Taesan doesn’t remember when you began this “game”, all he knows is that he’s submitting to your touch day by day.

He’s not sure if he’s fully onboard with you unraveling how truly sensitive he is, but when you grab him by his jaw and kiss the side of his neck, he starts to think it isn’t too bad.

The problem is you manage to catch him off guard each time.

Taesan sits in an empty studio, one leg propped up on his spinny chair as he stares uselessly into the laptop screen. Something is missing, that usual BoyNextDoor spark. No matter how much he replayed the track, moved sound effects around, it wasn’t hitting the same.

He would’ve heard the door open if he weren’t blasting the music in his headphones, securing his future buying hearing aids.

He misses your steps, how you linger behind him wondering if when his eye will catch you in the reflection. Taesan is engrossed in his laptop, you roll your eyes.

“Love?”

You even gave him a verbal warning, yet he’s still squinting at the screen like he’s trying to find treasure; you’re annoyed.

Your hands snake onto his shoulders, ever so slightly putting pressure. Taesan immediately shivers under your touch, almost like his brain already knows it’s you even if he hasn’t turned around yet.

“Y/n—“

He doesn’t have the chance to interrupt, your lips make contact with the side of his neck.

Lips quirk up into a smile, blush creeps across his face, and his shoulders would’ve perked up if you weren’t holding him down so easily (where did you get this sudden strength??).

He lets his head hang low, letting you continue despite the swarm of butterflies in his stomach. You kiss down, eyelashes fluttering when his lips part, his breathing elevating.

“So what’s got you frowning?” You inquire, lips still traveling, almost trying to dissect more of his secrets.

You’ve got him all nervous, he isn’t sure how to respond. Your hands leave his shoulders, your fingers moving up to the back of his head. A sound nearly escapes his mouth as they curl into his dark roots, pulling ever so slightly.

He sucks in a breath, trying to speak—protest against this “attack”.

“The track— I— it doesn’t matter.”

Taesan, who is usually a competitive guy, admits defeat. He pulls you onto his lap, craning his neck for you to pick up where you left off.

You stare at him in surprise, studying him as his eyes wander to the floor, his hair falling over his shy expression perfectly.

“Ask for it, handsome.”

You take advantage of the moment, giggling at him sinking into his seat further. Taesan swears you’ll be the death of him, your cute face, your words that seem to hit him right where you want them to, he’s an absolute goner.

He bites his lip, thinking about his ego, maybe his dignity. Though, what else has he to lose? His girlfriend’s lips on his neck, her hands pawing at the back of his hair, he’s in heaven each time no matter if he wants to admit it or not.

“Please, continue.” He practically mumbles, hoping that’s good of a response for you.

He didn’t know his meek behavior would make you even more hungry. His chest shakily rises and falls as you stare at him like prey, your eyes piercing through his soul. He wants to know what you’re thinking—but you’re a tough cookie to crack.

You squish his jaw between your fingers, nails ever so slightly digging into his pale skin. He presses his feet into the ground, trying to connect with the earth again.

Then you do something unexpected, you kitten lick his collar bone before sinking your teeth into his skin. Taesan jerks underneath you, a broken sound finally escaping his lips.

“When will you admit you like this?” You whisper into his skin, teeth grazing the spots you would’ve usually peppered with kisses.

His grip on your hips tightens, not able to speak when you’re sucking marks into his skin. You’re currently pulling out the deepest parts of him, discovering how vulnerable you truly make him, he can tell you’re eager for more.

He doesn’t know what gets him to crack, if it was your thumb caressing his face, or maybe your hand binding one of his wrists to your waist, it doesn’t matter anymore. His brain has completely fogged up, your touch taking advantage of the free capacity.

“You’re right.” He replies breathlessly, fighting back another noise as your teeth sink greedily into his skin once more.

The small beat of the track from his headphones is quickly drowned out, the moment fully encapsulating you both.

Taesan hopes he’s stuck here forever.

a / n : should this be on the nsfw? I dunno it isn’t that bad 😭🤞 enjoy ts he’s been on my mind lately 😰😰

bonedo : @beomtomie @leehanisleehaning @ajjaehyun @leeknowramona @wensurr @vanillakirstein @lovehakie @wishieyu

perm : @leehanisleehaning @ajjaehyun @ivehan @chayuni400 @tsanho

VAMPIRE

VELITE by @hooncifer sunghoon x reader

FACILITY OO7 by @theothernads OT7

SWEETEST SIN by @drkbl00d jake x reader

CRIME

KEEPSAKE by @unlocktxt niki x reader

LEVEL 4 by @gyuuberryy niki x reader

AROUND WE GO by @unlocktxt jungwon x reader

HORROR GAME MAID by @aalsbefr OT7

STALKER / OBSSESION

TRAPPED by @lassiie heeseung x reader

GOOD BOY by @nisc0 jake x reader

PRETTY LITTLE LIARS @en-lov OT7

NO EXIT JUST HIM by @elikajinnie heeseung x reader

MANNERS by @cherry-lala sunghoon x reader

LIKE YOU by @stvrrlau sunghoon x reader

CORRUPTION / RELIGION

university had settled into something comfortably predictable. the frantic first weeks of introductions and orientation events had faded months ago, replaced instead by routines that seemed to repeat themselves without anyone really noticing. monday mornings always began with students rushing across campus twenty minutes later than they’d intended. the library was impossibly full by lunchtime despite everyone insisting they worked better in their own rooms. by friday afternoon, every coffee shop had queues stretching through the doors, fuelled by exhausted students convincing themselves they deserved an overpriced coffee after surviving another week.

somewhere between all of that, you’d found your place. looking back, it was strange how quickly everything had happened. you’d arrived expecting months of awkwardness, eating lunch alone, second-guessing whether anyone would remember your name after conversations, wondering if uni friendships really were as effortless as people had made them seem.

instead, they’d simply… happened.

sunoo had been the first. he’d sat beside you before your introductory lecture had even begun, complaining dramatically about the size of the campus before asking if you’d figured out where the nearest coffee shop was yet. neither of you had. by the end of the afternoon, the two of you had spent almost three hours wandering around hopelessly lost before accidentally stumbling across the student union together.

after that came jay, who somehow possessed the remarkable ability to complain about absolutely everything while still being the most dependable person you knew. then jake, whose boyish eagerness felt almost impossible to rival, and sunghoon, who’d seemed intimidating right up until you’d realised ninety percent of his sarcasm disappeared whenever someone offered him food.

before long, dinners became shared instead of solitary. library sessions somehow turned into six people studying different degrees around the same table simply because nobody wanted to work alone. birthdays, movie nights, grocery trips, midnight walks to convenience stores after collective assignment breakdowns… somehow, they’d all become normal.

it wasn’t that your newfound group spent every waking moment together. everyone’s timetables were different. there were weeks where assignments swallowed whole days, where some people disappeared beneath deadlines while others barely had a lecture scheduled. but somehow everyone always found their way back together eventually, as though it had become an unspoken expectation rather than something anyone actively organised.

you liked that. how there wasn’t any pressure, only familiarity. outside of your own friends, uni had a funny way of making people feel familiar too.

your course was large enough that you couldn’t possibly know everyone, yet small enough that faces started repeating themselves. people you’d exchanged exactly one conversation with would smile as they passed you on campus. classmates whose names you’d never learnt would wave from the opposite side of lecture theatres. baristas recognised your coffee order before you’d even reached the till.

jay insisted it was because everyone knew you, you insisted he was exaggerating. the truth probably sat somewhere in the middle. you’d always found it easier to smile first than wait for someone else to. if someone looked nervous before a presentation, you’d wish them luck. if someone sat beside you in a lecture, you’d introduce yourself before either of you had time to overthink the silence. conversations came naturally enough that you rarely realised you’d always be the one to start them until they’d ended.

people remembered kindness more than confidence, something you’d learnt a long time ago. which, to give jay some credit, was probably why you recognised so many faces despite knowing so few names.

one of those faces belonged to someone you’d never actually spoken to, you couldn’t even remember the first time you’d noticed him. he’d simply always seemed to exist somewhere on the edge of your life.

sometimes you’d catch sight of him crossing the courtyard with headphones resting loosely around his neck, one hand buried in the pocket of an oversized hoodie while the other balanced an impossible stack of books against his chest. other times he’d already be sitting near the front before lectures began, quietly reading through notes while everyone else chatted around him.

he left classes quickly. professors barely finished dismissing everyone before he was gone, disappearing into hallways crowded with students until he became impossible to pick out from everyone else.

you didn’t know much about him, only fragments gathered accidentally over the course of a year. he was ridiculously smart. heeseung lived with him and you’d hear his complaints, albeit fond ones, about how when jungwon had an exam or assignment coming up, however small, he wouldn’t leave his room until he was impossibly sure of himself, which never happened. 

riki also complained (in much less detail) that he spent too much time studying.

sunoo had once described him as “one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet once he forgets to be nervous.”

that last one had surprised you. from a distance, he always looked composed, quiet, sure. but never nervous. if anything, he’d struck you as someone perfectly content staying in his own company. the kind of person who preferred observing conversations rather than joining them. you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him raise his voice. or laugh loudly. or even stay somewhere longer than he absolutely had to.

still, he was difficult not to notice. perhaps because everyone around him seemed louder by comparison. heeseung laughed with his whole body. riki rarely stood still for longer than thirty seconds. jay somehow managed to turn ordering lunch into a competition. sunghoon teased sunoo relentlessly and jake always seemed to be stuck in the middle, trying his hardest to swat sunghoon’s persistent hands away from sunoo as he tried not laugh himself, for sunoo’s sake. jungwon simply… existed quietly amongst all of it, as though he occupied a completely different pace to everyone else.

you never gave it much thought, he was simply another familiar stranger. someone whose face had become a comfortable part of your life without ever crossing fully into it.

despite sharing more mutual friends than either of you probably realised, you and jungwon had somehow managed to spend the better part of a year existing almost entirely on the edges of each other’s lives. it became one of those things you only noticed after it had already been happening for months. the two of you would be invited to the same birthday dinner, only for one of you to arrive after the other had already settled into conversation. someone would suggest a movie night at heeseung and riki’s flat, and while everyone else gradually drifted into the living room, you’d somehow end up helping jay order food while jungwon disappeared into the kitchen to make more drinks. group photos would be taken at the end of the night, proving you had, in fact, spent several hours in the same room, despite barely exchanging more than a passing glance.

it almost became funny, but not in a way anyone ever pointed out. just one of those strange little coincidences that seemed to happen naturally whenever enough people were involved. if there was a seat beside jungwon when you arrived, someone would inevitably call your name from the opposite end of the table before you had a chance to sit down. if you wandered over to ask heeseung something, jungwon would suddenly realise his cup was empty and excuse himself to refill his water. if everyone split into smaller conversations, the two of you somehow always ended up in different ones. not deliberately. just… somehow.

the closest thing you’d had to a conversation happened sometime during the first semester. you’d arrived at heeseung and riki’s flat with two bags of snacks balanced awkwardly against your hip after volunteering to stop by the corner shop on the way over.

the front door was already unlocked. you’d let yourself inside, calling out a quick hello that was immediately drowned out by riki shouting something unintelligible from the living room. before you could make sense of it, someone appeared around the corner.

jungwon. he’d looked just as surprised to see you as you’d been to see him. for a second, the two of you had simply stared at each other.

“…hey.” you grinned. he noticed the hopeful sparkle in your eyes before he noticed the way the left side of your face tilted up slightly more than the right when you gave him one of the blinding smiles you seemed to dish out so abundantly to his friends. he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

“…hi.” he muttered back sheepishly, dropping his gaze to the floor on instinct. 

then he’d stepped aside to let you through with a small, polite smile before disappearing down the hallway again. that had been it. looking back, you weren’t even sure if it counted as a conversation. it obviously hadn’t felt like one.

after that, much to your dismay, the pattern simply continued. you knew who he was, everyone did. if someone mentioned jungwon, nobody ever had to ask, “which one?” he’d built something of a quiet reputation around campus without ever seeming to try.

people on your course didn’t know much about him beyond the obvious. they knew he studied computer science, that he consistently did well in every module he took and that professors seemed to like him. every now and then, his name would come up when someone was complaining about an assignment.

“jungwon finished it last week.”

“apparently he got full marks.”

“does he ever sleep?”

the answer, according to heeseung, was apparently “not during exam season.”

you’d lost count of the number of times he’d shown up somewhere and casually mentioned that jungwon hadn’t left his room all day.

“he’s revising.”

“again?”

“he says he isn’t ready.”

“his test’s tomorrow.”

