asking, “So are we expecting you home tonight or what?”

“Why are you being so adamant about this?” Your eyes bounce between them, lingering on San’s cheeks that deepen by the minute, “I don’t know yet, jeez. What time is it?”

San scrambles for his phone, “He’ll be here in ten.”

As if Yunho himself was in your bedroom with the three of you, the doorbell rang. Your eyes widen, “Shit, he’s early.”

“We’ll distract him,” Wooyoung grabs your waist to move you to the side as he stands, rushing out of your room to greet Yunho at the door. Sweetie jumps off the bed next, following him, probably thinking something exciting was happening, and San mimics the two as the third musketeer.

Your finishing touches, extra deodorant, more perfume for good luck, a little lip gloss, a few fluffs to your hair. You caught yourself in the mirror again before leaving, doing another three-sixty, viewing yourself from every angle possible without twisting into a pretzel. Scrunching your lips, you stare at your own face, something still didn’t feel right. You hated when your gut was telling you something, but didn’t say what it was.

The three are in the kitchen, four if you count Sweetie, mid-conversation as your heels announce your presence before you breathe a word. Meeting San’s eye and then Wooyoung’s, both stared at you in awe, affection sparkling in their dark eyes, like they’d never seen you so dressed up before. Sweetie is at Yunho’s feet, the six foot man crouched into a hunched-over ball, hands scratching the dog’s ears until he sees you. 

“Wow,” he stands, black slacks on his long legs, a cream-colored button up on his upper half, brown jacket thrown over his arm. Black hair styled and off his forehead, he looked clean, crisp, handsome. “You look beautiful.” 

Your face heats up, beaming as you say, “Thanks, you look handsome, too.”

Wooyoung giggles like a child, you snap your head to sneer at him, catching San who’s still staring at you fondly. They’re like your parents, chaperoning your first date like you’re a teenager. 

Wooyoung skirts around the kitchen island, “Your jacket, milady.”

Rolling your eyes, you smile apologetically at Yunho who looks amused as Wooyoung drapes the leather jacket over your shoulders. Yunho’s eye drops to the emblems on the sleeves as you slip your arms inside, the obvious Chrome Hearts crosses, the jacket Wooyoung paid an arm and a leg for. His eyes flicker before rising back to your gaze, face unreadable for a moment before he slaps the bright smile back on his cheeks. 

“Ready?” He asks after you pull your hair out from beneath the collar. 

Nodding, you murmur, “Yeah, ‘m ready.”

San and Wooyoung stay tucked into each other, watching like proud mothers as you wave your goodbye, wiggling your eyebrows. You blow a final kiss to Sweetie before you’re out the door, in the open air of an unforgiving February night, Yunho’s car parked directly next to yours. He opens the door for you, closes it behind you, and he’s in the driver’s seat in a flash. 

“How are you?” He asks as he clasps his seatbelt and immediately you’re filled with the ick of inevitable awkwardness. You hated small talk, you hated this feeling, of a new relationship budding, of not automatically being at the oversharing-because-I-can stage. 

But you respond politely, with a smile on your face that he couldn’t see through, all the way to the fucking restaurant. A nice place, moody lighting, an obvious date night spot. Your table is off to the side, against the beige-colored wall, more private than the center of the restaurant, thankfully. The air between you is a little more congenial by the time you’ve had a quarter of your fruity cocktail and there’s food placed at the center of the white tablecloth.

“I love my kids,” you shake your head, swallowing down a bite of the appetizer he ordered, “they’re all great kids, it’s the parents that make me want to rip my hair out.”

Yunho laughs, an easygoing thing, and you smile when it reaches your ears. “They’re all bad?”

“Not all of them,” you respond, words practiced, almost scripted, at the point in date talk where you were discussing what you do for a living. Next comes future talk, if this went anything like the dates you’ve been on in the past did. “Just the ones that nitpick everything I do, like they have any idea what they’re talking about.”

Yunho nods, “It’s like that at my job, too. But not with parents, with clients, the ones who talk about artwork like it means something to them. I know they just think it looks cool and they want it on their wall, but that’s enough, I mean, leave it at that. I understand not everyone is a connoisseur.”

Your grin widens, a giggle falling past your lips as you bring your glass up to catch it. You have to give it to him, he’s funny, but not as funny as Wooyoung. He doesn’t look at you the way San looks at you, either. 

By the time you’re halfway through your entree you know you aren’t going home with him. You could possibly see him again, depending on how the second half of your entree goes, but the need to see him naked on top of you isn’t quite there. A sweet guy, heart of gold, you know he’s a genuine friend, you’ve had plenty of conversations with him before at your apartment during gatherings to know enough about his nature. But romantically, sexually, there isn’t a spark in your veins, a sizzling to your blood, a dampening in your panties that makes you want more. 

He’s a great guy– but he’s not for you. 

“Can I ask you something?” Now a singular piece of chocolate cake between you accompanied by two silver forks, you nod as you dig the prongs into the triangular edge. 

“Your jacket,” he raises his perfectly trimmed brows to the leather that hangs off the back of your chair, “it’s Wooyoung’s?” 

“Definitely,” you nod furiously, without missing a beat, “you know him and Chrome Hearts are in a very serious, very committed relationship.” The smile Yunho gives you in response doesn’t completely reach his eyes. You pop a brow, “Why?” 

His fork dances around the plate, “I don’t know.” Setting it down softly, he leans back in the upholstered chair, “wearing his jacket on a first date, when he’s the one who set us up. I don’t know.” 

Your head tilts, heat flooding you, the nervous kind. Confusion bites at the corners of your eyes as you blink at him, “What do you mean?” 

“Can I be frank?” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re Yunho, but sure.” 

Amusement huffs from his nose, but he doesn’t exactly smile. “Is there anything going on between you?” 

You pause, mid-bite, cake millimeters from touching your tongue. Body going hot, your arm lowers slowly, “Between who?”

“Between you and Wooyoung. You and San. Both of them, I don’t know.” 

Your brows shoot upward, jaw dropping, “What the fuck?” Looking around, noticing the eyes on you, you cover your mouth with your hand. You didn’t realize the volume you cursed at— you mumble an I’m sorry sheepishly to the room around you. 

“I’m serious,” Yunho leans forward again, and his eyes are so genuine it throws you for a loop. You knew your friendship with the pair was closer than the typical, a little strange at times, with the flirting and the touching and the looks. You knew how you felt about your roommates, your best friends, how there’s a certain depth in the way they treat you, love and respect too raw to be faked, how it always makes your stomach pang with gratitude too deep to express. 

“No, Yunho.” You shake your head, fork landing on the small, ceramic plate. The words are short, not necessarily offended, but it’s clear the question didn’t sit well. Your relationship with the two men, both a third of your being, is completely platonic. 

Did it really seem like it wasn’t?

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezed tight, regret oozing off of him. “I don’t know why I asked you that, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you try to laugh to ease the tension, but it comes off demeaning. Yunho stiffens, hands coming up to dig the pads of his fingers into his eyes. “I’m serious, it’s fine. I know we’re a little closer than your average roommates, but we don’t fuck.” 

You could feel eyes in the room on you again, this time you ignore them. Yunho’s hands leave his face, eyes cracking open, words escaping from his lips too quickly to have been thought about first, “You never have? Not even with Sannie?” 

“Not even with Sannie, no. I haven’t seen him naked since we were seven, we’ve never once kissed, nothing.” 

Lies. Lies, lies, lies. You don’t know why they spill from your lips like a waterfall, like you had to defend yourself. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself more than Yunho. 

His brow pops like he asked the question just to receive your deception, “That’s not true.” 

Taking you by complete surprise, your heart plummets, sputtering, “O-okay, well—”

How did he know? He shouldn’t know about your times in college, Sannie throwing you around the mattress with a boy from your English class. Or the handful of times with the girl from your contemporary dance class. Or the times you’ve been each other’s New Year's Kiss, or the times you’ve messily made out in the corner of a frat house after he finished a keg-stand. It was all platonic, anyhow, so whittled down to ancient history it wasn’t even worth bringing up. 

“Why lie if you aren’t doing it still?” 

Your eyes widen. You don’t know why you lied. You weren’t expecting him to catch you in it. Your ears are on fire. 

“I’m not lying!” It comes out louder than intended, too defensive, too full of quickly found, nervous anger. If you were honest with yourself, you thought about ancient history often, you thought about what it would have been like with Wooyoung involved too, yours and San’s missing link. A line you haven’t crossed. You and San haven’t touched each other since you were twenty-one. 

But you still think about it. More than you should. 

You empty a much needed breath, one heavy and long. You ignore the stares of the people around you. You try not to let Yunho’s gaze be patronizing. You try not to feel the embarrassment radiating off of him. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, head dropping down until your chin is tucked. “I don’t know where that came from.” 

“I do,” Yunho says quietly, almost shakily, like he’s scared of saying the words that follow. “You and them… you want it, don’t you?” 

“We’re just friends,” you nearly whisper, an unexplainable tightness in your chest. “Roommates,” you add, and it sounds like an insult. 

He lays an open palm on the table, and you pick your head up to meet his soft smile, eyes full of sadness, pity. You take his hand anyway. 

“You should really tell them how you feel so this doesn’t happen again.” 

How you feel? How you feel? 

You don’t even know how you feel. You have memories that linger, a soft spot for the two men you spend all your time with that was the size of a crater. You have touches, eyes, words you weren’t sure should mean more than they do. You have emotions, you have a fantasy you keep buried, you have a secret that would shatter you if it ever saw the light of day.

That line hung over your head the entire drive home. Yunho paid the bill, much to your dismay, you definitely didn’t give him the best date of his life, but your argument was cut short by the reminder that you had bigger fish to fry. You needed the brain power for the thoughts that’d keep you awake tonight, while your roommates were fast asleep in their rooms, unaware that you were pondering about the possibility of them ever being more. 

Yunho parked beside your car again. Turning towards you, keeping the car running, he said, “I won’t say anything about tonight.”

“Thanks,” you mutter in a breath, “I’m sorry again.” 

“Don’t be,” Yunho shakes his head, laying a hand on your thigh to squeeze it encouragingly, “I hope it works out for you.” 

Giving him a weak smile, you unbuckle your seatbelt and let yourself out of the car, the stupid fucking heels on your feet clacking against the pavement. “Drive safe,” you say before closing the door behind you, and Yunho nods with a warm smile. 

You face your apartment building with a pout. That could not have gone any fucking worse, and those two upstairs are going to do nothing but pester you for every single detail. Forcing a breath through your lips, you walk up the stone steps to your front door, bracing yourself for questions you can’t answer as you push it open. 

The apartment was quiet, lights dim, you slipped your heels off upon entering, dangling them from your fingers. Sweetie didn’t greet you, very unlike him, but maybe he was asleep at this hour— with the frenzy in your mind you didn't realize it wasn’t late at all. You took the corner around your foyer to reach the living room, and the sight before you had a shriek ripping from your chest, eyes blowing wide, heart positively dropping into your ass. 

On your living room couch, brown leather, wrinkled and weathered from years of use, was Wooyoung, shirtless, lip locked with a shirtless San beneath him. Bronzy, sculpted chests pressed together, veiny hands in dark hair, spit-stained lips messily tangled, Wooyoung’s toned hips were rutting against San’s before your shriek bursted their bubble. 

They broke apart like teenagers getting caught, Wooyoung so surprised he launched off of San’s lap and onto the fucking floor. “Shy!” San yelped, as shocked as you are, gaze panic-stricken as it bounced between you and Wooyoung, he stood up instinctively. 

Your insides felt like weeds. Tangled up, knotted together beyond belief, the air in your lungs was gone, there wasn’t enough oxygen in the closing room to fill them. You stared as Wooyoung blew his hair off his face, leaning back on his elbows on the floor, legs bent up and spread, denim unzipped, sporting a tent in the pocket of his undone fly. 

San was no better. Undeniably hard, droplets of wetness on his low hanging gray sweats, skin red and splotchy, glowing with a sheer sheen of sweat. His hair was fucked up, as was Wooyoung’s, sticking out in every direction, curled where fingers had been rooted. 

Wooyoung’s lips curled in a lazy grin, “You’re home early.” 

Your hands are shaking. You think if you take one step, your knees will buckle. This feels like betrayal. Your skin is fire-hot, body buzzing with confusion, shock, rage, hurt— you were out on a date they set up for you, while they were at home fucking?! Did they just want you out of the apartment for the night? How long have they been hooking up?

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, you can feel every ounce of blood thrashing beneath your skin like your heart was the eye of a hurricane. 

Your vision blurs, words coming out short, “I-I don’t—” shaking your head, you move in the direction of your bedroom. Sweetie’s at your side, you don’t know where he even came from, you don’t have the heart to greet him. Under your breath you mutter, “I’m going to bed.” 

“Shy,” San calls after you, his voice strained. A little louder, a little harsher, he tries again, “Shy!”

You close your bedroom door and flatten your back against it, breath leaving you in tremors, palms shaky against the wood behind you. Sweetie is at your feet, dancing on his paws, whimpering for some form of attention from you, sensing all the emotion in your chest. 

You sink down until your ass meets the floor, eyes focused on nothing, hands mindlessly reaching for Sweetie as your brain replays everything you just saw. Wooyoung’s back arching his chest into San’s, San’s tongue slipping between Wooyoung’s lips, one hand on Wooyoung’s thigh while the other tugged at his hair. Wooyoung’s hips rolling against him, his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, a shakiness to his lean body that could only be perceived as need. This was not the first time they’ve done that. 

Your chin tilts upward as Sweetie licks your cheeks, you didn’t realize silent tears poured down them, dripping from your jaw. You couldn’t deny it now— everything Yunho insinuated, everything he said, how witnessing those two together made you feel. You wanted them. You wanted to be in the middle. You wanted their lips and hands on you just as much as you wanted to watch them touch each other. 

Fuck. 

You can’t pretend like your feelings don’t exist anymore. Half the reason you didn’t want to go tonight was because you wished they were taking you out, instead. You wished they begged you to stay home, with them, watching movies curled up on the couch, just to end up how they did without you. Without you. There wasn’t any room for you, they had a relationship on their own. They left you out of it. They set you up with someone else so they could have each other. 

It hurts like a knife to your gut. 

You can hear them whispering through the walls. You can’t make out a word, but they sound like they’re arguing, or debating. Then it’s quiet. 

Sweetie whimpers again. You pouted at him, his precious face seemed like it was pouting back at you. “It’s okay,” you reassure the puppy, hands cupping his face, scratching behind his ears, “I’m okay, I promise.” 

Wiping your tears, heaving a breath, you push yourself up, leaving your heels thrown beside the door where you dropped them. You tug the leather off your shoulders, hanging it in your closet— you didn’t have the heart to give it back to him right now, but it was too expensive to throw haphazardly on your gaming chair. 

After pulling out pajamas, you reached for your zipper, but you couldn’t reach it to get it down. You tried again, folding your arms behind you, fingers touching, zipper out of reach. You curse under your breath, shoulders strained, it hurt, your breathing picks up again in frustration. 

Sweetie jumps on your bed, watching you. It seemed he felt pity for you, too, sitting on his back legs, head tilted as watches how pathetic you looked— the tears bubbled up again. 

San knocks on your door twice. You know it’s him because the knocks are soft, gentle, Wooyoung would have just barged inside after a slew of obnoxious knocks of his knuckles. You didn’t want to see either of them right now. 

“Let me get your zipper.” 

Your arms unfold from your back, hands planting against the mattress beside Sweetie, head dropping as a defeated sob silently rips from your throat. The black lab’s nose nuzzles in your hair as you force the tears back in, back down, away. 

San opens the door without waiting for your response. You can’t see him eye the pair of heels on your floor, picking them up, placing them in front of your wide closet, you keep your eyes on the white comforter, laser focused on keeping your emotion locked up. On silent feet he comes up behind you, moving your hair out of the way, deft fingers slowly pulling your zipper down your back. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is as soft as his movements, tender, like if he spoke the wrong word you’d crumble in his hands. You shake your head, sniffing. His sigh is light, apologetic, “We didn’t think you’d be home so early.” 

“It’s okay, I’m fine. The date just didn’t go as planned,” your voice is nasally from how much snot had formed in your sinuses. You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, standing up, turning to look at him. Still shirtless, skin still red and splotchy, the only difference now was that his face was filled with concern instead of shock. “I’m sorry I broke up your date night.” 

He shakes his head fervently, “You didn’t break up anything, Shygirl, what happened on your date? You didn’t like Yunho? Are you okay? Did he do anything—”

A sharp chuckle tumbles past your lips, you look off to the side, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna talk about it, I just wanna go to sleep.” 

You can feel the cool air of your bedroom on your bare back. You feel exposed, despite being naked in front of him so many times in your life, despite standing before him in a bra and underwear just hours earlier. You cross your arms over your chest. “Go back to Wooyoung.” 

His lips tighten, but he nods, eyes searching your face for something he can’t find. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” 

You nod, looking up at him just as another hot tear slips down your cheek. He raises a hand to cup your cheek, to wipe your tear away with his thumb, but you pull away. His eyes widen ever so slightly, you’ve never once pulled away from his touch. He doesn’t press it, instead he turns on his heel, leaving your room, closing the door behind him gently, knowing space was what you needed, even if he wished you needed him. 

You felt better in comfy clothes, curled up in your bed, Sweetie snoring softly beside you, his head basically on your pillow. You tried to focus on that, how his shiny black coat rose and fell with each breath, how he stayed by your side because he knew you needed comfort. Your brain was too muddled to pick apart each and every emotion you were feeling, there were too many, too blended together. 

But you definitely tried, for each hour you were supposed to be asleep. 

The studio is quiet.

Rehearsal finished for the night, all of your kids home by now, probably doing last-minute homework or showering before school tomorrow, you don’t know what you’re still doing here. The floors are mopped, the mirrors wiped down, the speaker is off and plugged in, your laptop and charger tucked away in your tote. Sitting on the floor of your studio, criss-cross-applesauce, you leaned back on your palms, chin tipped up to the ceiling. 

It’s been a week since you found out your two best friends, your roommates, the two people you now know you’re in love with, are in a relationship. You truly have no idea how you got away from their barrage of questions unscathed, the two men want to know every detail of your life on a regular Tuesday, let alone when you come home crying after a date. You put your deceptive shoes on, straightened your back, and blamed every single one of your tears on how sad you were about it not working out with Yunho. 

Truth was, you haven’t spared the date with Yunho a single thought since you came home to see them making out on the couch. Since then, it’s been a constant fight convincing yourself everything was fine. In reality, everything was fine, you’re healthy, you’re stable, you have a puppy at home that still pees a little out of excitement when you walk through the front door. 

You just couldn’t have what you wanted most, and you’re not a child anymore. Wooyoung and San seem so happy together, attached at the hip, pressing soft kisses to each other’s lips randomly, giggling at something the other said, so lovesick and ignorant to how shitty it all made you feel, you couldn’t be mad. You tried your hardest not to be upset. 

As if you’ve been onstage for a week now, it’s felt like seven days of constant performance. Wearing the mask, playing the part of a perfectly-okay-girl, not letting them peer inside to see your heart shredded beneath your ribs. There was still a part of you that was disappointed they couldn’t see through the charade, they knew you better than anyone else, too occupied with one another to make an effort in seeing the truth. 

“What are you still doing here?”

You picked your head up, wide-eyed as you glanced at Wooyoung in the doorway, holding a silver ring of multi-colored keys around his pointer finger. Gray sweats, hoodie on top, a black puffer layered over it, sneakers on his feet half-tied. His hair laid messy over his cheekbones, forced down flat beneath the deep red hood, the color compliments him. You think every color in his closet compliments him. 

“Hello? Shygirl?” He’s smiling now, taking a few steps inside the studio, eyes raking over your frozen form. He pushes the ring of keys inside the pocket of his puffer as he gets closer, bending down at the knees, the backs of his thighs tucked to his calves. 

“Just thinkin’,” you smile weakly, head rolling to the side, cheek landing on your shoulder. He’s so pretty, barefaced, skin clear and soft and beautiful. Shadowed beneath his hood he looks even more breathtaking, the hollows of his cheeks prominent, the freckle under his eye appearing darker. 

With a heavy breath he leans backward, landing on his ass, arms stretched out behind him, mimicking the same way you sat. His legs longer than yours, they straighten out in front of him, feet tangled between where yours sat strategically. Always close, never close enough. 

“About what?” He tilts his head. “Competition?”

Yeah, that sounds good enough. You nod and he begins his encouraging monologue all over again, softness in his tone, a determined edge of confidence, you’ve heard it all before. You didn’t care to listen to the details. 

“Okay, be serious, what’s up?” He reigns in his knees, wrapping his arms around them, leaning forward, brows furrowed. “You’ve been off all week, Shy. I know it’s not dance-related.”

You give him a weak, disappointed smile, shaking your head. The worst, shittiest excuse comes to mind, but you’d rather use any excuse than tell him why shrapnel floated through your blood, pieces of your heart that shattered beyond repair a week ago. “I’m just getting my period, I’m in my head, that’s all.”

He pouts, “You swear?”

You nod, eyes heavy, “I swear.”

It doesn’t even feel bad to lie. Maybe you’re tired of wearing the mask. Tired of feeling.

“Wanna dance with me?”

Your eyes flicker up to him, a question in your lifted brow. “Dance?”

His grin has turned mischievous, lopsided eyes thinning with the giddiness on his cheeks, he plants his palms on the floor to push himself up, throwing his puffer to the side as he walks to the speaker in the corner of the room. Turning it on, static catching as he plugged in his phone, he looked over his shoulder to ask, “What song?”

“Woo,” you shake your head, “I don’t want to–”

“Come on,” he looks back at his phone screen, you can only assume he’s scrolling through his liked songs on Spotify, “your endorphins are in jail right now, they need to be released.”

Your lips tighten, he leaves no room to argue. He never does. 

Ain't another woman that can take your spot, my…

He turns with the same feline grin as bass pounds through the room. He turned the volume up on the speaker, the building empty, no one lingering around to hear it. 

Your brows raise, a smile begging to curve your lips, “Justin Timberlake? Really?”

“Get up!” He yells, chest pumping to each beat, limbs fluid as his feet glide in your direction, “It’s just you and me, Shy-Shy. Come on.”

You push yourself up off the marley flooring reluctantly, and then you hear his voice. 

“If I wrote you a symphony, just to say how much you mean to me,” he grabs your hands as soon as you get your footing, a scowl on your face as he pulls you towards him, “If I told you you were beautiful, would you date me on the regular?”

You can’t fight the smile that creeps over your cheeks this time, letting him guide you to the center of the room, still fighting your instinct that begs your body to move to the beat of the song. Bodies facing the mirror that stretches from one wall to the other, he glides behind you, his right hand still over yours, freeing your left.

“I can see us holdin' hands, walkin' on the beach, our toes in the sand. I can see us on the country side, sittin' on the grass, layin' side by side,” still holding your hand, you sing with him as he guides you, his left hand on your hip. “You can be my baby, let me make you my lady, girl, you amaze me. Ain't gotta do nothin' crazy, see, all I want you to do is be my love.”

You’re giggling at first, moving with him, singing loudly in the studio, until he spins you around, two hands on your hips, holding you close. 

Ain't another woman that could take your spot, my love…

Your smile falters, lips parting as you stare up at him, breath stolen from your chest. His hoodie had fallen, leaving his hair visibly messy over his face, a smile so true, chocolate eyes holding half of your heart, you remember who he is. Jung Wooyoung, roommate, best friend, coworker, he’s so many things to you, but not yours. 

Is this some kind of sick joke?

Like he can read your thoughts, like he’s trying to make you forget, he twists you back around. Two hands on your hips, knees bent and legs spread, you follow suit, watching each other in the mirror. Your outfits look planned, your sweats baggy and low, hoodie tucked up, hair that was once in a bun now halfway spilling down your cheeks, you let your body flow. Allowing your mind to go blank, you let yourself feel the music, your hips sway with his, your movements clean, you dance together like you choreographed it. 

“There you go,” he’s grinning again, nodding, encouraging, “my love, my love, my love.”

Four minutes and thirty-six seconds feels like a lifetime, yet no time at all. You and Wooyoung, your bluetoothed brains, and Justin Timberlake in the studio nearing eleven at night, you ended the song out of breath, staring at each other from feet away, as if you’re twenty-five all over again when San had just opened the studio. Brain cleared, endorphins released, you did feel lighter– not better, but lighter, like Wooyoung reached into your mind and took the edge off himself. 

“Feel better?” He’s smiling, chest heaving, hands on his hips, one knee bent with the other holding his weight. 

You nod, tugging on your ponytail to free your hair, just to pull it up all over again. Walking toward him, you’re still out of breath, “We should have recorded that.”

“We can do it again,” he offers, “although I don’t think we’ll ever reach that level of synchronicity without choreography again.”

You laugh, a lighthearted thing, “No, I think that was the extent of our bluetooth abilities.”

He takes a step forward, throwing his arms out to wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I missed dancing with you.”

He smells like home, woodsy, spicy, sweaty– you can’t help the way you drink him in, letting the smell of him calm something primal, something integral in your soul. 

Wooyoung is convinced you’re the only person in the world that can steal the breath from his lungs just by looking at him. Your arms wrapped around his torso, chin tucked into his chest, looking up at him with those big eyes he could get lost in, his breath catching in his throat is a verbal sound. He can feel the heat in the base of his spine, he settles into your touch as it spreads through him like wildfire, his heart picking up speed, pounding harder against his chest.

Holding you like this, wanting you like this, like he has since the day he first saw you– around a fire, in the backyard of a house party at Seonghwa’s place, sat next to San with a cute, shy little smile on your cheeks. He thought you were San’s girlfriend, he assumed it from the way you looked at each other, spoke to each other. Stars in your eyes, a soft, comforting tenderness in your voice that turned your words into song, Wooyoung thought he’d lost before he even entered the game.

But then he watched San leave your side for the pretty brunette from his dance class, the guy Wooyoung kept his eye on, taller than San, muscular, beautiful. Mere minutes went by before San kissed him, and even if San was shorter, smaller, Wooyoung watched as he dominated the kiss, hands in his hair, making the taller man cower for him. Obey him, even just in a kiss. 

Then you stood, sauntering over in your ripped denim that hugged your ass perfectly, one hand on San’s shoulder had him pulling away fully, dimples out in a smile, face flushed with a hazy, lustful stare. You talked, talked, and talked before San was grabbing you by the hand, the man following behind you both as you left. The three of you, together, you left together.

Wooyoung was left confused– aroused, curious, hopeful, but still so fucking confused. He asked around, Yeosang told him the nature of your relationship, that San’s known you forever, that you do that sometimes. Casually. You weren’t dating– but you fucked. Other people. Together. 

Wooyoung wanted to be next. 

He wanted you. He wanted San. He wanted both of you. Carnally. 

But that day never came. He formed a friendship with you easily, with San easily, the three of you becoming a trio that did everything together, but your hobby, your past-time after a party, never included him. In fact, it stopped altogether when Wooyoung became involved.

It’s not like he didn’t try, he’s flirty by nature, it comes as easily to him as breathing, but eventually he accepted that your relationship, your friendship, had taken root in something platonic. It bloomed into the best thing that’s ever happened to him, two people that love him fully, unconditionally, but by the time he moved into your shared apartment, he had to pluck the petals off the basis of his interest– his arousal, his want, his need, tucked away in his back pocket like it was never there to begin with. 

It became easy, over time, until San kissed him for the first time, restarting all the work he’s done, placing him back at square one. Three in the morning in the kitchen of the apartment, the only light over the sink, dimmed and low, San took Wooyoung by his cheeks and made him feel like San wanted him the whole time, too. 

And he did, Wooyoung learned. And he still wanted you. So did Wooyoung. 

“I missed it, too,” you whisper, your face too close, he has to swallow down his instinct, every fiber of his being that tells him to fucking kiss you. Dancing with you, it’s something the two of you used to do often when San first opened the studio, when you weren’t as busy, as successful as you are now. 

Sometimes San was included, in the corner of the room, correcting your form with a smile on his dimpled cheeks, amusement on his tongue, sometimes he was dancing with you, too. Late into the night, sometimes a few seltzers added into the mix, those nights Wooyoung could have sworn there was an understanding between the three of you, that there was a layer of arousal, of want, those nights Wooyoung prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d repeat history with him. For him. The way you looked at him, the glint in your eye, even now, more often than not you looked at Wooyoung like you wanted him to pin you to the floor beneath you. 

For years that look has given him hope, that eventually something will happen, something will bloom between the three of you. It won’t just be him and San pining over you while they try to fill the gap with each other.

He hasn’t seen that look once since you caught him with San. You said you were fine, okay, that their relationship doesn’t bother you, that you’re happy for them– and there’s truth to it somewhere, Wooyoung assumes the truth is mixed into the lies, that you weren’t completely bullshitting him, the only reason they tried to set you up with Yunho is because they were convinced it’d never happen with you. They gave up. At least Yunho was a nice guy. 

His arms lift from your shoulders to push your hair away from your face, stray pieces that had fallen even if you’d just put it up, barefaced, maybe some mascara on your lashes, he’s stunned the way he always is. So beautiful it makes his stomach hurt, your skin soft in his palms, warm in such an inviting way, he doesn’t want to let go. His voice tumbles out small, “You’re so pretty, Shy.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. His eyes look so soft, a fond smile on his lips while his eyes glance at yours like he was going to kiss you, while he looks at you like he loves you, he does love you–  it’s different. It looks different. Chest turning tight, stomach doing a flip, your arms uncurl from around his waist, you break away from him quickly like he burned you, the loss of warmth hits hard even if you were the one who enforced it. “You shouldn’t do that,” your tone comes out harsher than you wanted it to, voice slightly broken, stressed. Panicked. 

Wooyoung’s brows furrow, “What? I- Shy.”

“It’s disrespectful,” you don’t know why you’re speaking, where this is coming from. Your throat is tight, heart pounding against your breastplate, you bring your hand up to lay where it’s bursting from your chest. “You can’t do things like that anymore, Woo,” you’re avoiding his eye, head shaking rapidly, voice panicked and wary beyond control, “not anymore.”

“I made her hate me because I couldn’t control myself.”

Wooyoung is pacing around San’s room, shirtless, his hair sticking out in every which way atop his head, oily after work, even more so from how many times he’s ran his hands through it. San, on his bed, also shirtless, briefs loose on his hips, wears furrowed brows and a solemn downcurve of his lips after hearing the story Wooyoung frantically woke him up to tell him. 

The younger man ripped his hoodie and his tee off his upper half upon entering the room, crawling onto San’s bed, shaking him awake. Eyes barely closed, he’d just fallen asleep, blinked awake upon the first shake of his shoulders, “Woo? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I think Shy hates me,” his face was red even in San’s dark room, brows furrowed and voice panicked in a way he hadn't heard in a long time. 

San sits up halfway, turning over to face Wooyoung, “What? No she doesn’t, what happened?”

“We were at the studio, we danced, I called her pretty and she freaked out,” Wooyoung sits back, his breaths quick and uneven between his words, he toys with his fingers in his lap, eyes wide, blinking rapidly. “She called me disrespectful, Sannie, she said I can’t do that anymore, I don’t know what happened San, I–”

“Baby,” San reaches to put a hand on his cheek, taking note of how hot he felt, “calm down, breathe. Don’t say anything, breathe with me for a few and then we can talk, okay?”

Wooyoung’s first breath is shaky, panicked, like he couldn’t suck down air fast enough, couldn’t get it deep enough. San sits up fully, pressing a hand onto his diaphragm, keeping the other soft on his cheek, “Breathe, baby.”

A few counted breaths until he sounded even, one singular hot tear rolling down his cheek onto San’s palm, the older man leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. “No matter what, she doesn’t hate you, okay? Tell me what happened.”

Wooyoung takes another two breaths before speaking, telling him the story from the start. How you looked at him like you were offended, like he’d just done the worst thing in the world, how you didn’t speak to him the entire subway ride home. How when you walked inside the apartment you barely greeted Sweetie, instead you silently gave him a treat from the counter before bringing him to your room, closing the door behind you. You didn’t even look at him, like he wasn’t beside you the whole time. 

Mid-story he’d jumped off the bed, began pacing back and forth on San’s carpeted bedroom floor, speaking a mile a minute, each word edged with panic like he’d done something despicable. 