“exactly.”

heeseung always said it with the same mixture of affection and disbelief, like someone talking about a younger brother who worried far more than he needed to.

riki, on the other hand, had much less patience for it.

“he acts like every quiz decides his entire future.”

“it kind of does,” heeseung had replied once.

“no, it doesn’t.” riki muttered out, rolling his eyes as far back into his head as he could.

“to him it does.” heeseung smiled, swatting riki on the shoulder as he teased him for his dramatics.

the conversation had moved on quickly after that. most conversations did. people laughed, someone changed the subject and eventually everyone started talking over one another again.  still, little comments like that stayed with you, simply because they slowly filled in the gaps around someone you barely knew. the version of jungwon everyone described never quite matched the one you saw. they talked about someone who panicked over assignments, second-guessed himself constantly and somehow managed to convince himself he’d fail exams everyone else expected him to ace. the jungwon you’d always seen seemed unnaturally calm. he walked across campus at an unhurried pace, never looking particularly rushed even when everyone around him was sprinting to lectures. he’d sit quietly before classes with a notebook open, reading through something while conversations buzzed around him. when people spoke to him, he always looked up immediately, giving them his full attention before answering. reserved, maybe. quiet, definitely. but never anxious.

you wondered, briefly, if he simply hid it well. or maybe people behaved differently around those they were comfortable with. the thought didn’t linger for long. everyone was different around their friends, you probably were too.

one friday evening, the two groups ended up at heeseung and riki’s flat after jay had declared that nobody should be spending the end of the week working. the plan had been to order takeaway, watch a film and, in jay’s words, “pretend deadlines don’t exist until monday.”

predictably, the film never really happened. jake and heeseung couldn’t agree on what to watch. then sunghoon decided he was hungry before a decision had been made, so much so that he refused to talk about anything else. by the time food finally arrived, everyone had split off into different conversations scattered around the flat. you found yourself squeezed onto one end of the sofa beside an exasperated sunoo while jake and sunghoon argued over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. jay had wandered into the kitchen to find more drinks, heeseung followed after him. riki disappeared for reasons nobody questioned. at some point, you realised jungwon wasn’t in the room either. you only noticed because he returned a few minutes later carrying a stack of clean plates balanced carefully in both hands. without interrupting anyone, he set them down on the coffee table one by one before disappearing back into the kitchen.

he came back again with cutlery. then napkins. someone thanked him absentmindedly. he nodded once.

“no worries.”

and sat down as though he’d done nothing at all. it was such a small thing that nobody else seemed to pay it any attention. conversation carried on without missing a beat. sunghoon was still insisting pineapple absolutely belonged on pizza.

jay, now involved, disagreed so passionately that you’d begun to suspect it was personal. across the room, jungwon listened with the same quiet smile he’d worn all evening, occasionally laughing under his breath whenever riki deliberately tried to make the argument worse. he looked just comfortable enough to let everyone else fill the room while he quietly existed alongside them. for someone who supposedly struggled around people, there was something unexpectedly reassuring about the way he never seemed to force himself to keep up.

somewhere between arriving and leaving, you realised you’d learnt something new about jungwon. that he wasn’t quiet because he had nothing to contribute, he was quiet instead because he never seemed to feel the need to compete with everyone else for the conversation.

and, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself thinking that was admirable.

the problem with missing lectures wasn’t usually the lecture itself. it was everything that came afterwards.

lecturers had an unfortunate habit of squeezing the most important information into the last ten minutes of class; the reminders about coursework, changes to seminar groups, little comments that never made it onto the slides but somehow always ended up appearing in exams.

normally, you really wouldn’t have worried. one of your friends would send their notes eventually. except this lecture unfortunately happened to be shared with almost none of your friends. by the time you’d made it back onto campus, your phone was already buzzing with messages.

jay Where are you?

sunoo u alive??

jake thought you’d overslept 😭

you smiled to yourself, typing out a quick explanation as you walked across the courtyard.

doctor’s appointment. i’m alive, unfortunately.

three dots appeared almost immediately.

jay Truly devastating news

you rolled your eyes. he still texted like your dad.

the lecture theatre ahead was already emptying by the time you reached it. students spilled into the corridor carrying half-zipped backpacks and takeaway coffees, conversations blending into one another until it became impossible to tell where one ended and another began. a few familiar faces smiled as they passed. someone from your seminar waved. you returned it automatically before stepping to one side to avoid a group hurrying towards the stairs. too late. you’d known it before you’d even arrived. still, disappointment settled somewhere in your gut anyway.

“you look like someone just told you christmas is cancelled.”

you turned to find sunoo weaving his way through the crowd, balancing a coffee in one hand and his laptop under the other arm.

“i missed it.” you pout, poking him in the arm. he followed your gaze towards the lecture theatre.

“…ah.” he realised, mirroring your pout almost mockingly. you’d take it as an insult if his eyes didn’t have that affectionate sparkle in them, seeming to be naturally ever present around you anyways.

“i even left home early.”

“that’s rough.” he said, more gently now. you only sighed in return.

“did i miss much?”

sunoo considered it.

“…honestly?”

your shoulders lifted hopefully.

“…i wasn’t really paying attention after the break.”

you stared at him blankly, eyebrows just starting to furrow.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m honest.” he giggled, winking at you.

“you’re hopeless.”

“a little.” he didn’t sound remotely apologetic.

the two of you drifted further into the corridor to avoid blocking the doorway as more students filtered past. somewhere nearby, someone dropped a folder, sending loose sheets skidding across the floor. three people immediately crouched to help gather them, the interruption lasting all of thirty seconds before everyone continued on with their day. nothing never really stopped moving. sunoo took another sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“you need the notes?”

“unless you’d like to sit my exam for me.” you deadpanned.

“…hard pass.”

“thought so.”

he made a thoughtful noise.

“mine aren’t great.”

“i know.”

“wow.”

“last time i borrowed your notes you wrote ‘i’m hungry’ halfway through a paragraph.”

“because i was.”

“you’d also drawn a cat.”

“…it was a cute cat.”

you laughed. there was a brief pause. then, as though the answer had only just occurred to him, sunoo clicked his fingers.

“ask jungwon.” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

the suggestion came so casually that it took you a second to process it.

“…jungwon?”

“yeah.”

“why?”

“because he actually listens. and because his notes are terrifying.”

“terrifying?” you replied, eyes wide.

“you’ll see.”

you frowned slightly. asking someone for notes wasn’t unusual. you’d obviously done it before, many times in fact. people asked you all the time too.

still…

“i’ve never actually spoken to him.”

sunoo looked back at you, genuine confusion etched onto his face.

“yes, you have.” he said, suddenly so sure of himself.

“have i?”

“you’ve said hi.”

“…i don’t think that counts.”

“close enough.”

you weren’t convinced, he seemed to notice.

“seriously,” he said. “he won’t care.”

“how do you know?”

“because if someone asked him for notes, he’d probably apologise that they weren’t neat enough.” you couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“…you’re exaggerating.”

“i wish i was.”

before you could answer, his phone buzzed. he glanced down, groaned dramatically and shoved the coffee into your free hand while he typed out a reply with both thumbs.

“seminar?”

“unfortunately.”

he took the coffee back.

“come on.”

“what?”

“he’s probably still inside.”

your eyes drifted towards the lecture theatre doors.

they’d almost emptied now.

through the small window, you could just make out a few remaining students gathering their things.

“…i’ll feel weird interrupting him.”

“you won’t. okay, you might.” sunoo admitted, eyes narrowed as he mused. you gave him a flat look in return.

“helpful.”

“but he’ll still say yes.”

the lecture theatre was almost empty by the time you finally walked inside, a little while after sunoo had walked off to his seminar. you’d stood outside the door for a little longer than you probably needed to, fingers resting against the handle while you tried to convince yourself that this was not a big deal. because it wasn’t. it really wasn’t. you weren’t asking him for anything unreasonable. you weren’t about to have some life-changing conversation or confess some huge secret. you weren’t even asking for help with something complicated. you just needed notes, that was it. you still couldn’t for the life of you figure out why it felt like so much to ask, but that was obviously the reason for your unusually timid lingering outside the door.

you’d seen jungwon’s notes before. not properly, but enough to know that they were probably going to save you from spending three hours trying to piece together half-remembered information from the slides. the problem was not the notes. obviously. 

the problem was that you had never actually spoken to jungwon before. something which always seemed to be nagging at you when you were around him. clearly, you knew which people he was friends with, because you were their friends too. you knew little things you had picked up without meaning to, the same way everyone did when they spent months around the same people. but knowing about someone and knowing someone were completely different things. and for some reason, the thought of walking up to him made you hesitate.

if anything, he was the opposite of unapproachable. he was always easy to be around, yet strangely hard to interpret. there was something about approaching someone who always seemed comfortable in their own space that made you feel like you were stepping into something you hadn’t been invited into.

which was silly. you knew that. you were really not someone who usually overthought things like this. especially not so much so that you were loitering outside like an idiot, rocking on the balls of your heels with too much running through your head. you rolled your eyes at yourself, and how all of this was so unlike you. instead, taking a small breath, you pushed the door open. the sound was louder than you expected in the quiet room. it felt completely different after everyone had left. earlier, it had been filled with voices and movement, people packing away their things while talking about assignments and plans for later. now, it was almost peaceful. the rows of seats stretched out in front of you, sunlight falling across the desks near the windows. a few forgotten papers were scattered around, abandoned by students who had already moved on to their next class.

and there he was. you spotted him almost immediately. you weren’t surprised. if anything, you would have been more surprised if he wasn’t there. he was still sitting near the front, his attention focused on his laptop while he finished whatever he was doing. for a second, you just stood there. you almost laughed at yourself. because why had you made this into such a big thing? he was just a person, a friend at that. a friend who you needed notes from. a friend who would probably definitely say yes.

still, your feet felt slightly heavier as you walked closer. you stopped beside his desk. he didn’t notice immediately. and you were glad he didn’t, because it gave you one last second to collect yourself. then you spoke.

“hey.”

his head lifted. the reaction was small, but you caught it. the slight surprise, the way his attention shifted fully towards you. for a moment, he looked like he was trying to place why you were standing there. then, recognition settled it, not dramatically, just a quiet moment where you felt like you could hear his every thought as you glanced sheepishly at his eyes behind his thick rimmed glasses. something about that made you feel strangely less nervous. because, obviously, he knew who you were. and he wasn’t looking at you like an inconvenient interruption.

“hi.” he said, sounding his voice muffled as he cleared his throat behind his hand. his voice sounded softer than you expected. you smiled slightly.

“sorry, i hope i’m not bothering you.”

he shook his head almost immediately. the response came so quickly that you wondered if he was worried you had mistaken his surprise for annoyance.

you relaxed a little.

“okay. good.” you muttered out, unusually shy.

there was a small pause after that, not really awkward, just unfamiliar. you were two people who had existed around each other for months without ever having a reason to talk. and now suddenly, you did. you explained that you had missed the lecture and needed the notes. you found yourself adding the reason why, even though he hadn’t asked. you mentioned the appointment running late. maybe because you didn’t want him thinking you had skipped class. maybe because there was something oddly important about really wanting (needing) for him to have a good first impression of you, even though technically this was far from his first impression.

the whole thing was ridiculous. you didn’t even know why you cared. jungwon just nodded. as always, there was no judgement in his expression. no teasing. no comment about catching up. a tiny part of you almost wished there was. maybe then you’d be able to open him up a little bit. you told him sunoo had said his notes were really good. and almost immediately, jungwon tried to downplay it, which, to be honest, you’d expected somehow. there was something very predictable about the way he refused to make a big deal out of himself.

you looked at the notebook beside him and pointed out sheepishly that his notes actually had structure. you admitted yours usually consisted of random words that only made sense for the first ten minutes after typing them. this earned a small reaction from him, not quite a smile, but close, and for whatever reason, that felt like a really big victory. jungwon just turned back to his notebook and started gathering the pages. you watched quietly, noticing how there was no rush in the way he moved. he seemed to take care with everything, making sure he had everything he needed before handing it over. as always, it was strangely comforting.

when he looked back at you, he hesitated.

“i can send them.” he said, looking up at you again.

“really?” you smiled.

he nodded and you watched as he glanced between you and his notebook like he had reached the obvious next step but hadn’t figured out how to get there. for a moment you just looked at him with confusion until you realised, he didn’t know how to send them. because neither of you had actually exchanged any way to contact each other. you grinned again before he had the chance to overthink it.

“i can give you my number.” you offered hopefully, his eyes lifting to meet yours again.