“She hates me,” he finally stood in the middle of the room, voice cracking, “I made her hate me because I couldn’t control myself.”

“No, Woo,” San shakes his head, voice soft and comforting, “knowing her, she thinks our dynamic changed. To her, we’re off-limits now, we can’t act the way we always have, can’t flirt and touch and do all the things that make us, us.”

He starts pacing again, hands running through his hair, tugging at his roots. San can barely see more than his shadow in his dark room, but he doesn’t need to see to know what look is on Wooyoung’s face, how his brows tie together, how he tucks his lips together, face splotched red. 

“I don’t want that!” Wooyoung keeps his voice a low cry, “I don’t want us to change. This isn’t what I wanted to happen, I want her to want us, I want her.”

“Come here,” San keeps his voice calm, steady. Wooyoung walks over, standing between San’s legs, one of his hands still in his hair. San leans forward, plants his palms on Wooyoung’s hips, “She has no idea how we feel about her, Woo. She’s trying to be fair, to keep her distance so she doesn’t hurt either of us. You know how her head works, baby.”

“What if she doesn’t forgive me?” The way his voice breaks is like a shot through San’s heart. But San knows you better, he knows your mind, knows your soul, he’s known you since you gained consciousness, he’s watched them form, learned you as you grew.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for, baby,” San whispers, tugging the younger man towards him, forcing his knees onto the bed, to bracket around his hips. He brings a hand up, petting his hair, sliding down to cup Wooyoung’s cheek, bringing him closer, “Everything is okay.”

Wooyoung presses his lips into San’s, hands landing on his broad shoulders, his body melting into San’s touch, finding comfort in his hard, broad body, his own sinking into him. Wooyoung’s hands travel to find his neck, his cheeks, deepening the kiss, his tongue poking out to slide into San’s mouth, still light, steady. 

Until San’s length twitches under Wooyoung, making the younger man smile into his mouth, “Yeah? Hard already?”

“Don’t tease me,” San is breathless, their lips still touching, “I’m supposed to be making you feel better.”

“Ah,” Wooyoung’s tone is still teasing, his grin spreading into a smirk, “I know how you can make me feel better.”

San snorts, head tipping back until he falls back onto the bed, letting Wooyoung crawl on top of him, his head tilting as Wooyoung leans his head down, pressing a kiss to one of San’s pecs, soft hands roaming his torso. Body shivering, San keeps his voice light, “Did you freak out just to fuck me? A ploy, huh?”

San can make the outline of Wooyoung’s scowl as he stares up at him, making San chuckle, Wooyoung bites down on his skin and he hisses. “I was stressed,” Wooyoung’s voice is sharp, “I still am stressed, but now I’m kinda horny and it’s your fault.”

San laughs again, hands coming up to tangle in Wooyoung’s hair, pulling him upward, “I’m sorry baby, I'll fix it for you, yeah?”

Thirty minutes rolling around in the sheets, keeping their voices quiet, their movements slow but not any less tantalizing, Wooyoung is filled, sated, skin sticky against San’s as he lays on the older man’s chest, dozing off to the sound of his heartbeat. 

Despite being woken up by Wooyoung, it’s harder for San to find sleep now, mind muddled with thoughts about you. Analyzing Wooyoung’s story, the details, how you looked at him– he wondered if there was a small chance you felt the same way towards them. 

While you were still in college, you and San had moments where lines blurred, he can still remember the nights where you brought someone home just to barely touch them. So wrapped up in each other, lost in pleasure, you almost forgot there was a third person there to play with. It didn’t just happen once, not even twice, it happened enough times to where you had to stop after the third person left angry and unsatisfied, an unsettling feeling floating around the room that neither of you had the balls to address. 

Always light, always casual, you explored pleasure together, different positions, different kinks, different dynamics for so long– he blamed those days on you two being young, horny, rabid animals, looking for a good fuck, a new skill to add to your arsenal. It was around the time you two met Wooyoung, San thinks, when that night happened, the last time you touched each other sexually. Still to this day, unspoken, swept beneath the rug. 

San sometimes wonders if the lines blurred sooner, he’s loved you since you were young, in high school even, it’s petrified him since he was a teenager to tell you how he feels. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if he told you, and your friendship ended? He couldn’t bear a life without you, he doesn’t know a life without you. 

Maybe he figured one day his feelings would dissipate into thin air, that he didn’t need you to love him back, that as long as he never told you, you’d still be friends. But then you fucked. And then you fucked again. And you kept fucking until San realized he’d never be satisfied with anyone else, that he needed you, he needed you to love him back, he needed to treat you how you deserved. 

 When you stared at him with wide eyes, crawled off the bed with shaky legs, retreating back to your room without a word, San almost laughed at himself. At his feelings. Because why would you ever love him back? He's watched you grow up, each phase, your best and your worst, that’s friend zone material, at least in his younger, twenty-something year old mind. 

But you never grew apart. And after the fucking stopped, the makeouts, the lazy hookups, the people you both thought were sexy and sought out together, it seemed to have added yet another layer of strength to your relationship. Vulnerability. A closeness you should never, ever have with a friend as close as you two are, it never ends well. 

Years later, still in the same boat. He still loves you the same. He still wants you the same. Somehow he got comfortable without the intimacy— or without the sexual aspect, he should say, because your relationship was full of intimacy. It never really bothered him, he never really yearned for more, until it was three in the morning and he had his fist wrapped around his cock with only you in his mind. 

Then he had Wooyoung, the sole person he’s entrusted with his feelings, sputtering words between Wooyoung’s tongue pushing between his lips, so obviously confessing feelings that he’s kept trapped inside for over a decade, just to find out Wooyoung feels the same way. That he’s also wanted you since he laid eyes on you. 

It was confusing, the lack of possession, of jealousy in his gut. He already knew he wanted Wooyoung, living with the younger man only made him love him more, their friendship was already blurring lines the day they met. For awhile San thought maybe you felt it too, that maybe you saw how Wooyoung looked at you, maybe you realized San had never started treating you differently. That he loved you, that Wooyoung loved you, and it wasn’t all platonic. 

He wonders if you love them back. If there’s even a small, microscopic part of you that wants them, more than friendship, more than sex, even. Not that he’d decline you if you proposed sleeping together. For a week now, your spark’s been gone, the twinkle in your big, doe eyes you wear like an accessory was replaced with something dull, something sad. You blamed it on the date with Yunho— but was that really the truth? You barely told them any details, you kept it vague, you even blamed that on not wanting to think about it, talk about it. 

As he settles into the mattress beneath Wooyoung, one arm curled up to hold his head close to his chest, he wonders if you’re asleep in the other room, dreaming of more, too. 

“It’s fine,” you smile weakly at Wooyoung whose head is burrowing into your chest like he’d crawl inside and make a home there if you let him. “I’m sorry I gave you the silent treatment, I just freaked out a little.”

His voice is muffled by your hoodie, your chest that his head was buried in, “Don’t apologize, please don’t apologize to me, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“Woo,” you forced out a chuckle, flexing your body on the old, brown leather couch that he was forcing you deeper into, “look at me.”

He picks his head up, his pretty, bronzy, bare face is littered by splotches of cherry. You ruffle his hair, smelling your shampoo, a blend of grapefruit and vanilla, “I’m not mad, it’s fine. Let’s just be done with it, put it past us, okay?”

Wooyoung pouts, but he nods, then lays back on your chest all over again. You groan, shifting your body to get comfortable under his weight, wondering how the fuck they were hooking up on this thing when you have to fight for your life to get comfortable on it.

“Sannie,” you shout into the open, living room air, “come get your boyfriend off of me!” 

Wooyoung gasps, picking his head up to shout towards the hallway, “Don’t! I’m exactly where I want to be.” 

Your head tips back in a laugh, knees bent up on either side of his body that’s dead weight on top of you, arms caging you in against the couch. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

“You’re warm, let me stay,” he nuzzles his head into your hoodie further, his voice a sated mumble. 

You smack your teeth, eyeing the pink princess blanket between your bodies, “You’re laying on top of the blanket and you don’t have clothes on.” 

Shirtless, briefs on his legs, he snickers, guilty as charged. “You’re the only heat I need, baby.” 

“Woo.” 

“Too soon?” He picks his head up, brows lifted and eyes apologetic, “I’m sorry.” 

San comes out of the hallway, fresh out of the shower, droplets of water sinking down his temples, onto his bare shoulders, his chest from his still-soaked hair. It makes your breath stutter in your chest the way it always does, he’s so effortlessly perfect it makes you miss touching him, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingers, sinking your nails into his strong, hard muscles. He smiles when he sees you, dimples prominent, he says nothing as he crosses the room with bare feet, nothing on his body but gray sweats on his legs. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warn, seeing the twinkle of mischief in his eye, how his grin turns from soft to playful. 

He ignores you by crawling onto the couch, shoving you into the back of it so he can take up the side, the couch just big enough to squeeze the three of you, only if San’s strength is on the outside to keep you boxed in.

You yelp as your body sinks into the couch, “San! I was comfortable.” 

“You’re only comfortable on the L part,” San quips, body nuzzling into yours, Wooyoung giggling from below you.  

“The chaise?” You snort, eyes flickering up to his that stare right back, “we’ve had two sectionals since we got this apartment, and you don’t know it’s called a chaise?” 

He giggles, “I don’t care what it’s called, I just know that you like it.” 

“And you only sit in the corner,” Wooyoung adds, his head sinking down to lay on your stomach. Your ankles cross over his back as his arms curl under yours, more comfortable now that you’re tangled, his arms taking pressure off your lower back. 

“Let’s stay like this forever,” San doesn’t give you time to answer, squeezing in closer, pushing you and Wooyoung further to the back of the couch. He smells like his bodywash, sweet and soft, you would stay forever if you could. 

Your voice comes out strangled under the pressure of his body, “We’re gonna have to, because soon I’ll be dead. You’re gonna kill me if you keep pushing me into the couch, Sannie.” 

“I just want to keep you here,” he pouts, squishing his face closer until his nose presses against your cheek, “if I let you go, you’ll run away.” 

His wet hair bleeds into the pillow, quickly spreading to where your head lays, it brushes against the side of your head the closer he gets, it’s cold. You squirm, “Your hair is freezing, Sannie, holy shit, there’s too much happening right now.” 

San whines, but he rolls off the couch, landing on one steady foot, standing up. You suck in a breath, but your pillow’s already soiled, you frown. He grins. 

“I’m going to the studio,” he says swiftly, “come with me, I have a few things to do before the day starts.”

You groan, lip lifting in protest, “I don’t have a rehearsal ‘til six.”

“Lucky,” Wooyoung mumbles, “Mine’s at four.”

“I know when yours is,” you mumble back, “I was gonna enjoy my alone time.”

“Freak,” San teases, a smile playing on his lips, amused at what he insinuated.

Wooyoung’s laugh is loud, piercing through the room, “That was a good one.”

Your brows raise, deadpanning, “And what if you’re right, hm? What then?”

They both turn to look at you, faces serious, both silently asking really?

It’s your turn to laugh, head tipping back into the pillow, and they both groan, San walking away, Wooyoung pushing off of you. It makes you laugh harder, talking through it, “Come on, that was a good one, you should have seen your faces.”

“Are you seriously not gonna come?” San, brows raised, asks from the entry to the hallway. “We can stop for food on the way, the three of us can hangout before everyone else shows up.”

You make a show of shaking your head back and forth, “I have shit to do here before work.”

Wooyoung smacks his teeth, “Like what? Laundry?”

You flatten your lips, “Have you seen the mountain of clothes in my room?”

San snorts, disappearing into the hallway, and Wooyoung finally climbs off the couch, “Fine, do your laundry, but I know you’ll miss us.”

“I’ll miss you so bad,” you’re wearing a smile now, watching him with lazy eyes as he follows behind San into the hallway, disappearing into the shadow of the walls. 

Your smile falters, settling, before a frown takes its place. Soon enough, probably sooner than you think, you’re sure you won’t be able to do this anymore– spend so much time with them, cuddle with them, live with them, eventually they’ll grow sick of you, they’ll only want each other. 

There’s already no room for you in their relationship, and with time, you’re sure the space they’ve carved out for you will dwindle to nothing. Looking across the room, you find Sweetie sunbathing beneath the window, his head politely tucked over his paws, the sun casting a shiny glow over his black coat, the sight makes you smile. You call him over and immediately he’s jumping onto the couch, laying on you where Wooyoung had just been, replacing the warmth he’d ripped away. 

“At least I have you,” you whisper, smiling, fingers scratching under his ears. 

“Yunho!” Wooyoung all but whispers, his loud voice carrying down the aisle, perking his tall friends’ ears. The older man whips his head around in confusion, smiling when he sees Wooyoung and San, giving them a small wave before walking down the aisle to greet them properly.

Stopping in a mid-sized corner store, the halfway point between the studio and home, San made good on his promise to pick up food on the way into work; Wooyoung was already giddy before seeing Yunho, this corner store was his favorite, it sold his favorite energy drink. 

“Whatsup?” Yunho’s grin is wide as he clasps the hand of both men, pulling them both into a hug, landing a smack on their backs. “You guys going to Steer on Friday? I heard it’s got a weird industrial, mechanical vibe to it, I don’t know. Joong seems pretty hype about it.”

San and Wooyoung both nod, but it’s San who answers, “Yeah, yeah, we wouldn’t miss it.”

“Sounds weird, though,” Wooyoung adds, “do you know if the drinks are cheap?”

“Three bucks a beer,” Yunho’s tongue pokes out from between his teeth, nodding, and the three men erupt into what can only be described as men-turned-pelicans finding an endless pit of fish to feed on. 

They’re all smiles and laughter until Yunho asks if you’re going, which sparks the two men’s memory, Wooyoung and San’s backs standing a little straighter, entering Shy-defense-mode.

“I…” San begins, then turns to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, already staring at him, blinks, then turns to Yunho, “Maybe?” He gives it a second, then blurts, “Can I just ask what happened between you two?” 

San’s lips tighten, head falling until his chin tucks into his chest. They shouldn’t have asked, Wooyoung shouldn’t have asked, but he can’t help his curiosity– he wants to know, too. They haven’t gotten anything besides vague answers from you. 

Yunho’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. It makes San curious, too curious for his own good, he adds, “We won’t say anything, she just won’t tell us anything, and we’re worried about her, y’know?”

Yunho’s chin tilts in defense, brows flattening, “I didn’t– it was just–”

“We’re not accusing you of anything bad,” Wooyoung waves his hands out in front of him, eyes wide, chucking nervously. “Shy said you were really great to her, it just didn’t work out, or something. She cried for like an entire day after and wouldn’t tell us any more details.”

San frowns with remembrance, how you shut yourself away and wouldn’t let them in, figuratively and literally. When Wooyoung’s hand falls to his side, San grabs it, giving him an encouraging squeeze, the two meeting eyes with small, fond smiles painted on their cheeks. Yunho’s eyes lock on the action, on their smiles, confusion morphing his features, everything scrunching together at once.

“What?” San asks, “Was everything okay? You’re both being so ominous about it.”

Yunho’s eyes flicker upward, meeting San’s, spouting, “Are you guys together?”

“Us?” San asks, surprised, eyes wide and brows high. 

San and Wooyoung share a look, then reluctantly, they nod. Wooyoung smiles, “Yeah, we’re together.”

“Like, just the two of you?” Yunho has a finger pointed, dancing between the two of them. 

San’s head turns in question, “Yes?”

Yunho’s jaw drops, nodding slowly, then with a pitched, disbelieving tone, he mumbles, “No shit.”

“I know,” San nods with a knowing smile, thinking he’s got all of Yunho’s thoughts figured out. “Long time coming, though.”

“It’s been like, a little over a week of us being together officially,” Wooyoung adds, his grin proud and wide, “but it’s been good so far. We’re happy.”

“Does she know?” Yunho asks, his face quickly settling back into confusion. 

Wooyoung’s lips purse, “Yeah, she knows. Why?”

Yunho nods slowly again like he’s thinking, then shakes his head quickly when Wooyoung’s question settles. “No reason, just wondering. Anyways, I’ve really gotta run, I’ve got this thing that I’m already late to and… art, and you know, yeah. Bye.”

“Wait, you didn’t–”

“Sorry guys, see you Friday though, yeah?” Yunho gives them a brief smile, then scurries down the aisle like Wooyoung and San were about to put the plague in his palms. 

Wooyoung and San stand there for a second, brows furrowed, heads tilted, before they look at each other utterly dumbfounded. Wooyoung points down the aisle, “Was that homophobic?” 

San, still confused, responds, “Perhaps.”

“Hm,” Wooyoung’s eyes thin, “could’ve sworn him and Mingi fucked before.”

“I thought so too,” San squeezes his hand again, “who cares? We can snitch on him Friday.”

Wooyoung’s grin returns, laughing loud enough for the whole bodega to hear, “Imagine Hongjoong’s face.”

“Hongjoong would beat the shit out of him with one hand, Naoya style.”

The more San thinks about it, the more he thinks Yunho might not actually be homophobic at all. 

“Don’t call me schizophrenic.”

Wooyoung snorts, “Are you about to say something that will make me think you’re schizophrenic?”

“Maybe,” San responds, lips scrunched. Sitting at the receptionist desk at the front of the studio, the final piece of San’s thought process clicked into place when you brushed past them into your studio for rehearsal. “I think Shy might love us back.”

Wooyoung, sitting fully on the desk beside San, wears a white tank on his upper half, exposing the tattoo on his forearm, black sweats on his lower, hiding each inch of bronzy, toned muscle. He’s housing a granola bar, his knees spread, back hunched, brows raised as he watches San think. 

“That interaction with Yunho was kinda weird,” San begins, leaning back into the rolling computer chair, hands lazily thrown at the center of his spread thighs. In all black, his clothes look painted on, tee clinging to his chest, his arms, his torso, sweats exposing the breadth of his thighs. 

“We knew this already,” Wooyoung nods, sticking out his free hand in a rolling motion, “let’s skip to the Shy part.”

“What if she was crying the whole day after her date with Yunho because of us?” His eyes flicker up to look at Wooyoung, who only raises a brow. “What if she didn’t work out with Yunho because she wants us, and she told Yunho all about it?”

“Why would she even go on the date then?”

San deadpans, “Did she want to even go on that date?”

Wooyoung slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes widening, “Oh my god, she definitely did not want to go on that date. What if she didn’t work out with Yunho because she wants us, and she told Yunho all about it?”

San rolls his eyes, and then literally rolls the chair away from Wooyoung who tips his head back in laughter. “I’m sorry, come back,” he says through his laughter, “please? I’ll stop, I’m sorry. It just sounds like we’re grasping for straws here.”

“Why else would Yunho be so weird about us being together?” San continues, rolling the chair until he’s between Wooyoung’s spread legs, he lays both palms on his knees. “And when he asked ‘just the two of you’? Come on, he basically told us the whole damn story.”

Wooyoung holds onto his granola bar with two hands, eyes closing as he terribly sings, “Just the two of us… We can make it if we try, just the two of us…”

“Listen to me, Wooyoung. I’m being serious.”

It seems to lock him back in, Wooyoung meeting San’s eye, his back straightening a little. San’s lips perk upward, his groin opening an eye at the easy display of submission– not the time. 

“Okay, fine. But I do think you’re a little insane and grasping for straws.”

San smacks his teeth, “I’ll prove it to you, then.”

“Yeah?” Wooyoung cracks a smile, “How are you gonna do that? That night in the studio set us back, like, five years.”

“You don’t know her like I know her,” San sits back in the computer chair again, smirk crawling its way onto his cheeks, his arms crossing over his chest. 

Wooyoung scowls, “Are you flexing on me right now?”

“No!” San shakes his head, “I’m just saying, I think I could get her to crack if she does want us back.”

“And why would you do it any better than I could?” Wooyoung’s voice is sharper, “I wanted her to begin with, you know.”

“And I was fucking her before you ever laid eyes on her,” San responds in the same tone, “don’t get cocky with me, not when it comes to this.”

Wooyoung’s brows raise, back arching ever so slightly at the tone of San’s voice. There’s amusement playing in his words as he says, “Wow, never thought I’d see the day you get possessive.”

“With you, there’s no reason to, it’s not a competition,” San shrugs, “besides right now. You struck a nerve.”

Wooyoung smiles, hopping down from the desk to place a fat kiss on San’s lips, “You love me.”

San’s dimples are on display in a smile as he lifts his arms to grab Wooyoung by his cheeks, leaning up off the chair to kiss the younger man again, “That I do.”

“You’re really gonna try?” Wooyoung asks again, leaning against the counter, his legs crossed between San’s as he takes another bite of his granola bar. “Even after my studio debacle with her?”

San nods, “I’m optimistic about it, I know, but I really do think I’m right.”

San learned to enjoy cooking before he learned to enjoy being in the gym. Him and his mother in the kitchen, teaching him recipes she’s carried through her years learned from her own mother, to recipes he’s learned from cookbooks and the internet that fall within the strict guidelines of his diet. 

It turned from sustainability to passion— cooking became a love language before he knew it, and the main reason is because he’s always loved cooking for you most. More so since the two of you moved in together, even more so when Wooyoung moved in, too. Cooking for the three of you, to eat at the kitchen table, on the couch, even if he was dropping off plates to you in your bedrooms… San loved it. Adored it. 

For you to enjoy something he made for you warmed his blood until it sizzled with affection, to know he was making a good, hearty, healthy meal to nourish you, he never thought cooking, of all things, would make him realize how deeply he’s in love. 

It’s a constant reminder every time his bare feet touch the tiled floor of the kitchen that he loves you, that he loves Wooyoung. Tonight it feels stronger, but maybe that’s the two glasses of wine and his pink cheeks talking. The way you’re dancing about the kitchen, twirling in nothing but a big tee, singing along to the song playing from the speaker you keep in the kitchen— the confession is laying right below his skin, on the tip of his tongue, begging to be set free. After his realization, a bubble of hope so big you could pop it with a fingernail, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep it in. 

You’re laughing at something he said, his tipsy mind doesn’t even know what it was, but your laugh is so loud and so involuntary it squeezes the life out of his lungs. He wants to pick you up and put you on the counter, his hands on your perfect thighs as your ankles hook around his back, he wants to kiss you. He wants to feel you laugh into his mouth. He misses you. 

“I don’t want to talk about me at eighteen,” you shake your head, still giggling. Your hair is in a bun atop your head, messy, pieces hanging out like you tied it without looking in the mirror. Barefaced, no pants, no bra, this is his favorite version of you, the one that doesn’t care, the one that’s perfectly comfortable being in your own skin.

“Why not? I loved you at eighteen, too,” San turns back around before his cock begins stirring in his pants— he stirs the pot on the stove, instead. 

You come up behind him, on your tippy toes to place your chin on his shoulder. Still smiling, teeth stained with a faint, deep red, “Yeah? You loved me, huh?”

San knows it’s the wine talking, you’d never be so bold otherwise. He doesn’t even think you’re being serious. But, being himself, his brows dance above his eyes as he says, “Of course I did, I still love you.” 

You roll your eyes, smile faltering for just a second before it returns with vengeance, “I thought you meant you loved me, you goof.” 

Should he just say it? Should he? His back straightens a little. Uneasy, voice a little shaky, he tries, “I did, I had a– a huge crush on you when we were eighteen.” 

Your eyes blow wide, spinning around next to him to press your back up against the counter, palms folding around the edge. Surprised, but a little disbelieving, your jaw drops, “No way.” 

“I’m serious!” I still have it to this day. “When you dated that one guy— fuck, what was his name?” 

“Mark.” 

“Mark, that’s it. When you dated him senior year, I was so mad, I can remember being at graduation and being so fucking jealous that you were kissing him for pictures.” 

You gasped out a laugh, mortified, shocked, stomach dropping with what you could have had, “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say?” San steps to the side, half of his body taking up all of yours. He pretends like he doesn’t notice how small you are beneath his body. “‘Hey Shy, I know we’ve known each other all our lives, but in the past few years I’ve actually formed a gigantic huge crush on you. Sorry if it ruins the friendship.’”

“Exactly that, yes,” you’re laughing again, nodding, head tilting to the side as you look up at him with those fucking eyes. He loves them, so big and full of knowledge, experience, maturity and grace that is only expressed in the most you way. In a quieter voice, like you’re afraid to say it, you mumble, “I guess that explains college then, huh?”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one full of gasoline, and you just dropped a lit match down his throat without even realizing it. 

“There’s a lot that could explain college,” San smirks, one dimple arriving at the scene, moving so he’s fully standing in front of you, caging you in between himself and the counter. He presses his hands into the ledge, voice teasing, light and airy, “Like how we wanted each other, and were using a third person as an excuse?” 

Your smile falters, eyes widening. You swallow, San watches as your throat bobs, breath turning shallow, chest rising and falling beneath your tee. He can’t help the way his smirk grows, liquid confidence and too much optimism making his arm raise to brush a thumb over your cheek, reveling in how you twitch under his touch, eyelids fluttering. He remembers this body like it was his own, how you react to him, what gets your panties wet, what makes your toes fucking curl. He wants to show you how much he remembers you. 

“Are you guys talking about college again?” 

You gasp loudly, jumping, body slithering out of San’s clutch and into the open floorplan of the kitchen, all in a few quick, panic-driven movements. With a hand clutched over your heart, you’re out of breath, “Fuck, Woo, you scared me.” 

“I could feel the jealousy simmering in my bones, I knew you had to be talking about college,” he’s leaning against the archway, playful smirk on his lips, golden skin gleaming beneath the warm light of the kitchen. Shirtless, body on display, an ankle crossed over the other with a pair of baggy basketball shorts on… fuck Wooyoung for interrupting him, but fuck, San might actually get hard with the both of you half-dressed. 

You roll your eyes, taking two steps before you press your back against the other side of the counter, using your palms to lift you up over the edge. Exactly how San wants you, how he imagined you, his breath catches in his throat. He turns back around instead of dwelling on it. 

“Shut up, Woo,” he hears you mumble, “those days have long ended. Should’ve met us earlier.” 

Wooyoung whines, uncurling his arms from his chest to walk further into the kitchen, stopping in front of you with his palms pressed to your knees, “What, you don’t miss it, Shybaby? Not even a little?” 

San turns the knob on the stove until the flame lowers to a small flicker, stirring the roux in the pot. He turns his head halfway, side-eyeing Wooyoung whose back is slightly arched as he stares up into you, hands now planted against the edge of the counter on either side of your thighs, so confident, not a shred of insecurity in him. San wonders how he’s managed a complete one-eighty from the night he woke him up to freak out. Maybe he’s really making this a competition. 

You stiffen, eyes widening. Tipsy, but not drunk enough to admit something like that.  A nervous laugh stutters from your lips, “I— What? Like I said, that ship has sailed. Those days are over. The baton has been passed to you, Woo.” 

You use one hand on Wooyoung’s bare shoulder and the other pressed to the countertop to haul yourself off of it, landing swiftly on bare feet. Scrambling out of the kitchen towards the living room, you call over your shoulder, “Let me know when dinner’s ready, I’m gonna lay down, the wine went straight to my head, I think.” 

Wooyoung waits a moment before he turns to stare at San, eyebrows flat. San tightens his lips, an insult in his eyes, whispering, “Why did you interrupt?”

Wooyoung crosses the kitchen, his voice a sharp whisper, “I thought you already did it. Do you know how it looked from over there?”

Leaving the roux, he leans up against the counter, arms crossing, “We would have been making out by now if you didn’t interrupt.”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whines, “it’s fine, just try again.”

San covers his face with his hands, “You know what?” His hands lay on his boyfriend’s shoulders, “What I just did will hit its mark, maybe if you try next, we can get the point across without having to actually say it. Then she will come to us.”

“If I try then she won’t have to come to us,” a cocky grin spreads across the younger man’s face, “it’ll be game-point. You’ll come home to find us fucking.”

San’s lips thin, but he doesn’t respond. At this point he doesn’t care how it happens, as long as it happens. 

You thought the wine had left your system hours ago, after the meal Sannie made you, especially after a movie on the couch. The wine is the only explanation for your insides feeling warm and gooey— not the fact that across the hall, you could hear the squeaking of the mattress, the bedframe hitting the wall repeatedly, strangled moans leaving two men’s lips that you could tell they were trying to keep inside. 

Sweetie slept on his bed on your floor, head buried in the gray plush, waking up every few minutes or so from an especially loud moan or a shrill bang of wood against wall. Even your fucking dog was losing sleep. 

You’ve never heard them before, not once. Not once. Why tonight, after having both of their hands on you, their eyes staring into you, after the question Wooyoung asked? Do you miss it? The fear that zapped up on your spine was so intense you needed to lay down and close your fucking eyes. 

Confusing as much as it was scary, Wooyoung speaks of jealousy, but asks you if you miss fucking his boyfriend? Was it a kink to them? Is that why they’re fucking now?

They get off on other people wanting them… Wanting each other… That had to be it. The jealousy aspect, of reclaiming one another, and they used you to do it of all people?! It’s worse than mean, it’s worse than rude, it’s cruel. Cruel to dangle their relationship in front of your face after flirting with you— even if flirting with you is all they’ve ever done. 

You can remember meeting Wooyoung for the first time, sitting with him in a smoke circle, laughing your heart out when only three or four words had left his mouth. You ended up in tears, cheeks aching, lungs empty and dry, by the time everyone up and left and it was only the two of you left, he’d come onto you. Your first time meeting, even if he said he took notice of you far earlier, around that same smoke circle.

You can’t remember why you’d said no, how you rejected him. You had a feeling, maybe, that your relationship with him would grow far deeper than one night spent together in a cloud of hazy lust. Still to this day you remember that ache, laughing so hard you nearly gagged, eyes locked in on him, waiting for the next hilarious thing to leave his lips. It became routine, the next time you saw him out, the time Sannie introduced you to him when you already knew each other, when your name fell from his lips for the first time, Wooyoung has always, always looked at you with a certain look in his eye— like he was waiting for the smile to kiss your cheeks, for the laugh to fall from your lips. 

You don’t remember exactly when your duo with San had turned to three. Wooyoung only moved in two years ago, but you’ve been close for years now, since that night around the smoke circle, passing three joints amongst nine people. 

Maybe you were meant to become friends with him so he could end up with San, so the two of them could knock their headboard against your fucking wall and remind you that you’d never be on the inside. 

It felt sour. 

Yet for some reason, the hurt laying low in your tummy swam with the heat, the desire, curling into a pit of fire-hot pressure you couldn’t ignore. You’d already pushed the sheets off your body, already tugged your shirt up, desperate for air. You tried a pillow over your head, squeezing cotton against your ears. You went on your phone, scrolled Twitter, watched a few TikToks, tried your favorite ASMRtist. 

Laying low in the background was them. Endless. San’s low grunts, Wooyoung’s pitched whines, they poured through the thin wall separating your rooms, surrounding you like wildfire. They were everywhere, in the air, on your skin, in your sheets, but the ache curled low, settling into nothingness because you could hear the pleasure but were feeling none of it. 

You gasped as you heard it— one singular line gritted through San’s teeth, “Yeah? Gonna be good for me?”

You bent your knees up, head tipping back into the sheets, eyes squeezing shut. Your fingertips tapped against the bed, pushing a heavy sigh through pursed lips. That voice, his tone, the actions that accompany it, your memories are your personal hell. You could see them, Sannie bending Wooyoung in half, a foot planted on the bed as he drilled into him. 

Then Wooyoung whimpered, “Yes, please. So good for you— I’ll be good, please, fuck me Sannie—”

Your lips parted, a shaky breath slipping through. Your body was steaming, ears straining to listen to every last fucking detail even if you didn’t want to hear any of it. Even if it hurt, you needed it like water, like air, so badly you wanted to get up out of bed and walk in there. 

“That’s it,” San grunted, you could see the sweat beading between his pecs, “stay down, don’t fucking move.”

You bit your lip as your hands traveled to your thighs. Nails scraping against your skin, your nipples pebbled against the open air of your room, shame and embarrassment twisting with the rest of everything curling in your gut. Arousal, jealousy, rage, nostalgia, shame, hurt— you needed your panties off. It felt unethical, you should put on headphones, you should leave, you should do anything but dip two fingers into your panties. 

You moaned as your fingers made contact with your clit. Immediately you clamped a hand over your mouth, back arching into your own touch, ignoring the flame of shame completely as your eyes fluttered closed. You eased yourself into the pleasure, breath picking up as Wooyoung’s moans grew louder, the smack of San’s hips landing harder. 

Your other hand sank down to toy with a nipple while your fingers circled your clit in tight, rhythmic movements, eyelids twitching as their pleasure became your own. Timing your movements with theirs, lips parting when a moan sank through drywall, you let your mind drift, placing yourself in the fantasy. 

Laying up against Sannie’s chest, Wooyoung between your thighs. On top of Wooyoung, hips circling his as Sannie pushed up against your back, hands on your chest, one sinking down to rub circles on your clit. Sitting on Sannie’s lap just like Wooyoung had the night you caught him, chests pressed together, hands in hair, hips mindlessly rutting together, Wooyoung on your back as if you really were between them that night. 

The movie played in color in your mind, so vivid, like it was happening— with noise melting walls, it felt real. Lost in the pleasure, in the fantasy, you didn’t realize their volume had lowered, that their movements slowed. 

“Sannie, stop, stop,” Wooyoung splayed a hand behind him, head perked up, face still twisted in pleasure, but his lips stayed parted like he couldn’t believe his ears. 

“What?” Concerned, San had two palms on Wooyoung’s hips, pausing immediately, “Are you okay? What's wrong?” 

“Listen,” Wooyoung whispered, like if he spoke too loud, you’d hear him. That you’d stop. 

San’s brows furrowed, lips parting to question, but then he heard it. Small, faint whimpers, and then a moan— a genuine, raw, unbridled fucking moan, yours. He recognized it, he knows it, he’s forced it out of your lips, his hips grind into Wooyoung’s warmth out of instinct.

Wooyoung’s head dropped, arm bending until his elbow hit the mattress, a low moan spilling from his lips as his arm slipped between his thighs, tugging on his length. His voice comes out low, ragged, “I can’t believe this.”

“Fuck,” San cursed low, long, hips picking up again, slow but steady, quiet enough to hear your sounds float through the wall. “She– I–, Woo.” 

“Yes,” Wooyoung whispered, moaned, hips fucking back onto San’s length in a nasty, slow grind, “wish she was in here, sh- it, want her hands on me.” 

San’s fingertips squeezed into the plush of Wooyoung’s ass, face scrunching together in pleasure, a silent moan leaving his slacked jaw. The shock, the debrief would have to come later.

“You— you wanna fuck her while I fuck you? Hm?” 

Wooyoung arched deeper, fisting his length faster, picking up speed all over again, drowning out your noise. San wasn’t faring much better, hips stuttering into Wooyoung, one hand sliding up to claw fingers into his boyfriend’s back. 

“Yes, Sannie,” Wooyoung cried, “just like that, don’t— don’t stop, don’t stop, ‘m close.” 

San’s eyes stayed locked onto where the two met, watching how Wooyoung’s ass rippled with each harsh thrust of his cock, the end approaching too fucking fast. 

A few more thrusts until he was hunched over, drooling onto Wooyoung’s back as he filled him up, Wooyoung’s release spilling all over the comforter beneath them. They didn’t even get as far as undoing the sheets. 

Dinner, a few glasses of wine, a movie with too much touching, Wooyoung was already dirty talking San before they opened up the bedroom door. Cocky smirk on his pretty lips, head tilted, eyes sparkling, teasing him about you— oh, he was begging to get fucked. San’s been overly careful of your presence for awhile now, never too loud, keeping Wooyoung’s mouth on a tight leash when you’re home. 

But Wooyoung pushed each and every button tonight, all concerning you. How he’d fuck you better, how you’d crack when he tried, how he’d treat you better than San, San put one hand around his throat and the rest unfolded in a mess of teeth, tongue and lube. To hear you through the wall, getting off to them, was the cherry on top. They needed to do something, now. 

San ripped the comforter off the bed and crawled beneath the sheet, not caring if Wooyoung spilled into them as he settled over San’s chest, their breath still heavy, hearts still pounding.

“You seriously think she was getting off to us?” San asked Wooyoung, brows raised in innocence, in fear of what he thought to be true, being false. He kept his voice low, a small whisper.

Wooyoung, fully out of breath, chest still heaving and soaked in sweat, laughed. A hearty chuckle, he ran a hand through his hair, smile lingering, “Yes, baby. Bet she’s in there nervous as hell that we heard her.” 

You sat up in your bed, chest heaving, eyes wide, right hand still shaky. Fuck. There’s no way they heard you, right? Too wrapped up in each other, they were loud, there’s no way they heard you over the sound of themselves. You looked over to Sweetie in panic, only easing when you saw his head still tucked into his half-torn bed, eyes closed, breathing even. 

If Sweetie wasn’t bothered, then they definitely didn’t hear you. 

You lay flat against your bed, mind whirling, so fucking confused because that was so hot but it wasn’t right. Masturbating to the sound of your two roommates, two best friends who were in a relationship fucking, it wasn’t morally correct, that you knew before your fingers slipped into your panties. Post-nut clarity seeping in, you’re met with regret, guilt, and the urge to give up. 

Reminding yourself was painful– they don’t want you, they want each other. There’s no room for you in their relationship. 

Maybe you’ll go with them to that fuckass bar tomorrow. Maybe Yunho will be there. Nothing could be worse than living with this. 

San and Wooyoung had enough. 

The morning after the multi-room sex debacle, you pretended like nothing happened. They supposed that to you, nothing did happen, you had no idea they heard you, and they weren’t going to say anything, either. You’d die of embarrassment if they brought it up, and they’ve come to the conclusion that it wouldn't be the best start of a blooming relationship. They at least thought you would question it, question them. But you didn’t. 

Their patience was running thin. 

The bar was loud, pop music floating through the space, a newer bar with an industrial look to it that left everything open. The ceilings showed the pipes, the walls looked to be something like steel, the decor had a very factory-mechanical vibe to it that they couldn’t quite explain– but the drinks were cheap and the music was good. With all of your friends here, they didn’t care much, anyhow, their main focus was that you wanted to be here, you wanted to blow off steam, let loose and let go after a hectic week. 

They wondered how much of that excuse had to do with them. 

You stood at the bar, one foot propped up on the exposed pipe lying at the base, tapping Wooyoung’s credit card against the bar. San leaned into him, their shoulders touching, both of their eyes locked in on you, watching like they always did. God forbid they took their eyes off of you. 

“You guys are gonna go cross-eyed if you keep staring,” Seonghwa muttered from across the circular table, settled in the booth beside his boyfriend, Hongjoong. 

“How could we not stare?” Wooyoung was quick to answer. “Have you seen her?” 

“I thought you guys were together now,” Hongjoong’s brows furrowed, eyes bouncing between Wooyoung and San, fingers tapping against his glass, his draft beer halfway gone by now. 

“We are,” San shrugged, “just trying to get her with us, too.”

Wooyoung snorted, “That’s one way to put it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jongho interrupted, leaning forward between Mingi and Yeosang, separating the couple. “You’re trying to be in… what, a throuple?”

“Yeah,” San and Wooyoung answered at the same time, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Actually, I’m not even going to question it,” Yeosang shook his head, bringing the straw in his fruity cocktail up to his lips. “San’s always had a thing for her.”

Mingi leans forward, a smile on his pink lips, agreeing with his boyfriend immediately, “Right? I thought you guys would end up together, or really, I kinda thought you were secretly together this whole time.”

San’s cheeks, already pink, must have turned four shades darker. He didn’t have time to answer though, Hongjoong cutting in immediately, “Sounds messy. Does she know you want her?”

Wooyoung’s lips tighten as he shakes his head, “Don’t know, maybe.”

“Didn’t she just go on a date with Yunho?” Jongho asks, one of his brows popped. 

San sighs, “That was before we knew she was interested in us, if she is.”

“She is interested in you?” Mingi looks completely confused.

“See?” Hongjoong shakes his head. “Messy.”

Wooyoung nudges San with his elbow, speak of the fucking devil, grabbing his boyfriend’s attention to watch Yunho approaching you at the bar, a pitstop on his way back from the bathroom. Immediately there’s a fire in his gut, jealousy spreading like wildfire to each nerve ending in his body, it doesn’t help that Yunho looks hot tonight. Baggy cargos on his legs, tight tee on his torso, oversized button down hanging loose off his shoulders, fuck him. Why is he approaching you like the two of you are friendly or something?

Last they heard, you didn’t want him, you wanted them. So why is Yunho talking to you like he’s hitting on you? Why is your hand on his forearm? What could he possibly be saying that makes your head tip back in laughter? Yunho isn’t even that funny. 

There’s discomfort lining San’s eyebrows as he watches you lean into Yunho, seeming almost instinctive. He knows that look in your eye, the exact grin on your cheeks, what you’re insinuating even if he can’t hear a word falling from your glossy lips. He takes a slow breath, calming his heart rate before his mind warps what he sees into something completely different. 

Yunho’s his friend. If his hypothesis is correct, he knows how you feel about them, how they feel about you, wait– did they even tell Yunho how they feel about you? San’s eyes widen in panic as he turns to Wooyoung who already looks like he’s settled in his decision, jealousy in the hinge of his clenched jaw, his fingers mindlessly swirling the straw in his drink. 

San thinks they’re speaking around him, he can’t hear, he chooses not to listen. He watches as you lean forward, whispering something in Yunho’s ear. His chest feels heavy as Yunho looks down at the floor like he’s hiding flushed cheeks, an easy smile on his lips, body leaning closer to you as if San and Wooyoung weren’t sitting ten feet away. 

They’ve had enough. 

You were already smiling as Yunho approached you, having watched him make the few last steps to where you stood. “Hey stranger.”

“Hey,” he leans against the bar, “getting another drink?”

You flashed Wooyoung’s black card, a smirk on your cheeks, “Getting as many as I can stomach tonight.”

Yunho smacks his teeth, “Rough week?”

“You have no idea,” you say through an exhausted breath, “and you? Drinking tonight? I’m sure Woo won’t notice if I add another beer to his tab.”

Yunho’s eyes dance from the table back to you, “Oh, he’ll notice.”

“Trust me,” your lips scrunch together, disappointment on your face, “he won’t. He’s too focused on San.”

“They’re together?” Yunho lifts a brow, “like, together together?”

“Mhm,” you nod, tongue poking your cheek. “New development in the saga, I guess. Not a good one.”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho frowns, “I did not expect that.”

You’re still nodding until a sigh is pulled from your lungs, “It does leave me single, though, like super single…” Your eyes flicker up to him, blinking through heavy lashes.

Yunho snorts, “Yeah? Were you not super single before?”

You laugh, a breathy little thing, leaning closer to him, a hand mindlessly landing on his forearm. “I was, but there was hope before. Now there’s nothing, like super confirmed, nothing.”

“Super,” Yunho nods, laughter still playing on his lips like he was fighting it back. It leaves you both giggling like kids, a hand covering your mouth as your head tips back. 

He looks pretty tonight, you realize. Undone, casual, like he didn’t put in too much effort. Baggy clothes on his body, hair a little disheveled, he looked comfortable. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in your system or the last bit of sanity you were clinging on to, but he looked… Different. Good, really good. 

“Are you still super single?” The question slips from your lips before you can think about it. 

Yunho’s brows raise, surprised, they quirk immediately after, confused. His eyes fly to the table, landing there for a moment before sliding back to you, “Oh,” he blinks, “oh. Yes, yeah, I’m still single.”

“Good,” you nod, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling the heat you were so desperately missing the night you went out on your date. You needed something, a good fuck, a drunk hookup, something to distract you from how fucking miserable you felt. Hopeless was the better word, after coming to the sound of them fucking you’d never felt more pathetic in your life, you needed change, something, anything. 

“Do… you have plans after this?” Yunho’s face looked innocent, of all things. Like he wasn’t sure if he should be asking the question, the implication behind it, even though he seemed to see straight through you, what you needed.

The smirk that crawled onto your cheeks was anything but innocent. “Nope, completely free.”

“Good,” Yunho nodded, his smile a little more confident now. “Fuck the black card, let me buy you a drink.”

Your brows raised, a laugh falling past your lips as both your hands shoot up in defense, “Be my guest. You deserve a do-over.”

“No I do not,” he says through a laugh, “but you deserve to have some fun.”

You roll your eyes, snorting a laugh, “Please, we both know that date was not good.”

Yunho’s head turns back to the table again before taking your place leaning over the bar, ignoring your comment but definitely not denying it, “I’ll get us a round of shots.”

And he did– vodka, bitter and hot, it burnt your chest the entire way down. But it went down easy with the liquor already pooling in your gut, body warm enough to begin with. 

He bought you something fruity afterward, rum and juice, it tasted like candy— easy to sip on, easy to chug if need be. You stuck around the bar instead of heading back to the table, eyeing the dance floor on the other side of the bar, in easy conversation with Yunho who seemed like he had no intentions of heading back to the table, either. 

“Do you want to dance?” His eyes flicker to you, brows raised like he couldn’t quite gauge whether or not you’d say yes. 

“You know I teach dance for a living, right?” Your lips quirk on one side, “Of course I want to dance.”

“I can’t say I’m a great dancer,” Yunho admits, lips tightened in a line. “I sell art, there’s nothing fluid about walking around a gallery all day.”

You laugh, grabbing him by the wrist, tugging him towards the music that gets louder with each step. “Follow my lead,” you say simply, mind finally feeling fucking free, “I’ll give you a free lesson.”

He trails behind you with a silly smile until you enter the crowd of people, it was busy over here, you realized. The bar wasn’t too crowded, the other side of the building consisted of booths and tables for those who… didn’t want to have a good time, you guessed. Talking, catching up, the first awkward half of a date, maybe. 

You loved bars that had dance floors. Clubs, weddings, anywhere that there was a space dedicated to people letting loose, allowing their bodies to move as they pleased, to feel music in their blood. It was your favorite, even if you danced for a living, this was different– no choreography, no rules, there was nothing in your mind to keep you structured. You could let yourself feel, move the way your body allowed, you didn’t have to worry what anyone else thought. 

With liquor in your system, that freedom is amplified by a thousand. Dancing before Yunho, you quickly realize he lied about having two left feet, his smile is just as careless as yours as his body moves to the beat of the song, matching your rhythm perfectly. Hips swaying in tandem, arms flowing in the space around you, you’re giggling before you know it, a smile branded onto your cheeks. 

Until you turn your head and see that Wooyoung and San have joined you. 

San’s arms over Wooyoung’s shoulders, they danced close, hips touching, swaying together as one. They were smiling at you– or pretending to be, the first thing you noticed was how their grins didn’t reach their ears. An alarm bell sounds in your head, confused, concerned, you want to ask what’s wrong, your body stops moving as the thoughts pile in. 

Wooyoung, unaffected by your lack of movement, wiggles free from San’s grip. “Let’s switch!” He’s smiling, yelling over the music, “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Your brows furrow as Wooyoung shimmies between you and Yunho, his arms gliding swiftly over Yunho’s shoulders shamelessly, dark hair glowing under the pink, neon light, shaking with each sway of his body. 

You turn your head to San who seems like he’s taking a moment to process, then he pulls you into him by your wrist, other hand landing on your hip, your back to his chest. You start moving out of instinct, hips swaying, but your brows stay furrowed. 

Turning your head halfway, you ask, “What’s going on?”

San presses his lips into your cheek, dimples out to play with the smile he gives you. This one seems more real, it eases the panic in your chest ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I–” Your head turns back to Wooyoung, who has his cheek pressed to Yunho’s, saying something into his ear. “Are you guys okay?”

“Of course,” San’s palms hug your hips, pulling you flush to him, the feeling of him behind you sends heat up your spine. Immediately you’re brought back to the other night, the sounds leaving his lips, the mental picture you came up with, your hand between your legs. With his voice dripped in honey, he asks, “Are you okay, Shygirl?”

You’re nodding, body sinking into him, heat pulsing through your core, up your spine. His body feels so strong behind you, muscular arms on your hips, rocking you so sensually it throws your head for a spin. This movement brings back memories, ones that haunt you, ones you miss so fucking much. 

You nod weakly, your voice a small squeak, “Yup, ‘m fine.”

He chuckles, cheeks pink, burying his head into your neck. You’re so close you could be considered one, it’s too close, it’s disrespectful, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. Yunho is right in front of you, expecting a night with you, he knows how you feel about San, about Wooyoung, and here you are falling into a haze, repeating old mistakes. 

A third hand to one side of your waist, a fourth to the other. When you look up, Yunho is gone. Wooyoung stands before you with a cocky, lopsided smile on his lips, hips pressing into your front, falling into rhythm with you and San easily. He looks so pretty with pink cast onto his face, so bronzy even under neon light, his dark clothes sinking into the shadows.

“Where’s Yunho?” You ask, hands finding Wooyoung’s shoulders like it was instinct. 

He takes the opportunity to come closer, the three of you molding together, the smell of both of them in your nose, the strength of them boxing you in. It feels so fucking good, it feels wrong, you don’t want them to let go, you want to stay here, dancing with them all night. 

“Bathroom,” Wooyoung shrugs, thumbs caressing your sides. “Who cares?”

“Woo,” you whine, making a show of pouting, but it isn’t real. You don’t care. 

“What?” His grin spreads wider, voice light and playful like he was proving his innocence, “The only thing that matters is you and us, right here. Nothing else.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not that you ever do. There’s nothing left inside you to make a rebuttal, anyway, there’s so you curl your fingers into the nape of his neck, spread your legs to allow one of theirs to slot through, and sway your hips like you were born to do it. Head falling back onto San’s shoulder, a lazy grin makes its way to your cheeks as you move with them, staring at Wooyoung over your nose, he looks at you like he’d do anything to drink you in. 

He’s always looked at you this way, but there was something different about the longing glint in his eye, how his tongue slowly swipes over his lips like he’s hungry. Maybe it was knowing your own feelings playing a part, if it was anyone else you’d think they wanted to fuck you, but it’s Wooyoung. You can feel San at your back, the dirty grind of his hips against your ass, it’s been so long since you’ve been with them like this– dancing, liquor involved, too close for comfort, questioning if your relationship was as platonic as you thought it was. 

Years. You haven’t touched San in years. You think back to Wooyoung asking if you missed it– you know you do, you miss it so fucking much, but was there a chance that Wooyoung wanted you to miss it? That he wanted to repeat history, this time with him involved, like all the times you’ve dreamt about? You almost groan, head tipping forward, heat spreading through your body at the thought of them wanting you like you want them. 

“What are you thinking about, baby?” Wooyoung asks, his voice low, loud enough for you to hear. His face is so close you could feel his breath on your face; minty, like he was drinking a mojito, or took a shot of Rumplemintz. His smile is feline, eyes knowing as if your skull was transparent, like he just wanted to hear the words from your lips. 

“I,” you take a breath, the admission sits on your tongue. “I’m not thinking.”

You can’t do it. To make yourself so vulnerable, so susceptible to rejection, you couldn’t do it. 

Wooyoung leans in, soft, warm cheek pressed to yours, lips ghosting your ear, “You’re lying.”

San is on your other side, keeping himself close, his nose dancing along the shell of your ear, making you shiver. He keeps his voice just as low, sounding like an aphrodisiac, “Tell us, baby, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?”

Your heartbeat quickens, pressure below your skin, they’re too close, boxing you in, there’s a pit in your core like an itch you can’t fucking scratch and they’re dangling relief in front of your eyes, out of reach. Your jaw clenches, words fighting to push through, your fingers tangle into Wooyoung’s hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing against skin– he hisses into your ear, fingers tightening around your waist like it’s all he could do to stop himself from pressing into you. 

“Fuck, Woo,” you mutter under your breath, marvelling at the sound, how it makes your stomach do a flip. The floor feels charged, tension spreading from your ankles to your spine, your words spill out before you can think twice about them, “did you like that?” 

You can feel electricity prickling your scalp at your own question, but he answers it with a quick-spreading smirk brushing over your ear, “Is it okay if I did?” Your eyes widen as he pulls away from you, keeping your faces so close your noses are almost touching. His eyes stay locked on yours and you can see the desperation changing the shape of his face. He asks again, “What if I asked you to do it again?” 

It’s so wrong. They’re together, they’re a couple, there’s no fucking room for you. But what if there’s a chance that there is?

Yet your fingers tighten in his hair, gripping at his roots harder than before and his head falls back, strong jaw on display, the curvature of his nose, jugular beckoning your lips forward. The music disappears as a tight sound leaves his lips, the rest of the bar fades away as his hips buck into yours, you’re left in awe, dumbfounded, the heat in your core unbearable. 

“He likes it a little rough,” San whispers into your ear, voice rough, edged with dominance. His teeth dragging over your earlobe, tongue following, “You’re gonna make him hard, baby.”

“S-shit,” you manage to get out, body twitching, sinking into San behind you whose hands slide under the hem of your top at your hips, palms hot and callused against your skin. Involuntarily your hips push forward, into Wooyoung, your mind so fuzzy and confused but you’re so fucking horny all you can ask is, “What are you doing?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wooyoung asks, voice playful again, his hand slides up to cup your cheek, thumb sliding over your skin, searing the trail he leaves behind. “You’re smart, use that big brain.”

“Kiss him,” San whispers in your ear, then plants a kiss right below it, using his tongue to seal the spot. You shiver, a whimper leaving your lips, brows tying together. You’re confused, you don’t have time to be, you don’t want to question it anymore.

You want to kiss him, you’ve never kissed Wooyoung once in your life. You’ve longed to know what he tastes like, how he uses his pretty lips, if his tongue can do all the things you’ve imagined it to. Your eyes drop down as he wets his lips again, so glossy and inviting, you bite your lip as his curve into another smile. 

“You want to,” San’s lips drop to your neck, talking against your skin, “I know you want to, don’t deprive yourself, baby.”

You do want to, it’s a dream, your biggest fantasy coming to life. Your hands slide from the nape of Wooyoung’s cheek to cradle his jaw, Wooyoung’s flared eyes give you the green light, you blink once, twice, ignoring everything in your mind that tells you no as you lean in and press your lips to his. His hands cup your cheeks immediately, lips moving with yours, exploratory and relieving all at once, his tongue slips into your mouth like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it, no time to waste. San keeps his hands on your waist, groaning into your skin as he watches you, attaching his lips to your neck, kissing, sucking, licking over the marks he leaves behind. 

There’s a leg between yours, you think it’s Wooyoung’s, maybe San’s, but your hips grind against it with each lick of his tongue into your mouth. It feels like heaven, or worse, mind so dazed and confused and horny but so at peace with this being everything you’ve ever imagined and more, you can’t get enough. You kiss him faster, rougher, arms wrapping around his neck, tongue searching his mouth like you need to embed the taste of him into your bones, he tastes sweet. Minty like this breath, a bitter note of alcohol on his tongue, your hands fall from his cheeks to his chest, sliding down to the hem of his shirt to tuck your hands beneath it. 

Oh, he’s warm, his body feels like it looks, harsh and unforgiving, delicious. Like he could throw you around if he wanted to, you hope he wants to, unless it’s San who does the throwing– San. 

San. 

You break away from Wooyoung with low lidded eyes and he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the fucking sky. Eyes glossy, lips swollen, you pull away and immediately he’s following, searching for more. 

You turn your head and San’s already waiting for it, palm splaying over your cheek to pull you into him hastily, lips molding against yours like nostalgia was a sentiment created by the two of you. Like coming home, his tongue slots between your lips, teeth clamping over your bottom lip, tugging on it, you whine into his mouth, back arching into his chest. You needed more. 

“Do you want us?” He asks into your mouth, breathless. You nod, and he clicks his tongue, “Words, Shy. Tell me you want it.”

“I want it, I’ve wanted it for so long,” you’re quick to admit, breathless yourself, voice raw, honest. “So, so fucking long, Sannie.”

Wooyoung grabs your face by your cheeks, stealing your attention, forcing you to face him so he can explore your mouth again, San breaking away from your back. You barely notice the loss of heat, melting into Wooyoung, chest pressed into his, hands in his hair, meeting his intentions with your own. He breaks away to peck you once,  out of breath, pupils dilated, “We’ve wanted you for even longer.”

Your breath stutters, weak in the knees, you can’t process his words, you’d put it on a checklist for later. Voice cracking, wrecked before you’d even begun, you muttered, “Let’s go home.”

You felt bad for the driver with the way you sat on San’s lap the whole drive home, switching between him and Wooyoung like you were trying to figure out who was the better kisser. Truth was, you just couldn’t get enough of them, San’s kiss was a part of your being, his touch was instilled in you, familiar to the point of not wanting to ever let go. Wooyoung was new, fresh, but an itch to a scratch, a relief you’ve ached for far too long, he was addicting, like you couldn’t stop if you tried. 

Sweetie is jumping at you when you walk through the threshold and the three of you bend down to pet him like you’ve never seen a dog before, like they weren’t just ready to strip you in the backseat of a minivan. Liquor still coursing through you, you’re all talking in high pitched voices, making his tail wag, he couldn’t choose which of you to give his attention to. After treats you’re in your room, tying your hair up, and naturally, the two men follow you. 

San makes himself at home on your bed, still in his jeans, jacket still thrown over his shoulders, he leans back on his elbows, eyeing you over the tip of his nose as you meander about your bedroom, maybe stalling, maybe thinking. Maybe you just made all of that up. Maybe you didn't even kiss in the club and you should be diagnosed with schizophrenia. 

“Shy.”

Wooyoung stands in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking. 

You look between them, jacket halfway off, heart picking up speed all over again, “What?” “Oh my god, I love you,” Wooyoung’s smiling as he unfolds his arms, crossing the room, meeting you at your back. He pulls the jacket from your shoulders carefully, pressing his lips to your temple, “We want you, baby.”

Your eyes find San’s on your bed, he sits in a cloud of arousal, still sporting the tent in his jeans. Wooyoung presses his lips to your neck, hands landing on your hips, sliding up your waist, over your chest, your breath catches in your throat, head tilting to let him explore, back leaning into his hold to let him do as he pleases.

“I know it’s been two years,” San stands from the bed, walking towards you in three long steps, slipping his fingers through the belt loops on your jeans. He tugs your hips into him, arching you off of Wooyoung, making your breath catch. The grin that spreads across his cheeks is all arrogance, “But did you really think you weren’t getting fucked the moment we walked through the door?”

Your body ignites in a way you haven’t felt in years. You whisper, “I did, I– I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He presses his forehead against yours, voice soft like velvet, invading your space again with his fingers uncurling from your belt loops to play with the hem of your jeans, two fingers pinching the button of your fly. 

Wooyoung moves to your ear, biting the shell of it, not soft enough to hurt, but enough to make you suck in a harsh breath. He plays with your top, sliding it upward, knuckles cold against your skin, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

You whine, sinking into Wooyoung, reaching for San’s shirt. You want them to fuck you, god, you want them both, you’ll take anything they give you. You can barely get out a small, broken, “Yes.”

Accomplishment is bright on San’s face as he unbuttons your jeans with ease, Wooyoung pulls away to flip your shirt over your head, the two moving in such quick motions you begin thinking they’ve been waiting for this, too. San helps you step out of your jeans before attaching your lips and it’s more than hungry, he’s starving with the way he tries to devour you, swallow you whole as he turns you both around, unclasping your bra as he walks you to your bed. 

You fall flat against your mattress with a squeak, feeling bare before them like this, standing above you like vultures. You’ve been here before with San, it feels like seeing an old friend again; but with Wooyoung, there’s a spark of unfamiliarity, it’s been years since you’ve opened up to someone new.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung groans, dark hair messy around his face, deepening the shadows of his structured face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Shy.”

You burn, heat spreading through you, knees closing, “You’ve seen me before, Woo.”

He catches your knees, spreading them as San kneels onto the bed beside you, watching Wooyoung as his eyes sink between your legs. “Not like this, do you even know how fucking wet you are?”

Your hips twitch with the way he holds you open, already searching for more. Wooyoung continues, eyes glossed over, stuck at your center like it was treasure, “Fuck, baby, you’re soakin’ through your panties.”

“For you,” you breathe out, “taste it.”

His eyes snap up to yours, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, amused. “Yeah? That what you want?” 

You nod, “Yes, Woo, wanna feel your mouth, wanted it for so long.”

His eyes slide to San’s with a smirk and the older man meets his stare with a short, cocky, “Told you.”

Wooyoung’s hands curl under your knees, pulling your ass to the edge of the bed before he pulls your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere on the floor, “Didn’t tell me she was impatient.”

“I am,” you’re quick to admit, shameless and desperate, “I’ve been.”

He smiles again, lifting one leg and pressing his lips to your ankle, keeping his eyes on yours as he sinks down to his knees. Slow kisses up your calf, your inner thigh, his tongue leaves a trail, your breath hitches in your throat as he breaks away just to tug his shirt over his head by the collar. 

“Nostalgic, hm?” San mumbles, close to your ear, laying down with one elbow propped up to watch, “We’ve been in this position before.”

You gasp as Wooyoung’s teeth graze your other thigh, at the sensitive part on the inside, eyes flickering up to yours to see your reaction. Through gritted teeth, one arm reaching out for San, you whisper, “Mm, missed it.”

“He’s good with his mouth, y’know,” San leans in closer, pressing his lips to your cheek then your jaw as Wooyoung finally leans forward, his nose meeting your folds before his lips make contact. A strangled moan escapes you, hips immediately bucking into him, other hand flying between your legs to take root in his hair. 

As his tongue swipes through your folds your back arches, your moan exposing every feeling of relief, of how much you wanted this, needed this. His name drips off your tongue and he groans at the sound, “You sound so pretty, Shybaby.”

“Prettier when she’s louder,” you can feel San smirk into your skin, “you have no idea how shameless she can get. Suck on her clit, Woo.”

As his lips wrap around your clit your moan heightens in pitch, louder than before, fingers tugging harshly at his scalp as your hips buck into his mouth, “Holy shit, Wooyoung.”

He groans into you, fingers curling into your thighs, soothing over your clit with his tongue, “Taste so good, pussy so pretty, can’t believe I haven’t done this sooner.”

Your face grows hot as his tongue flattens over your folds, flicking at your clit with precision, no haste to his actions, he’s exploring you. Seeing what you like, what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes your stomach clench in pleasure. 

His nose glides over your clit and you buck into him again, his tongue circling your entrance, drinking up every ounce of your arousal. San’s fingers find your hair, “Mm, she liked that, Woo.”

“You like my nose?” His eyes flicker up to you and you nod shamelessly, humming your agreement. He repeats the movement and your back arches as he moves into a rhythm, tongue fucking into you while his nose glides over your clit, his movements timed perfectly with each jerk of your hips.  

“Wanna see you ride it,” San whispers into your ear and you gasp out, one hand curling into the sheets beneath you. “Next time.”

“Yes, fuck,” you mumble through gritted teeth, “want it, need it.” 

“Wanna watch you cum,” San’s fingers find your chest, the pads of them running over your hardened nipples, pinching at your sensitive skin. Louder now, your moans slurring together, your stomach curls in pleasure, pressure building in your hips. 

“Don’t stop, Woo,” you whisper, a broken sound, using your fingers in his hair to rock your hips against his face, “so good, just like that.”

He grunts in response, letting you use him, adding more pressure and you’re locking up around him, whimpering as San’s fingers pinch harder at your chest, it’s enough to pull you right to the edge.

“There you go,” San encourages, lips buried in your hair, “use him, let me see you cum against his face, make yourself cum for me, c’mon.” 

“Gonna–” there’s panic in your voice like you couldn’t believe you were reaching your peak so easily, but as his fingers tighten into your thighs harder, tongue lolled out for you to ride, the slight sting in your skin combined with the stimulation to your clit throws you over with a loud cry, pleasure washing over you in waves, body trembling beneath their touch, your skin on fire. 

“Yes, so good for us,” San whispers, voice coated in praise, “such a good girl, Shy. Missed watching you cum, wanna feel you do it around my cock.”

You whimper, eyes cresting open to see him above you, dimples showing as he speaks. Dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, cheeks pink, eyes soft and warm, gaze filled with so much love it makes you dizzy. Your hand lifts from Wooyoung’s hair to cradle San’s cheek, pulling him down into a messy kiss, tongue slotting into his mouth softly as Wooyoung presses soft kisses to the tip of your mound, between your hipbones, up your stomach. 