“okay.” he mumbled, finally returning your smile, a lopsided grin taking over his features. you thought there was something oddly sweet about how willing he was to help even whilst being unsure of what to do next. you unlocked your phone and handed it to him.

“just put yours in.”

he typed his number in, saved the contact, and handed it back. you looked down.

jungwon

“that’s it?” you said without thinking, he merely blinked up at you in return.

“what?”

“your contact.”

he looked down at the phone.

then back at you.

“yeah?”

you laughed softly.

“i don’t know. i expected maybe something else.”

“like what?”

you glanced at the screen.

“an emoji or something.”

the silence that followed was so genuine that you had to stop yourself from laughing. you don’t even know why you’d said it, you wouldn’t have even done it yourself.

“i don’t really use emojis.”

you smiled brighter and then immediately noticed the tiny hesitation in his expression. you manually tried to soften your own face in hope that he wouldn’t take it as making fun of him.

“i’m not judging.”

“i know.” he mumbled quietly.

almost like he was reassuring himself as much as he was reassuring you. you added that you never used emojis either, which was absolutely not true. you know your friends would have laughed out loud if they’d heard you say it. but something about the small look of relief on his face made your white lie worth it. there was another quiet moment.

“thank you, by the way.” you said, trying to fill the silence as quick as you could. again, he nodded.

“it’s okay.”

you picked up your phone, looking down at his contact one more time before putting it away. now jungwon wasn’t just someone you sat near in lectures or someone you merely shared mutual friends with. now he was someone you had spoken to, someone who had your number. someone who would probably text you later.

“see you later, jungwon.” you motioned to wave before stopping yourself and putting your hand back down again.

“see you.” he replied, another lopsided grin taking shape after he caught your stifled gesture.

and that was it. you walked out of the lecture theatre with his contact saved in your phone, the unexplainable stress finally lifted.

you didn’t expect jungwon to send the notes so quickly. not because you thought he would forget. if anything, forgetting seemed like the least likely thing he could do. from everything you’d heard about him, jungwon was probably the type of person who made reminders for his reminders. you had already accepted that the notes would arrive eventually, probably later that evening after he had checked through them one more time and decided whether they were good enough to send. what surprised you was the fact that your phone buzzed before you’d even reached the other side of campus. you felt oddly good about seeing jungwon’s name. there was a difference between seeing his name appear in a group conversation and seeing it sitting privately in your own messages. it was such a stupid and small thing that you almost laughed at yourself for noticing.

jungwon hi i've sent the notes over

underneath were the files. you clicked on the first one while continuing to walk, expecting exactly what sunoo had described. you were prepared for them to be neat. you were prepared for them to be organised. you were not prepared for them to make you question whether you had been approaching uni notes incorrectly this entire time. the document was almost painfully structured. everything had a place. every topic had been separated clearly, important points marked out without making the page look overwhelming. there were small explanations beside certain concepts, things he had probably written down for himself because he knew he would want to remember them later, but obviously, they were equally as helpful for you too.

you stared at the screen for a few seconds. you barely knew him, but you could already imagine the process. him sitting somewhere quiet after the lecture, going through the notes again, deciding what was important and what wasn’t. because that was simply how his brain worked. you typed back before you could overthink it.

these are actually ridiculous

you paused. you didn’t want to sound like you were insulting him, especially not after he so graciously did you this favour.

quickly, you added:

in a good way 😭

the response did not come immediately. you found yourself looking at the little typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. it made you smile slightly. you’d never considered yourself someone who intimidated easily. you were usually the person who filled awkward silences, who introduced yourself first, who made conversations easier for other people (so you’d been told). but jungwon had a way of making you acutely aware of every small interaction. maybe because he seemed so careful in comparison.

eventually, his reply appeared.

jungwon thank you i think they’re okay

you giggled under your breath.

jungwon there are diagrams my notes look like i was writing during an earthquake

this time, his reply came a little quicker.

maybe your handwriting is just fast

you stared at the message. it wasn’t exactly a joke. not one you’d typically laugh at anyways. but there was something about the fact that he had tried to lighten the mood. 

that is the nicest way anyone has ever called my notes terrible

jungwon i didn’t call them terrible

you could practically hear the seriousness behind the message.

you didn’t have to

after that, your conversations stayed small. you preferred it that way. you didn’t suddenly become attached to your phone waiting for him to reply, and jungwon didn’t become someone who messaged constantly. that would have felt unlike both of you. instead, he became someone who existed slightly more in your day. a message about a lecture, a question about an assignment, a quick clarification when you didn’t understand something from the notes he had sent. you noticed quickly that jungwon was much easier to talk to through messages than you had expected. however, he was occasionally so formal that you wondered if he had accidentally written an email instead. but you’d like to muse there was warmth underneath it. maybe that was wishful thinking.

he always answered properly. if you asked something, he didn’t just send a vague response and disappear. he explained and he made sure you understood. and, perhaps more surprisingly, he started asking things back. small things; how your assignment was going, whether you had managed to catch up on the lecture, whether your exam preparation was going better. obviously simple questions, but they mattered to you because they meant progress. and because jungwon was not someone who asked things just to keep a conversation alive… when he asked something, he genuinely wanted to know the answer. you found that oddly refreshing. you were used to people knowing you. that was the strange thing about being naturally social. people often assumed familiarity. they knew your name. they knew your friends. they knew what you were studying. they knew the stories you told at parties or the jokes you made in group chats. but there was a difference between being known and being noticed.

jungwon noticed.

the next time you saw him outside of lectures, it was at one of your usual gatherings. not big enough to call a party, but usually, nobody was sober enough for it to be just an average hangout. by now, heeseung and riki’s place had become almost a second home for your progressively more tight-knit friend group. nobody really planned anything properly anymore. someone would mention they were bored, someone else would suggest going over, and within an hour half you’d all somehow end up there. it was comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected relatively new friendships to become.

you arrived with sunoo and jay, already listening to them argue about something completely unnecessary. the moment you walked in, the usual noise surrounded you. music playing quietly from heeseung’s speaker, riki complaining about losing a game he insisted he wasn’t taking seriously, jake laughing unabashedly from somewhere in the kitchen, heeseung attempting to stop everyone from making a mess while very clearly contributing to it.

it took you a moment to realise jungwon was already there. he was sitting at the edge of the sofa, listening while jake explained something animatedly beside him. before, you probably wouldn’t have approached him. you would have smiled. maybe waved. eventually, someone else would have pulled you into another conversation. but now it felt different. you obviously weren’t best mates. but friends enough that when your eyes met across the room, you wouldn’t hesitate to smile. and this time, he smiled first. it was a tiny thing. so tiny that you wondered if you imagined it. but you didn’t. something about that made you feel strangely content, you noted the way your cheeks flushed an embarrassing pink, feeling the heat spread up your neck as you took in his lopsided smile again.

later, after everyone had settled down, you found yourself sitting near him while the others argued over what film to watch. you weren’t sitting beside him intentionally. at least, that was what you told yourself. there simply happened to be space there. and he happened to be there. the conversation moved around you naturally, everyone speaking over one another the way they always did. jungwon wasn’t the loudest person in the room, but you had started noticing that he never seemed left out.

people included him without thinking. heeseung would always ask for his opinion on whatever niche topic they were discussing like their lives depended on it, jake would show him stupid memes on his phone that rarely prompted a reaction from anyone, riki would jab and poke at him until jungwon’s face broke out in one of his endearingly wonky grins. at some point, your conversation shifted towards classes. you mentioned the lecture you’d missed to sunoo and jay, mostly as a joke about how much work you had to catch up on.

jungwon glanced over.

“did the notes help?” he said, perking up as he did so.

“they did,” you said, smiling. “actually, they helped more than the lecture probably would have.”

he immediately shook his head.

“no, they wouldn’t.” he replied, brows furrowed.

“jungwon.”

“what?”

“you literally explained half of it better than the slides and the prof did.”

he looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t have a response ready. that happened sometimes. you were beginning to notice it. jungwon was always prepared when it came to academics, but when it came to compliments, he never knew what to do with them. again, you found yourself thinking it was so endearing. obviously not enough that you would ever admit it, not right now anyways. you mentioned one part of the topic that you still didn’t fully understand, not expecting anything from it, you were really just babbling on at this point, to anyone that’s listen, although sunoo and jay had moved on and were having their own conversation now.

but jungwon listened.

and after a moment, he just started explaining. in the middle of heeseung’s living room. not with overly complicated definitions or phrases that made you feel like you were supposed to already understand. he broke it down slowly, making sure you followed each step, like he could see the cogs moving in your head and the moments things clicked for you.

“‘was easier to understand than the actual lecture.” you stared at him blankly after he’d basically summed up the entire second half of the module.

“was it?” he asked, confusion plastered onto his face yet again.

you nodded in reply, realising that you were probably making uncomfortable with the sheer amazement in your eyes. he looked down, a pink flush slowly creeping up his neck.

“i just explained it differently.” he shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose as he lifted his gaze to meet yours again.

before you could respond, sunoo, who you now realised had clearly been listening despite pretending not to, looked over.

“you know, you could literally just tutor her.” the suggestion was casual, almost thrown away. 

you just looked at jungwon. he looked back at you. and immediately, you saw the thought cross his face, like the idea had never occurred to him.

“i don’t know if i’d call it tutoring,” he said eventually, a deeper flush now making its way up to his cheeks.

“well, what would you call it?” sunoo (almost) snapped, raising an eyebrow.

jungwon opened his mouth. then stopped, because he didn’t actually have an answer. you giggled softly, and this time he didn’t seem as embarrassed. he just looked away, a small smile spreading across his features despite himself. the conversation moved on soon after. jay changed the topic, riki started another quietly fond argument with sunghoon. the moment just passed, much to your forcibly subdued dismay. 

the idea of jungwon tutoring you was never supposed to become an actual plan. at least, that was what you’d told yourself after his brief hesitation. it had been nothing more than something sunoo had thrown into the conversation because he found amusement in pointing out things before anyone else noticed them. for as long as you’d known him (albeit it’d only been a year), he had a habit of doing that, noticing the typically imperceptible shifts between people and making them obvious before anyone involved was ready to acknowledge them. you’d learnt that about him quickly. sunoo always knew when dynamics had changed before either person realised it themselves. so, when he suggested jungwon tutoring you, you had laughed, because it felt too soon to call it anything like that. you and jungwon had exchanged a handful of conversations. you had his number. he had yours. he had sent you notes. you had made unfunny jokes about his lack of emojis. that was hardly enough to suddenly turn him into your personal academic support system.

except, as the weeks went on, you started noticing how often you ended up relying on him. there was a question you couldn’t figure out, so you checked the notes he had sent you. there was a topic you didn’t understand, so you found yourself wondering how jungwon would explain it. that strangest part was that you weren’t someone who usually needed help. not because you felt so uncomfortable that you were were incapable of asking, but because you were normally the person other people asked. it was a role you’d always fallen into without noticing, until now, that is. you were organised enough to remember deadlines, social enough to know who to ask if you needed something and patient enough that people felt comfortable coming to you. your friends joked that you somehow became everyone’s emergency contact despite barely being able to keep track of your own schedule.

you liked being helpful. you liked feeling useful. but there was something unexpectedly comforting about having someone who was willing to do the same for you. jungwon never made you feel like you were behind. he never responded to questions with the kind of surprise that made you feel embarrassed for asking. he simply answered, without fail, every time. and maybe that was why you started asking more. jungwon noticed too. just probably not in the same way you did. you were aware of the changes because they happened around you. you noticed that you no longer hesitated before saying hello when you passed him on campus. you noticed that seeing his name appear on your phone no longer felt surprising, but instead comfortable. for jungwon, it was less obvious because he wasn’t used to analysing his friendships in that way. he had always been someone who let things happen naturally. he had friends. good friends. people he trusted. but most of those friendships had formed slowly, through repeated exposure and familiarity. he wasn’t usually the person who approached first. not because he didn’t want to, but because he had never been particularly good at knowing when he was truly welcome.

with you, he never had to wonder, that was the part that caught him off guard. you made things really easy for him. you spoke to him with your soft, unguarded voice like there was no reason not to. you included him in conversations without making a performance of it, which obviously made it feel more genuine. you looked up at him with your big sparkling eyes through long lashes and nodded attentively when he was talking you through something, so he wouldn't have to guess if you were listening or not. jungwon was used to people noticing him for specific reasons; his grades, his ability to solve problems, the fact that he was reliable. he wasn’t used to someone being interested in what he had to say even when the topic had nothing to do with your syllabus. and you did that often. you asked him small things. what he really thought of the film you’d all watched at heeseung’s place. whether he thought the fancy coffee shop near campus was actually worth the price. whether he agreed with jay’s very strong opinions about literally everything.