Your back arches as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue swiping over them, soothing where San had pinched, it makes you whimper, one hand falling from San’s cheek to dig into Wooyoung’s hair again, softer this time. Nails grazing his scalp, ankles crossing over his back, everything felt slow, filled with purpose, like each one of their movements were solely for your pleasure. 

You needed more. You needed them to treat you like they’d treated each other a few nights ago, you needed the bed to hit the wall, to hear Wooyoung whimpering, San’s domineering voice. Your other hand finds San’s hair, gripping at the spiral of his crown, making him grunt into your mouth, “Shit.”

“Need more,” you’re panting into his mouth, “need you to fuck me, I need it.”

Wooyoung’s arms scoop under your back to pull you up as San leans back to groan, you meet his lips hastily, already seated on his thighs, your legs bracket his hips, your bare chest pressed to his. Denim below you, you curse at the feeling of texture, sturdy, rough fabric, “Get these off.”

“Impatient,” he smirks into your lips, “you needy? Desperate to fuck us?”

Skin alight with wildfire, your fingers find the hair at the back of his neck, tugging as you sit upward, following his face as you pull it backward by his hair, “Gonna make me say it again?”

A smile breaks out across his face, one full of excitement, “Holy shit, Shy–”

“Who are you talking to like that, huh?” San’s at your back, chest pressed to your shoulderblades, feeling so big it’s menacing, “You should be thanking him for letting you cum on his face.”

Staring down at Wooyoung, his grin had gone cocky again, one brow raising with your hands still rooted in his hair. Your fingers tighten again and his brows furrow in pleasure, a small moan croaking from his lips, it’s satisfactory enough. You mumble, “Thank you.”

San hums in contentment behind you, “Good girl.”

Wooyou watches in awe as San lifts you off his lap, turning you to face him with ease, standing on his knees he wraps a hand around your jaw, kissing you with more force than he had all night. Tongue pushing past your lips, teeth clashing, you melt beneath him, hands finding his bare pecs to hold onto as he devours your lips, your taste, your pleasure.

“You want me to treat you like a doll?” He asks into your mouth, voice harsh, edged like a blade. 

“Want you to treat me how you treat Woo,” you whimper, the admission falling from your lips without a second thought, until you feel him smirk. Hazy from a minute of his mouth on yours, the heat of shame couldn’t find you. 

“Knew you were listening,” Wooyoung is at your shoulders, hands on your waist, traveling to your front to grab two handfuls of your chest. “Fuckin’ pervert, listening to us fuck.”

Your back arches, fingertips digging into San’s skin, voice coming out tight, “Hard not to hear when the bed frame is hitting the wall.”

San stares at you like he’s debating fucking the cockiness out of you, “Almost forgot how much of a brat you can be.” Your grin is shameless, daring almost, and he doesn’t like it one bit. “Gonna look at me like that when I’m fucking you within an inch of your life?”

Your brows knit together, lips parting at his words, core clenching around nothing. “Please,” you whimper, hands sliding to his shoulders to pull him forward, “please.”

He doesn’t move, a stone wall before you. Instead he asks, “Did you touch yourself?” Left in the briefs glued to his lower half, your eyes sink to the outline of his length obvious in the polyester clinging to every inch of his skin. His face is lined by confidence, “Made that pretty pussy cum thinking about me fucking you, too?” 

Softly, you moan, “Yes.”

“Should have come in the room,” Wooyoung’s lips find your neck, pulling you back into him as his palms knead into your chest. ”Woulda made you cum so hard.”

You whine, sinking into his hot skin, chiseled abdomen searing your back. With your knees spread, your eyes are glossy as you stare up at San who grips his length over his briefs, mouth watering with his sculpted body on display, he’s changed so much over the years. This body is bigger, bulkier, stronger, he’s a completely different San than the one you knew back then. The things he could do to you now cross your mind, sinking straight down to the pit in your belly, your core clenching around nothing. 

“Wanna touch?” He asks, still sporting his cocky grin. You nod against Wooyoung’s chest, writhing beneath his palms, his touches only edging you further. He dips his chin down to his length, “C’mere, baby.”

You crawl forward on your palms until you’re standing on your knees before him, pressing your palms up to his shoulders, feeling the curves of his muscles before sliding down to his toned chest, palms laying flat, feeling his heartbeat beneath his skin. They slide down to his abdomen, so sculpted like he’s made of stone, your head tips forward, tongue lolling out of your mouth to glide across the dips and peaks, moaning at the taste of his skin, sweaty, salty, San. He pushes out a heavy breath as your head dips lower, fingers sinking into his waistband, tugging his briefs down. 

“Wanna taste,” you mutter mindlessly, mind whirling, craving his cock, missing it. It springs out of his briefs, slapping up between his hipbones, thick and red and leaking, your mouth waters. You blow cool air from your lips and he hisses, cock twitching, making you smile. Your eyes flicker upward, “Want my mouth?” 

His heavy brows are furrowed, hips tilted forward, his hands come forward to cup your cheeks. “Wanna fuck you, Shy.”

Your stomach fucking churns at the sound of his voice, whiny and desperate, you clench around nothing at the thought. You missed him so badly you ached for it, the feeling of him inside you, his cock so thick leaving you full enough it’s almost overwhelming to have him seated inside.

Before you have the chance to move you feel two heavy palms land on your hips, your head turns, back arching on command. Wooyoung knelt behind you, cock standing tall between his hipbones, the pretty pink tip leaking against his lower abdomen, so bronzy and veiny and strong. His eyes follow the trail of the base of your spine up to your eyes, “Let me have a turn first.” 

You whimper, arching lower, knees spreading to allow him entrance, whining out a breathy, “Yes.”

San holds your cheeks steady, “Can you take it?”

You’re on fire, hips pushing back against Wooyoung with impatience, mouth filling with saliva. “Yes, yes, I can take it, use me– Please?”

A guttural moan spills from the two of them, San rips his briefs off his ankles as he sits back on his calves, one arm behind him holding up his weight. You feel Wooyoung slide two fingers up your spine, rippling over each vertebrae and then back down again, the other hand hooked on your hip squeezing as he grinds his cock against your folds, slippery and wet, he lets out a tangled whine at the feeling. 

“You sure, Shy?” He asks, “Pussy’s begging to be fucked.”

“Need this,” you mumble, “need you, don’t hold back.”

“I won’t,” Wooyoung huffs, “don’t think I can, anyway.”

You turn to find San staring at you, his eyes so warm and inviting, lined with impatience he doesn’t dare verbalize. His jaw clenches as you lean down, tongue poking out to meet the leaking tip of his cock as Wooyoung lines himself up, letting his cock catch on your entrance with each slide up your folds. San’s other hand finds your hair as you lick up the underside of him, his head tipping backward as a moan tumbles out from his chest, abdomen already clenching at the pleasure. 

“Fuck, that mouth,” San hisses as you let a mouthful of saliva drip onto his cock, using one hand to spread it along his length before you take the tip in your mouth fully, his grip tightens in your roots. “Missed those pretty lips, baby.” 

You can’t answer, a strangled noise forcing itself out of you as the tip of Wooyoung’s cock prods your entrance. His hands find your hips, squeezing, “Breathe for me, baby.” His tone is absent, like he needed the reminder more than you did, laser-focused on how your entrance is already sucking him in.

You breathe through your nose, eyes screwing shut as he pushes in, filling you with his length inch by inch, slowly but steadily. A high whimper punches through your lips, mouth unwrapping from San’s cock to dip your head down, hips involuntarily pushing back onto Wooyoung, wanting to be full, fast. 

“Patience,” Wooyoung squeezes your hips harder, more confidence in his voice, “this tight lil’ thing needs to be stretched out, take it easy, baby. We’ll give you everything, I promise.”

You haven’t felt this full in years. Even sopping wet you could feel him carving into you, making space for himself where you haven’t been properly filled in so long– the pleasure was tantalizing, slight sting of the stretch mixing into a cocktail of euphoria, your eyes fluttered back into your head, hand tightening around the base of San’s cock.

“Breathe, Shygirl,” San encourages, “let him in.”

Your eyes open, flickering up to San who watches Wooyoung over your head, your body the bridge connecting the two men. The sight of him, flushed, chest patched with a rosy hue, your tongue slides out of your mouth to lick up the underside of him again, taking the tip of him into your mouth. 

His hips buck upward, surprised at your warmth wrapped around him, he pushes his cock deeper into your throat and you gag involuntarily, other hand tightening into the sheets below you. You breathe through it, your nose pushing out air as you take him deeper, head bobbing along his length as Wooyoung fully sheathes himself inside you. 

He waits there a moment, fingers gripping the plush of your ass, his voice utterly gone as he says, “She’s so fuckin’ tight, Sannie.”

San’s eyes flicker up to him, “Make her cum on your cock, wanna see.”

He pulls out all the way just to slam back inside and your throat constricts around San’s length, making you gag again, eyes watering, blurring your vision. Wooyoung whines, “Fuck, baby, holy shit, Sannie.”

Hearing him moan out San’s name while he fucks you etches stars into your vision. Your hips start pushing back, your hand leaving San’s length to take purchase in the sheets as your hips buck against Wooyoung’s length in the same rhythm that you bob your head along San’s cock. Both men moan, a pitiful sound, lewd and desperate, it makes you clench around Wooyoung, nose diving down to press into the tuft of hair at the base of San’s cock. 

“There you go,” San huffs, voice strangled, you look up to see him sink his teeth into his bottom lip. “Fuck, so pretty, taking my cock so fucking well. Missed seeing you like this.”

You moan around him, core clenching and you can hear the whine caught in the back of Wooyoung’s throat, his fingers curling into the plush of your ass, squeezing so fucking hard it rips a tight noise from your chest, dying on San’s cock. 

“Don’t know how long I’ll last, fuck,” Wooyoung chokes out, hands sliding up to your hipbones.

San does his best to make his smile appear cocky, “When’s the last time you fucked, huh?” He gasps the moment the words leave his lips, as you swallow around his length, he curses under his breath, tightening a hand in your roots.

Wooyoung speaks through gritted teeth, “Too fucking long, shit, she’s suckin’ me in–”

“Can’t wait to feel,” San grunts, hips twitching into your mouth, forcing you to take him deeper, “mouth just as dangerous, you’re a demon, Shy.”

You try to smile, he’s too wide in your mouth, in your throat, you settle for shooting him one with your eyes. You’re in rhythm now, head bobbing at the same pace as Wooyoung fucking into you, being so full, so manhandled by the two of them even if you were the one who put yourself here feels so good. Wooyoung’s cock is thinner than San’s, longer, you can feel how it curves along the front side of your walls, hitting every single spot you need it to. 

It makes your knees wobble, your fingers twisting in the sheets, it feels too fucking good. It’s been a long while since you’ve breached an orgasm around someone’s cock, it’s muscle memory the way your arch comes back to you, the rhythm in which you fuck against him to get yourself off, the pressure building so different from when you do it yourself. 

Wooyoung notices, landing a sharp smack to your ass, “Usin’ me? I can feel you fucking back.”

You pop off of San’s length to turn your head halfway, “Y’feel so good, Woo, can’t help it.”

His brows tie together, jaw falling slack, “Fuck, don’t stop, baby, don’t stop–”

“Inside, kay?” Between a moan and a whimper, “Don’t pull out.”

His palms push into the plush of your ass again as you take San’s cock into your mouth, stretching your lips wide to take him, using the slick you’d left behind to glide your tongue all the way down, choking yourself on him, bobbing your head in rhythm again. 

“Shy,” there’s nerves in San’s voice, “baby– fuck, Shy– gonna cum–”

Wooyoung’s hips stutter, he curses under his breath, one of his hands slides around to your front, between your legs, “Can’t– need you to cum first, baby, please.”

Two fingers to the bundle of nerves between your legs, your hips jerk, back arching impossibly deeper, a gargled moan vibrates San’s cock and he curses low, hands in your hair pulling, it’s overstimulating, how much is happening all at once. 

Wooyoung’s fingers take all but three tight circles at your clit to send you freefalling over the edge, pressure blowing, pleasure spreading through your body like fireworks reaching each limb, every nerve ending. San tugs you off his cock by your hair, one hand fisting the base of him to stop his orgasm from hitting, and Wooyoung cries out as he barrels into you, hips finally stilling when he’s fully sheathed, filling you with warmth. 

You’re gaping, staring at San wide-eyed, “Why?”

It takes a moment for you to process the warmth. Like sitting before a fire, it’s comforting, head dropping to let it sink in– nostalgic, you missed this. 

“Wanna cum inside you,” he answers simply, “c’mere.”

Manhandling you all over again, he pulls you onto his lap, you can’t help but reach for Wooyoung behind you. San wastes no time, ignoring your heaving chest, the exhaustion in your eyes you’re hiding with adrenaline, with one hand on your hips he lines you up over his cock, easing you down onto his length, you hiss at the stretch, at the width of him. 

“Big stretch,” his grin is taunting, “you can do it, baby, easy.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, arms stretching behind you, “Woo.” Searching for the man who just came inside you, he’s at your back, broad and steady, arms wrapping around you. 

“I’m here,” he whispers into the curve of your neck, moving your hair away from your sticky neck to press his lips into you, and it’s the comfort you needed to start grinding your hips into San’s cock, moans spilling from your lips, small gasps and whines as he fills you up perfectly, walls molding to the shape of him like he’d never left.

“Fuck, Sannie,” you murmur, “‘s too much, missed your cock, but it’s too much.”

“You can do it,” he leans into you, groaning at the feeling of you around him, he searches for your lips. You pick your head up to meet him, pressing your lips to his, tongue sliding into his mouth, tasting every inch you can find. He grins into your lips, “Look at you, taking it like you did all those years ago. Still my fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?”

You gasp, hips twitching against him, clenching hard, and he curses under his breath like he wasn’t just taunting you. Lips still ghosting yours, he whispers, “Still like my mouth? All that nasty shit?” 

You nod, nipples brushing against his chest with every bounce of your hips, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. All you can manage is, “More.”

“I know, baby,” his hips jerk up and you cry out, arching into Wooyoung behind you who reaches around your front, fingers pinching at your nipples, teeth at your ear. San, voice wrecked, grunts as he says, “Still need a little pain with the pleasure to get you off, huh?”

You can’t answer, eyelids fluttering, hazy at the feeling of Wooyoung’s release spilling out of you onto San’s thighs, the squelching sound of it coating his cock, making it easy for you to bounce yourself against him like a bitch in heat. 

Wooyoung chuckles into your ear, low and velvety, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Never woulda guessed that from you, baby.”

It makes a lazy grin break out across your cheeks, head turning to kiss him, all teeth and tongue, messy and delicious. “Really?” 

“My Shygirl,” his voice is filled with affection, lips pressed to the side of your head, parted and spilling spit onto your temple, your cheeks, it feels dirty– so fucking sexy you can’t control the way you hump San’s cock, slurring mindless babbles and strained noises you can barely comprehend. 

“Our Shygirl,” San corrects him, eyeing Wooyoung over your shoulder, a severity to his tone that makes your eyes flick upward in question. 

His brows tied with pleasure, sweat dripping down his brow, dark hair messy and tangled on his head, he looks like a fucking dream. He is a dream, this is a dream, harmonious with the two as if you’ve done this a thousand times, like it was always supposed to be this way, he can read the question on your tongue. He cups your cheek with a hand, sliding it to the back of your head to take root in your hair, tugging you towards him close enough for your lips to touch, “It’s different this time.”

You try to kiss him with your slacked jaw but it’s a trading of spit more than it is a kiss, “Different.”

“Mine,” he growls, a hand wrapping around your back, fingers digging into your skin, his words too coherent to be born of the heat of the moment. “Wanted this for too long, both of you, you’re both mine.”

“Yours,” you repeat, confirm with an airy head, echoed by Wooyoung as your hips stutter against San’s cock, head tipped against the younger man’s shoulder, “f-fuck me.”

“Sit,” it’s an order from San to Wooyoung that’s answered on command, he sits on his calves before uncurling his legs from below him, cock half-hard laying stiff between his hips. 

San maneuvers you with two hands on your waist, you gasp as he tugs you off his cock effortlessly, laying you back on Wooyoung’s chest like it took no fucking strength at all. Strong arms wrap around you as your skin meets his, tilting your head to the side to see him, to kiss him, he smiles as he sees you, teeth on display. 

“So fucking pretty,” Wooyoung looks at you the same way he always does, stars in his eyes, like he couldn’t smile without his whole face if he tried, like the look was solely for you. “You’re mine too, y’know.”

You reach up with one arm to pull his head down to yours, the kiss softer than those you’ve shared tonight, more controlled like you needed a moment to let his words sink in, your mind too fuzzy to process the weight of what that meant. 

San’s fingers hook under your knees, pushing them backward until they leave you spread, lining himself up all over again, pushing inside in one quick motion. 

A different feeling of full, Wooyoung holds your face against his as you whisper a cry into his mouth, your lips still touching as he grins, “Been waiting for this too, haven’t you? You wanna be ours?” 

Body going limp in his hold, hand falling from his cheek mindlessly, your body feels like fucking jelly. You nod, breath quickening, short and tight at the feeling of San fucking into you, “Need to be, waited so long.” 

San’s grip tightens under your knees, picking up speed, your head turns to see him and god you want to take a picture, want to frame it and hang it on the wall; brows furrowed, lips parted, eyes focused on your meeting below, his abdomen flexing as he rolls his hips into you, it makes your toes curl where they hang in the air. 

Face scrunching up, you reach for him, pulling him down to you, “Need t’kiss you.”

Messy, sloppy, wet, you can feel him in your stomach as your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close. With the last peck to your lips he presses his forehead against yours, “I missed you, I love you— taking me s’fucking perfectly, like you always do—”

A strangled noise fights to leave your chest, heavy where it sits trapped, the words forcing the warmth in the pit of your belly to bloom, explode, shattering every wall you’d built up in the past few weeks. 

“I love you,” it’s a broken whisper, an admission you can’t keep inside any longer. A little louder, a little firmer, “I love you.” 

He smiles into the kiss he plants on your lips, “Yeah?” 

“Hey,” Wooyoung interjects, hands cupping your cheeks to tilt you backward, “I love you, too.” 

You’d smile if San didn’t pick up speed all over again, instead you’re babbling a mess of I love you, I love you too into Wooyoung’s mouth, lips barely touching enough to call it a kiss, so mindless and breathless and overwhelmed all you can do is feel. 

Wooyoung’s hand leaves your cheek to sink between yours and San’s bodies, two fingers pressed to your clit, swirling tight circles on the bundles of nerves. Your body fights to jerk between them, trapped between sweat and muscle, head lolling backward on Wooyoung’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. 

San switches his angle, strong arms tilting your hips upward to fuck into you harder, to angle his cock to hit the sweet spot inside you, building the pit of pressure of your stomach with purpose. 

Your eyes blow wide, breath quickening, “San— Sannie—”

“C’mon,” he encourages, sitting backward to fuck into you faster, “Lemme feel it, want it.” 

Incoherent babbles and the clenching of your cunt has your hands reaching for his forearms, fingernails pressing into his skin, all while Wooyoung keeps his pace on your clit, rhythm perfect, pressure nothing short of unbearable. 

“Woo— Sannie—” you don’t know who to cry for, hips fighting to meet San’s thrusts, grinding into Wooyoung’s fingers, “I’m gonna cum.” 

“Let go, baby,” Wooyoung’s voice is light and encouraging but he’s babbling as if San was fucking him, “let him feel it, he wants it so bad, he loves it, loves you.” 

Breath caught in your chest, your jaw drops as your pleasure hits its peak, meeting San’s gaze as your orgasm washes over you like a fucking hurricane, utterly speechless as your legs shake in the open air, inescapable euphoria reaching every inch of skin. 

“Fuck, Shy,” San groans, “you’re so fucking sexy, oh my god, oh my god—”

You don’t have time to respond before Wooyoung is kissing you again, tilting your head backward with one hand as San extends your orgasm with every thrust of his cock, Wooyoung’s fingers slowing on your clit, letting you ride it out until you’re a whining, twitching mess. 

“Fuck,” you mutter harshly, letting Wooyoung guide the sloppy kiss as San’s hips stutter, rhythm quickening to something ruthless, chasing his own high, a selfish pace. 

“Gonna fill this pussy up,” San’s babbling, “all mine, mine to fill,” his voice is somewhere far, deep in the moment, “I love it, love you, my Shygirl, shit—”

Erratic thrusts come to a hilt, stalling fully seated, you moan softly into Wooyoung’s mouth as heavy warmth fills you steadily, making you shiver. 

You break away from Wooyoung to look at San, eyelids low but you couldn’t miss the way his skin glows, as if you poured water over a sculpture made of gold, you stare in awe at his heaving chest, how his abdomen still clenches, flexing each muscle. 

“Pretty,” the word is mindless, said through a breath. 

He leans down, pressing his palms to the bed on either side of you, attaching your lips in a slow, steady kiss. “That’s you,” he whispers, “my pretty girl.” 

He picks his head up to Wooyoung behind you, pressing a kiss to his lips, too. “My pretty boy.” 

Wooyoung holds him close, you feel him melt under San’s touch, his words. “I love you,” Wooyoung mumbles, half-heard to you because he says it into San’s mouth, “so much.” 

“I love you too, baby,” San presses one more kiss to his lips before he plants one on your forehead, “and I love you, too.” 

“Do you really?” The question is pure instinct, “Like, actually?” 

“Baby,” he says it like it’s obvious, like it’s silly for you to even question it. “I’ve spent my whole life loving you.” 

There's a heaviness to your chest, the same tightness you felt when he said it earlier, it travels to your throat, the heat under your eyes pushing water into your lash line. 

“No,” he says softly, “don’t cry.”

You can’t help your smile, sniffling, giggling as two tears spill down your cheeks, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Hold on,” his voice is still delicate, like glass, he sits back on his knees to carefully slip out of you, “come up here.” 

You move with Wooyoung, the younger man half carrying you to the top of the bed, your heads falling into your pillows, their bodies on either side of you in your queen-sized bed like it was big enough to fit all three of you. 

Your back is halfway pressed up against San, eyes hazy and low with Wooyoung in view, you ask him, “And you?” 

His smile is soft but his face reads relief like he’s been sitting on this information for ages. “I’ve loved you probably since I moved in, but I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”

“That I knew,” you sniff, giggling again, turning your head up to see San who’s staring at you like you’re his entire world, “why didn’t you guys tell me?” 

“It’s not an easy thing to say,” there’s a small, apologetic smile on his lips. 

Wooyoung adds, “When we started living together I just assumed we were friend-zoned forever. When San and I got together, like, half of our relationship was based on the fact that we both still loved you while loving each other.” 

San’s arm wraps around your front, tucking you further into him, “When you’re best friends and roommates and a little too close for comfort, it’s hard to not fall in love.” 

“Especially when all of those things are you,” Wooyoung adds, shuffling towards you like he couldn’t get close enough, “why didn’t you tell us how you felt?”

“Because you started fucking dating each other,” you answer like you’ve been waiting for the question, amusement overshadowing the truth to your words, “I didn’t think I was invited to the party.” 

Wooyoung leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, he looks at you when he pulls away, so much love and honesty swirling in chocolate it makes you shiver, but because he’s Wooyoung, he starts singing, “I only threw this party for you, only threw this party for you, for you for you…”

You snort, giggling into San’s chest, and the older man continues, loud and proud, “You could watch me pull up on your body like it’s summer take my clothes off in the water—”

You join him, just as loud and maybe even prouder, “—splash around and get you blessed like holy water, I don’t know what you’ve been waitin’ for, you know that I’ve been waitin’ for you.” 

Wooyoung laughs, turning on his back, you watch how his chest expands and falls with each loud, obnoxious cackle. He turns his head to face you, “If you think about it, that song is kinda us.” 

“I think that song is Jay Gatsby,” you correct him, “I’m kinda Jay Gatsby and you guys are kinda Daisy Buchanan.” 

“No, we’re Jay Gatsby and you’re Daisy Buchanan,” San says a little more confidently than you did, “we threw the party and you didn't come.” 

“Oh we are not arguing about this,” you turn your head to furrow your brows at him, reiterating, “but let the records show that I was not invited to said party.” 

Wooyoung is quick with his answer, “We only threw the damn party for you.” 

It’s like nothing has changed. 

Curled up on the chaise of the couch, you in the corner, Wooyoung’s head on your lap with his leg stretched one way, San’s head is between your legs with both of your bodies laid out the other way. 

Dirty Dancing is playing on the flatscreen across the room, Sweetie cozy right beneath you, on the hardwood floor with his body pressed up against the deck of the couch, everything, everyone you love is in one room. 

A month of being together, the only thing that’s changed in your relationship is where you sleep, and that you kiss— and fuck, entirely too much for a typical honeymoon phase, but as San says, you’re making up for lost time.

Waking up together, going to work together, sleeping together, you wonder after years of being attached at the hip how you don’t feel tired of them. You suppose you never could, the two men being fibers of your being, embedded into you like the essence of your own being, it’s more that you can’t live without them. 

And the more you think about it, the more you wonder how you didn’t notice it sooner. So hyper focused on what you want, you couldn’t realize what you already had, there was a reason your relationship has always been too close for comfort. 

But now you have them, and you love them, and they fucking love you— they are not afraid to show it, they’d scream it to the rooftops if you let them. Sometimes you almost do let them, just to let the feeling sink in a little further, to let their love overflow the gap in your chest that’s been full for a month now. 

One hand in San’s hair, the other drawing shapes into Wooyoung’s chest, a thought dawns on you. You ask, “Hey, remember that night at Steer?” Their heads tilt toward, eyeing you over their eyebrows, nodding. “Whatever happened to Yunho?” 

Wooyoung snorts, San shakes his head, it makes you giggle. Wooyoung answers, “I told him his work was done and that we could take it from there.” 

“His work was done?” You question, “What work?”

“You told him you love us the night you went on the date with him, right?” San suddenly asks, looking over his forehead at you once more. You nod like this was common information and he laughs so loud it makes Sweetie sit up on his hind legs. 

“I told you, you called me schizophrenic!” San shouts over the couch at Wooyoung, sitting up on an elbow, “I knew it, my Shy senses were tingling.” 

“Shy senses?” You ask, a question ignored. 

Wooyoung sits up too, eyes wide, “Wha—? Maybe you should be a detective, Sannie, I’m serious.” 

“What are you talking about?” You ask a little louder, “Inform me right this second, please.” 

“I know you so well it’s scary,” San lays back down, one hand lazily thrown over the side of the couch to scratch Sweetie’s head, calming him. “Like the back of my hand, baby.” 

His words make you smile, settling back into the couch again. Wooyoung turns on his elbow to see you, “San knew that Yunho knew,” he shakes his head, “with literally no proof, just vibes. Scary.” 

You run your hands through his hair, your smile completely teasing, “You’ll get there, baby. One more decade.” 

Wooyoung’s top lip curls, “Not you, too. I know you just as well, if not better than San—”

San’s head picks up with a gasp, “You do not—!”

Your giggles cut through their bickering, “You’re both stupid, I love you.” 

“We love you too,” they mumble, settling back into their positions on the couch, where your hands fell to their hair, scratching their scalps into silence. Your smile stays as your head lifts back to the movie across the room, not actually watching, too consumed with contentment and that lovesick feeling in your stomach. 

Yours. Finally. 

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You should have bet the money. Hoodie on his upper half, baggy jeans on his lower and tucked into the boots on his feet, Wooyoung has Kyungmin tucked into his chest, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He stops twirling, smile staying as he catches your eye at the top of the steps, taking a second before softly placing Kyungmin back on the floor. 

“You’re late,” your voice comes out clipped, one hand still wrapped around the handle of your suitcase. 

He runs a hand through his long, black hair, “There was traffic.”

“I have a flight to catch,” you bite back.

His head tilts, smile deepening to a smirk, “And who’s driving you to the airport?”

“An asshole,” you mumble under your breath, hiking your bags higher over your shoulders, free hand reaching for the railing to keep you balanced before you start for the stairs. 

“Here,” he springs into action, taking it two stairs at a time, taking your luggage from your hand before you can get a word out. “I got it.”

“I had it,” you argue, looking down at him, he just smiles.

“I know very well how capable you are, wifey.”

You smack your teeth, huffing down the rest of the stairs, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”

“Come on,” he sings, “it’s funny. Wanna open the trunk for me, Kyungminnie?”

“Yes!” Your eight year old shouts, hauling ass out of your front door and sprinting down the lawn to your driveway. Looking at Wooyoung again, it dawns on you like it always does how much the two look alike, especially as your son gets older. 

“You’re seriously not going?” You ask Wooyoung as you close your front door behind you, locking it with the silver key on your split ring. 

He calls over his shoulder as he rolls your suitcase down your driveway, “Unless they call me in, no.”

A conference for your job, two states over. You and Wooyoung have always been employed in the same line of work, opposing companies, but essentially the same job. It’s how you met in the first place, fifteen years ago, when you were both fresh out of college and ready to enter the workforce. The conference was held annually, usually you and Wooyoung would travel together, before you divorced him. 

You hum, storing the information. You whole-heartedly think he was asked to go already, especially since all of your coworkers have already told you the higher-ups in his company were attending, the higher-ups included his name on the list. He must not be going to spare you, and in a way, you’re grateful for it. 

Opening the backseat of his SUV, you throw your carry-on inside, brow quirking at the sight of his bare backseat. “Where’s Kyungie’s booster seat?” You ask over the seats to Wooyoung who’s throwing your suitcase in the trunk. 

“Let me press the button!” Kyungmin shouts, and Wooyoung gruffs a strangled noise as he picks your son up by his waist, lifting him high enough so he can press the button to close the trunk. 

“He’s big as shit, he doesn’t need one anymore,” Wooyoung says casually after putting him back on the ground.

“Bullshit.” Kyungmin is tall as shit for his age. “He’s only eight!”

Wooyoung opens the door on the other side of the backseat, leaning over Kyungmin after he crawls inside to click his seatbelt into place. “Have you read up on it?”

Not recently. 

“He can sit all the way back, bend his knees over the edge, the lap belt is across his hips, the shoulder belt is on his shoulder,” he eyes you from the other side of the car, hand on the car door. “He’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me daddy lets you ride without a booster seat?” You ask Kyungmin, ignoring how Wooyoung clearly did his research. 

Kyungmin smiles and it’s the exact fucking replica of Wooyoung’s sly grin, “You would be mad and then I can’t be big anymore.”

You sigh, tucking your carry-on in once more before closing the car door. Climbing into the passenger seat, your voice is laced with irritation, “There are some things you should discuss with me, y’know.”

“You research everything,” Wooyoung pushes the button beside the steering wheel and the engine roars to life, “my bad for assuming you’d research car safety, too.”

Cheeks hot, you cross your arms, settling into the comfortable seat of his SUV. He had you there. 

It’s a thirty minute drive to the airport, spent listening to soft rock through the speakers, Kyungmin humming along in the backseat to songs you had no idea he knew. So much changes in a year, your son growing like a weed, building a different relationship with his father you weren’t there to supervise. You didn’t need to, you knew that, their time together was theirs, but it’s been a minute since the three of you were together for an extended period of time, outside of pick-ups and drop-offs. 

Pulling up outside the airport, while Wooyoung unpacks your luggage and your carry-on, you’re halfway into the backseat saying your goodbyes to your son. Tears prickling your lashes, it’s always hard to leave him, even if the conference was only for the weekend. 

You close the door and meet Wooyoung on the other side of the SUV, wiping the tears from your eyes, “Call me if anything happens.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he takes the carry-on from his own shoulder and slips it onto yours with care. “Text me when you land, I’ll call you after he showers so you can say goodnight.”

“Thanks again for driving me,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sorry, my dad was busy–”

Wooyoung cuts you off by shaking his head, his smile warm, “Go have a drink before your flight, sleep on the plane. Don’t apologize for something I was happy to do.”

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his eye, “Thanks, Woo.”

“Have fun for me, wifey. Tell Mingi and Seonghwa I say hello.”

Rolling your eyes, you snort as you turn on your heel, “Tell them yourself!”

You always forget how big this conference is until you’re here again. 

Mingi and Seonghwa on either side of you like pillars, you enter the foyer space, the hotel decked out in red and gold detailing, fancy. Men in suits, women in pantsuits, everyone looked about the same, in different fonts. All here for networking until the schedule begins, splitting off into the theater rooms for speakers, boardrooms for workshops, or sneaking off to the hotel bar to ease the chip of performance off their shoulders. 

“Wooyoung’s really not coming?” Mingi asks, gray two-piece suit clinging to his body, buff and broad but slim. 

Seonghwa, Mingi’s smaller, shorter half, adds, “I thought he was guest speaking this year.”

Your brows raise, news to you. Mingi shakes his head, blonde hair gelled back not moving an inch, “I heard he gave it to Choi San.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” you argue, approaching closer to the check-in table. “That would give San the upper hand, he wouldn’t let him have it even if it killed him.”

Greeting the red-haired woman at the table, you tell her the three of your names, and she hands you all lanyards with a tri-fold paper schedule. You thank her, and as you split off towards the theater room, Seonghwa continues, “What if he gave it to San because you’re here? Maybe he just wanted to have Kyungmin for the weekend.”

Black hair, short and cropped, faded along his temples, his deep onyx suit makes his skin appear even more golden than usual. He stands out, beautiful and chiseled, like he should be on a runway instead of in an office. You scoff, “He has Kyungie every other weekend, Hwa. This job is like his second baby, his first baby, he wouldn’t just let San have what’s rightfully his.”

Mingi chuckles, stealing your attention, shoulders shaking with each laugh. Rings on his fingers, tie dark and patterned with streaks of silver, Mingi adds his own style into strict, corporate fashion, you have to respect him for it. You can’t be bothered, half of your closet is from a department store. 

“I seriously think he’s not here because you’re here,” Mingi shrugs, “just my opinion, though.”

“I’m here every year!” You argue, “We’re divorced, not archnemeses.” 

Seonghwa shrugs, “I agree with Mingi.”

“He said hi to you guys, by the way,” you look between the two, taking three open seats at the edge of a row in the middle of the audience, “when he dropped me off at the airport.”

“Wow, he dropped you off,” Mingi feigns surprise, brows pushed up, “intimate.”

You smack your teeth, “Don’t be stupid.”

The crowd gets quiet, the projected screens on either side of the stage lighting up, you cross a leg over your knee and settle into your seat, waiting for the speaker to walk onstage. You should have called Wooyoung this morning, you think, you wonder what Kyungmin’s doing today, if he misses you. 

Reaching into your purse with the intention of texting him, checking the pocket you always keep your phone in, you realize it isn't there. Furrowing your brows, panic in your blood, you pull your purse onto your lap, sorting through it, pushing past the old ziploc bags of snacks, lip balm, hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, a small bottle of sunscreen. No phone. Eyes blowing wide, you whisper to Mingi, “I don’t have my phone. What if Wooyoung calls me?”

Seonghwa nudges your side, eyes on the stage, “I don’t think he’ll call.”

Looking at Seonghwa confused, you hear his voice blow through the room. Speaking into the mic, voice smooth and velvety yet strict and powerful, your jaw drops to the fucking floor. Wooyoung is onstage, long hair pinned back, in the dark gray business-casual outfit he used to keep in the back of your closet instead of a suit. 

“Where the fuck is my kid if he’s here?” You’re rigid with terror, ass at the edge of your seat like you were ready to get up and walk onstage, fists squeezing the absolute shit out of the straps of your purse. “He’s supposed to be at home, with my kid.”

Mingi’s hand lands on your flexed bicep, “Kyung’s probably with Woo’s parents, right? He probably got called here last minute, breathe. He wouldn’t leave him stranded or home alone.”

The reminder etches a semblance of relief in your stone bones, but you don’t let yourself feel it. Why didn’t he tell you? You talked to him just last night before he put Kyungmin to bed, he spoke nothing of hopping on a flight and overnighting himself here. 

You could kill him. You hear nothing of his speech, not a single word, too consumed by rage and confusion to even hear the topic. You sat with a rigid spine and bouncing knees for the entire hour, jaw clenched, fists tucked into your purse to hide how they didn’t uncurl once. The moment it was over you were up on your feet, barreling through the side of the theater room up to the side of the stage, face bent down in anger. 

He sees you before you see him. 

“Where the fuck is your phone?” He asks, pulling you by your arm behind one of the screens, standing facing one another, parallel to the back wall of the room. 

“Why the fuck are you here?” You whisper-yell, “Where is my son?”

“Our son is with my parents,” he whisper-yells back, “which you would know if you picked up your goddamn phone, I’ve been calling you since last night.”

Your brows furrow, head shaking in utter confusion, “I-I I left it in the room, maybe it’s dead? I–”

“What, did you get laid as soon as I got off the phone last night?” He looks dead serious, “Too important to answer my call about getting put on a red-eye here in the middle of the night?”

You’re replaying the events of last night in your head, did you not plug in your phone after you ended the call? You ate your room service, watched a movie, you wish you would have gotten laid, but a hotel room means you’re free to be alone with your right hand, watching– Oh. 

Your cheeks flush, “No, Wooyoung, it must have died, I didn’t even think this morning, I was rushing here after the alarm clock went off.”

“You didn’t think to call me?” 

“No!” You shake your head, voice a little louder now, “I didn’t. I think you’re more than capable of taking care of our son without me breathing down your fucking neck, Wooyoung.”

He straightens, face calming, a brow popping in question. “Really?”

“Yes,” you heave a breath, running a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ. Kyungie’s with your mom?”

Wooyoung nods, “I dropped him off around midnight, I told her we’ll pick him up when we get back, she wants us to stay for dinner. Parked my car at the airport, I got a seat on your flight back.”

Your top lip lifts, “She wants us to stay for dinner?”

“Definitely gonna convince you to take me back,” Wooyoung’s lips flatten in a line. 

You fake a cough into your first, “I think I’m coming down with something.”

He rolls his eyes, “I already told her no, don’t worry. Do you want to call her from my phone?”

“No,” you shake your head, “he’s probably having the time of his life. I’ll leave them alone.”

“Are we all free from the shackles of your velcro- parenting?” He grins, eyebrows wiggling. 

“Fuck off,” you grumble, “I’m going back to my seat. Nice presentation, by the way.”

“Thanks, wifey,” you can hear humor in his voice, the sly grin on his lips. You shoot him the middle finger behind your back before you’re in front of any eyes. 

The rest of the conference is boring. Networking is the only fun part of it, but only when the person you’re talking to hates their job as much as you do. Other than that, it’s small talk of shareholding and statistics, each word off your lips makes you thirsty for liquor. 

“Ah, Wooyoungie’s wifey.”

Eyes pointed, you turn your head to find the perpetrator who approaches your back, you were now seated at the bar to avoid this exact thing happening. Choi San, senior executive of his company, a ray of fucking sunshine if he isn’t talking about the direction of your company or trying to fully recruit you for your skills. 

You force a smile on your cheeks, “Not Wooyoung’s wife anymore, you know this.”

“Is that why you’re drinking alone at the bar?” He raises his brows, coming up beside you, forgoing the bar stool to stand with his elbows planted on marble. 

Your brows slant inward, more annoyed than anything, “Come on, San.”

He chuckles, head dipping low between his shoulders, his dimples visible even engulfed in shadow. He picks his head up, voice teasing, “Are we on a first-name basis now?”

“Mr. Choi,” you correct yourself, voice playful, a grin clawing onto your own cheeks. “Apologies, sir.”

“I like that better,” he eyes your drink, a margarita half watered-down, “now can I ask why you’re drinking alone at the bar?”

“Boredom,” you say through a breath, “nothing better to do than drink tequila. Maybe then I can convince myself I enjoy talking numbers when I’m not being paid to do it.”

His lips purse, smile evident even with the scrunch, “Usually you’re on top of this event.” Humming, he pulls the barstool under him, sitting facing you with his knees spread. “Not interested this year?”

“I miss my kid,” you sigh, cheek landing in your closed fist. 

He frowns, “Most single mothers would be enjoying a weekend of freedom.”

“Then I guess I’m not most mothers,” you bring your drink to your lips, eyeing him with low lids over the rim. You can feel it radiating off him, the attraction, the want. You make a show of batting your lashes.

A rivalry he and Wooyoung have, ever since San started at the company, a constant petty, childish fight of who will come out on top. Who makes more money, who’s more successful, Wooyoung has used your marriage and your son for years in spiteful arguments, something Wooyoung has but San does not. You don’t know if he’ll ever marry or have kids, you don’t know if he has any interest in it at all. 

“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Jung?” San cracks a smirk, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You’re most certainly not, but maybe the tequila and utter boredom has pulled something frisky in your tone, especially sitting beside a man like him. You don’t answer, placing your glass back down on the bar carefully, and San’s smirk grows. “Dangerous, I can see why Wooyoungie tied you down.”

You pop a brow, “Yeah? Please, do tell.”

There’s no harm in not denying it. Or allowing him to continue, at the very least. You haven’t gotten laid in awhile, haven’t been flirted with, haven’t felt desired in too long. You don’t really care about attention from him, of all people, but it’s kind of nice, in a way– even if you know very well how off-limits Choi San is, and that you won’t let it go any farther. 

San’s voice is hushed, eyes low, drinking up your figure like he’d been waiting for this day to come, “You’re intelligent, successful, you don’t let your kindness make you vulnerable.”

You can’t help the giddiness that begins to form, “So you’re the type that likes brains and not beauty?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know I’d fuck you brainless,” he chuckles a little, settling into the barstool, pulling his suit jacket tighter. “You’ve known that for a long, long time.”

And you’ve ignored it for even longer. It still makes your feet shift on the barstool, deepening the ache in your gut you didn’t have before he sat down, he’s never been so bold before. Over the years, in your marriage, you always blamed his flirty tone, wandering eyes on his and Wooyoung’s rivalry. Which is probably exactly what this is, something to hold over Woo’s head, or at least he’d plan to if you went through with it. Which you won’t, but it’s fun to hear what could be if the circumstances were different. 

“I have,” you nod, picking up your glass again, “is that what you want, Mr. Choi?”

“I’d make you forget Wooyoung exists,” he leans in, voice low, eyes piercing, “I’d fuck you better than he ever did.”

You hum, swirling the watered-down drink in your glass, “Good to know.”

His lips pursed, eyes dancing with thought before he says, “We’re staying in the same hotel, meet me at the bar tonight if you want it, too.”

You give him nothing but a short, small nod before bringing your drink up to your lips again. You watch him as he walks away, his tailored suit painted onto his ass, his thighs, he exuded money. Poise. He’s never gone as far as this, never been so blunt, never fed you a real option. But you suppose he never could, you’ve been married every time he’s talked to you, up until now. 

You laugh a little to yourself before throwing the rest of your drink back. 

Exhausted was an understatement for how you felt after the first day of the conference. Tomorrow would be filled with more guest speakers, more workshops, your body dragged as you hitched a ride with Mingi back to the hotel. Your phone was right where you left it, plugged into the charger, but your charger wasn’t plugged into the fucking wall. 

Undressing yourself, you called Wooyoung’s mom upon your screen lighting up again, having a quick chat with her before she put Kyungmin on the phone. After he ditched you for ice cream, Wooyoung’s mom was back on the phone, asking you how the conference is, then diving into how crazy it is that they put Wooyoung on a red-eye, how important and successful he is, how you’re so lucky to have him. 

“I know mom, thanks, I know,” you mumble between every sentence, face twitching in annoyance, your back pressed to the perfectly made bed, body sprawled out with exhaustion. It’s like she doesn’t even care that you aren’t together anymore.

“You two are coming to dinner on Sunday, yes?” She asks, and you kick your feet out, face scrunching together in a silent whine. “I already bought food at the grocery store today.”

After a silent, agonizing sigh, you answer, “Yup, we’ll be there.”

How could you say no after Woo dropped your son off in the middle of the night?

Her voice raises ten octaves in excitement, “Oh, thank god, we miss you, sweetie. I’m so excited to see you!”

“Can’t wait to see you, too,” your lips fold into a tight, flat smile. “Tell Kyung I said goodnight.”

“I will, we’ll call you in the morning,” you can hear her nod, her voice shaky from sheer joy, “sleep well, sweetheart.”

“You too,” you hang up the phone, then groan, long and low, a sigh following it. Fuck. The most pure-hearted woman, you think you broke her heart worse than Wooyoung’s when you divorced him. Fuck. You can’t believe you agreed to dinner. It’s the least you could do. 

You need a fucking drink. The hotel room only has airplane bottles of wine, all white, nothing red, even in the overpriced fridge selection. Sighing, you drag yourself into the bathroom, taking a quick shower before throwing on comfortable clothes and heading to the elevators at the end of the hall. 

The bar was empty save for one, probably the only person on the entire earth who you didn’t care if they saw you with wet hair and baggy sweats on. “I just got off the phone with your mom,” you say, pulling out the barstool beside him. 

He picks his head up, still dressed in business-casual, “Yeah? I called her when I left the conference, Kyungmin’s having fun.”

“I told her we’d stay for dinner on Sunday,” you reluctantly admit, flagging down the bartender. 

“Put it on my tab,” Wooyoung adds after you gave him your drink order, making you scowl. 

“I can pay for my own drinks,” you mutter. 

Wooyoung smiles, “Consider it my pre-paid thanks for dinner on Sunday, wifey. It'll make her whole year.”

“I’m only coming because she’s watching Kyungie,” you shoot daggers at him, ignoring the nickname, “even exchange. No need for you to pay my tab.”

Wooyoung groans, leaning back in the chair, “Can you go one day without arguing with me?”

Shaking your head, you simply respond, “No, that’s why I divorced you.”

Wooyoung stares at you for a second before snorting, “Ouch.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, both to Wooyoung and the bartender as he places your drink on top of a cocktail napkin. “You didn’t even go up yet? You’re still dressed.”

“Needed to think,” he shrugs, fingers playing with the label on his beer bottle. “They want me to speak again tomorrow, someone didn’t show.”

“Oh, shit,” your face scrunches up as you take a sip, “you gotta make up a new presentation tonight?”

He nods, lips bent, staring at his beer bottle. You lean onto the bar, “Why don’t you let San present?”

He looks up at you, eyes pointed, “Fuck no.”

“Why not?” You make a face like that was the only clear, viable option. “He has one ready to go, does he not?”

“I was asked to present,” his voice grows harsher, “me. Not him.”

“I know, but–”

“You know what, let me ask you something.” He sits up straighter in his stool, eyebrows bent above a look so sharp it could kill. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you didn’t answer me last night?”

You blink at him, thrice, “What–?”

“I saw you at the bar today,” he continues, voice utterly venomous, “then he said something to me, insinuating that you fuck. Or fucked. Or are fucking.”

“Do you think that low of me?” Your laugh is out of sheer disbelief. “That I’d fuck him, of all people? He flirts with me, and I don’t exactly stop him, but–”

His laugh mirrors yours, “Exactly. That’s exactly why he said that shit to me.”

“Why should I stop him?” You argue back, “It’s nice to hear that someone fucking wants me, my life is nothing but work and Kyungmin. Even when we were still married my life was nothing but work and Kyungmin, you had no interest in–”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” his voice is steady but bruising, “I’m not starting this argument with you again.”

“What, did you forget why I divorced you or something?” Your hands fly, eyes wide and piercing, “That I was sick of being married to a fucking machine?” 

Wooyoung turns to face the bar again, shaking his head, “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable,” your laugh has no warmth in it, “you just started being a father and I’m unbelievable.”

“I just started being a father?” He turns his head again, eyes wider than yours now, baffled. “Did you hit your fucking head or something?”

“We split up over a year ago,” your voice is nothing short of theatrical, “drop the fake-surprise, Wooyoung. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”

“And it’s all the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years,” he takes a long sip of his beer, “maybe you should fuck San, he might be a better fit for you, you’re both liars.”

Slowly nodding, you sink into your seat, voice taunting, “He did say he’d make me forget you ever existed. That he’d fuck me better than you ever did. Should I find out? He’s coming down here tonight to get me, to bring me back up to his room…”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens around his beer bottle, eyes laser-focused onto the bar like the swirls in marble was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You grin. 

“…He seems big, real strong, too. Bet he’d throw me around the room, maybe even get me pregnant again. Kyungmin would like a sibling, don’t you think?”

“What are you doing?” He finally looks at you again, voice ragged, angry and blunt. 

You shrug, “Since you think me and Sannie would be so great together, I’m exploring options.”

As if it were a movie, something straight out of fucking Netflix, Choi San walks through the deep oak double-doors, still in his tailored suit, a cocky smirk spreading when he sees you. It widens, dimples showing when he spots Wooyoung beside you. 

Wooyoung lets out a nasty chuckle, “You’re not kidding.”

“Why would I joke about it?” You lift a brow, “I told you, it was nice to feel wanted.”

“You wanna give Kyungmin a sibling?” He’s looking at you again, and his mismatched eyes are asking more than one question. Heat curls low, it’s been a long, long time since he’s looked at you that way, since he’s said anything more than a passive joke. 

You swallow, words caught in your throat. 

“Answer me, jagi,” he leans in closer, voice still laced with anger, but it’s morphed into something deeper, rooted in jealousy, in possession. He hasn’t called you that since before you brought up separating, it makes your lips part, eyebrows folding in just enough to crease at the center. “If you’re gonna give him a sibling, it’ll be with his father.” 

Licking your lips, seeing nothing but truth and determination in his eyes, you find yourself nodding, whispering a short, “Okay.”

“Charge it to my room, 1117,” he tells the bartender, slamming a bill on the marble before grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you right past San without as much as a glance. You don’t even look at him, you don’t need to, clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind following Wooyoung to the elevators. 

The moment the doors open he’s pushing you inside roughly, caging you in against the wall, forehead pressed to yours. “You wanna get fucked?” 

You arch into him, whispering, “Yeah.”

“You want me to fuck you full? Get you pregnant again?”

“Fuck,” you whimper, fingers finding his jacket, “yes.”

You tug him closer by his jacket, tilting your head up to find his lips with your own. Your head is fuzzy, body charged with electricity from your argument, being in a goddamn elevator with him pressed to you, your leg lifts to clamp over his back, tugging him impossibly closer. 

Nostalgic isn’t the word, it’s like muscle memory, how your lips messily tangle, tongues slotting into each other’s mouths how you’ve always done, two people who know each other better than anyone else. He groans, hips rutting into yours, making you moan into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, tugging at his roots. 

“You don’t want San,” he mutters into your mouth, breath heavy, voice rough. “You want me.”

“Shut up,” you mumble back, chasing his lips, he doesn’t let you have them. 

“Say it,” he urges, fingers digging into your sides, pushing you harder against the wall. “Say you want me.”

“I want to be fucked,” your voice is clipped, annoyed, “do it, before I go back to the bar.”

His chuckle isn’t amused nor entertained, it’s harsh and unforgiving and makes a chill down up your fucking spine. The elevator dings and he pulls away from you, turning around, leaving the elevator as if he’s completely unaffected. You follow after him, on his heel as he makes for his room, he doesn’t say anything as he places his card up against the sensor, pushing the door open when it rings green.

“Oh, you’re coming in?” He asks, face unreadable. 

You pause with one foot through the doorway, “Does it look like I’m coming in?”

He lets go of the door as you walk inside his room, light walls, bare, it mirrors yours. He takes off his jacket, hanging it in the closet, “Thought you were gonna go get fucked by San, you want him to throw you around, don’t you?”

You whine, “Wooyoung.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his bronzy skin, his sculpted abdomen, his hipbones that poke out from above his waistband. You’re salivating taking in the sight of him, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, touched him. 

He starts unbuttoning his slacks, staring at you like he’s bored, “You want me or him?”

You don’t know why you’re putting up a fight. You agreed to this already, your lips still feel swollen, your fingertips are buzzing with need– but admission is letting him win, and you can’t let him win. 

“I want,” you mumble as he pulls his zipper down, purposely flexing his body, staring at you through lowered brows. Your breath grows shallow, licking your lips as he pushes them down his thighs, “I want–”

“What?” He tilts his head, voice taunting as he kicks them off his feet, taking a step toward you. His length is prominent through his briefs, a wet spot clear on onyx nylon, “Tell me, jagi.”

“I want,” your fingertips tug at the hem of the zip-up on your upper half, eyes locked into how his veiny hand curls over his length, voice small from how deep into the daze you’ve sank already, “you.”

Approaching you, his height engulfing you, making you feel small, your head tilts upward to see him. His smirk grows, two fingers landing on your zipper, “You want who?”

He slides it down before you answer, jacket falling off your shoulders, revealing the black, lacy bralette you wore underneath. It’s comfortable, and you wore it for that sole reason, despite how it looks, but his jaw ticks when he sees it, chocolate eyes going deep, melted, burnt. 

You watch as his fingers find the center, tugging on the elastic band, letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp, a small sound, looking back up at him with glassy eyes, “Stop toying with me and do something.”

“I’m not touching you until you do as I say.” Fingers sinking into the waistband of your sweats, he bends to tug them down your hips, leaving you nearly bare, slowly standing up straight again, his nose so close to your skin he nearly touches you. “Tell me who you want to fuck you.”

“You, you fucking prick,” your back arches as he reaches his full height again, “I want you to fuck me.”

An amused smirk spreads across his cheeks before he feigns a pout, “That was mean, mommy.” Taking his hands to your shoulders, his fingertips trail down your sides, dancing against your skin, his touch, that word, his tone making you shiver. “Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.”

“Why are you teasing me?” You huff, each touch feeling like zaps of electricity, it’s clear he wants to take his time, wants to get you worked up. You want him to fuck you, to ruin you, to put a baby in you, you don’t want him nice. “Fuck me already, Wooyoung.” 

“We have time,” his hand hinds your hair, scratching into your scalp before running his fingers through it, cupping your cheek afterward. “No kid, no interruptions, just us. When’s the last time we had that?”

“Way before we split up,” you melt into his palm, soft against your skin, comforting. Home. Your voice comes out airy, almost a whisper, “Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Guilt– already sneaking up your spine, he catches it before it has the chance to spread. “Why not?” His hand that was on your cheek slides down to your jaw, smiling down at you viciously before his grip tightens, “You want a baby, don’t you? Wanted to get fucked so badly you planned to fuck my coworker.”

You whimper as he moves you backward, eyes wide, skin sizzling. He pushes you down onto the bed with nothing but his palm on your face, “You wanted this, and you know there’s no one else who fucks you like I do. Say it.”

“No one else,” you whisper, back already arching as he crawls on top of you, “just you, Woo, no one else fucks me like you do.”

He sucks in a breath, almost a hiss, brows furrowing as his fingers hook into your panties, knees pressed to the mattress on either side of your legs. “You want my mouth? Or my cock? When’s the last time this pussy was stretched out, huh?”

“Mouth,” you lift your hips easy for him as he tugs your black panties down your thighs, “long time.”

“Long time?” He smirks, back to taunting, “Was the last person me?”

“Fuck you,” you grumble out, “do something.”

He sits up straighter and you can feel the cool air of the room on your already-wet core, knees pinning together. “Hiding from me now?” His voice makes you want to rip your fucking hair out. “When I’m the only person who can make this pussy cum? Be nice to me, mommy.”

“Stop calling me that,” your fingers tighten in the comforter below you, “it’s fucked up.”

“I used to call you that all the time,” his brows furrow, “you remember what you used to call me?”

You shake your head, whining, “Stop playing games, Wooyoung.”

“Just give in,” he smacks the side of your thigh, “I’m here, right in front of you, waiting for you to hump my nose like a bitch in heat like you always fuckin’ do. Just say the words, jagi.”

His words, the sting makes you moan, thighs tightening just to get some friction. Resistance is a band pulled taut, you finally feel something vital in you crack, the band snapping, your lips move before you can think about the defeated words leaving them. “Yes, the last person was you, daddy. Need your mouth, your cock, need you to do something– fuck me, please.”

His smile is feline, “There she is.”

Two hands on your knees spread you wide, he dives down to press his tongue flat to your core, eyes flying back into his head when he tastes you. You moan at the same time, your fingers flying down to tangle in his slick roots as he starts lapping at your folds, drinking up every drop you’ve accumulated. 

“So sweet,” he moans into you, “missed this pussy.”

Your breath is leaving you in short, shallow puffs, but a cocky, hazy smirk forms on your lips despite the pleasure, “Who’s pussy?”

“Mommy’s,” he says with a smile, eyeing you from between your legs, so shameless it makes you giggle, cut off by a sharp, strangled moan when his nose runs over your clit. “Forget I know you? Like the back of my hand?”

“Been a long time,” you lift yourself up on one elbow, your other hand in his hair, feet hooked over his back as you grind your hips up against his mouth, his nose. “Fuck, feels good.”

His eyes flutter closed, letting your hips grind against him, tongue pushed out pointed, catching on your entrance with each grind of your hips. Your clit ghosts his nose and you gasp, you’re sensitive, you haven’t gotten head in years, you think. “Sh– it,” you stutter, “so good, Woo, ohmygod.”

He groans into you, arms wrapping around your thighs, fingers digging into your hips. Keeping you in rhythm, not letting you falter, he fucks your hips onto his face with perfect pace, each movement strategic, practiced like he did this regularly. It has you weak, toes curling, head dipping back, hips moving recklessly, quicker with each drag over his hot, wet mouth. 

He’s loving it, face knitted up in bliss, his hips rutting into the mattress like he needed the relief. The noises you make are loud, lewd, a hymn of pleasure only he could give you, in harmony with the squelching sounds of his mouth against your core, so dirty and nasty it edges you further, brings the pit in your stomach forward like his mouth was a toy.

“Close,” you gasp and his fingers tighten on your hips, head nodding faster, in tune with your rocking hips. Your breath catches as his nose flicks over your clit, the same pace, same pressure, same rhythm, you stutter babbles as the pressure in your gut builds, sounds growing in pitch, muddling closer together, “Fuck, daddy, I’m g’na fucking cum.”

He moans into you like he knew the vibration of his voice would push you over the edge and it fucking does, the sound that leaves you is strained, loud, vulnerably shrill. Joints locking up, face scrunching, head tucked into your chest, you spasm beneath his hold and he rocks you through it, keeping you steady, his rhythm never once faltering as your pleasure hits his peak, rushing through you like a tidal wave, the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a long time. 

He slows down with your shaking limbs that lose their speed, breath finally returning to you, heavy and desperate and relieving all at once. “Holy shit,” you breathe through the words, fingers loosening in his hair, tucking your arm beneath you, leaning on both elbows to look down at him. “Intense.”

His smirk returns tenfold, “Of course it was, I made you cum.” 

You flatten out on the bed, a soft giggle escaping you as you roll your eyes, “Cocky.”

He presses one more soft kiss to your clit that makes you gasp, body jerking, “For good reason, did you hear yourself?”

You smack your lips, voice amused, “I have half a mind to leave now, asshole. Thanks for the big O, baby daddy, I’ll go back to my room now.”

He crawls on top of you, pulling your thighs down, flush to his own, leaning down so your foreheads are mere centimeters apart, “Baby daddy? Ex-husband is a better title than baby daddy.”

You tilt your chin up, smiling, “How about sperm donor?”

He presses his lips to yours, rough, soul-sucking, you arch into him, hips bucking up to gain friction again. He smiles into your lips, “So mean for someone who just came on her ex-husband’s face like a dirty fuckin’ slut.”

Something small, pitched and shaky leaves you from the tip of your throat, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips to his again like you needed him. Tucking him into you, his hips dig against yours, his bare chest pressed flat, elbows landing on either side of your head. You kiss for a while, sloppy and messy and nostalgic, swapping spit like it was candy, tongues gliding into each other’s mouths like you were making up for lost time. 

His hand slips between your bodies, two fingers adding pressure onto your clit, he groans at the wetness, the heat that bleeds into him. “So wet, she missed me, huh?”

“S-shit, inside,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his fingers, “please.”

He presses his lips to yours, kissing you once, twice before pulling away, keeping your chins touching, both of your lips parted and touching as he slips two fingers inside, moaning into each other’s mouths. 

He curls them immediately, making you cry out, hands finding his hair again, fingertips clawing into his scalp. He hisses, “So tight, fuck, how am I gonna fit, huh?”

“You’ll– shi– ah, y-you’ll fit,” sensitivity looms, body twitching underneath him, clenching around his fingers that sink so deliciously deep. You kiss him again, grinding against his fingers that scissor you open, “You’ll make it fit.”

He smiles against you, fingers making quick work of your leaking core, “Missed this pussy, can’t believe you haven’t given it up to anyone else.”

“No time,” you whisper and he crooks his fingers angrily, making you squeal out a cry, “fuck!”

“Try again,” he slows, bottom lip ghosting yours, “get it right this time, or I’ll stop.”

“It’s yours,” you whimper, “I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours.”

He’s chuckling as he kisses you again, smiling into your mouth as his fingers massage the front of your walls, calculated and angled, like he was trained to make only your body sing. He stops only to tug his briefs down his legs and the chill that engulfs you is conscious, it reminds you who’s on top of you, who’s pulling these noises from the deepest part of your gut. 

Tattoos on display, minus the one at the tip of his spine, skin littered with droplets of mocha, spots you’ve kissed enough times to be burned into your memory. Body lean, strong, angular and unforgiving, all you can do is stare at his beauty, let it calm you, excite you, resurrect you from the loneliness you’ve endured. 

His cock springs up between his hipbones, leaking, red, it begged for you even if Wooyoung didn’t, you wonder if this is how he’s felt this whole time. “Missed you,” it slips out of your mouth, two involuntary words pulled straight from the back of your mind, an area gone untouched for over a year.

“Yeah?” He crawls back on top of you, “Missed me or fucking me?”

“Both,” your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, hooking your ankles over his back, “come over more.”

He laughs as he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, unhooking your legs as he pushes it backward, lining himself up with your entrance, “You haven’t invited me over since I moved out.”

“It’s not like you’ve asked to come over either.” 

You gasp as he starts pushing inside, hands falling, back arching as he sinks into you inch by inch. His cock is heavy, the stretch is tight, it renders you silent, face scrunched up, a streak of searing heat with each new inch. 

“Take it,” he sounds rough himself, voice edged with restraint. “Open up, jagi. This pussy’s mine, it wants me, it’s made f’me.” 

Your fingers find his forearm, other hand clawing into the sheets as a broken cry leaves your lips, “Fuck.”

When he sheathes himself fully he leans down, planting a kiss to your slacked jaw, a soft press of his lips that makes you twitch, breath shaky. He plans another one on your lips, voice low, “I haven’t asked to come over because I know you don’t want me there.”

“I want you there.”

“You divorced me.”

“Then let’s get married again,” your whine is loud, core clenching, grinding your hips against his cock. 

He laughs again before pulling out, a slow drag of his veiny cock against your walls, mushroom tip dragging against the spot against your inner walls, “You’re cockdrunk.”

He slams in all the way and your body locks up so hard you can’t breathe, his smile is condescending, pushing himself up until his back is straight, grip iron on your calf as he holds it over your chest. His abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, fucking into you so deep you can feel it in your throat, you hold his gaze, eyes watering, brows furrowed, lips pried open. 

“Look at you,” he cooes, “like the day I fuckin’ met you, so hungry for it. So desperate for my cock you wanna marry me again.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, bending your other knee just to feel him deeper, “just fuck me.”

“I am fucking you,” he argues, exuding something vile, “and you’re acting like you can’t get enough, it’s pathetic.”

You moan, back arching, holding your other leg back by tucking your hand under your knee, “I can’t.”

“I know, jagi,” he nods, eyes sliding down to where you meet, watching his own cock split you open, how your folds pulse around him, clit twitching. “No one fucks you like I do, right?”

You shake your head, body burning at the sound of him bullying into you, so wet and loud it’s obscene. Your voice comes out raw, shaky, “No one else, just you, daddy– shit, just you.”

He grunts, reaching for your other leg, bending down to throw them over his shoulders, hands planted down on the mattress on either side of your head. “You want me to fuck you full? Give you another baby?”

You reach for him, pulling him down to kiss you, all teeth and broken noises, “Y–es, daddy, please.”

The noise of wet skin slapping skin dances with your cries of pleasure in the air, Wooyoung’s muddled grunts mixing into the symphony, your hips raised to meet his thrusts and his cock dragging against that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, you wail. It’s too good, it’s overwhelming, you’ve never felt like this before, so consumed by pleasure and passion you don’t notice the tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Cryin’ for me?” He leans down to lick the tear that runs down your cheek, his tongue heavy, warm. He kisses you after, sloppy and slow, so unlike the brutal pace of his cock. “Gonna take care of you, mommy. Gonna give you another baby.”