none of the questions were particularly important, but jungwon always found himself thinking about them afterwards. he wondered if he’d still be thinking about the things you asked him if they’d come out of anyone else’s mouth. which was becoming increasingly inconvenient for him. because he had assignments. and exams. and a schedule that already felt too full. yet somehow, he always found time to reply to you.

the first time the tutoring idea became a genuine possibility was after another lecture. not because you had planned to ask, in fact, you'd actually been trying very hard not to bring it up. there was something slightly embarrassing about admitting you were struggling with a topic that everyone else seemed to understand. logically, you knew that was ridiculous. uni was difficult and everyone struggled sometimes. but there was still a part of you that hated feeling like you were falling behind. you had spent the better part of an evening trying to understand a section of your module notes, moving between your own work and the lecture slides until the information started blurring together. eventually, out of frustration more than anything else, you sent jungwon a message. you stared at the text blankly for a while before sending it.

hi Lol sorry this is random but do you understand this part?

you attached a screenshot.

almost immediately, you regretted the wording because you realised you’d apologised before even asking. something you did more often than you liked to admit. also, something jungwon had bought up with you before. telling you gently that he felt it was unnecessary to apologise for shivering next to him on heeseung’s sofa while you were sat right next to an open window.

you put your phone down and tried to focus on something else. it lasted approximately three minutes. then your phone buzzed.

i can explain if you want

you smiled before you could stop yourself at the way he’d always phrased his messages. he left space for you to decide. you replied that you would appreciate it, expecting another explanation over text.

instead, a few minutes later:

are you on campus tomorrow?

you stared at the message. your first thought was that you had somehow misunderstood.

yeah, why?

the reply came a little bit slower this time.

i can teach you properly

you looked at the screen for a moment. it was such a jungwon thing to suggest. practical and straightforward, completely unaware of how much trust was involved in what he was offering. because for jungwon, explaining something to someone wasn’t a big deal. it was simply something he could do, and did, regularly in fact. for you, though, there was something different about it. this wasn’t borrowing notes or a quick explanation during a group hangout. it was choosing to spend time together. just the two of you. you found yourself smiling slightly at the thought, then immediately questioned why. which was annoying. because there was nothing strange about spending time with a friend. and jungwon was becoming a friend! you thought that you really needed to stop treating every small interaction like it meant more than it did.

the next day, you met him outside the library. or, more accurately, you met him in the library because jungwon had apparently arrived early enough to secure a table before the usual afternoon rush. you weren’t surprised. when you approached, he was already there, laptop open, notebook beside him, two drinks sitting on the table. you slowed slightly when you noticed the second one.

“i didn’t know what you liked,” he explained before you could ask, gesturing towards it. “so i just got water.”

you looked at the bottle, then at him.

“jungwon.”

he paused.

“what?”

“you’re genuinely the most prepared person i’ve ever met.” you smiled.

for a second, he looked unsure whether that was a compliment. you had started noticing that happened often.

“i didn’t know if you’d have something to drink.”

“most people would just assume.”

“i didn’t want to assume.”

the answer was so simple that it caught you slightly off guard. jungwon always considered things other people overlooked. not because he was trying to impress anyone but because that was simply how he moved through the world. you sat down across from him, opening your laptop. and for the first time, you saw what everyone else probably saw when they studied with him. which wasn’t the intimidatingly smart person people talked about, not the student everyone went to when they were stuck. just someone patient, someone who genuinely wanted you to understand. which, somehow, made it much easier to admit when you didn’t.

the two of you didn’t study for very long before you ended up talking about other things, nothing particularly meaningful. just little conversations that happened naturally between his long, thought out explanations. you found out jungwon hated overly sweet drinks. you found out he had a habit of tapping his pen against his textbook when he was thinking. you found out he actually had a much drier sense of humour than you expected. and, perhaps most surprisingly, he found out you weren’t as effortlessly confident as he’d assumed. you admitted, almost accidentally, that you hated asking questions in lectures because you worried they would be obvious.

jungwon looked genuinely surprised.

“you?”

“what does that mean?” you muttered out through a frown.

“you talk to everyone.”

you laughed quietly.

“that doesn’t mean i can’t get nervous.”

he looked down at his notes. you mused that he probably understood that better than most people. because maybe that was the thing neither of you realised yet. everyone else saw the obvious parts of you; they saw someone friendly, someone confident, someone who belonged everywhere. everyone else saw the obvious parts of him; someone deeply intelligent, someone capable, someone who always knew what he was doing. but none of those things had ever fully summed either of you up. and maybe that was why the two of you got along. because you were both much more complicated than the versions people had decided on.

by the time you packed your things away, the library had started to empty. you hadn’t finished everything. technically, you had probably spent too much time talking. at the end of the day, you’d still understood bounds more than you had when you arrived. you looked at your notes, then at jungwon, a shy smile playing at your lips.

“i think sunoo was right.”

“about what?” he looked up and met your eyes.

“the tutoring thing.”

his expression immediately shifted, not really dramatically, but just enough for you to notice.

“oh.”

you giggled.

“don’t look so terrified.” you replied, pouting slightly involuntarily.

“i don’t.”

“you do.”

he just looked away. which, unfortunately for him, proved your point. you smiled as you packed your laptop away.

“i’m joking.”

but the idea didn’t disappear. and neither did the small smile that appeared on his face when he thought you weren’t looking.

the following tuesday arrived with the kind of weather that never seemed to make up its mind. the morning had started bright enough for people to leave their accommodation without coats, only for grey clouds to roll across the sky before lunchtime, threatening rain without ever fully committing to it. by the time your last lecture finished, the air had turned cooler, carrying the familiar scent of damp pavement that always seemed to settle over campus before autumn properly arrived.

you stood outside the building for a moment, adjusting the strap of your bag as students spilled around you. your phone buzzed.

hi i’m already at the library second floor i found us a table

you couldn’t help smiling. there was something strangely unsurprising about the message because of course he was already there. of course he had arrived early enough to secure one of the quieter tables before the afternoon rush started. of course he had somehow managed to phrase a simple text so politely that it almost sounded like an apology for disturbing you.

you typed back as you crossed the courtyard.

i’ll be there in five :D

you hesitated for a second before pressing send. the smiley face stayed. it wasn’t until your phone disappeared back into your pocket that you remembered your conversation about emojis. you laughed quietly to yourself. he was either going to think nothing of it… or spend the next ten minutes wondering whether there had been a hidden meaning behind one tiny :D

for some reason, the thought made you smile all over again.

the library was busier than usual. students filled almost every table on the ground floor, conversations kept deliberately hushed beneath the steady hum of printers and keyboards, while the occasional sigh or rustle of paper floated between shelves lined with textbooks that looked far too expensive for anyone to actually buy. you climbed the stairs two at a time before slowing your pace. there he was. he had chosen a table tucked beside one of the tall windows overlooking the centre of campus, far enough away from the busiest part of the floor that it felt almost secluded. his laptop was already open. two notebooks sat neatly beside one another. highlighters arranged in a straight line. a mechanical pencil resting precisely across the top page.

he looked up almost immediately. for a second, neither of you spoke. then his expression softened into a small smile.

“hi.” you whispered, hoping he wouldn’t notice the pink you could feel spreading across your cheeks for no apparent reason.

“hi.” he whispered back, his lopsided grin deepening, his dimple now visible.

you slipped into the chair opposite him, dropping your bag onto the floor with considerably less grace than he’d arranged the table.

“sorry if i’m late.”

jungwon glanced towards the clock hanging above the staircase.

“…you’re three minutes early.”

you blinked.

“…oh.”

“just had to find something to apologise for, didn’t you?” the corner of his mouth lifted slightly again as he whispered. you just looked at him for a second before laughing under your breath while pulling your laptop from your bag, bringing it up to your face because now you really had to hide your red cheeks from him. it wasn’t much, barely even a joke. but you were beginning to realise something about jungwon. he was funny! not loudly and definitely not in the way jake was, where half the room inevitably ended up laughing with him. jungwon’s humour appeared quietly, tucked between otherwise serious conversations, almost hidden beneath the way he spoke. if you weren’t paying attention, you’d probably miss it entirely. which somehow made it even better. 

“thank you for doing this.” you said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence while settling your things across the table. 

“for what?” he looked genuinely puzzled, eyebrows furrowed and face devoid of that grin you’d come to really like.

“helping me.”

“you asked.”

“exactly.”

“i don’t mind.” he said with so much conviction that it caught you off guard, like he was urging you to believe him. there wasn’t any awkward insistence that it was nothing, no dismissive shrug. just a straightforward answer, as though helping you had never been something he needed convincing to do.

it made something in your chest feel unexpectedly warm. you had always been the friend who offered. who stayed behind after seminars if someone needed something explained again. who reminded everyone about deadlines because you knew at least one person would forget. you liked taking care of people. it wasn’t something you thought about very often until someone quietly returned the favour. 

jungwon opened one of his notebooks.

“which part?”

you pulled your own notes closer.

“this.”

you pointed towards a page that had become increasingly covered in question marks over the past few days.

“i understand the beginning.”

your finger moved lower.

“and then somewhere around here i completely lose whatever’s happening.”

he leaned forward slightly, just close enough to see the page properly. without thinking, you did the same. your shoulders almost brushed. you didn’t notice until you caught the faint scent of clean laundry and something woodsy. not cologne. nothing strong. just oddly fresh. you blinked quickly, forcing your attention back towards the notebook. jungwon, meanwhile, had already started reading. he didn’t seem to notice the distance between you at all, and you couldn’t help feeling like a little kid about the fact that you were so aware of it, and liked it in fact. perhaps he had simply decided it wasn’t worth acknowledging.

“okay,” he murmured after a moment. “i think they’re explaining it backwards.”

you looked up.

“backwards?” you asked, confusion painting your features like it rarely did. jungwon thought your scrunched eyes and tilted head was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“kind of.” he replied after clearing his throat. he reached for his pencil before hesitating.

“can i?”

you looked down, he was gesturing towards your notebook.

“oh.” you nodded quickly.

“yeah, of course.” 

only then did he start writing. his handwriting was somehow just as neat as you’d expected. he drew a small diagram, crossed something out, rewrote it differently. then turned the notebook back towards you.

“try thinking about it like this instead.”

there was no rush in the way he explained things. he never made you feel as though you were slowing him down. if you interrupted to ask another question, he answered it without sighing or trying to move on too quickly. if you looked unconvinced, he simply found another way of explaining the same concept.

after about twenty minutes, something finally clicked. you stared at the page.

“…oh.”

jungwon looked up.

“does that make more sense?” he asked, hint of a knowing smile spreading across his face.

“a lot more.”

you looked between the diagram and him.

“why couldn’t the prof just say that?” he looked almost embarrassed by the compliment.

“they probably did.”

“they definitely didn’t.”

“maybe they explained it differently.”

“jungwon.”

he met your eyes.

“you’re being modest again.” you whispered, poking him playfully in the shoulder. colour crept faintly into his ears.

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

he looked away first. you smiled to yourself, you were starting to recognise his little pattern. whenever anyone complimented him, jungwon reacted as though they had accidentally handed him something that belonged to someone else. time passed easier than either of you expected. somewhere between diagrams, explanations and comparing lecture slides, the awkwardness that had hovered around your first few conversations dissolved into something quieter. more comfortable. you found yourself talking without thinking about it. sometimes about the work, oftentimes not. you learnt that jungwon almost always studied in the same spot because he liked the light from the window. he admitted, after a surprising amount of persuasion, that he couldn’t concentrate if people chewed too loudly. you confessed that you sometimes highlighted entire pages of content because you could never decide what was actually important.

“that defeats the point of highlighting.”

“i know.”

“then why do you do it?”

“panic.”

he looked down at your notebook.

“…fair enough.”

again, that tiny smile. small enough that someone across the room probably wouldn’t even notice it. you did, every time. and each time it appeared, it seemed to linger a fraction longer than the last. it happened gradually enough that neither of you noticed the hours slipping past. outside, the sky had darkened. students came and went around you, chairs scraping quietly across the floor as people packed their things and left. you only realised how long you’d been there when your stomach growled. loudly. the sound seemed to echo across the table, jungwon’s head snapping up at the sudden noise. your entire body froze. you covered your face with one hand.

“please pretend that didn’t happen.” heat rushed to your cheeks almost instantly.

“i left straight after my lecture this morning.” you laughed awkwardly.