You’re clenching around him nonstop, the pleasure sharp, his words making it so much worse. He frees one leg from his shoulder to tuck his hand between your legs again, pressing his fingers to your clit, “Cum around my cock, jagi. Let me feel it, wanna feel you cum.”

Your hips are bucking with no rhythm, an animalistic, pathetic need to obey him, you need him to reward you, to fill you up. His fingers work in precise circles, tight and harsh, it doesn’t take long for the pressure to build with his cock moving in the same flow. You go silent, breath caught, and he smiles.

“Gonna cum on daddy’s cock? Gonna give it to me?”

All you can do is nod, fingers curling into his hair, all you can do is lay there and fucking take it. 

“Cum for me, mommy, c’mon.”

It pushes you over, pressure blowing just as intense as the first time, he fucks you through it, moaning, head turning to sink his teeth into your calf. You seize beneath him, nerve endings fried, mind-blowing pleasure the only thing you can feel, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, what you’re saying, it’s all too much. He chokes on another moan, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering, you watch with glassy eyes as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head to watch himself fuck into you. 

“Please,” a small, broken word, it’s the only word you can manage, body still locked tight. 

“Did so good,” he shakes his head, “fuck– gonna fill you up so full.”

“Look at me,” you whisper and he picks his head up, face contorted in pleasure, hips bucking. “Look at me while you fill me up, please.”

It makes his face twist, hips stuttering, a loud, extended moan pushing from the base of his gut before his hips move out of rhythm, fucking into you like you’re a toy, relentlessly chasing his own high. 

“Gonna,” he stutters, you nod with each word, “gonna fill you up.”

“Uh-huh, please.”

His hips finally still, body falling forward, down to his elbows as he gives you the last few thrusts, deep enough for his release to hit its mark, to do as he promised. Warmth spreads through you, heavy, full, it racks a shiver through you, swallowing down a moan.

He tucks his face into your neck, breath heavy, he plants a soft kiss against your sweaty skin. With nothing to hold him back, he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you answer, too earnest for what just transpired, arms wrapping around his back, nails trailing against his soft skin. “We haven’t said that in a long time.”

Face still buried, his words are muffled against your skin, “I think I’ll always love you.”

“So will I,” you say it like it’s obvious, voice heavy with exhaustion, “we have a kid together, Wooyoung.”

His cock twitches inside you, soft and spent, you can feel him smile. “Maybe two.”

“I’m not ovulating,” your hands come up to his hair, pulling his face away from your neck to look at you, “chances are low. You really want another one?”

“I thought you did, too,” his brows furrow, “what did we just say all that shit for?”

You shrug, “It was hot.”

He snorts, lowering his head to press his lips to yours, softer than the rest, slower. Filled with all the time you’ve gone untouched, spent separated, each one tearing down the tall, thick wall of resentment between you, brick by brick. 

“Does this mean anything, then?” He finally pulls away to ask, and you’re becoming uncomfortably aware of him still inside you. 

“Depends,” you whisper, shifting beneath him. Cocking your head, you ask, “Are you still a selfish, narcissistic asshole that only cares about his job?”

He shakes his head, mumbling, “No.”

“Okay,” you lift your chin, “prove it, then. Let San speak tomorrow.”

He snarls, “What the fuck does this have to do with San?”

You smack your teeth, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his pretty face, “It’s a step forward. Do it and I’ll let you take me out on a date.”

He sits back on his calves, careful in his movements, he slips out of you slowly, intentionally. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your overly sensitive clit and it makes you gasp, hips twitching once. You smile through the stimulation, the feeling is nostalgic, something he used to do every time you had sex. You look up at him through heavy lids as he runs his hands up and down your thighs like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

He finally huffs, “Okay, but I have to make a few calls and get it cleared first.” Leaning down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, he asks, “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”

“Can we shower and order room service and watch a movie?” The question comes quick, as if you knew he’d ask, you lift yourself up on your elbows as he starts crawling off the bed. 

“Duh,” he grins, “c’mon, shower time and then we’ll call Kyungminnie.”

You gasp, a smile breaking out across your cheeks, “My baby.”

“Our baby,” he corrects, grabbing you by the ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed, “Up.”

It’s not unusual for sex with Wooyoung to end up like this.

Especially when he’s been away on tour, or busy with comeback preparations—whenever he’s not able to fuck you as much of often as he likes, this is the result.

Whiny. Desperate. Clinging to you; fingers digging into your skin, blunts of his nails pressed in deep enough to sting. Like he’s holding on for dear life; like he’s afraid that if he lets go, if he loosens his grip even a little bit, you’ll slip away for good.

He was already half hard when you walked into the living room in a thin t-shirt, the fabric a little tighter around your tits and hips, nipples visible through the white cotton. He’d started getting hard on the car ride home just from the thought of you; the thought of how pent up he knows you are after days without him, how desperate you must be, how easy it’ll be to make you come undone and everything he’s going to do to get you there. He’d spent the whole journey with his bag on his lap, trying to hide the imprint of his hardening cock against his sweats in case the taxi driver decided to glance back at him in the rearview mirror.

Fuck, he should’ve worn underwear, but he knows you prefer it when he doesn’t, especially in those sweats. He hadn’t really thought about how difficult that would make it to get home; hadn’t remember how fucking easy it is for him to get hard over you.

When he entered the apartment, when you walked through to greet him, his dick was already straining the fabric of his sweats. The sight of you, the way your shirt clings to your body, your bare legs—it took him the rest of the way. He felt the beads of precum leaking from the tip as you padded across the floor over to him.

Fuck, he needs you bad. He wasn’t even half this bad when he met you; he was far from low libido, but you just bring something out in him that’s entirely new.

“Hey,” you smiled. “Missed you.”

He didn’t even reply. Couldn’t reply; the moment your hand was wrapped around his wrist, pulling him towards you, the moment he got a whiff of your scent, the body wash you like to lather over yourself and a hint of your natural sweetness—he couldn’t do anything but pounce.

He barely got you to the bedroom. He didn’t even get your shirt all the way off; just yanked it up so your tits were exposed, so he could watch the way your nipples hardened in the cold air, how the skin reddened when he smacked lightly at your breasts just to watch them move, so he could feel the warmth when he grasped them in his hands. He managed to pull it over your head, but neither of you thought to pull out your arms, so now it’s sitting there, leaving you entirely exposed while he fucks you open.

By the time he’d pulled his dick out the front of his sweats had darkened, spots of wetness seeping through the light grey fabric, precum already smeared over his tip, He didn’t take them down, just pulled them far enough to get out his cock and got to work.

Your pussy was already wet, of course, just as he knew it would be—still he was kind enough to spit down onto your hole, a little more onto his fingers, smearing his saliva across your clit just to get you a little more needy for it before he finally sunk himself into you.

Wooyoung is thick, a little longer than average, and even with your pussy leaking and weeping for him like it often does, it took a bit of effort to get himself all the way inside. When he finally got himself in, when your hole was finally wrapped around his shaft, about halfway down, he yelled. The pressure, the pleasure was dizzying; the way you clung to him like you couldn’t handle him, like your poor little pussy didn’t know what to do with something his size—it was too much. Fuck, he had to close his eyes, squeeze them shut, dig his fingers into the skin of your hips to ground himself to avoid cumming before he’d even bottomed out.

He couldn’t handle it. The way you were responding—pussy leaking and clenching around him at the same time, so incredibly tight despite how needy and sloppy is already was for him; your cry, strangled and dizzied, when he sunk into you, your small, desperate whimpers as he continues to push inside—it almost pushed him over the edge. If he hadn’t closed his eyes in time to avoid the way your eyes widened, lips parting and shiny with drool as you tried to adjust to him, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.

Now, finally, he’s bottomed out, dick all the way inside, pressing against your g-spot, slamming into it with every thrust. His brows are furrowed, pupils blown, sweat sticking to his forehead and dripping from his chin. His grip is iron, fingers digging into your hips, holding onto the skin like a lifeline; you know there’ll be bruises later, littering the expanses of your hips and waist, but you don’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time for either of you. You wear the marks he leaves, and he wears yours, like a badge of honour.

He’s going hard, rough, thrusts one after the other, so fast even he can barely keep up. He’s almost crying, you can tell; see the tears brimming in his eyes, hear his whines and gasps like he’s trying to keep himself together. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, you— baby. Oh my god.”

“Wooyoung,” you cry. “You— feels so good. So deep, Woo, how are you so fucking deep?”

“I know,” he says. His hand moves from your hip to your tummy, pressing down, running across the expanse of your skin. “I’m in here,” he grunts. The pressure of his hands increases, pressing down right where his dick is stuffed all the way inside you and pressing against your spot. “Do you feel it?”

You nod, whimpering, and he groans, a sharp, strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Tell me you feel it,” he says, and fuck his voice sounds so raw, so affected, the way you sound when you’re all fucked out and begging him for release. “Please, baby, tell me.”

“I feel it,” you say. “Woo, I feel it. You’re so deep inside me, you’re so big, it hurts.”

He pushes down a little harder, making you sob, then his hand moves back to its place on your hip, holding onto the skin, fingers digging into it again.

“More,” you breathe, voice barely a whisper, need and desperation evident in the tone. “Woo, please. Need more.”

“Fuck.”

He can’t ever say no to you—you both know that. He could be at the very edge of what he can do, at the very edge of collapse, and if you looked up at him with those wide, loving, fucked our eyes and begged him for more, he’d give it to you.

And like this—with your pussy crying for him, tensing and spasming around his shaft, sucking him in, your body begging for him without words—he’s pretty much a dead man walking.

He can’t fucking take this. He doesn’t remember you ever being so tight and warm and wet. He knows you have been—you always are—it must just be the days, weeks even that he’s gone without having you like this, the compounded need and relief of finally having your cunt wrapped around his cock.

He’s going to break. He knows it. But he hasn’t given you nearly as much as he intends to yet.

His head dips, the pressure of his hands on your hips increasing, like he’s struggling to hold himself up now. His hair is sticking to his forehead, breathing laboured, whimpers getting louder and hotter and more guttural. His thrusts are speeding up too, getting harder, but the precision and control of them is slipping; the more he fucks you, the tighter he clings to you, the sloppier and messier his movements inside you get.

Your legs wrap around his waist, feet interlocking with each other against the small of his back, locking you in place. You push your hips up, pressing yourself closer to him, pulling him in deeper; your hands reach out to grab his shirt, curling the material around your fists then moving up to hold onto his shoulders, then his neck, then a fistful of his hair in one of your hands while the other grips his forearm. A harder thrust, sharper, makes you squeal, head thrown back, your face wet and flushed and blotchy with tears.

Wooyoung looks up, finally, meeting your eyes, and the sight of your face, so dumb and desperate and high on what he's giving you, makes his dick pulse inside you, legs almost giving out just from the sight of you. His dick is so fucking sensitive now, strangled by your cunt, hardly able to move in and out of you but unable to do anything but go harder and faster and messier. He’s fairly certain you’ve creamed already, probably more than once; he’s felt your cunt spasming around him, heard your cries grow sharper then settle back into softer whines and sobs, and he feels the stickiness leaking out of your hole around his cock. He wants to cum too, so fucking badly, but he can’t—

Fuck. Fuck. The image hits him like a vision, a spiritual experience, something solid against his chest. The way you’re clinging to him. He knows he’s not going to pull out, won’t be able to, he rarely does with you; knows that when he cums, when he finally allows himself to break, it will be with his dick pressed up against your g-spot, the cum filling up the deepest parts of you. He wishes he could cum directly into your womb; he’s said that to you before, and when you’re stuffed full of him and begging him to fill you up, you have on a few occasions cried for him to stuff your womb with cum. To get you pregnant.

He wants to do that now. He wants it so bad he could cry; wants it so bad it’s all he can think about. And with the way you’re squeezing him, milking his cock with your cunt, it seems like you want it too. Your body wants it, at least.

“Baby,” he hisses. “I…”

He leans down, closer to you now, face inches from yours, close enough to see the tiny details of his face and feel his breath against your skin. You grab a handful of his hair, gentle but desperate, and pull him closer to you. Your breaths are short and shallow, words whispered, like a prayer meant only for him. “You what?” You breathe.

He grunts, chewing on his lip, hips bucking just at the thought. “I want to get you pregnant,” he hisses, voice cracking on the final syllable and slipping into something more like a whimper. “Please, baby. Let me…”

You cunt clenches at that, at the image; your hips buck upwards and you pull his head down further, closer, until his lips are on yours. He freezes, just for a moment, then melts into it, tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth, hands cupping your face with the same pressure and fervour they’d had on your hips. The kiss is wet, rushed, messy; loving and hungry at the same time. He groans into your mouth, his hips bucking, skin slapping against yours, then pulls away. “Tell me I can,” he says. “Tell me I can knock you up. I need to knock you up.”

“Knock me up, Wooyoung,” you say. He rewards you with another, sharper thrust that nearly makes your vision white out. “Please. Put a baby in me. Need a baby in my tummy, Woo, need to be all swollen with it.”

“Shit,” he grits out. His hands are on your shoulders now, pushing them down and pinning you against the bed. His eyes are wild now—crazed. “You need it,” he says. “Fuck, baby, you need it, right?”

“Need it,” you repeat. “I need your baby, Woo, it’d be so cute, right? We’d have such a cute baby.”

“Fuck, don’t talk like that.” Wooyoung feels lightheaded, his entire body buzzing with need, toes curling into the sheets. He slows down just enough to think a little clearer, thrusts lazier while he strings his words together. “Baby, put your legs up. I wanna— I wanna press it all the way in. Need to press my cum all the way inside, right in your little womb, okay?”

He stops fucking you for a moment, still stuffed inside, then adjusts. He sits himself up, straightening up from where he was leaning over your; his hands grip your legs, still wrapped around his waist, keeping them there as he moves. Then he pushes your legs forwards, gently, so your knees are pushed towards your face, legs spread, calves pressed against your thighs and your thighs pushed back until—

“Yeah,” he grunts. “That’s perfect.”

You know this position; remember how it feels, how it allows him to get so much deeper and stay there, how his cum stays stuffed inside you after he pulls out, your ass raised a little off the bed.

He starts to move again, but he doesn’t ease you into it; can’t, at this point, when you’re spread out so invitingly, your pussy pulsing around him at the realisation of the position he’s put you in, your entire body so vulgarly displayed beneath him, at his mercy, a present only he gets to unwrap. Soon enough, he’s slipped again, the thrusts sloppier, messier, the control he’d managed to cling to for all of a second, just long enough to adjust you the way he wanted you, now evaporated. His hands find your waist now, holding you tight whilst he slams himself into your spot over and over like he’s chasing something.

His moans are soft, breathy, whiny, getting louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. He can’t stop thinking about it, picturing it; you, knocked up, carrying his child, looking so perfect and pretty and used. His cum in your cunt—fuck, if he could keep his cum inside you every fucking day he would. He’d fuck you every morning before he goes out, unload inside you, slide your pretty panties over your pussy to catch any seed that tries to escape. If it starts to leak he’d make you push it back inside, or gather it on his finger and make you lick it off. Then he’d fuck you again, before bed, hard and rough, until you fall asleep with bruised hips and smarting skin and a belly full of cum.

He’s going to get you pregnant—he doesn’t fucking care anymore. As he pushes towards his orgasm he knows for a fact, no doubt, that he’s going to do it; that he has to do it, or he’s going to shatter. It’s like a compulsion now, a need as much as eating or sleeping or drinking. He needs to get you pregnant and see you pregnant and know your belly is round and swelling because of him.

He doesn’t realise how loud he’s being; doesn’t realise the loud, whiny moans filling the air and drowning out the sound of his skin slapping against yours is him. Fuck. Is he always this fucked out when he’s trying to cum? Is he always this… pathetic?

He doesn’t care. If pathetic is what he is when he fucks you full, when he fills you up, when he feels your perfect cunt squeezing his dick like this, then fuck it, he’s pathetic. He’ll wear that badge with pride if it’s for you.

His orgasm comes quickly when he stops resisting; when he finally allows it to overtake it. He feels it in his entire body, in his fingers, his toes, every inch of him. It starts and doesn’t seem to stop; you feel your tummy filling up, warmth spreading through you, Wooyoung’s hands heavier and grip tighter, his strangled gasps and choked sobs as he keeps fucking you through it, like he’s trying to milk every last drop of himself out and into you. He’s saying something, somewhere between grunting and wailing; words you can’t quite decipher but understand entirely.

You’re going to get pregnant, tonight. He’s not stopping until you do. He’s gonna fill you up over and over and you can’t take anymore; until you’re so full of his cum that he can’t even fit his cock in there.

His hips rock back and forth, pushing the cum in deeper as it comes out.

And then he stills. His grip loosens just a little bit. He slumps slightly, catching himself in time, breathing heavy and laboured. His dick twitches inside you, still hard, but no longer moving.

“Stay still,” he says. His voice is raw, hollow, as though he’d been screaming and screaming and screaming until he lost it. “Keep your legs there. Helps— it helps it to take.”

“Take?” You repeat. You feel dazed.

Wooyoung nods. “My cum. If you keep your legs there it’ll help you get pregnant. Hold them there. Please.”

Fuck, he really… he really wants you pregnant. Like, actually pregnant. You pull him closer to you, pressing your lips together. This time the kiss is gentle, soft, none of the desperation of before but all of the feeling.

Wooyoung is massaging your legs, rubbing the backs of your thighs with enough pressure to feel it in the muscles; trying to keep the blood flow going, to stop you from losing the feeling in your legs with the strenuous position he’s holding you in. “Doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Always so good, so pretty, gonna be such a good mom. Wanna give you a daughter.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Want it.”

“Good.” He sits back up, pushing the hair out of his face, staring down at you with a small smile.

You know that smile. That’s a smile that says you’re not done—not even close.

“You’re probably pregnant now,” he says. “But we have to be sure. And we’re not stopping until we’re sure.”

You don’t reply. Just watch as his smile widens, as his hands move back to your hips where they’d been before.

“I’m gonna fuck you again,” he says. “I’m gonna breed you over and over, until the cum is spilling out of you. Until you have my baby. Until you’re carrying my seed inside you all day, every day, for nine months. Okay?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to; he knows you well enough to read your reaction.

And even if he didn’t—your pussy speaks for itself. The way it clenches around him says everything you’re too fucked out to voice.

You had thought fucking Hyunjin would get him to leave you alone. He never went back for seconds from what you had heard around campus and the kid’s been nagging you—not really because you do enjoy his company sometimes—since you TA’d one of his English Foundation classes last fall.

You figured he just wanted to try sex with a big girl given what you knew his usual hookups looked like.So, after one particularly shitty presentation—with a lecturer that you were sure hated you—you invited him over.

What you hadn’t planned on was having Hwang Hyunjin stuck on you like a lost puppy after one fuck; okay, maybe two…three times. Once in late spring, twice over the summer when he somehow kept showing up at places you frequented and now it’s the fall semester again and Hyunjin has found every opportunity to be in your bubble even befriending your friends Minho, Chan and Changbin.

“Yahhh! Hwang Hyunjin, you can’t keep doing this to me.” You groan as you push open your apartment door with him hot on your trail. This is the third date since the semester started that he’s run off.

“I don’t see why you need to be going on dates when I’m literally right here, ready and willing to do all that Muse.”

“That’s not the point Hyune.”

“It’s not? I’m hot, you’re hot. The sex is an incredibly hot bonus but at least you know it won’t be subpar and I’ll actually get you off. All you gotta do is say yes, I’m very persistent.” He smiles.

You drop your bag on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary, the thud punctuating your frustration. Hyunjin closes the door behind him—of course he follows you inside—and leans against it with that infuriating confidence that probably works on everyone else.

“Persistent is one word for it,” you mutter, yanking open the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Anything to avoid looking at him right now, at the way his hair falls perfectly even after he’s been trailing you across campus, at how his shirt rides up slightly when he crosses his arms. “Stalker is another.”

“Dramatic.” He pushes off the door and you can hear the smile in his voice as he moves closer. “I prefer ‘dedicated.’”

You spin around, pointing the water bottle at him like a weapon. “You literally interrupted my date at the restaurant, Hyunjin. You sat down at our table and ordered food.”

“The guy was boring you to tears. I could see it from across the room.”

“You were across the room watching me? Do you hear yourself right now?”

He has the audacity to shrug, unbothered, as he hops up onto your counter like he pays rent here. “I was meeting someone at the café next door and happened to look up—”

“Meeting someone? You?”

“—and I saw you doing that thing you do when you’re trying to be polite but you’d rather be anywhere else.” He tilts his head, studying you with those dark eyes that got you into this mess in the first place. “That little fake laugh, the way you keep checking your phone under the table. You did it in Professor Kim’s lecture last spring too, remember?”

You hate that he notices these things. Hate that he’s right. Hate even more that you know there was no one he was meeting; he’d literally sat at that café for an hour, coffee going cold, just waiting for the right moment to swoop in and ruin your date.

“That doesn’t give you the right to crash my dates, Hyune. We hooked up. Past tense. That’s it.”

“See, you keep saying that.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees and the air between you shifts into something heavier. “But your body language says something different. The way you let me walk you home. How you haven’t kicked me out yet. How you’ve already called me ‘Hyune’ twice in the last five minutes.”

Fuck. You hadn’t even noticed.

“I—” You falter, gripping the water bottle tighter. “That’s just habit.”

“Is it?” He slides off the counter, moving into your space slowly, giving you every chance to step back. You don’t. “Because I think you like having me around. I think you keep going on these shitty dates hoping one of them will make you stop thinking about me, about us.”

“There is no us.”

“There could be.” His voice drops lower, softer, and suddenly you’re very aware of how close he is, how warm your apartment feels. “Just say yes, Muse. One real date. Let me take you somewhere, treat you right, show you I’m not just some college kid looking for a hookup.”

“You ran off three of my dates, Hyunjin.”

“Because they weren’t good enough for you.” No hesitation, no shame. “And I am. Let me prove it.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs, treacherous thing that it is. You should say no. Should maintain the boundaries you set months ago when you decided sleeping with him was a lapse in judgment.

But god, the way he’s looking at you right now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth his attention—makes it really hard to remember why those boundaries existed in the first place.

“One date,” you hear yourself say, and his face lights up like you’ve given him the moon. “But if you fuck this up—”

“I won’t.” He’s grinning now, that devastating smile that should come with a warning label. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already do,” you lie but you’re smiling too and from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, he knows it.

You turn your back to him as you head towards your bedroom to change out of your clothes. You know he’s going to follow you and follow he does, making himself comfortable at the foot of your bed leaning back on his arms in that lazy confident way he has while you strip out of the layers of clothes you’d been wearing.

“You’re staring, Hwang.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Annoying fucker.”

“Yeah, but you like me though.” and you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning or smirking. “C’mere, muse.”

“Don’t use that tone of voice,”

“Why? Does it make you wet?”

You pause mid-motion, your shirt halfway over your head, heat crawling up your neck that has nothing to do with the layers you’re peeling off. “Hyunjin—”

“That’s not an answer.” His voice is lower now, teasing but edged with something darker that makes your stomach flip.

You yank the shirt off completely and toss it at him. He catches it easily, bringing it to his face with an exaggerated inhale that makes you roll your eyes even as your pulse quickens.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.” The bed shifts as he adjusts his position before he speaks again. “Come here, Muse.”

There it is again—that voice, the one that’s all command wrapped in honey, the one that got you into trouble the first time. You should tell him to back off, remind him that one date doesn’t mean he gets to waltz back into your bed like nothing’s changed.

But your body has other ideas, already responding to his proximity, to the memory of his hands on your skin.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” you say but your voice comes out breathier than intended as you turn to face him.

He’s still on your bed, leaning back with that infuriating smirk playing at his lips, eyes tracking every inch of you like he’s memorizing the view. “What deal? I just want you closer. We can just talk.”

“You don’t want to talk.”

“Maybe not.” He reaches out, fingers ghosting over your wrist. “But I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. Even if that’s just you sitting here, telling me about your terrible date while I try very hard to behave myself.”

You snort despite yourself. “You? Behave?”

“I can be good when properly motivated.” His thumb traces circles on your inner wrist and goddamn if that simple touch doesn’t make you want to forget every reason this is a bad idea. “So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna keep pretending you don’t want this, or are you gonna stop overthinking for once and let yourself have something good?”

You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you wrap your hands around his throat and tilt his head back just a little so he’s looking up at you. What you don’t expect is the moan that slips out of his mouth along with the way his grip tightens on both of your ass cheeks.

“You’re playing with fire, Muse.”

His pupils are blown wide, dark and wanting, and the way his breath hitches under your palms sends a thrill straight through you. You tighten your grip just slightly—not enough to hurt—just enough to feel his pulse jumping against your fingers.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you murmur, watching the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes and his hands slide higher, pulling you closer until you’re standing between his spread thighs. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, gripping like he can’t get enough and there’s something about the way he touches you—like every curve is exactly what he wants—that makes your breath catch. “You can’t just…Muse, if you keep touching me like that, I’m not gonna be able to keep my promise about behaving.”

“Did I ask you to behave?”

Something shifts in his expression; surprise giving way to hunger, that cocky facade cracking just enough to show you the desperate want underneath. It’s intoxicating, this power you have over him, the way someone so confident turns pliant under your touch.

“You’re killing me,” he groans but he’s tilting his head back further, offering himself up. “Months. Months of you ignoring me, going on dates with other people, pretending those nights didn’t change everything—”

“It was just three nights,” you say, squeezing just a little harder and his moan is obscene.

“Three perfect nights that I can’t stop thinking about.” His hands slide from your ass to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there. “The way you look on top of me, the sounds you make, how your thighs feel wrapped around my head—” He cuts himself off with a shudder as your thumb traces along his jawline. “Please, Muse. Put me out of my misery. Tell me I’m not crazy, that you feel this too.”

You could still walk away. Should walk away. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid; getting tangled up with Hwang Hyunjin and his persistent attention, his ability to make you forget every logical reason this is complicated.

But God, the way he’s looking at you right now, like you’re everything he wants…

“You’re not crazy,” you admit quietly and watch his face transform with relief and triumph and raw need. “But you’re still annoying.”

“Yeah?” His hands slide under the waistband of your pants, palms hot against bare skin. “Wanna shut me up about it?”

Your fingers flex on his throat and before you know it the world tilts and suddenly your back hits the mattress, the air rushing from your lungs. The switch happens so fast your head spins or maybe that’s just the way he’s looking down at you under him with his hand around your throat; eyes dark with promise and that damn smirk that makes your thighs clench.

“Know you missed your favorite necklace.” He says with a grin and a flex of his fingers.

His hand spans your throat perfectly, thumb resting against your pulse point like he’s counting each racing beat. The weight of it, the controlled pressure, sends liquid heat pooling low in your belly.

“There she is,” he murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. “Been wondering how long you’d make me wait to see you like this again.”

You should probably say something cutting, remind him he’s getting ahead of himself, that agreeing to one date doesn’t mean—

But then his fingers flex, just enough pressure to make your breath catch and coherent thought becomes a distant memory. Your hands fly up to grip his wrist, not to push away but to anchor yourself as your body arches involuntarily beneath him.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he breathes against your neck, his free hand sliding down your side, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip. “Missed the way you melt for me the second I get my hands on you. All that attitude just…gone.”

“Hyunjin—” His name comes out strangled, needy, and you hate how desperate you sound. Hate more that he’s right about all of it.

“Yeah, baby?” Another flex of his fingers, his thigh pressing between yours. “Still think those other guys could give you what I can? Still think you need anyone else when you’ve got me?”

Your nails dig into his wrist and he groans, low and dirty. “That’s my girl. Mark me up, Muse. Want everyone to know exactly who I belong to.”

“Possessive bastard,” you gasp out but your hips are already rolling against his thigh, seeking friction.

“Only for you.” His mouth finds that spot below your ear that makes you whimper. “Say you’re mine. Say those dates were bullshit and you want me.”

“You’re—ah—so fucking cocky—”

“Because I’m right.” His hand tightens fractionally, and stars burst behind your eyelids. “Now answer the question, or I stop.”

“Stop and I’ll never give you head again. Know you like that thing I do with my tongue before I take it all the way in.” You grin.

He freezes above you and you feel the full-body shudder that runs through him at the memory. His hand loosens just slightly on your throat as he pulls back to look at you, eyes blazing.

“That’s playing dirty, Muse.”

“You started it,” you shoot back, running your tongue along your bottom lip deliberately. His gaze tracks the movement like a starving man watching food. “What was it you said last time? That no one’s ever—”

“Don’t.” His voice comes out strangled, hips pressing harder against you. “Fuck, you can’t just—that thing you do, that fucking swirling before you—Jesus Christ.”

The power shift is delicious. For all his cockiness, all his control, you know exactly how to unravel him. You’ve done it before, watched him fall apart with his hands fisted in your hair, saying your name like a prayer, telling you how good you look on your knees with your mouth stretched around him.

“So maybe,” you say, walking your fingers up his chest, “you should reconsider your ultimatums. Because I can be just as stubborn as you, Hwang Hyunjin, and I know all your weaknesses now.”

He drops his forehead to yours with a breathless laugh. “You’re evil. Absolutely fucking evil.”

“You like it.”

“I love it,” he corrects and something in his voice makes your heart stutter. Too honest, too raw. He catches it immediately, tries to cover with that cocky grin. “Love how you think you’re in control right now when we both know how this ends.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

His hand slides from your throat to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lips. “With you saying my name so loud your neighbors complain. Again.” He punctuates it with a roll of his hips that has you gasping. “But first, you’re gonna answer my question. Those dates—”

“Were boring,” you admit, because fuck it, he’s not going to let this go. “Happy?”

“Getting there.” His smile is pure sin. “Now tell me you’re mine.”

“Make me.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before his eyes go molten, that pretty face transforming into something predatory and hungry. His hand slides back to your throat, not squeezing, just possessive.

“Oh, Muse,” he says, voice dropping an octave that goes straight between your thighs. “You really shouldn’t have said that.”

Before you can respond with something appropriately bratty, he captures your mouth in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up frustration. It’s not gentle—Hyunjin’s never been gentle when he’s like this, wound up and desperate—and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Months,” he growls against your lips, kissing down your jaw. “Months of watching you pretend you don’t think about this.” His teeth graze your pulse point and you gasp. “Watching you go on dates with guys who couldn’t possibly know what you need.”

His free hand slides down your stomach, fingers playing at the waistband of your pants. He doesn’t move to remove them yet, just traces patterns that make your hips lift involuntarily.

“Hyune—”

“Shh,” he soothes, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s looking at you. “You wanted me to make you admit it, right? That’s what this is?” He pops the button of your pants with practiced ease. “Let me remind you exactly what you’ve been missing.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you manage but it comes out breathless.

“Maybe.” He drags the zipper down slowly, torturously. “But you like it. Like when I call you out on your bullshit.” His fingers slip just beneath the waistband of your underwear, not touching where you need him yet, just teasing. “Like when I don’t let you hide.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders through his shirt, trying to pull him closer but he resists. That damn smirk is back.

“Patience, pretty baby. We’ve got all night and I’m gonna take my time reminding you exactly why you can’t stop thinking about me.”

“Cocky—” The word cuts off in a moan as his hand finally, finally slides lower, cupping you through the thin fabric. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit and your vision goes hazy.

“What was that?” He does it again, watching your face. “Couldn’t quite hear you over all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

“I said you’re—fuck—” He adds pressure and your argument dissolves entirely.

“That’s what I thought.” His mouth finds that spot below your ear. “You can act tough all you want, Muse, but your body tells me everything I need to know.”

He hooks his fingers in your waistband but doesn’t pull down yet. Just waits, making you squirm.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs against your neck. “Tell me those dates were bullshit attempts to forget about us.”

“There is no us—”

He pulls his hand away entirely and you actually whimper at the loss. His answering laugh is dark and knowing.

“No? Then I guess you don’t need me to—”

“Don’t you dare.” You grab his wrist, pulling his hand back and his eyes light up with victory.

“Then say it.” He starts pulling your pants down, slowly, watching you the whole time. “Say you thought about me while you were out with them. Say you compared them to me and they didn’t measure up.”

The worst part is he’s right. Every single date, you’d found yourself thinking about Hyunjin; the way he laughs at your terrible jokes, how he brings you coffee during your TA sessions without being asked, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

And yeah, the sex. Definitely the sex.