“i completely forgot to eat.”

jungwon didn’t laugh. he didn’t tease you. he simply looked at you for a second before quietly reaching down beside his chair. you frowned. he unzipped his backpack, rummaged around for a moment, then placed something gently on the table between you. a packet of chocolate almond pepero. you stared at it blankly, then up at him.

“…what?”

“you should eat.”

you blinked.

“jungwon…”

“before you try and study anything else… your stomach sounds unhappy.” he mumbled out after being interrupted mid sentence by another grumble from your tummy. despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help the tiny giggle that escaped.

“thank you.”

you picked the packet up slowly, still looking at it.

“…hang on.”

he looked up from his notebook.

“how did you know these were my favourite?”

for the first time all afternoon, jungwon hesitated.

“i…”

he looked as though he genuinely hadn’t expected the question.

“jay and sunghoon used to buy them for you.” he replied sheepishly, hand scratching at the back of his neck.

“yeah, but that was only once or twice.”

“it was eight times. that i was around to see it at least.” 

you stared.

“…you counted?”

“not intentionally.” he said, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.

“jungwon.”

“they were always the same… so i remembered.”

your heart did something strange. you weren’t even sure why. it wasn’t the snack. it wasn’t even the fact that he’d brought one. it was that he’d noticed! months ago, during noisy evenings where everyone had been talking over one another, he’d quietly remembered something so insignificant that even you would’ve forgotten mentioning it. you looked back down at the packet in your hands.

“that’s…”

you searched for the right word.

“…really thoughtful.”

he seemed almost confused.

“it’s just a snack.”

“yeah i know, ‘m just saying thanks anyways.” you spluttered out quickly and now, shyly, hoping he wouldn’t notice your immediate backtracking after his dismissal. you looked back up at him. for a second, neither of you spoke. jungwon rubbed absentmindedly at the back of his neck again, suddenly looking far more interested in his notebook than he had been a moment earlier.

“…i wasn’t sure if they were still your favourite.”

your smile softened again before you could stop it. it seemed like he was giving you an out from your previous embarrassment. you didn’t feel as much like you’d made an unnecessarily big deal out of it.

“they are.”

he just nodded once in reply.

“…okay.”

for some reason, that answer seemed to make him happy. and as you opened the packet, handing the first stick across the table towards him without really thinking about it, you couldn’t shake the growing feeling that somewhere along the way, tutoring had quietly become one of your favourite parts of the week.

by the time the packet of pepero was empty, the stack of notes between you had doubled. it hadn’t happened all at once. one explanation had turned into another, then into comparing lecture slides, then into jungwon suddenly deciding that one of the examples in your textbook was unnecessarily complicated and rewriting it from scratch in the margins of your notebook. you watched him for a moment while he worked. his brows drew together whenever he concentrated, creating the faintest crease between them that disappeared almost immediately whenever he looked back up. every so often, he would stop writing altogether, not because he had forgotten what he wanted to say, but because he was deciding how to say it. that was something you were beginning to admire about him. jungwon never explained things to prove that he understood them. he explained them so that you would.

it was a small difference, but one you hadn’t appreciated until now.

you had met plenty of people who enjoyed being the smartest person in the room. people who answered questions in ways that somehow made everyone else feel a little smaller for asking in the first place. jungwon was the opposite. if anything, he seemed happiest when the person sitting across from him finally understood. the little smile that appeared whenever something clicked for you was never smug, it was relieved. you caught yourself watching him again. this time, it wasn’t because he was explaining anything. he had reached up absentmindedly to push his glasses higher on his nose, only for them to slip straight back down again a few minutes later. he sighed so quietly you almost missed it before repeating the same movement without even thinking. you smiled to yourself before realising you probably looked like a bit of a perv, hastily bringing your hand up to your face to hide your smile as casually as you could.

“what?”

his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

you blinked.

“huh?”

“you smiled.”

“…did i?”

he nodded once.

“…why?”

heat crept into your face before you had a chance to stop it. he tilted his head ever so slightly. the expression wasn’t suspicious, just curious. you debated telling him. it wasn’t that embarrassing. not really. still…

“your glasses keep falling.”

his hand immediately lifted towards his face.

“…oh.”

“you’ve pushed them up about six times in the last ten minutes.”

“…have i?”

“i’ve been counting.”

for the first time since you’d met him, you watched jungwon look genuinely flustered. it wasn't dramatic, he didn’t splutter or hide his face. instead, his eyes widened just enough for you to notice before he looked away with a quiet, “i didn’t realise.”

you laughed softly.

“it’s kind of cute.”

the words left your mouth before your brain had caught up. silence settled between you. your smile disappeared.

oops! to be really honest, it was something you’d say to most people with ease. it wasn’t even typically an odd thing to point out, you remembered only yesterday telling jake how adorable he looked when he let his hair grow out a little longer. but something about the way jungwon looked up at you, like you’d just done something jail time worthy, almost made you wince. again, you felt like a kid, a really stupid one at that. you looked down at your notebook so quickly you almost gave yourself whiplash.

“i meant…”

why were you trying to explain it?

“they’re just…” you gestured vaguely towards his face without looking directly at him. “very… you.”

that somehow sounded worse.

“forget i said anything.”

you squeezed your eyes shut for the briefest second after seeing a lack of the lopsided grin you’d become accustomed to on his face. across the table, jungwon had gone completely still. he didn’t look offended. if anything, he looked as though his brain had momentarily stopped working.

cute. you had called him cute. he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information. compliments had always made him uncomfortable. they tended to sit awkwardly somewhere in the middle of gratitude and disbelief, leaving him unsure which emotion he was supposed to choose. this one felt… different. because you hadn’t said it to be polite. if anything, you’d oddly seemed horrified that you’d let it slip, in a way so unlike what he’d seen of you these past few months. his ears felt warm. he was fairly certain they were turning pink. he hoped they weren’t.

“…thank you,” he managed eventually, the words quieter than he’d intended.

you looked back up, relief written plainly across your face. something in jungwon relaxed. the smallest laugh escaped him before he could stop it at the sheer speed in which the alleviation of your panic ensued. later, as the conversation drifted away from coursework and towards anything else that came to mind, the atmosphere around the table changed almost without either of you realising. the books remained open. pens still rested between pages. yet neither of you seemed particularly concerned with the fact that you hadn’t looked at the lecture slides in nearly twenty minutes. instead, you learnt that jungwon always listened to the same playlist whenever he studied because changing songs distracted him. he learnt that you couldn’t revise in complete silence because your thoughts became louder than whatever you were trying to memorise. you admitted that you had once colour-coded an entire set of flashcards only to lose them the day before a test. he admitted, after a surprising amount of hesitation, that he alphabetised the folders on his laptop.

“you’re joking.” you said, probably too loudly considering the fact you were in a library.

“…no.”

“every single one?”

he nodded.

“…it makes finding things easier.”

you stared at him for a moment before laughing under your breath.

“that’s…”

you searched for the right word.

“the most jungwon thing i’ve ever heard.”

“that’s probably true.”

“you agree?”

“…yeah.”

the consistent honesty of all of his answers no longer caught you so off guard. most people would’ve defended themselves, or laughed it off. jungwon simply accepted it. there was something strangely attractive about that. not because alphabetising folders was attractive.

obviously. but because he never seemed interested in pretending to be someone else. he wasn’t trying to seem cooler than he was, or louder, or more confident. he simply existed exactly as he was. and somehow, that made you want to know him even more. jungwon, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to stare. he wasn’t succeeding particularly well. he was trying so hard to make his constant glances look unintentional but his eyes simply kept drifting back without permission. you smiled all the time. he had noticed that weeks ago. not the kind of smile people put on automatically when they greeted someone. your smiles were different. sometimes they were quick and amused. like when jake would show you some stupid meme on his phone that only ten year olds would typically find funny, you usually ended up laughing at jake himself for his endearingly regressed humour. sometimes they spread slowly across your face before you even realised you were doing it. like when you and riki came to the conclusion that jay was in fact wrong about whatever he’d been arguing about with sunghoon with so much conviction. 

sometimes, when you laughed properly, your nose scrunched ever so slightly. he had never consciously paid attention to something like that before. now he couldn’t seem to stop noticing. every time you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear while reading. every time you frowned at a sentence before chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek. every time you looked up after finally understanding something he’d explained. he kept remembering them.

which was again, extremely unhelpful. he was supposed to be helping you study. he felt like he’d just been gawking down at you the whole time. eventually, the announcement echoed gently through the library.

“the building will be closing in fifteen minutes…”

you both looked up instinctively, then towards the windows. outside, the sky had turned almost completely dark. 

“…what time is it?” you frowned, surprise colouring your features.

“…eight forty-five.” he said, whispering long forgotten as he checked his phone.

your eyes widened.

“jungwon! we got here at one.”

“…yeah.”

you both looked down at the notebooks covering the table. then back at each other. somewhere between studying and talking, almost eight hours had disappeared.

“i didn’t even notice.”

jungwon nodded slightly.

“…me neither.”

the admission just lingered between you. it probably should have felt awkward. eight hours was a long time to spend with someone you’d only recently become friends with. instead… it felt strangely easy, comfortable, even. like the afternoon had passed exactly as it was supposed to. you packed your things away together, neither of you rushing despite the librarian beginning to switch off lights further down the floor. as you zipped your bag closed, your hand brushed against jungwon’s where both of you reached for the same pen lying between your notebooks. it barely lasted a second. just enough for your fingers to touch before both of you instinctively pulled back.

“sorry.”

you spoke at exactly the same time. then stopped. then looked at each other. a little giggle escaped you first. jungwon’s followed a second later. it was quieter, warmer. and somehow, hearing it felt like accomplishing something. walking out of the library together, you realised something that should probably have worried you a little more than it did. for the first time since uni had started you weren’t looking forward to the next tutoring session because you wanted better grades. you were looking forward to it because you wanted another afternoon exactly like this one. with jungwon. and, a step behind you, jungwon found himself thinking that perhaps he’d start arriving fifteen minutes early next week instead of ten. not because the library got busy. that was simply the excuse he gave himself, the truth was much harder to admit. he liked waiting when he knew you were the person he was waiting for.

a month passed quietly. not in the dramatic way some movies liked to pretend time moved, where seasons changed overnight and entire lives somehow transformed between one scene and the next. nothing about the last few weeks had felt particularly significant while you were living through them. lectures came and went. assignments accumulated faster than any real human being could finish them. the weather grew colder, the mornings darker, and somewhere along the way, the trees lining the paths across campus began shedding leaves that collected in damp piles beneath benches no one wanted to sit on anymore.

life carried on. the only difference was that, at some point, jungwon had become woven into it. you couldn’t have pinpointed exactly when. there hadn’t been a conversation where the two of you had agreed to keep meeting every week. nobody had suggested making tutoring a regular thing. it had simply… happened. 

the first time, you’d arranged to meet because of one particularly confusing lecture. the second time, because there was another topic you wanted him to explain before a quiz. by the third week, neither of you really needed an excuse anymore. thursday afternoons had quietly become yours. sometimes you studied in the library, tucked away in the same corner beside the windows where jungwon always managed to find a table before anyone else. sometimes you ended up in the little coffee shop across from the engineering building after discovering every seat in the library had already been taken. once, when it had started raining halfway through the afternoon, the two of you had spent almost an hour sitting on the floor outside an empty seminar room because neither of you wanted to carry all your textbooks somewhere else.

it didn’t seem to matter where you were. eventually, one of you would arrive first. the other would appear a few minutes later. and somehow, without ever talking about it, the afternoon would disappear. your friends noticed before you did, not in an obvious way. little comments slipped into conversations so naturally that you rarely thought much of them.

“aren’t you with jungwon today?” sunoo had asked one thursday when you’d turned down lunch because you wanted to finish a reading beforehand.

you’d blinked.

“…yeah.”

“thought so.”

that had been the end of it. another time, heeseung had wandered into the kitchen while jungwon was packing his bag.

“library?”

jungwon hadn’t even looked up.

“…yeah.”

“she’s already there?”

“…probably.”

heeseung had smiled to himself but wisely chose not to say anything else. it wasn’t strange. at least, it didn’t feel strange. friends spent time together, friends studied together. if anything, it made sense that you and jungwon had become close. you were taking similar modules, he explained things well, and somewhere beneath all of his quietness, he’d turned out to really make you laugh. you liked being around him. that was all. or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

by now, your study sessions had developed their own unspoken routine. jungwon still arrived first. you still apologised for being late, even when you weren’t, he poked fun at you for this and made you promise you’d stop (knowing full well you never would). he still insisted on explaining concepts from the beginning instead of assuming you understood the foundations. you still interrupted him halfway through with questions that somehow sent the conversation in completely different directions. he no longer looked surprised when you reached across the table to steal whichever pen he happened to be using. instead, he simply sighed with exaggerated patience before sliding another one towards himself.