“They were boring,” you finally admit, lifting your hips so he can slide your pants and underwear down your legs. The cool air makes you shiver, or maybe that’s just the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour you whole.

“Boring,” he repeats, tossing your clothes somewhere behind him. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping the soft flesh there, spreading you wider. “Just boring?”

“Hyunjin, please—”

“Please what?” He settles between your legs but doesn’t touch you yet. Just looks, and the hunger in his eyes makes you clench around nothing. “I want to hear you say it, Muse. Want to hear you admit that this—” he finally drags one finger through your wetness, and you gasp, “—is all for me.”

“You’re the worst,” you breathe but your hips chase his touch.

“Yeah?” He circles your clit once, twice, before pulling away again. “The worst, but you’re soaking for me anyway. Been like this all night, haven’t you? Sitting across from that guy, being polite, while thinking about what I could do to you instead.”

You want to deny it, but he chooses that moment to slide two fingers inside you, curling them exactly right and the truth spills out in a broken moan.

“There she is.” His voice is reverent now, awed. “Fuck, I missed this. Missed watching you fall apart for me.” He sets a rhythm that has your back arching, your hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets. “Missed the way you get so wet, so ready. Like your body knows exactly who it belongs to even when you’re being stubborn about it.”

“Not—ah—yours,” you try, but it’s weak even to your own ears.

His thumb finds your clit and you nearly sob. “No? Then why are you grinding on my hand like you’re desperate for it? Why’d you let me follow you home, let me in your apartment, your bedroom?” He leans down, breath hot against your ear. “Why haven’t you kicked me out yet, baby?”

Because you can’t. Because despite every logical reason for why this is a bad idea, you want him. Have wanted him since that first night when he’d looked at you like you were everything, touched you like you were precious, fucked you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Say it,” he demands, adding a third finger that has you seeing stars. “Say you’re mine and I’ll give you everything you need. Make you come so hard you forget every other guy’s name.”

“Fuck—Hyunjin—I can’t—”

“You can.” His fingers speed up, hitting that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake. “Come on, Muse. Stop being stubborn and just admit it. Admit you want this, want me, want us.”

He’s relentless and you can feel your orgasm building, pressure coiling tight in your belly. Your hands find his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan.

“That’s it,” he encourages, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. “Take what you need, baby. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re so close, teetering on the edge and he knows it. Can probably feel it in the way you’re clenching around his fingers, the way your breathing has gone ragged.

“Just say it,” he coaxes, softer now but no less demanding. “Three little words and I’ll make you come. That’s all, Muse. Just tell me the truth.”

Pride wars with desperation but your body makes the decision for you; arching into his touch, chasing the release only he seems capable of giving you.

“Yours,” you finally gasp out. “I’m yours, okay? Happy now?”

His smile is blinding, triumphant, before his mouth crashes into yours. “So fucking happy,” he murmurs against your lips and then his fingers curl just right and you’re gone, falling apart in his arms while he swallows your moans and tells you how perfect you are, how good, how his.

You’re still trembling through the aftershocks when he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with an obscene moan that makes heat coil in your belly all over again despite having just come.

“Missed that too,” he says with a little pat to your sensitive cunt, eyes dark as he watches you try to catch your breath. “The way you taste. Been thinking about it for months.”

“You’re such a fucking munch,” you manage but there’s no heat behind it. Can’t be, not when you’re boneless and satisfied and he’s looking at you like that.

“Wonder whose fault that is?” He’s already pulling his shirt over his head, revealing all that lean muscle you’ve tried very hard not to think about. “And we’re not done. Not even close.”

Your eyes track the movement of his hands as he works his belt loose, the clink of metal loud in your quiet bedroom. “Confident.”

“Realistic,” he corrects, shoving his jeans down. “You think one orgasm is enough to make up for months? I’ve got a lot of lost time to account for, Muse.”

He’s not wrong. Even now, barely recovered, you want him. Want his weight on you, in you, surrounding you. It’s infuriating how easily he gets under your skin.

“Come here,” you say, reaching for him and he goes willingly, settling between your thighs like he belongs there.

His cock presses against you, hard and hot, and you both groan at the contact. He rocks against you slowly, coating himself in your wetness, the head catching on your clit with each deliberate thrust.

“Hyune—” Your nails rake down his back and he hisses.

“What, baby? Use your words.” He’s teasing, the bastard, dragging this out when you both know what you want.

“Stop teasing.”

“But you’re so pretty when you’re desperate.” He does it again, that maddening slide that’s almost enough but not quite. “Flushed and needy and all mine.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to angle him where you need him, but he doesn’t budge just holds himself just out of reach with that infuriating smirk.

“Ask nicely.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you threaten but it comes out more pleading than murderous.

“You love me,” he says, and then seems to realize what he’s said. For a moment, the cocky mask slips and you see something vulnerable underneath, hope and fear and want all tangled together.

The moment stretches between you, weighted with things neither of you are ready to name.

“Hyunjin,” you say softly, cupping his face. “Fuck me. Please.”

It’s enough. He reaches between you, lining himself up, and then he’s pushing inside with one slow, devastating thrust that has you both gasping. The stretch is perfect, familiar, like your body remembered exactly how he feels.

“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to yours. “Fuck, Muse, you feel—” He can’t finish the sentence, too overwhelmed, and something about seeing him undone like this makes your chest tight.

“Move,” you urge, rolling your hips. “Baby, please move.”

He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, before slamming back in hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. Sets a rhythm that’s punishing and perfect, each thrust hitting so deep you see stars.

“This,” he grits out, punctuating the word with a particularly hard thrust. “This is what you’ve been missing. What those other guys could never give you.” His hand finds your throat again, not squeezing, just holding. “Tell me. Tell me they didn’t fuck you like this.”

“They didn’t—” You gasp as he changes angles, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. “Didn’t even—fuck—didn’t even have a chance—”

“Because they don’t know you.” His thumb traces your racing pulse. His other hand grips your thigh to hook your leg over his shoulder, fingers digging into the soft flesh there and pulling you tighter against him. “Don’t know that you like it rough. Like when I hold you down and take what’s mine.”

He proves his point by pinning your wrists above your head with his free hand, holding you completely at his mercy. The position makes your breasts press up and he takes advantage, ducking his head to drag his teeth across one nipple.

“Don’t know how fucking perfect you are when you let go and just feel.”

You should probably protest at the possessive way he’s talking, the assumption that he knows you better than you know yourself. But he does know you, knows exactly how to make you fall apart, how to push you right to the edge and keep you there.

“Harder,” you demand because if you’re doing this, if you’re giving in, you might as well get everything you want.

His answering laugh is strained. “Greedy girl.” But he complies, fucking into you with enough force that your headboard starts hitting the wall. “That what you need? Need me to ruin you so you can’t even think about anyone else?”

“Yes—fuck yes—”

“Good.” He releases your wrists to hitch your other leg higher over his hip, the new angle making you cry out. “Because that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit and the dual sensation is almost too much. You can feel another orgasm building, faster this time, pulled tight like a wire about to snap.

“Hyune, I’m close—”

“I know, baby, I can feel it.” His rhythm is getting erratic, chasing his own release. “Come for me. Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, wanna watch you fall apart.”

“Come with me,” you gasp, pulling him down into a kiss that’s more breathing into each other’s mouths than anything else. “Want to feel you—”

“Fuck…Muse—” The nickname becomes a chant as his hips stutter and the desperation in his voice is what tips you over. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, pleasure white-hot and all-consuming, and you feel him follow seconds later with a groan that you swallow down.

He collapses on top of you, both of you sweaty and spent and trembling. For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing and the occasional aftershock, his cock still buried inside you like he can’t bear to separate yet.

“So,” he finally says, voice muffled against your neck. “Still think those dates were a good idea?”

You smack his shoulder weakly. “Cálla.”

“Make me.” But there’s no heat behind it, just lazy satisfaction.

You wrap your legs tight around him and roll him onto his back as you settle on top of him. The ride you start is slow and torturous, hands on his chest as you lift until only the tip is inside before you drop all the way back down.

His eyes go wide when you flip him, a startled laugh escaping before it melts into a groan as you sink back down onto him. He’s still sensitive from coming, you can tell by the way his abs clench, the way his hands fly to your hips with a grip that’s going to leave bruises.

His fingers span your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft give of your stomach and there’s something almost reverent in the way he’s looking up at you, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Fuck, baby, what are you—”

“Teaching you a lesson,” you murmur, rising up slowly, torturously slow, until just his tip is inside. His fingers dig into your flesh, trying to pull you back down but you resist. “About running your mouth.”

You drop down hard and he chokes on whatever he was going to say, head falling back against the pillows. The oversensitivity makes him twitch inside you, makes his thighs tense beneath you.

“Baby, I just—ah fuck—”

You do it again. And again. Setting a pace that’s designed to drive him insane, that has him writhing beneath you and trying to thrust up to meet you. But you keep the control, keep him exactly where you want him.

“What’s wrong?” You drag your nails down his chest, watching red lines bloom in their wake. “Thought you liked being in charge. Liked making me beg.”

“I do—fuck, I do—but you’re gonna kill me—” His feet plant on the mattress, trying to get leverage, trying to fuck up into you harder.

That’s when your hand wraps around his throat again.

The effect is immediate and devastating. His whole body goes taut, cock throbbing inside you and the moan that tears from him is absolutely wrecked.

“Stay still,” you command, squeezing just enough to make his breath catch. “You’re going to take what I give you, understand?”

“Fuck,yes, yes—” His eyes are glazed, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any iris left. His hands fall away from your hips, surrendering, and the sight of Hwang Hyunjin—cocky, confident, always-in-control Hyunjin—completely at your mercy sends a rush of power through you.

You start riding him in earnest now, the way you know drives him crazy. Rolling your hips on the downstroke, clenching around him deliberately, using him for your own pleasure while your hand stays firm on his throat.

“Oh god…oh fuck, Muse—” He’s babbling now, coherence lost. His hands scrabble at the sheets, his back arching. “Please,please, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” You lean down, maintaining the pressure on his throat as you change the angle. “Can’t handle what you’ve been begging for? Can’t take being fucked the way you fuck me?”

“No…yes, fuck—” Tears are gathering at the corners of his eyes from the intensity. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

You weren’t planning to. Not when he looks like this; absolutely destroyed, that pretty face twisted in almost painful pleasure, completely yours. Your free hand slides up to pinch his nipple and he nearly sobs.

“You’re so good like this,” you tell him and mean it. “So perfect when you let go. When you stop trying to control everything and just feel.”

“For you—” he gasps out. “Only for you—”

Your rhythm is relentless now, chasing your third orgasm of the night while he falls apart beneath you. You can feel him getting close again despite having just come, his cock swelling impossibly harder inside you.

“Gonna come again already?” You tighten your grip on his throat fractionally and he keens. “Greedy boy. So desperate for it.”

“Please—” It’s barely a whisper. “Please, Muse, I need—”

“I know what you need.” You lean down to bite at his jaw, his neck, marking him the way he marked you. “Need to come inside me again. Need to fill me up until it’s dripping down my thighs.”

“Yes! fuck yes,please let me—”

“Then come,” you order, releasing his throat and clenching around him as hard as you can. “Come for me, Hyunjin.”

He does, with a shout that’s definitely going to have your neighbors complaining, his whole body seizing as he spills inside you. The feeling of it, the heat and the way he pulses, triggers your own orgasm; smaller than the first two but no less intense for it.

You collapse onto his chest, both of you gasping for air. His arms come around you immediately, holding you close despite the way you’re both trembling.

“Jesus Christ,” he finally manages, voice absolutely wrecked. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Payback,” you mumble against his skin, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your cheek.

“Worth it.” His hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “So fucking worth it.”

You can feel him softening inside you, the mess of both of you starting to leak out, but neither of you move. Just lie there tangled together, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your scalp.

“So,” he says after a while, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “About that date…”

You bite his shoulder hard enough to make him yelp. “One thing at a time, Hwang.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yes ma’am.”

You shift to look up at him, finding him watching you with an expression so soft it makes your breath catch. His free hand comes up to trace the curve of your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“Lemme stay,” he says quietly. “Tonight. Don’t kick me out this time.”

“I never kicked you out—”

“You very politely suggested that I had to go.” His lips quirk. “Three times. Spring semester, twice over summer. Same thing.”

You study his face; the vulnerability lurking beneath the teasing, the hope he’s trying to hide. “You’re clingy when you’re fucked out.”

“Mhmm,” he admits, no shame in it. “So is that a yes?”

You could say no. Should probably establish some boundaries, maintain some distance. But you’re warm and sated and he’s looking at you like that, and—

“Fine,” you relent. “But you’re the big spoon because I’m not sleeping on my back all night.”

His grin is blinding. “Deal.”

He finally pulls out, both of you wincing at the sensitivity, and disappears to your bathroom. Returns with a warm washcloth and cleans you up with a gentleness that feels at odds with how you’d just fucked each other into the mattress.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease as he tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed.

“Only for you,” he says again, pulling you against his chest and draping himself around you. His hand splays across your stomach, thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin. “See? Perfect big spoon.”

You hum in agreement, already feeling sleep pulling at you. His warmth surrounds you, solid and safe, and you find yourself relaxing into it despite your better judgment.

“Muse?” His voice is soft, almost hesitant.

“Mm?”

“I meant what I said. About wanting this to be real. About—” He pauses and you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder. “About all of it.”

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. “I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You lace your fingers with his where they rest on your stomach. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”

His quiet laugh stirs your hair. “Okay, baby.”

And wrapped in his arms, his heartbeat steady against your back, you let yourself drift off with a small smile on your face.

You wake up to a wet, heated sensation between your legs and when you look down, Hyunjin’s looking up at you from between your thighs, morning light filtering through your curtains and painting his skin gold.

“About time you woke up. Been down here for half an hour, baby.”

“Hyune,” you breathe, still half-asleep, and your hand automatically goes to his hair.

“Love it when you call me that.” He mumbles against your inner thigh, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. You can already see the marks blooming there, evidence of his dedication. “Especially all sleepy like this.”

Your brain is still foggy with sleep, trying to catch up, but your body already knows; hips lifting into his mouth, thighs spreading wider to give him better access.

“Half an hour?” you manage, voice rough. “Why didn’t you—ah—wake me?”

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, lips glistening. “Wanted to see how long it would take. How deep I could get you before you woke up.” His tongue drags slowly through your folds and your grip tightens in his hair. “You were making the prettiest sounds in your sleep, Muse. Kept saying my name.”

“I did not—”

“You did.” He punctuates it with a kiss to your inner thigh, sucking another mark. “Kept squirming too, pressing that perfect ass back against me. Think you were dreaming about me?”

You were, actually. Hazy images of last night and the early hours of the morning bleeding into new scenarios, his hands and mouth everywhere. But you’re not about to admit that.

“You’re imagining things,” you say, trying for dismissive but it comes out breathy when he sucks a mark higher on your thigh.

“Am I?” His hands slide up to grip your hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, to his mouth. “Then why are you so wet already? Been like this since I started, baby. So ready for me.”

His mouth returns to where you need it, tongue circling your clit with maddening precision. He’s not rushing, not trying to make you come quickly; just exploring, savoring, taking his time like he has all day.

“Hyunjin—” Your head falls back against the pillow as he slides two fingers inside, curling them just right. “Fuck—”

“Love the way you say my name,” he murmurs against you, the vibration making you gasp. “Especially first thing in the morning, all sleepy and needy.” He adds a third finger and you arch off the bed. “Missed waking up with you. Missed getting to do this.”

You want to tell him he’s only been in your bed three times before—spring semester, twice over summer—and each time you’d basically kicked him out the morning after. That this isn’t some regular thing. But then he swirls his tongue over your clit before sucking making your thighs shake, and all coherent thought evaporates.

“That’s it,” he encourages, feeling you clench around his fingers. “Let me take care of you, Muse. Let me make you feel good.”

His free hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, palming your breast. His thumb brushes over your nipple and the dual sensation has you arching into his touch. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you, and it’s overwhelming in the best way.

“Close already?” There’s satisfaction in his voice as your hips start rolling against his face. “That’s my girl. So responsive for me.”

“Don’t—ah,don’t stop—”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He seals his lips around your clit and sucks, fingers pumping faster, and you squirt with a cry that echoes off the bedroom walls as you make a mess of his face and your sheets.

He works you through it, gentling his touches as you come down, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your hip bones, your stomach. When he finally crawls back up your body, his face is wet with you and he’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.

“Good morning,” he says, entirely too pleased with himself.

You’re still trying to remember how to breathe. “You’re insane.”

“Crazy about you,” he corrects, dropping a kiss to your shoulder. Then another to your collarbone. “Couldn’t help myself. You looked so pretty sleeping, and I’ve been thinking about doing that since you kicked me out last time.”

“I didn’t kick you out—”

“You strongly suggested I should leave because you had shit to do,” he reminds you, nipping at your jaw. “Wouldn’t even let me stay for breakfast. Three different times.”

“Because it was supposed to be a one-time thing.”

“Three-time thing,” he corrects. “And clearly not a one-time anything because here we are again and you’re not exactly complaining.”

He’s not wrong. You should be kicking him out right now, reestablishing boundaries, reminding him that one date doesn’t mean he gets to—

“Stop thinking so loud,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “I can literally hear you overthinking from here.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” He shifts, settling beside you so he can look at you properly. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen, and there’s something soft in his eyes that makes your chest tight. “Look, I know this is complicated. I know you’ve got reasons for keeping me at arm’s length. But Muse…” His hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I meant what I said last night. I want this. Want you. Not just the sex—though fuck, the sex is incredible—but all of it.”

“Hyunjin…”

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” he says quickly. “Just…give me a real chance. Let me take you on that date. Let me prove that you’re more than a hookup.”

The earnestness in his voice, in his expression, makes something in your chest crack open. Because the truth is, you want it too. Want him. Have wanted him since that first night when he stayed after, ordering takeout and arguing with you about the themes in the book you were teaching, making you laugh until your sides hurt before he rearranged your guts again.

“Like I said, one date,” you hear yourself say, and his face lights up. “But if you screw this up—”

“I won’t.” He’s kissing you before you can finish the threat, enthusiastic and clumsy and perfect. “I promise, Muse. I’m gonna make you so happy you agreed to this.”

“You’re still in my bed naked,” you point out. “Shouldn’t you go home and shower or something?”

His grin turns wicked. “Actually, I was thinking we could shower together. Save water. Be environmentally conscious.”

“That is not—”

But he’s already pulling you up, laughing at your protests, and somehow you end up in the shower with him anyway. His hands are gentle as he washes your hair, his kisses slow and sweet under the spray, and you let yourself have this—have him—without overthinking it for once.

When you finally emerge, clean and wrapped in towels, he immediately starts raiding your closet.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding clothes,” he says, pulling out one of your hoodies. “This’ll work.”

“That’s mine.”

“It’s ours now.” He pulls it on and it’s slightly too small on him, riding up to show a strip of his stomach, but he looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Perfect.”

“You should go home and get your own clothes.”

“Why?” He asks pulling the sheet off of your bed looking at you expectantly as you pass him a fresh set which he puts on before he sprawls on it like he owns it. “It’s Saturday. Neither of us has anywhere to be.”

“Don’t you have—I don’t know, plans? Things to do?”

“My only plan was you,” he says, patting the space next to him. “And I’m exactly where I want to be.”

You should insist. Should maintain some boundaries, not let him get too comfortable. But he’s looking at you with those warm eyes, your too-small hoodie riding up to show that strip of stomach, and you find yourself giving in.

“Fine,” you relent, settling next to him on the bed. “But you’re buying or making food as long as you’re here.”

“Deal.” He immediately pulls you against him, arranging you so your back is against his chest, his arms wrapped around your middle. “What do you want to do today?”

“I was going to catch up on that show I mentioned.”

“The murder mystery one?”

You twist to look at him, surprised. “How did you know?”

He shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in his expression. “You mentioned it. Three weeks ago, after your TA session. You said it looked interesting but you hadn’t had time.”

Your chest does something complicated. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything you tell me,” he says simply.

“You’re such a simp.”

“Only for you,” he says, and presses a kiss to your temple. “Now come on, let’s go watch your show. But I’m warning you, it’s always the butler.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s always the butler.” He sounds entirely too confident.

“That’s such a cliché—”

“Wanna bet?”

You twist to look at him. “What are the stakes?”

His grin is wicked. “If I’m right, you come to my friends’ New Year’s party with me.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ll stop interrupting your dates.”

You snort. “You’re that confident?”

“In my detective skills? Absolutely.” He pauses. “Also I may have already watched the first episode when you mentioned it.”

“Hwang Hyunjin!”

He’s laughing now, trying to fend off your playful smacks. “What! I wanted to be able to talk to you about it! That’s romantic!”

“That’s cheating!”

“Okay, okay—” He catches your wrists, still grinning. “New bet. Come to the party with me anyway, and if the butler isn’t the killer, I’ll make you that pasta dish you said looked good on Instagram.”

“You follow my Instagram?”

“Have for months,” he admits, shameless. “You post the best food pics. Also that selfie you posted last week? In the library? Saved it.”

You don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. “You’re obsessed.”

“Completely,” he agrees easily. “So? Deal?”

You should say no. Should not agree to go to a party with his friends, to blur these lines even further. But he’s looking at you hopefully, and—

“Fine. But the pasta better be amazing if you’re wrong.”

“It will be,” he promises, and seals it with a kiss.

You end up on the couch, you settled between his legs with your back against his chest, starting the show. He was right, the butler did do it, which he’s entirely too smug about. But you find you don’t really mind, especially when he keeps pressing random kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, clearly only half-paying attention to the show.

“Hyune,” you murmur during the second episode. “You’re missing it.”

“Don’t care,” he says against your skin. “This is better.”

“The whole point of watching together—”

“Is spending time with you. Which I’m doing.” He nips at your earlobe. “The murder mystery is just a bonus.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“You like it,” he counters, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

Halfway through the fifth episode, your stomach growls loudly. Hyunjin laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest into your back.

“Lunch?” he suggests.

“It’s almost two. More like late lunch.”

“Even better.” But he doesn’t let go of you, just tightens his arms. “In a minute.”

“Hyunjin, I’m hungry.”

“Just—” He buries his face in your neck. “One more minute like this.”

Something warm and dangerous blooms in your chest. “Okay. One more minute.”

You give him five before standing up and pulling him with you toward the kitchen. “Come on. If you’re staying, you’re helping.”

“What are we making?”

“I was thinking cheesy kimchi fried rice? Nothing fancy, but—”

“Perfect,” he interrupts, already moving toward your fridge. “Comfort food. I can work with that.”

You expect him to be useless in the kitchen—he gives off those vibes—but he surprises you. He moves around your space with ease, finding things without asking.

“You can actually cook,” you observe, surprised.

“My mom made sure I all knew the basics,” he says, focused on cutting sausages and spam.

“And?”

“I’m no chef but I can handle myself fairly well in the kitchen,” he says. “It’s not really different from painting or drawing once you get used to it.”

“Big talk.”

“You’ll see.”

You work together comfortably; you handle the side dishes while he fries the rice. He keeps stealing touches; a hand on your waist as he moves past you, fingers brushing yours when you hand him the cheese, a kiss pressed to your shoulder when you’re stirring the adding radish to a bowl.

“You’re very touchy today,” you comment, not exactly complaining.

“Making up for lost time,” he says simply. “Plus you keep trying to kick me out in the mornings. Gotta get my fill while I can.”

“I don’t—” You pause. “Okay, maybe I do.”

“You do.” He flips the sandwich expertly. “Spring semester, you basically pushed me out the door. Said you had to work on your thesis.”

“I did have to work on my thesis.”

“At 7 AM on a Sunday?”

“…Yes?”

He gives you a look that says he doesn’t believe you for a second. “And the first time in summer, you had that ‘emergency meeting’ with your advisor.”

“That was real!”

“Mhm. And the second time, you suddenly remembered you had plans with your friends.”

You’re quiet, because okay, he’s got you there. Each time you’d basically panicked the morning after, overwhelmed by how comfortable it felt having him in your space, how much you didn’t want him to leave. So you’d created excuses, put up walls, tried to maintain distance.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “That was shitty of me.”

“Hey.” He turns and faces you properly, hands on your hips. “I get it. I’m younger, still in undergrad, not exactly what you probably pictured for yourself. And I came on really strong that first time. I get why you freaked out.”

“It’s not—” You struggle with the words. “It’s not about your age, really. It’s just…complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says softly. “We can just…be. No pressure, no expectations. Just us figuring this out together.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“Because it is.” He cups your face in his hands looking at you. “I like you. You like me. Everything else is just noise.”

You want to argue, to point out all the ways it’s not that simple. But he’s looking at you with such earnest honesty that you find yourself nodding instead.

“Okay,” you say. “We can try.”

His smile is brilliant. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But Hyunjin?” You poke his chest. “No more interrupting my dates.”

“Deal. Mainly because you won’t be going on them anymore.”

“Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, and kisses you until the rice is in danger of burning.

You eat lunch curled up on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, arguing about the show and laughing at his terrible theories about who’s going to die next. It’s easy, comfortable, like you’ve been doing this for years instead of dancing around each other for months.

“So this party,” you say eventually. “Your friends’ New Year’s thing.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he says quickly. “I know I kind of blackmailed you into agreeing—”

“I’ll come,” you interrupt. “Might be nice.”

His face lights up. “Really?”

“Really. But Hyunjin?” You level him with a look. “This counts as our first date, right? The party?”

“What? No!” He sits up, looking genuinely distressed. “No, I’m taking you on a proper date first. Dinner, the whole thing. The party is just…the party.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he insists. “I want to do this right, Muse. Take you somewhere nice, show you off, prove I’m not just—” He gestures vaguely. “I want to date you. Properly.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tight. “Okay. When?”

“Monday?” he suggests. “I know this place downtown, really good food, and it’s quiet enough that we can actually talk.”

“Monday works,” you agree, smiling at his enthusiasm.

“Perfect.” He pulls you back against him, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” you confirm, and let him hold you as you finish lunch, the show playing forgotten in the background.

He doesn’t leave until nearly evening, and even then it’s reluctantly, with promises to text you when he gets home and reminders about Monday. When the door finally closes behind him, your apartment feels too quiet, too empty.

You’re in so much trouble.

Monday—The Date

Hyunjin shows up at your door an hour early, flowers in hand and wearing a sleek all-black ensemble that makes him look unfairly good while you’re still getting ready.

“You look beautiful,” he says, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing—makes you believe him despite your half-dressed state and bare feet.

“You’re early.”

“I missed you.”

You hum, stepping aside to let him in but your eyes are still dragging over him from head to toe. That deep-cut silk shirt is doing traitorous things to your lower regions, the fabric clinging to his frame in ways that should be illegal. The top three buttons are undone, exposing his collarbones and a hint of his chest, and the way the material catches the light makes your mouth go dry.

“These are gorgeous, thank you.” You take the flowers from him—red and white roses, your favorites, which means he remembered—with a kiss to his cheek and move to the kitchen to place them in a vase with water. Your hands are steadier than you feel as you arrange them, hyperaware of his presence behind you, the weight of his gaze.

“Not as gorgeous as you,” he murmurs against your temple.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your smile as you continue to arrange the flowers carefully before placing them on the counter where you can see them.

When you turn back, he’s still watching you with that look that makes your stomach flip.

“Come on,” you say, gesturing toward your bedroom. “I still need to finish getting ready.”

He follows, settling onto your bed in that way he does; legs spread just enough to be distracting, one arm propped behind him, looking like he belongs there. Like he’s always belonged there.

You move back to your vanity, trying to focus on putting in your second earring, but you can feel his eyes on you in the mirror. Tracking every movement.

“You’re staring,” you say without looking at him directly.

“Can you blame me?”

Your eyes find his in the mirror, and something about the way he’s looking at you—hungry but patient, like he’s content to just watch you exist—makes heat pool low in your belly. Your mouth speaks before you can stop yourself.

“Unbuckle your belt and unzip your pants.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What?”

“You heard me.” You turn on your heels, the satin of your dress whispering against your skin as you face him fully. “Or are you going to pretend like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing, showing up an hour early and dressed like lust incarnate?”

You walk toward him slowly, deliberately, watching the way his throat works as he swallows. The deep-cut back of your dress matches his aesthetic perfectly—the two of you look like vampire royalty, all dark elegance and barely restrained hunger.

He smirks, but his hands don’t move. “What are you planning?”

“To suck your cock.”

The bluntness of it makes his eyes darken further, his pupils blown wide. You stop in front of him, leaning forward with your hands on his thighs, giving him a perfect view down the front of your dress. No bra—just you and the slippery satin and the promise of what’s underneath.

“Unless you’d rather just sit there looking pretty?” you murmur, your voice dropping to something darker, more teasing.

“We have reservations,” he says, but his voice is rough, strained.

“In an hour.” Your hands slide higher, fingertips grazing the buckle of his belt. “Plenty of time.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and then his hands are moving, unbuckling, unzipping, giving you what you want because he always does. Always will. The metallic clink as he unbuckles it sends a thrill through you. He unzips his pants, lifting his hips just enough to push them down slightly, and the sight of him—already half-hard and straining against his boxer briefs—makes your mouth water.

You sink to your knees between his legs, and the look on his face—reverent and wrecked and completely gone for you—makes every second worth it.

“Someone’s eager,” you observe, trailing one finger along the outline of him through the fabric.

His hips jerk involuntarily. “You can’t say shit like that and expect me not to be.”

You smile, slow and satisfied, the carpet is soft beneath you, and the way he’s looking down at you—pupils blown wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast—makes you feel powerful.

“We’re going to be late,” he manages, even as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with surprising tenderness.

“Then we’ll be late.” You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them down just enough to free him. “Besides, you showed up early. This is on you.”

Whatever response he has dies on his lips the moment yours wrap around him.

The restaurant he’s chosen is intimate and upscale, the kind of place with candlelight and wine lists that read like novels. You’re grateful you touched up your makeup in the car, though Hyunjin had watched you do it with a satisfied smirk that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all for the delay.

“Stop looking so smug,” you tell him as the host leads you to your table.

“I’m not smug. I’m content. There’s a difference.”

“Mmhm.” But you’re smiling too as he pulls out your chair for you, ever the gentleman despite what happened less than an hour ago.

Dinner is perfect. He’s charming and attentive, asking about your research with genuine interest, actually listening to your answers instead of just waiting for his turn to talk. He asks follow-up questions, remembers details you mentioned weeks ago, makes connections you hadn’t even considered.

He tells you about his classes; about the choreography project that’s been consuming him, the way movement can tell stories that words can’t. He talks about his friends with obvious affection, about his plans after graduation (vague and artistic and somehow perfectly him), about the contemporary dance company he’s been considering auditioning for.

The conversation flows easily, punctuated by his terrible jokes that still somehow make you laugh, by the way he reaches across the table to steal bites from your plate, by the comfortable silences that don’t feel awkward at all.

“This is nice,” you say over dessert, watching him fight with a particularly stubborn piece of chocolate cake after finishing your tiramisu.

“Yeah?” He grins, victorious as he finally gets the fork to cooperate. “Told you I could do dates.”

“Don’t get too cocky.”

“Too late,” he says, but his eyes are warm, crinkling at the corners with genuine happiness. “Besides, you like it.”

You do. God help you, you really do. You like his confidence, his humor, the way he looks at you like you’re something precious. You like how he makes you feel—desired and seen and worth the effort. You like how he remembers small details you’ve mentioned in passing, how he laughs at your sarcasm instead of being put off by it.

“Maybe,” you concede, stealing his hard-won bite of cake just to watch him protest.

He gasps in mock outrage. “Betrayal! Treachery!”

“Should’ve eaten faster.”

“You’re terrible,” he says, but he’s laughing, flagging down the waiter to order a second dessert, and when it arrives, he makes a big show of guarding it from you.

The drive home is quieter, softer. His hand finds yours on the center console, fingers intertwining, and you let yourself enjoy the simple intimacy of it. The city lights blur past the windows, painting streaks of gold and red across the darkness, and you feel oddly at peace.

When he drops you home that night, he walks you to your door like a perfect gentleman. Kisses you with a sweetness that makes your chest ache, all soft lips and gentle hands framing your face. He pulls back before it can turn into more, before either of you can get swept away, and the restraint in his eyes tells you how much it costs him.