“you’re unbelievable,” he’d muttered the week before.

“thank you.” you grinned out through a mouthful of apple.

“that wasn’t a compliment.” 

“it sounded like one.”

“…maybe a little.” he muttered out, mask of feigned disbelief broken by his lopsided smile.

you’d giggled so hard that people had actually looked over from neighbouring tables. jungwon looked faintly horrified, which only made you laugh harder. somewhere along the way, he’d stopped apologising every time the silence settled between you. you’d stopped feeling responsible for filling it. there were afternoons where the two of you barely spoke for twenty minutes at a time, completely absorbed in your own work before one of you quietly asked a question. the silence never felt uncomfortable. if anything, it was becoming one of your favourite parts. there was something strangely peaceful about existing beside someone who didn’t expect constant conversation.

“you’re staring.”

your head snapped up.

jungwon looked at you over the top of his laptop.

“…what?”

“you’ve been looking at the same page for five minutes.”

heat crept into your cheeks. had you? you glanced back down at your notes. the paragraph you’d supposedly been reading hadn’t changed. because, apparently, you’d spent the last five minutes watching the way sunlight caught against the rim of jungwon’s glasses instead. the way his dimple emerged slightly when he scrunched up one side of his face in concentration.

brilliant.

“i was thinking.”

“…about operating systems?”

“…yes.” you muttered out after a pause.

his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. you tried to keep a straight face. he tried to keep a straight face. neither of you managed it.

“you’re terrible at lying,” he said quietly, poking you playfully in the arm.

you pointed your pen towards him.

“that’s rich coming from the person who once tried convincing me he didn’t alphabetise his desktop.”

“…i don’t.” jungwon replied, still trying to make you believe what you knew was false.

“jungwon.”

“…it’s organised by colour now.” he replied, eyebrows raised.

you giggled again so suddenly that you had to press your lips together to keep the sound from carrying across the library. he smiled fondly, hoping you wouldn’t notice the affection that he felt was radiating off of every bone in his body. obviously not because he’d made a joke, but because you’d laughed.

it wasn’t until saturday evening that everything unravelled. everyone had ended up at heeseung’s flat again, the same way they always seemed to. sunghoon had suggested ordering takeaway (again). jay had complained about the prices before ordering it regardless. jake and riki were arguing over a game neither of them seemed particularly good at, sunoo had somehow convinced heeseung to help him bake cookies despite the fact that neither of them appeared to know what they were doing, leaving jay and sunghoon occupying opposite ends of the sofa. you wandered into the other living room (which heeseung has fashioned into a bar of sorts) in search of something to drink. jay followed a minute later.

“can you pass me a glass?” 

you reached into the cupboard without looking.

“thanks.” he replied simply, and if you’d met his gaze, you’d have seen the slight raise of his eyebrows and the hint of a smirk playing on his face.

he leaned against the counter while you filled your own glass with water. there was a comfortable quiet between the two of you, broken only by the distant sound of riki insisting someone had cheated.

“so.” he started.

you looked over.

“so?”

jay shrugged.

“nothing.”

“…you’re doing that thing again.” you exclaimed, probably louder than you should’ve.

“what thing?”

“where you say ‘so’ because you actually want to ask something. that thing that all older women do.” you said, poking him. you thought maybe riki was rubbing off on you, making fun of jay’s mannerisms even though he was only a junior, not too far off of you. he didn’t even bother denying it, just rolled his eyes at you exaggeratedly.

“…are you and jungwon dating?”

the question landed so casually that, for a second, your brain didn’t register it. you just blinked up at him for a second.

“…what?” you muttered, eyes wide.

“you heard me.”

“jay.”

“yes?”

“…what?”

he frowned slightly, as though you were the confusing one.

“i’m just asking.” he smiled, poking at you as if to reassure you. he didn’t expect you to have an expression on your face akin to that of someone who’d just been stabbed.

“why?” you said, forcibly narrowing your eyes as you tried to steel yourself. 

“because you spend half your week together.”

“we study together.”

“you also get coffee afterwards.”

“because we’re already there.”

“and then you walk each other home.”

“…we live in the same direction.”

jay just hummed in response, doing that annoying, all-knowing thing with his eyebrows again.

“interesting.”

“what is?”

“how you’ve got an answer for every single one.”

you opened your mouth. closed it again. before you could muster up another aimless defence, sunghoon wandered into the living room.

“what are you two talking about?”

jay answered before you could.

“whether she and jungwon are dating.”

sunghoon paused.

“…i thought they were.” he said casually.

your heart stopped. you actually thought this in your head before coming to the gross realisation again of how childish you probably seemed. sunghoon turned to glance between you and jay, looking genuinely confused.

“wait…”

his eyes moved between you and jay again.

“…you’re not?” he almost exclaimed, shock painting his features.

“…nope!” you said, popping the p in a desperate attempt to seem unbothered.

“oh.”

“…my bad.” he sounded almost disappointed.

you stared at both of them.

“…why would either of you think that?” you muttered, bringing your cup to your lips in a quiet plea that they’d take that question rhetorically.

much to your dismay, jay just gave you a look that bordered on incredulous.

“because every time one of us asks where you are, the answer is jungwon.”

“because he’s put almond pepero on the ‘essentials’ section on heeseung’s shopping list. and we all know you’re the only one who likes them.”

to your horror, sunghoon continued counting on his fingers.

“because i’ve seen him smile more in the last month than i did during the whole first year.”

“because you both look for each other before anyone else when we all meet up.”

your mouth opened. nothing came out. jay’s expression softened almost immediately, a twinge of regret in his eyes.

“hey.” he nudged your shoulder gently.

“i wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“…i know.” you mumbled, now even further embarrassed realising he’d probably noticed the flush on your cheeks.

“just forget i asked.”

you nodded. you tried to smile. you weren’t sure whether it looked convincing. because the problem obviously wasn’t that jay had asked. the problem was that, for the first time, you couldn’t stop replaying everything he’d just said. you did look for jungwon first. you’d never noticed that. and much more terrifyingly, had he?

jungwon had always preferred kitchens to living rooms. not because there was anything particularly interesting about washing dishes or collecting empty glasses, but because kitchens gave him something to do. there was a certain comfort in keeping his hands occupied while conversations carried on around him. from the sink, he could still hear everyone laughing from the other room, hear riki loudly accusing jake of cheating at whatever game they’d inevitably started, hear sunoo protesting about something that was almost certainly insignificant.

it was familiar. comfortable. he liked that. he was rinsing the last of the glasses when footsteps approached behind him, quick enough that he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. riki had never been particularly subtle.

“avoiding us already?”

jungwon glanced over his shoulder briefly before returning his attention to the sink.

“i’m just washing dishes.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

he smiled faintly to himself. “i know.”

another pair of footsteps followed a moment later, slower this time. heeseung. without a word, he picked up a tea towel and began drying the plates jungwon passed across the counter. it was something the two of them had done often enough that neither of them thought about it anymore. for a while, the three of them worked quietly. or, more accurately, jungwon and heeseung worked quietly while riki stood nearby looking as though he were waiting for the perfect opportunity to interrupt.

it didn’t take long.

“so…”

jungwon didn’t look up.

“…what?”

“where’s y/n?”

the question was so casual that it took him a second to process, he frowned slightly in response.

“in the living room?”

“no.” riki shook his head.

“she went to get a drink.”

“…okay.” jungwon said blankly, obviously confused.

“and you didn’t follow her.”

jungwon finally looked up.

“…was i supposed to?”

the grin that spread across riki’s face immediately made him suspicious. heeseung noticed too, hiding a smile behind the rim of his glass. 

“he genuinely doesn’t realise,” riki muttered, sounding almost impressed.

“realise what?” jungwon almost exclaimed, frustrated now.

instead of answering immediately, heeseung rested the plate he’d been drying on the counter and regarded jungwon thoughtfully.

“when was the last time the two of you weren’t together for more than a day?”

jungwon just blinked. the question felt oddly specific. he thought about it for a moment. lectures, the library, coffee after studying, group dinners, another study session.

“…i don’t know.”

the answer came more honestly than he’d intended. because he genuinely couldn’t remember. somewhere over the last month, seeing you had become part of his routine. not in a way he’d ever consciously planned. you were simply… there. thursday afternoons belonged to the library now. if one of you finished class early, the other usually received a message asking whether they wanted to start studying sooner. if you both happened to be on campus longer than expected, one of you would inevitably suggest grabbing something to eat before heading home. none of it had felt unusual. it still didn’t. friends spent time together, and that was all.

“exactly,” riki said, sounding far too smug and pleased with himself.

jungwon frowned, which riki took as a sign to continue.

“that’s exactly my point.”

“…i don’t know what your point is.” 

“you never do.”

heeseung laughed quietly, folding the tea towel over one shoulder.

“he means that you’ve become close.” heeseung finally chipped in, fond look ever present in his gaze when regarding you or jungwon.

“we are close.” the words slipped out defensively before jungwon had really considered them. he paused, then looked back down at the sink.

“…i think.”

heeseung’s expression softened.

“you don’t have to sound so unsure.”

jungwon wasn’t unsure, that wasn’t the problem. he knew the two of you had become friends. good friends, probably. it was just strange hearing someone else say it aloud. because once they did, he found himself replaying the last few weeks in his head. you reaching across the table without asking to steal his pen, the way you always thanked him, even after he’d insisted you didn’t have to. the fact that you now complained whenever he skipped lunch, as though it had somehow become your responsibility to make sure he ate. he hadn’t noticed any of those things changing. they simply had.

“she’s good for you.” heeseung said it so matter-of-factly that jungwon looked up again.

“…what do you mean?”

“you seem happier.”

jungwon almost laughed.

“because i’m helping someone study?”

“because it’s her.”

the kitchen fell quiet. jungwon looked away first, he didn’t really know how to answer that. he liked spending time with you. that much was obvious. you made difficult afternoons feel lighter somehow. studying, something he’d always considered a solitary task, had become something he looked forward to instead of simply getting through. you made him laugh. more than he’d expected. sometimes without even trying. but that didn’t mean anything, did it? before he could untangle the thought, riki nudged his shoulder.

“you’re a lucky bastard, you know.”

jungwon looked at him.

“she’s pretty.” he continued, heeseung rolled his eyes in response, exasperated with riki’s instinct to always state the obvious.

“and she’s really really nice. everyone likes her.” there wasn’t any jealousy in his voice, just simple certainty.

“she could’ve asked loads of people for help.” heeseung added, much to jungwon’s dismay.

“yeah, well, she asked me.” jungwon almost snapped back, frown deepening further.

“exactly.” riki smirked.

“that’s what we’re saying.” heeseung added on.

jungwon opened his mouth before closing it again. but it was true, you had. for reasons he still didn’t fully understand. before he could think about it any longer, riki ruined the moment completely.

“seriously, hyung.”

he grinned.

“if i were you, i’d be feeling pretty lucky.”

jungwon rolled his eyes, reaching over to swat him lightly around the back of the head.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“i know.”

riki rubbed the back of his head dramatically despite the fact that the hit had barely registered. heeseung only shook his head, amused. neither of them pointed out the faint colour settling across jungwon’s ears. neither of them needed to. because jungwon was already wondering why a perfectly ordinary conversation had left him thinking about you. not about your coursework, or the next tutoring session. just you. and for the first time since the two of you had become friends, he found himself lingering on the thought much longer than he meant to.

somewhere along the way, jungwon stopped feeling like someone you were trying to get to know. for months, he had existed at the edge of your life. someone you recognised before you knew him. someone whose name you heard often, whose face you saw across lecture halls and at group dinners, but never someone you expected to become important to you. now, you couldn’t remember the last time you went an entire day without speaking to him. it wasn’t intentional. that was what maybe made it worse. there had never been a conversation where the two of you decided to become close. no dramatic turning point where you suddenly realised you were friends. it had happened in the quiet spaces between everything else. a message after a lecture because you’d both complained about the same assignment, a five minute conversation that somehow became forty, a walk back from the library that became a regular thing because your routes happened to overlap. you had started knowing things about jungwon that you never would have noticed before. aside from the obvious, everyone knew he was smart. everyone knew he was reliable. everyone knew he was the person people went to when they needed help understanding something complicated. you knew the smaller things. you knew he always checked the weather before leaving the flat because he hated being caught in the rain, you knew he got quieter when he was tired, not because he was upset but because he was saving what little energy he had left for anybody else that needed it, you knew that when he was trying not to laugh, he pressed his lips hard together like he was physically stopping himself.

you knew he pretended not to care about things he absolutely cared about. and somehow, those were the things that made him impossible not to like. which was becoming a bit of a problem. because you were starting to notice him in ways you hadn’t before. you realised it one evening in the library. not in some huge, overwhelming way. you weren’t staring dramatically across the table, suddenly struck by how much you liked him… it was much more inconvenient than that. you were working through a practice question, completely stuck despite having already read through the explanation twice. jungwon was beside you, typing something into his laptop while occasionally glancing over to check your progress. you had gotten used to that, his quiet attention. the way he never interrupted unless he thought you genuinely needed help, the way he somehow knew when you were about to give up before you even admitted it.

“you’re doing that thing again.” he whispered, breaking the silence.

you looked up.

“what thing?”

his eyes moved briefly to your notebook.

“you’re staring at the paper like it’s a death sentence or something.”

you looked back down.

“feels like one.”

a small smile appeared on his face. that tiny reaction you had somehow become weirdly proud of causing. jungwon didn’t often laugh loudly. he didn’t have the dramatic reactions that some of your friends did. but when you made him smile, it felt like you’d earned something. which was ridiculous, you knew that. still.

“you’re impossible,” he said, rolling his eyes fondly.

“and yet you keep tutoring me.” you whispered back, scrunching up your nose as you did so.

“that’s because i’m nice.”

you looked at him, really looked at him with that quizzical glare he’d come to love.

“that sounded suspiciously like you were complimenting yourself.”

“i was stating a fact.” he muttered back, flush rising to his cheeks as he suddenly turned his head back to his laptop.

you giggled under your breath.

and that was when it hit you. not because he looked particularly different, or because something magical happened. just because you realised you wanted to remember this. you wanted to remember sitting in this library with him, you wanted to remember the way he looked when he was trying to defend himself, you wanted to remember the sound of his voice when he was amused. and that was when the thought finally settled.

oh. you liked him. and not in the vague way you liked people, the way you liked your friends. you liked jungwon. and instead of feeling terrifying, the realisation was strangely calm. like your brain had finally caught up with something your heart had already known for weeks.

after that, you didn’t suddenly become a different person. if anything, you became more yourself around him. because now that you knew why you enjoyed being around him, you stopped trying to explain it away. you stopped pretending that you didn’t look forward to thursdays. you stopped pretending that you didn’t check your phone more often when you knew he might message. you stopped pretending that you didn’t notice when he walked into a room. and maybe you became a little less subtle. not intentionally. you just found yourself wanting to make him smile, wanting to hear his little laugh, wanting to see the moments where he forgot to be reserved. you teased him a little bit more. you stole his pens more often despite having your own. you sent him random messages that had absolutely nothing to do with studying. sometimes he replied immediately. sometimes it took him hours because he was busy. but he always replied. and every single time, you caught yourself smiling. which was embarrassing because you had never been someone who cared this much about a notification.

jungwon noticed. he wasn’t sure when it started. at first, he thought nothing of it, you had always been friendly. that was one of the first things he had noticed about you. you made people feel instantly comfortable, you talked to literally everyone, you remembered names with an ease he wished he had about him. you smiled at strangers like it was the simplest thing in the world. so when you started saving him a seat before he arrived, he assumed you were just being considerate. when you started bringing him into conversations more often, he assumed you were making sure he didn’t get left out. when you started teasing him more, he assumed you were simply comfortable. all of those explanations made sense, because they were true.

but jungwon was also beginning to realise there was a difference between how you treated everyone else and how you treated him. you were still yourself, but there were moments. small ones. like the way you sometimes seemed to look for his reaction after saying something funny. like how you remembered things he mentioned once and brought them up weeks later, similar to what he did with you. how you had somehow learned his coffee shop order without him ever telling you, however simple it was.

he noticed. he noticed everything. that was the problem. because the more he noticed, the harder it became to convince himself that you were just being friendly. and he didn’t know what to do with that. jungwon had never been someone who rushed into things. he liked certainty, he liked understanding situations before acting on them. but with you, everything felt slightly unfamiliar. because he understood assignments and he understood programming, he understood problems with clear and correct answers. he didn’t understand why he felt disappointed when you had to leave early, he didn’t understand why he checked his phone more often than usual after sending you a message. he didn’t understand why, whenever everyone was gathered together, he always seemed to know where you were without trying. and he definitely didn’t understand (and was beginning to feel very frustrated by the fact) why he had started looking forward to fucking tutoring sessions of all things even when there was usually very little actual tutoring involved.

“you’re coming tonight, right?”

jungwon looked up from his laptop. you were standing beside the table, your bag already over your shoulder.

“coming where?”

you stared at him.

“jungwon.”

he blinked up at you before realising.

“oh.”

“game night.” you said, smiling at him and pumping your fist with excitement. right. the group had been planning it for nearly a week, he knew that. he just hadn’t connected the reminder to the fact that you were the one asking.

“yeah, sure, i’m coming.”

“good.” you replied, flashing him a toothy grin. your answer came too quickly but you didn’t seem embarrassed by it. if anything, you looked pleased.

“because i need someone on my team.” 

jungwon raised an eyebrow.

“you lost last time.” he deadpanned, glare flat but not devoid of a soft affection behind it, an affectionate which he secretly hoped you wouldn’t miss.

“because everyone cheated.” you whined, before remembering to keep your voice down.

“everyone?”

“everyone.”

“including me?”

“especially you.” you whispered back after hesitating a little.

he shook his head, but he was smiling. and you noticed. of course you noticed. you felt like you noticed everything about him now. however, the thing you didn’t notice was the way he watched you walk away. or the way he smiled slightly to himself when he realised he’d started looking forward to the evening for a reason that had nothing to do with the silly games jake and heeseung put him up to.

by now, nobody questioned where jungwon would be sitting. it wasn’t something that had been decided. there had never been a conversation where someone had pointed at an empty chair and declared it his, or where you had officially claimed the space beside him as yours. it had simply become another one of those small, unnoticed habits that appeared when people spent enough time together. the same way sunghoon always complained about being hungry approximately ten minutes after eating. the same way jay pretended he wasn’t invested in whatever game everyone was playing despite somehow knowing every rule. the same way jake always arrived a little bit late and acted as though everyone else had been waiting up specifically for him. and the same way jungwon always ended up beside you. sometimes you noticed it, sometimes you didn’t. that was probably what made it feel so natural. there was no awkwardness anymore. no carefully choosing where to sit, no wondering if you were bothering him, no hesitation before sending him a message that had nothing to do with coursework. at some point, jungwon had stopped being someone you were trying to get comfortable around. he was just someone you were comfortable with. which was arguably much more dangerous. because once you got used to someone being there, you really started noticing when they weren’t.

game nights had become a regular occurrence in heeseung’s flat. not weekly, because everyone had enough assignments and deadlines to make that impossible, but often enough that it had become part of everyone’s routine. the first few times, you had still felt like you were unwelcome, entering someone else’s space. jungwon, heeseung and riki lived together, and although you were friends with all of them, there had always been something slightly different about being in their home. it was where jungwon existed outside of uni. where he wasn’t the person sitting at the front of lectures with a laptop open and a notebook full of impossibly neat handwriting. here, he was different, softer. he wore old t-shirts and pyjama shorts instead of structured outfits. his hair was usually messy from running his hands through it while studying. he complained more than people would expect, especially when sunoo purposely chose the most frustrating games possible.

it was strange how much you liked seeing those parts of him. not because they were really that surprising, but because they were his. you had spent so long knowing him as someone everyone admired from a distance that getting to see the ordinary parts made you feel oddly special. tonight was no different. you were sitting on the floor between the sofa and coffee table, surrounded by half-finished drinks, snacks and discarded game pieces. everyone was talking over each other, which meant nobody was actually listening properly. except jungwon. he always listened, you had noticed that early on. even when he wasn’t actively involved in a conversation, he was paying attention. he remembered details people mentioned casually. he noticed when someone looked uncomfortable and quietly changed the subject. you had once asked him how he remembered so much. he had just looked genuinely confused, as though he hadn’t realised he did it, it was just so ingrained in his being, to care for others. that was probably one of the things you liked most about him. he never seemed to understand how thoughtful he was.

“you’re overthinking it.”

you looked beside you. jungwon was looking at your cards.

“you don’t even know what i’m thinking.” you frowned.

“yes, i do.”

“you’re very confident.”

“you’ve been staring at the same card for three minutes.”

you looked down, then back at him.

“that doesn’t mean anything.” you pouted, glaring slightly at him now over the top of your deck. he just smiled in response. 

you should have been used to that by now. his tiny grins, just for you. the way he was much funnier than people gave him credit for because most people never stayed around long enough to notice. but you weren’t, not really. because every time he made you laugh, some part of you still felt ridiculously pleased that you were the one who got to see that side of him. which was a thought you tried not to examine too closely.

the thing about liking jungwon was that it hadn’t changed your friendship. that had surprised you. you had expected the realisation to make everything feel different and much more complicated. like suddenly every interaction required careful consideration. instead, you had simply become the tiniest bit more aware. you noticed when he pushed his glasses further up his nose while reading. you noticed how he always checked whether everyone had arrived before starting anything. you noticed that he never took the last of whatever odd snack jake had bought over from the table unless someone specifically told him to. you noticed that he always walked slower when leaving places with you. that last one had taken you a while to figure out because jungwon never made a show of it. he never said he was waiting, he simply adjusted his pace. and somehow, you always ended up walking together. you wondered if he knew he did that. you wondered if he realised how many little things he did that made you feel important. you also used to wonder if you were the only one who noticed, which now you suspected was false after jay’s earlier interrogation. you were right. you realised this when you returned from the kitchen with two drinks and found everyone looking at you. well, not everyone. specifically just jay, sunghoon and sunoo. which was somehow worse.

“what?” you murmured, your voice lacking any real bite because of the probably too loud sigh that followed it.

sunoo immediately looked away too quickly for your liking.

“nothing.” he said, voice an octave higher.

“that was suspicious.” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“you’re suspicious.” he snapped back, sticking his tongue out immaturely.

“that doesn’t even make sense.”

“exactly.”

you stared at him blankly, then forced your gaze upon jay, who seemed like he was trying very hard not to smile.

“why are you all being weird?” you whined.

“we’re not.” sunghoon muttered, wiggling his eyebrows in that annoying way he often did.

“you are.” jay whispered at you, smug expression still pasted onto his sharp features.

before the conversation could continue, riki interrupted from across the room, completely unaware that he had saved you from being questioned further. or maybe he was aware. with riki, it was impossible to tell. you sat back down, handing jungwon his drink without thinking. only after you had done it did you realise you’d remembered exactly what he liked. again. not because he had told you, but because you just knew. jungwon accepted it with a quiet thank you, looking down at the cup before glancing back at you.

“you remembered?”

the question was innocent, he just sounded oddly surprised. you weren't quite sure why when he did the same kind of thing tenfold when it came to remembering your preferences and favourite things. but something about it made you feel a disappointed. because you weren’t sure why it surprised him so much.

“of course i did.” you shrugged forcibly, doing a bad job of feigning nonchalance.

you said it before you could overthink it. for a moment, jungwon just looked at you. then his expression softened.

“right.” he replied, face now weirdly blank other than the remaining fondness in his eyes.

that was all, just one word. not worth overthinking, you repeated in your head like a mantra.

later that night, when everyone had started leaving, you found yourself standing near the front door with jungwon. it wasn’t unusual because he always walked you out. sometimes he walked you home. sometimes he didn’t, depending on how late it was and how much work you desperately urged him to finish. you peeked out of the open door to see that it was raining lightly.

“i didn’t bring an umbrella.” you said sheepishly. jungwon just glanced towards the coat rack.

“i have one.”

“you don’t have to walk me.”

he looked at you. not confused, just slightly surprised. as though the idea had never occurred to him. 

“i know.” he replied blankly.

there was a pause. you immediately thought about backtracking, embarrassment probably evident on your face at how you seemed to just expect him to follow you to your accom, so used to it by now that you didn't even think of the other possibility. a feeling akin to shame burned at the back of your neck. then, he picked up his jacket.

“i want to.”

the relief that spread across your features was palpable. you hoped he didn't notice. jungwon said things like that so naturally, without hesitation, without realising how much weight they carried for you. you just smiled.