“New Year’s Eve,” he reminds you, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“I’ll be ready.”

He kisses you once more, quick and sweet, before stepping back. “Wear something eye catching. My friends are going to love you but I want them to be a little jealous too.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

And as you watch him walk away, hands in his pockets, turning back once to flash you that devastating smile, you realize you’re actually looking forward to it; to meeting his friends, to being by his side, to whatever this thing between you is becoming.

You’re definitely in trouble.

But maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.

Inside, you lean against the door, fingers touching your lips where you can still feel the ghost of his kiss. The flowers he brought sit on your counter, beautiful and bright, and your phone buzzes with a text.

Hyune🥟🥰: Already missing you You: You just left Hyune🥟🥰: Doesn’t change anything Hyune🥟🥰: Dream about me

You smile, biting your lip, and type back:

You: Bold of you to assume I don’t already

Your phone rings immediately, his name flashing on the screen and when you answer you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Now who’s being cocky?”

“Learned from the best,” you counter, moving through your apartment, already starting your nighttime routine.

“I really did have a good time tonight,” he says, and the softness in his voice catches you off guard.

“Me too.”

“Even the part where you made us late?”

“Especially that part.”

His laugh is warm and rich through the phone. “I should let you sleep. But I’m serious about New Year’s. You’re going to have fun, I promise.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.” A pause. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too.”

After you hang up, you go through the motions of getting ready for bed, but your mind keeps drifting back to him—the way he looked at you, the way he listened, the way he kissed you goodbye like it hurt to leave.

Yeah. You’re definitely in trouble.

But as you slip between your sheets, your phone on the nightstand still warm from talking to him, you can’t bring yourself to mind.

New Year’s Eve

Hyunjin is nervous.

This is stupid—he’s not a nervous person. He’s confident, self-assured, usually has no problem with social situations. But tonight feels important in a way he can’t quite articulate.

He’s bringing his pussy fairy to meet his friends.

He really needs to stop calling you that, even in his head. But the nickname stuck after that first night back in spring, when he’d gone to your apartment thinking it would be like every other hookup; good sex, pleasant enough conversation, then he’d bounce and never think about it again.

Except he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.

The way you’d looked at him like he was more than just a pretty face. The way you’d argued with him about symbolism in The Great Gatsby while you ate shitty takeout at 2 AM, actually engaging with his points instead of just agreeing or trying to move things along to more sex. The way your thighs had felt wrapped around his head, soft and perfect, the way you’d tasted—

Yeah. He’d been fucked from the start.

He’d convinced himself it was just the sex. Just really, really good sex. That’s all. He wasn’t that gone after one night.

So he’d shown up again in early summer, making up some excuse about being in the neighborhood. Went there specifically to prove to himself that it wasn’t as good as he remembered, that he’d built it up in his head. That the way you tasted, the sounds you made, the soft give of your thighs under his hands—he’d exaggerated all of it in his memory.

Except it was better. So much better. He’d spent hours between your legs that night, worshipping at the altar of your body, drunk on the taste of you, the way you pulled his hair—that had started growing out—and gasped his name. And when you’d kicked him out the next morning with some excuse about work, he’d gone home and immediately started planning how to see you again.

The third time, late summer, he’d finally admitted to himself that he was completely fucked.

Because it wasn’t just about the sex—though christ, the sex was incredible. It was everything. The way you challenged him intellectually, never letting him coast by on his looks or charm. The way you laughed at his stupid jokes, this surprised little giggle like you didn’t expect to find him funny. The way you fit against him afterward, soft and warm and perfect, even as you were already planning how to politely kick him out.

Each time you’d basically ushered him out the door the next morning with some variation of “Don’t you have class?” or “I’ve got work to do,” and each time it had stung more. Like you were trying to keep him at arm’s length, to pretend it meant nothing.

But he knew better. Had felt the way you held onto him, the way you’d whispered his name like a prayer when you came.

After that third time, he’d tried to move on. Went on a few dates, let people buy him drinks at parties, even made out with someone in a club bathroom before his brain conjured images of you—the soft curves of your body, those gorgeous thighs, the breathy way you said his name—and he had to stop.

Not even his own hand worked anymore. He’d lie in bed trying to jerk off to porn, to memories of past hookups, anything but his brain would just slide right back to you. The way your stomach felt under his palm, soft and warm. The way you’d bite your lip when you were close. The taste of you on his tongue, better than anything he’d ever had, addictive in a way that terrified him.

He’d become obsessed. Started following your Instagram, saving your photos. That selfie in the library? He’d stared at it for twenty minutes, memorizing the curve of your smile, the way your hair fell. Started “coincidentally” showing up at places you frequented. The coffee shop where you did your grading. The restaurant near your apartment.

And yeah, he’d started sabotaging your dates. He’s not proud of it, but he also wasn’t about to let some undeserving asshole sweep in when he knew—knew with absolute certainty—that he could make you happy. That he could worship you the way you deserved, spend hours learning every curve and dip of your body, make you understand that every inch of you was exactly what he wanted.

Because it was. God, it was.

He knows you’re insecure about your size. He’s seen the way you try to hide sometimes, turning off lights or angling your body. Like he isn’t completely obsessed with your softness, with the way your thighs bracket his head perfectly, with how his hands look against the curve of your hips. Like he doesn’t dream about those thighs, about burying his face between them and staying there for hours, sipping the ambrosia you provide like a man dying of thirst.

If worshipping your body means getting on his knees and begging for the privilege of tasting you—well, that’s nobody’s business but his.

There was no one meeting him at that café all those nights ago and he knew you knew that. He’d sat there for over an hour, coffee going cold, watching you through the window with that forgettable guy who didn’t even make you genuinely smile. Waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt, to remind you that you already had someone who would move heaven and earth just to make you laugh.

His friends called it unhinged. He preferred “strategic dedication.”

But it had worked. You’d finally agreed to a real date and it had been perfect—you’d been perfect, laughing at his jokes and engaging with his questions and looking at him like he mattered—and now he gets to bring you to this party and show you off to his friends and maybe, just maybe, wake up with you tomorrow without getting kicked out.

He checks his phone: 8:47 PM. He’s early. Again.

chill, Felix texts him. she already said yes. stop spiraling

Hyunjin:  I’m not spiraling Felix: you’ve texted me 6 times in the past hour asking if your outfit looks okay Hyunjin:…fair Felix: just be yourself. she clearly likes you

Hyunjin hopes that’s true. He takes a deep breath and heads to your door.

When you opens it, he forgets how to breathe for a second. You’re wearing this skirt—black and pleated that hugs every single one of your curves before it flares out—and your hair is down and you’re smiling at him, actually smiling, and fuck, he’s so gone for this you.

“Hey,” you says. “You’re early...again.”

“Couldn’t wait,” he admits, offering his arm. His eyes trace over you appreciatively, cataloging every curve highlighted by that outfit. “You look incredible. Like—fuck, I don’t even have words. You’re perfect.”

You take his arm and he tries not to think about how right it feels, how natural. How much he wants this all the time; picking you up, taking you places, having you by his side.

The party is already in full swing when y’all arrive. Music thumping, people everywhere, the chaotic energy of New Year’s Eve in full effect. Hyunjin keeps you close, hand on your lower back as he navigates through the crowd. Possessive, protective, mine.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning down so you can hear him over the noise.

“I’m good,” you say, and squeeze his hand.

His heart does something complicated in his chest.

His friends are gathered in the living room—Felix, Seungmin, Han, a few others. They look up when Hyunjin approaches and he sees the moment they clock who he’s brought. Felix’s eyes go wide, Han grins knowingly, and Hyunjin feels his ears go hot.

“Yo!” Felix stands, grinning. “Finally! We were starting to think you ditched.”

“I told you we’d be here,” Hyunjin says, pulling you closer. His hand slides from your lower back to your hip, thumb tracing absent circles. Mine. “Everyone, this is—”

“We know who she is,” Han interrupts, amused. “You literally haven’t shut up about her for months.”

Hyunjin feels his ears go red. “I haven’t been that bad.”

“You literally have a whole folder of restaurant recommendations saved specifically for taking her on dates,” Seungmin points out. “And you’ve been planning this party outfit for a week.”

“You also practiced your introduction in the mirror,” Han adds helpfully.

“Traitors,” Hyunjin mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. “All of you.”

You’re laughing though, that surprised giggle he loves, and it makes the embarrassment worth it. Watching you smile, hearing you laugh—he’d endure far worse for that.

“It’s nice to meet you all properly,” you say, and Hyunjin watches his friends immediately warm to you. Felix offers you a drink, Han makes room on the couch, and just like that you’re folded into the group like you belong there.

Like you belong with him.

Hyunjin doesn’t even think about it before sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. You make a small noise of protest, and he already knows what’s coming.

“Hyunjin, I’m heavy—”

“You’re perfect,” he interrupts, arms wrapping around your waist. His hand splays across your stomach—that soft, gorgeous stomach he dreams about kissing, about resting his head on—and something possessive and warm spreads through his chest. He loves this. The weight of you, the softness, how perfectly you fit against him. “Don’t start that shit. Not with me.”

He feels you relax incrementally, settling against him, and satisfaction curls through him. Good. He wants you comfortable. Wants you to understand that every single inch of you is exactly what he wants, what he craves, what he worships.

Because he does worship you. Has since that first night when he’d put his mouth on you and thought he’d found religion. The taste of you, the sounds you made, the way your thighs had trembled around his head—he’d been addicted instantly. Had gone back specifically to prove it was a fluke, that he’d built it up in his head, that no pussy could actually be that good.

But it was. You were. Is.

He dreams about it constantly. Dreams about lazy Sunday mornings spent between your thighs, about making you come so many times you forget your own name, about the weight of your thighs around his head and the taste of you on his tongue. Dreams about worshipping every curve, every soft inch of your body until you understand how fucking perfect you are.

If that makes him pussy-whipped, so be it. He’ll wear that label proudly.

The party flows around them. His friends chat and laugh, occasionally pulling them into conversation. Hyunjin keeps you close the entire time, unconsciously possessive, one hand always on you; your hip, your thigh, your waist. Under your skirt, his fingers trace patterns on your thigh, nothing obvious to anyone watching, just maintaining contact. Touching you. Claiming you.

He can’t help it. After months of wanting, of strategic “coincidences” and interrupted dates, of lying in bed alone wishing you’d let him stay; he finally has you here, on his lap, in front of his friends. He wants to touch you constantly, to remind himself this is real.

“So how’d you two actually get together?” Felix asks at one point. “Because Hyunjin’s been pining for months but he’s been real vague on details.”

“He stalked me,” you say, completely deadpan.

“I did not—”

“You interrupted three of my dates.”

“Strategically intervened,” Hyunjin corrects, fingers tightening on your thigh. “There’s a difference.”

“He also followed me on Instagram and started emailing me when I wouldn’t respond to his texts.”

Han chokes on his drink. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” both of you say at the same time.

“You’re insane,” Seungmin tells him.

“I’m dedicated,” Hyunjin corrects, completely shameless. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, breathing in your scent. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

“Debatable,” you say, but you’re smiling.

“You’re here,” he points out. “On my lap. At a party with my friends on New Year’s Eve. I’d say I won.”

His hand slides a bit higher on your thigh, still hidden by your skirt, and he feels your breath catch. He knows what he’s doing—teasing you, working you up slowly. He wants you desperate for him, wants you to feel even a fraction of what he’s felt for months.

The conversation moves on, but Hyunjin only half-pays attention. He’s too focused on you—the weight of you against him, the subtle shifts as you get more comfortable, the way you laugh at Felix’s jokes and engages with Seungmin’s questions about your research. The way his hands look against your skirt, spanning your waist, claiming you.

This could be his life. You on his lap at parties, meeting his friends, being part of his world. Mornings waking up between your thighs, lazy afternoons watching shows together, nights spent exploring every inch of your body. Showing you exactly how much he wants you, needs you, worships you.

He wants it so badly it physically hurts.

“You know,” Han says during a lull in conversation, grin wicked, “I’ve never seen Hyunjin like this with anyone.”

“Like what?” You ask, and Hyunjin can hear the curiosity in your voice.

“Whipped,” Felix supplies helpfully. “Absolutely pussy-whipped.”

Hyunjin doesn’t even try to deny it. His hand slides higher on your thigh, possessive. “And? Your point?”

“No point,” Seungmin says, amused. “It’s just nice to see you actually care about someone.”

And he does. So fucking much it scares him sometimes.

His hand continues its path up your thigh, fingers now tracing the edge of your underwear, and he feels you tense slightly. He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Relax,” he murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear. “No one can see. Just want to touch you.”

“Hyunjin—” your voice is strained.

“You’re so soft here,” he continues, fingers dancing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He loves this—the give of your flesh under his fingers, the warmth of your skin. “Love how you feel under my hands. Love that I get to touch you like this.”

“We’re in the middle of—”

“I know where we are.” His other hand splays across your stomach possessively. He can feel the soft curve of it, wants to kiss it, worship it. “Just reminding you that you’re mine. That all these curves, this perfect body, it’s mine to worship. Mine to taste. Mine to make come until you’re begging me to stop.”

He feels your breathing go shallow, feels the way you press back against him slightly.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Thinking about the last time I had my face between these thighs. How I made you come three times before you finally pulled me up. How you tasted on my tongue.” Like heaven. Like home. Like everything he’s ever wanted.

“Hyunjin, I swear—”

“I could spend hours between your legs,” he continues, barely audible. “Have spent hours there. Would spend every day there if you’d let me. Tasting you, worshipping you, making you understand how fucking perfect you are.”

“Later,” he promises. “Later I’m going to take you home and remind you exactly why you agreed to give me a chance. Gonna spend hours between your legs until you forget your own name. Until the only thing you can say is mine.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his eyes, and the heat there nearly undoes him.

“We either need to leave or find a room,” you mumble in his ear.

His brain short-circuits for a second. Then, “What?”

“You’ve been touching me for the past hour,” you say quietly. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve soaked through my underwear. So, unless you want me to sit on it right here and keep it warm…”

Oh fuck.

His cock, which has been half-hard for the past thirty minutes, goes fully hard in an instant. The mental image of you sitting on his lap, full of him, with all his friends around—

“Right here?” The words come out strangled.

You shift on his lap slightly, and it takes everything in him not to groan. “You can just slip it in. I’ll keep it nice and warm.”

Hyunjin goes completely still beneath you, his hands tightening on your thighs hard enough to bruise. He can feel his cock pressing insistently against your ass and the mental image you just painted has him seeing stars.

This is insane. You’re in the middle of a party. His friends are right here. Anyone could notice.

But God, he wants to. Wants it so badly he can barely think. Wants to be inside you, connected to you, claiming you in the most primal way possible while surrounded by people who have no idea.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Is that a no?”

His pussy fairy—his perfect, gorgeous woman—is suggesting they fuck right here, right now, with all his friends around.

The same woman who kicks him out every morning, who’s been holding him at arm’s length for months, who finally agreed to give him a real chance—is offering him this.

He should say no. Should take you somewhere private, do this properly. Prove he’s not just about the sex, even though his dick is currently screaming at him to take you up on the offer.

But the temptation is overwhelming. The thought of being inside you, of feeling you around him while he sits here pretending everything is normal—

“Han’s room,” he manages, voice wrecked. “Second floor, last door on the right. Go up there and wait for me. Five minutes.”

“Why can’t we—”

“Because if I stand up right now, everyone’s gonna see exactly how hard you’ve got me.” His teeth catch her earlobe. “And because I need a minute to figure out if I can actually do what you’re suggesting without losing my mind and fucking you in front of everyone.”

Heat floods through him at his own words. He wants to do this right, wants to prove he’s serious about you. But he also wants you so badly he can barely see straight. Wants to worship your body the way it deserves, wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

“Five minutes,” you agree, and slide off his lap.

The loss of your weight, your warmth, is almost painful. He watches you excuse yourself—something about needing the bathroom—and tracks your movement across the room and up the stairs. His eyes follow the sway of your hips, the curve of your body in that outfit, and his mouth goes dry.

Felix leans over. “You good, man? You look like you’re dying.”

“I’m fine,” Hyunjin lies, discreetly adjusting himself. His cock is so hard it hurts, and all he can think about is you. “Just…need a minute.”

“Uh huh.” Felix’s grin is knowing. “Sure you do.”

Hyunjin counts down—four minutes, because he literally cannot wait the full five—before standing. “Be right back.”

He doesn’t wait for responses, just heads upstairs. His heart is pounding, blood rushing south, and he can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe you suggested it, that you want him enough to risk this.

He finds Han’s room easily, slips inside, locks the door. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, and the sight of you sitting there waiting for him makes his mouth go dry.

His pussy fairy. His muse. His everything.

“You’re early,” you say, lips curving.

“Couldn’t wait.” He crosses the room in three long strides. “You’re really trying to ruin me, aren’t you? Sitting there looking innocent while suggesting the filthiest things.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Fuck no.” He’s on you immediately, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s all desperation. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up. “Been thinking about you all night. About getting my mouth on you again, tasting you, making you fall apart on my tongue.”

He wants to drop to his knees right now. Wants to bury his face between your thighs and drink until you’re begging. Wants to worship you the way you deserve, show you exactly how obsessed he is with every inch of your body.

But there’s no time, and the promise of what you suggested—

He hooks his fingers in your underwear and, yeah, you weren’t exaggerating. They’re soaked through and the evidence of your arousal makes him groan.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, pulling them down your legs. He brings them to his face for a second, inhaling your scent, before pocketing them. “You weren’t kidding. You’re dripping for me.”

“Your fault,” you reply breathlessly.

“Mine,” he agrees, already working his belt loose. “All mine. This perfect pussy, these gorgeous thighs, all mine to worship.”

He lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance and he pauses to look at you.

“You really want to?” he asks. “Want to go back down there and keep me inside you?”

“Yes, please—”

He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning. Once he’s fully seated, he pauses, forehead pressed to yours. Taking a moment to just feel you; the heat of your cunt, the tight grip of your walls around him, the way you fit him so perfectly.

His pussy fairy. His muse. His everything.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”

He explains his plan; in ten minutes you both go back downstairs, you sit on his lap, keeping him warm while y’all chat with his friends like nothing’s happening. Your eyes go wide, dark with lust, and he knows he’s got you.

“You’re insane,” you say with a laugh.

“Crazy about you,” he corrects. “So what do you say? Think you can keep quiet?”

“Can you?”

Fair question. He’s not sure he can. The thought of sitting there, buried inside of you, surrounded by his friends while they have no idea; feeling your walls around him, warm and perfect, while he pretends to care about anything except how good you feel—

“Guess we’ll find out,” he says as he captures your mouth in a kiss.

This is insane. Unhinged. Absolutely fucking perfect.

And as he holds you close, feeling your warmth around him, Hyunjin knows with absolute certainty that he’s completely, irrevocably down horrendous for you.

Best decision he ever made.

“It’s been ten minutes,” you mumble against his neck when he still hasn’t moved.

“You feel good,” he whispers back. So good. Perfect. Like you were made for him. He never wants to leave this feeling—buried inside you, connected to you in the most intimate way possible.

“What happened to going back downstairs and having me sit on it? Don’t want your boys to know that you’re a simp?”

He pulls back to look at you, something fierce and possessive flaring in his chest. “Simp? Baby, I’ve been pussy-whipped since the first time I tasted you. They already know.”

“Then why are we still up here?”

“Because—” He rolls his hips experimentally and they both groan. “Fuck, because I’m trying really hard to behave and you feel so goddamn good that I’m about two seconds from saying fuck it and just pounding you into Han’s bed.”

“He would kill you.”

“Worth it,” he mutters but he’s already pulling out slowly, making them both whimper at the loss. He tucks himself back into his jeans, adjusting until you can’t really tell, then pulls your skirt back down. “Okay. Okay, we can do this. We’re adults. We have self-control.”

“Do we though?”

“No,” he admits with a slightly hysterical laugh. “No, we absolutely don’t. But we’re going to try anyway because I want to see if you can actually do it. Want to see you squirm on my lap trying to keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”

He pulls you up, steadying you when your legs shake slightly. His hands smooth down your skirt, then slide around to cup your ass.

“No underwear,” he reminds you, voice rough. The thought of it—you walking back down there with nothing beneath your skirt except his cum when this is all over—makes him dizzy. “Lots of people down there and you’ve got nothing under this tiny fucking skirt except me when you sit back down.”

“Whose fault is that? You’re the one who took them.”

“And I’m keeping them,” he says smugly, patting his pocket. Another trophy. Another piece of evidence that you’re his. “Now come on, before someone comes looking for us.”

He leads you back downstairs, hand possessively on your lower back. A few people glance your way, but no one seems suspicious; just friends returning from wherever.

His spot on the couch is still empty, his friends still talking and laughing. The room is dimly lit, most of the light coming from colored LEDs and the occasional phone screen, the rest of the party having migrated to other areas of the house. Perfect. Dark enough for what you’re about to do.

Han looks up when they approach, grinning. “There you are! Thought you got lost.”

“Bathroom line,” you say smoothly and Hyunjin loves how easily the little white lie spills from your lips. How readily you’re going along with your insane suggestion and his plan.

He sits down first in the corner of the couch where it’s darkest, pulling you immediately onto his lap. You settle against him and he can feel your slight nervousness, your anticipation. His hands slide to your hips, adjusting your position, and then he shifts beneath you.

“What are you—” you start to whisper, but then he’s worked his cock free under you, hidden by the darkness and your skirt and then he’s guiding you back onto him with careful, subtle movements.

“Shh,” he breathes against your ear. “Just relax. Let me—”

The angle is different like this, and it takes a moment of careful adjustment; him lifting his hips slightly, you shifting your weight, both moving in tiny increments that look like normal fidgeting to anyone watching. The room’s darkness helps, shadows concealing the way his hand disappears under your skirt to line himself up properly.

Then he’s pushing inside, inch by torturous inch, and you have to turn your face into his neck to muffle the whimper that threatens to escape. He bites down on his own lip hard enough to taste copper, fighting the urge to groan at how fucking perfect you feel.

It feels like forever, this careful invasion, until finally he’s fully seated and you’re both trying to breathe normally. His hands settle on your waist, holding you still and he takes a moment to just revel in it; the heat of you, the tight grip of you around him, the knowledge that you’re doing this right here, right now, with everyone around you completely oblivious.

“Good girl,” he breathes directly into your ear, quiet enough that only you can hear. His hand splays across your stomach, feeling the soft curve there, grounding himself. “Now sit pretty and don’t move.”

He can feel your heart racing; can feel the way you’re trembling slightly. From arousal or nerves or both, he’s not sure but you settle against him, and fuck, you feel so good. So warm and tight and perfect around him.

This is insane. This is the craziest thing he’s ever done. And he’s never been more turned on in his life.

“I hate you,” you whisper back but it comes out shaky.

“No you don’t.” His lips brush your shoulder, innocent to anyone watching. “You love this. Love knowing that I’m inside you right now and nobody knows. That you’re completely filled with me while you’re making small talk with my friends.”

Felix is asking you something about your major and you have to focus, have to form coherent words while Hyunjin is thick, hard and long inside you, while every tiny shift makes you want to grind down.

“English Literature and Language Education,” you manage. “I’m—ah—” Hyunjin shifts slightly and you have to cover it with a cough. “I’m doing my Master’s.”

“That’s cool,” Felix says, oblivious. “Must be how you met Hyunjin then?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin answers for you, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “She was the teaching assistant for my class. Couldn’t take my eyes off her.”

His hand slides up under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, fingers splayed possessively. To anyone watching it just looks like he’s holding you, being affectionate. They can’t see the way his thumb is tracing patterns on your skin, the way every small movement makes him shift inside you.

“You okay?” Han asks, looking at you with slight concern. “You seem flushed.”

“Just warm,” you say quickly. “Lots of people.”

“Want me to grab you some water?” he offers, starting to stand.

“No!” You say it too quickly, too desperately, because if Han leaves that means attention on you and you’re not sure you can handle that right now. “No, I’m fine. Really.”

Hyunjin’s quiet laugh vibrates through you. His lips find your ear again. “Careful, Muse. Don’t want to seem too eager. They might figure out what we’re doing.”

“This was your idea,” you hiss back.

“And you suggested it first before I agreed to it,” he counters. “So now you’re going to sit here, full of my cock and be a good girl while I decide when I’m ready to take you home and fuck you properly.”

You’re going to die. You’re actually going to die right here on Hwang Hyunjin’s lap while his friends talk about nothing and he stays buried inside you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach even though his cock is literally throbbing inside you. “You’re doing so good, baby. So perfect for me.”

Another ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Conversation flows around you and somehow you participate, laugh at jokes, respond to questions, all while fighting the desperate need to move, to grind down, to get any kind of friction.

Hyunjin is iron control beneath you, not moving except for the occasional adjustment that makes you dig your nails into his thigh. His breathing is measured, his voice steady when he talks, giving absolutely nothing away.

“You’re evil,” you finally whisper when there’s a lull in conversation.

“You love it,” he whispers back. Then, louder, to his friends: “Actually, I think we’re gonna head out. It’s getting late.”

“It’s barely midnight,” Seungmin protests.

“Yeah, but we’ve got—” Hyunjin seems to search for an excuse, “—plans tomorrow. Early plans.”

“Plans. Right. Sure,” Han’s grin is absolutely knowing.

“Shut up,” Hyunjin mutters. He shifts you forward carefully, and you feel him slip out as you stand, biting back a whimper at the loss. He’s quick to adjust himself while you smooth down your skirt, both of you trying to look casual.

“Thanks for coming,” Felix says, and you manage a smile.

“Thanks for having me. Happy New Year.”

“Anytime!” Han calls as Hyunjin grabs both your coat and his jacket before he practically drags you toward the door. “Nice meeting you officially and Happy New Year too.”

The second you’re outside, Hyunjin has you pressed against his car, kissing you breathless.

“Home,” he growls against your mouth. “Now. Because I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

“Promise?” you ask breathlessly.

His answering smile is absolutely feral. “Oh, baby. That’s a guarantee.”

He fumbles with his keys, gets the car unlocked but the second you’re both inside he’s on you again. Kissing you desperately, hands everywhere and you’re crawling into his lap in the driver’s seat like you can’t bear even the distance between the front seats.

“We should—” you gasp between kisses, “—should drive—”

“Can’t,” he groans, already pushing your coat and skirt up. “Need you right now. Need to be inside you right fucking now.”

“Hyunjin, we’re in a parking lot—”

“Don’t care.” His hands find your ass, gripping hard, grinding you down against the obvious bulge in his jeans. “Need you too much. Been sitting there with you on my cock and I can’t, I need—”

You’re already reaching for his belt, as desperate as he is. “Backseat. At least the backseat.”

He practically shoves you off him, both of you scrambling into the back in a tangle of limbs that would be funny if you weren’t so desperate. The space is cramped but you make it work, Hyunjin pulling you back onto his lap as soon as he’s seated.

“Someone could see—” you start but he’s already pushing his jeans down, freeing himself.

“Tinted windows,” he says, pulling you up to position you over him. “And I parked in the back. No one’s gonna—fuck—”

You sink down onto him in one smooth motion and you both groan, loud and unrestrained now that you’re alone. The angle is deeper like this, the space forcing you close together and it’s perfect.

“Move,” he demands, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. His fingers dig into the flesh there, anchoring you. “Fuck, Muse, move…please—”

You do, riding him hard and fast, chasing the release you’ve both been desperate for. The car rocks with your movements, windows already starting to fog and neither of you care. His mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, marking you up while you bounce on his cock like your life depends on it.

“That’s it,” he groans, one hand sliding between you to find your clit. “Take what you need, baby. Use me. Fuck, you’re so perfect like this, so desperate for it—”

“Your fault,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. “Your fault for—ah—for making me sit there—”

“Worth it,” he pants, his other hand gripping your ass, helping you move, guiding you down harder onto him. “So fucking worth it to feel you like this now. So wet, so tight—been thinking about this the whole time—”

Your thighs are burning but you don’t stop, can’t stop, chasing the orgasm that’s been building since you first sat on his lap inside. His fingers on your clit are relentless, his cock hitting deep with every bounce, and you’re so close—

“Come for me,” he demands, voice strained. “Come on my cock, Muse. Let me feel it.”

You do, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you, clenching around him so hard he follows immediately with a string of curses and your name, spilling inside you while you both shake apart.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard, sweaty and satisfied and completely wrecked. The windows are completely fogged now, the car still rocking slightly with the aftermath.

“We’re never doing that again,” you mumble against his neck.

“Liar,” he says, but he sounds just as destroyed. “You loved every second of it.”

And God help you but he’s right. The thrill of it, the risk, the way he’d looked at you all night like he was barely holding himself back; it was intoxicating.

“We should probably get out of here before someone actually does see us,” you point out, still not moving.

“In a minute.” His arms tighten around you, holding you close. One hand strokes up and down your back, the other still resting on your hip. “Just…give me a minute.”

You let him have it, both of you catching your breath in the cramped backseat of his car. His touch is soothing now rather than demanding, and you feel yourself relaxing despite everything.

“That was insane,” you finally say.

“That was hot as fuck,” he corrects. “You, sitting on my lap with my cock inside you while my friends had no idea? That’s going in the spank bank for the rest of my life.”

You smack his chest but you’re laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.” He pauses, and there’s that vulnerability again, peeking through. “You like me.”

“Yeah,” you admit, because fuck it, you’re already in this deep. “I do.”

His smile is brilliant even in the dim light filtering through the fogged windows. “Good. Because I’m definitely not letting you go now.”

“Possessive bastard.”

“Your possessive bastard,” he corrects and kisses you soft and sweet, so different from the desperate claiming just minutes ago.

Eventually you do have to move, have to untangle yourselves and make yourselves presentable enough to drive. Hyunjin insists on taking you back to his place this time.

“Mine or yours?” he asks as he drives, one hand on your thigh. “Either way I want to wake up with you tomorrow. Actually wake up with you, not you kicking me out before I’m barely awake.”

“Yours.” You reply knowing he’s never going to let you live that down so you don’t argue, just let him drive you to his apartment. It’s small but clean, surprisingly organized for a college guy. He leads you straight to his bedroom and you’re barely through the door before he’s on you again.

This time is different. Slower. He undresses you carefully, reverently, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he reveals. Maps your body with his hands and mouth like he’s trying to memorize it.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your stomach, your hip, your thigh. “Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

When he finally pushes inside you again, it’s slow and deep, his eyes locked on yours. One hand laces with yours above your head, the other cupping your face as he moves.

“Wanted this for so long,” he breathes, and there’s something raw in his voice that makes your chest tight. “Wanted you.”

You pull him down into a kiss, pouring everything you can’t say into it. He makes love to you like that—slow and thorough and achingly tender—until you’re both falling apart again, quieter this time but no less intense.

After, he cleans you up and pulls you into his arms, your back to his chest, his face buried in your hair.

“Stay,” he says quietly. “Not just tonight. Stay tomorrow too. Let me make you breakfast, take you on another date. Let me have you for the whole weekend and after that.”

You should say no. Should maintain some boundaries, some sense of self-preservation.

“Okay,” you say instead.

His arms tighten around you, and you feel him smile against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But you’re actually making me breakfast this time. None of this ordering in bullshit.”

His laugh is warm and fond. “Deal. I make a mean omelette.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“So competitive,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “It’s hot.”

“Everything is hot to you.”

“When it involves you? Yeah.” No shame, no hesitation. Just honesty. “You make me crazy, Muse.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” you admit quietly.

He shifts, turning you in his arms so he can look at you. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

“I know you’re scared,” he says softly. “I know this is complicated and I’m younger than you and people are going to have opinions. But I don’t care about any of that. I just care about you.”

Your throat feels tight. “Hyunjin—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts gently. “Just…give me this weekend. Let me show you how good this could be. And if at the end of it you still want to keep me at arm’s length, I’ll respect that. I won’t like it, but I’ll respect it.”

You study his face; the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability he’s showing you. This boy who could have anyone, who’s choosing you.

“This weekend,” you agree. “But Hyunjin? I’m already in deeper than I meant to be.”

His smile is soft, understanding. “Good. Because so am I, probably been this way since before we hooked up if I’m being honest.

“That was almost a year ago.”