“okay.” you said so quietly it was almost a whisper. 

the walk home was quiet. not awkward, never really awkward anymore. you talked about small things. things that wouldn’t matter tomorrow. complaints about assignments. something stupidly funny jake had said to him earlier. a random story sunghoon had told you and sunoo about his crazy ex. ordinary things. you found yourself thinking that ordinary things with jungwon never really felt ordinary. and beside you, jungwon was having a similar thought. he had spent most of his life believing that comfort was something you built alone. in a quiet room, a familiar routine, a predictable schedule. he had never expected another person to become part of that. but somehow, you had. and the strange thing was, he didn’t feel like you had interrupted his life. you felt like you had always been there. when you reached your building, you turned back towards him.

“thanks for walking me.”

jungwon shook his head.

“you don’t have to thank me every time.”

you smiled.

“i know.”

a small pause, which you’d both seemed to be accustomed to by now. then, almost unconsciously, he smiled back. and neither of you noticed how long you stood there before saying goodbye, neither of you noticed that you were both reluctant to be the first person to leave. but maybe that was the thing about something becoming important. you didn’t always notice the moment it happened. sometimes, you only noticed when you realised you didn’t want it to stop.

the dinky coffee shop you two had discovered months ago had become quieter as the afternoon wore on. the lunchtime rush had disappeared almost an hour ago, leaving behind only the occasional student hiding from the rain outside and a few people scattered amongst the tables with laptops propped open in front of them. neither of you had noticed how late it was until one of the baristas began wiping down the empty tables nearby, a subtle reminder that perhaps spending nearly four hours discussing coursework wasn’t entirely normal behaviour. not that either of you minded. you couldn’t remember when studying had stopped feeling like studying when it was with jungwon. assignments still frustrated you and deadlines still came far sooner than they should have, but somewhere along the way, the time between arriving and leaving had started disappearing far too quickly. it was becoming increasingly difficult to separate whether you enjoyed the afternoons themselves or simply enjoyed spending them with him. if you were being honest with yourself, you had known the answer for a while now.

it was still strange thinking about it sometimes. not because it felt wrong or overwhelming, but instead because it felt so obvious in hindsight. you wondered if everyone else apart from jay and sunghoon had figured it out before you had. judging by the increasingly knowing looks from the rest of your friends whenever his name appeared in conversation, you suspected they probably had. you smiled faintly at the thought as you closed your notebook, reaching across the table to collect the loose sheets of paper that had somehow migrated onto his side over the last few hours.

“i think we’ve done enough work for today,” you sighed, stretching slightly in your chair.

jungwon looked up from his laptop, his expression softening into something quietly amused.

“we’ve been here longer than some of my lectures.”

“exactly my point.”

he laughed quietly before also beginning to pack his things away. over the last few months, you had grown used to moments like these. comfortable silences had become second nature between the two of you now. there was no pressure to fill every moment with conversation anymore. it was nice. you had begun to realise recently that your favourite part of the week wasn’t thursday afternoons themselves. it was the fact that they belonged, in some small way, to the two of you. uni was unpredictable and busy and constantly changing, but somehow this, whatever it was, had remained untouched by all of it. you knew that probably meant more to you than it should. probably meant more to you than it did to him.

“everyone keeps asking me about you, by the way.”

the words left your mouth casually as you zipped your bag shut. it wasn’t entirely untrue. all of your friends, not just your mutuals, had become increasingly interested in jungwon’s existence over the last few months, much to your embarrassment.

his eyebrows lifted slightly as he glanced towards you.

“why?”

“i don’t know.” you laughed quietly. “they’re nosey.”

“that’s unfortunate.”

you smiled to yourself at his response before continuing to pack your things away. there was something about talking to jungwon now that felt so easy compared to those first few conversations. you didn’t overthink every sentence anymore. you had long since stopped wondering whether you were bothering him. he was your friend. hopefully more than that, if you were thinking positively. the thing was, lately, you had started wondering whether perhaps you weren’t entirely alone in all of this. there were moments where he looked at you for slightly longer than necessary, moments where he remembered things you were sure you had only mentioned once, moments where he would choose to stay just a little longer when neither of you really needed to. you weren’t foolish enough to assume that meant anything on its own. but, naturally, sometimes you wondered. perhaps that was why you foolishly felt brave enough to continue the conversation.

“you know,” you smiled, resting your chin briefly against your hand as you looked across the table at him, “jay’s like… convinced that there’s something going on between us.” you blurted out as quickly as you could, as if not to give yourself time to immediately regret it.

his expression shifted immediately into something slightly embarrassed.

“i know.”

“it’s getting difficult to convince people otherwise at this point.”

“is it?”

“a little bit.”

there was a brief pause as he packed away the last of his things. you weren’t sure what the fuck possessed you to say what came next. perhaps it was because things had been so good lately. perhaps it was because you were tired of wondering whether you had imagined every small moment between the two of you over the last few months. or perhaps it was simply because you liked him enough to be a little brave! you smiled softly, looking down at your notebook rather than at him.

“i don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “i don’t think i’d mind all that much.”

the words were deliberately vague. gentle enough that you could pretend they meant very little if you needed to. however, you realised they weren’t ambiguous enough to fully shroud your true intentions after mumbling them out. the silence that followed lasted only a few seconds. it felt significantly longer. jungwon seemed to have froze. for a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure he had heard you correctly. his mind immediately began trying to make sense of what you meant, each possibility somehow more terrifying than the last. he knew his friends joked about the two of you often enough. he knew people made assumptions about your friendship. except suddenly, sitting across from you now, he realised there was another possibility he had spent months refusing to acknowledge. you. liking him. the thought shouldn't have felt so shocking anymore. it still did. because if you liked him, then suddenly every feeling he’d spent months carefully ignoring demanded to be acknowledged in return. and jungwon had never been particularly good with uncertainty. friendships made sense to him because they had rules he understood. this didn’t. he didn’t want to lose what the two of you had now. he didn’t want to make things difficult or uncomfortable or complicated. he didn’t want to ruin this.

“i don’t think…” he began quietly before stopping himself, hand reaching up to scratch awkward at the back of his neck. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

your smile faltered almost imperceptibly, a grimace attempting to fight its way through.

“oh.”

it was such a small sound that he almost missed it entirely. he rushed to continue, unaware that the conversation the two of you were having had become entirely different ones.

“i just mean…” he paused, struggling to explain thoughts he’d barely managed to understand himself. “things are good how they are.”

you pasted on what you thought was your best smile before he had the chance to notice your expression properly.

“yeah.” you replied, nodding your head almost feverishly so he really understood that you meant nothing by it, ignoring the sinking feeling in your gut.

well, at least you had your answer now. looking back, you supposed you should have expected it. jungwon had never really been someone who sought out change when he was happy. perhaps you had simply allowed yourself to become a little too hopeful over the last few weeks. it was embarrassing more than anything else. how stupid of you to have misread things so badly.

“you’re right,” you smiled quietly, standing from your chair and slipping your bag over your shoulder. “they are.”

jungwon just smiled back, relieved that you seemed to understand him. what he didn’t currently realise was that you’d heard blatant, painful rejection, when he’d simply meant to reassure you, and in turn, himself. somehow, that hurt you far more than if he’d simply said no.

if jungwon was really being honest with himself, he thought things had gone surprisingly well. he had spent the entire walk home from the coffee shop replaying the conversation in his head, wondering whether he had explained himself properly. he hadn’t. he’d hardly gotten out a full sentence, much less explained to you everything that was on his mind like a normal person. he knows why he said what he said, because things are good how they are. it had felt honest. reassuring, even, to him at least. and to you too actually! you had smiled afterwards, you had agreed with him. the conversation hadn’t become uncomfortable or tense or anything he had spent the previous five minutes worrying it might become. so, all things considered, he had gone home thinking he’d done the right thing. for approximately twenty-four hours. because the strange thing about spending so much time with someone was that you became accustomed to all of their little habits without ever consciously meaning to. they simply became part of his own routine before he had realised they were there. jungwon knew exactly how long it usually took you to reply to his messages. he knew that you hated studying in complete silence and always put together strangely specific playlists whenever assignments became particularly difficult. he knew that you had an endearing tendency to become more affectionate when you were excited about something, talking slightly faster and laughing a little louder than usual. he knew that when you were tired, you absentmindedly played with the sleeves of your jumpers while trying to stay focused. he knew these things in the same unconscious way that he knew the walk back to his flat or his coffee order or his timetable for the semester. he simply knew them. which was why he noticed almost immediately when something had changed. not enough for anyone else to pay attention to, just enough that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. the first few days afterwards, he convinced himself he was imagining things. you still smiled at him when you saw him. you still sat right beside him whenever the two of you studied together. you still laughed at his jokes, even the terrible ones that never seemed to land with anyone else. nothing had changed. except, somehow, everything had.

you’d stopped doing that stupid thing where you stole his pens. it was almost like tradition now, like a routine, however childish and intentional you both knew it was. that one shouldn't have bothered him nearly as much as it did. for the last few months, he had found himself bringing extras whenever the two of you studied together because you always seemed to lose yours or decide his were somehow better despite being exactly the same. the first tutoring session you’d had after the coffee shop, he had unconsciously placed two pens beside your notebook before he’d even sat down, like he always did. one of them remained untouched for three hours. he told himself he was being ridiculous for noticing, yet he noticed anyway. you thanked him more often now, which somehow felt worse than if you hadn’t thanked him at all. there was a distance in your gratitude that hadn’t existed before. before, your appreciation had always been accompanied by teasing or laughter or some dramatic declaration that he’d saved your degree. now, they sounded almost formal. 

you were still kind. still yourself. just… quieter around him. nobody else noticed it. of course they didn’t. you were exactly the same around everyone else. he watched you laugh so hard at something jay had said one evening that tears had gathered in the corners of your eyes, heeseung watching you fondly from the other sofa. he’d watched you complain dramatically to sunoo about an assignment you’d been putting off for nearly two weeks, riki mocking you right to your face, much to your feigned annoyance. he’d watched you lean comfortably against sunghoon’s shoulder during a movie when you’d become sleepy halfway through. and then he’d watched you be stirred awake by jake’s constant fidgeting on the other side of you. you hadn’t changed. not really. except somewhere along the way, you had become slightly more careful around him. and that was infinitely worse. he found himself thinking about it far more often than he cared to admit.

“you’ve been staring at absolutely nothing for ten minutes.”

jungwon blinked before looking up from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen table. riki was looking at him suspiciously from across the room, eating cereal directly from the box despite heeseung’s careful placement of perfectly usable bowls right next to the boxes, to try and make it easier for him to just do the normal thing.

“i haven’t.”

“you have.”

heeseung looked up briefly from where he’d been making coffee before glancing between the two of them.

“you have.” he agreed through a grimace, much to jungwon’s dismay.

jungwon frowned slightly. “i’m just tired.”

“you’ve been tired for two weeks.”

“uni is difficult.”

riki snorted loudly from his seat.

“no, y/n is difficult.”

the words caught him so off guard that he nearly dropped his pen. heeseung, as always, looked considerably less surprised.

“i was wondering how long it would take for you to say it.” heeseung muttered, rolling his eyes.

jungwon just stared at both of them.

“…what?”

“you’re moping, won.” riki snapped, his tone of voice not matching the sympathetic look on his face.

“i’m not.”

“you’re staring into space all the time.”

“i do that anyway.”

“you’ve made coffee twice this week and forgotten to drink it.”

he paused.

“…that’s happened before.”

“not because you’ve been thinking about someone.” heeseung finally interjected, annoyingly all-knowing look in his gaze. jungwon went suspiciously quiet after that. because that wasn’t possible. was it? he’d spent so long trying not to think too carefully about his feelings for you that he had somehow missed when they’d become something entirely different. he missed hearing from you throughout the day. he missed the way you’d absentmindedly rested your chin against his shoulder while trying to read something on his laptop screen. he missed the familiarity of knowing exactly what you were thinking before you’d said anything at all. more than that, though, he simply missed feeling close to you. he found himself looking for you whenever he walked into a room before he’d even realised he was doing it. he knew immediately when something had happened that he wanted to tell you. he’d begun associating particular songs with you because you’d insisted on adding them to his playlists weeks ago. you had somehow become woven into the fabric of his everyday life so gradually that he’d never noticed it happening. and now, suddenly, he noticed your absence everywhere. perhaps the cruelest part of all of this was that he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong.

you were still there. you still smiled at him. you still sat beside him every thursday afternoon. but somewhere between two tuesdays ago and now, he had lost something he couldn’t quite name. for someone who had spent his entire life preferring certainty, he had never felt more confused. he was beginning to realise that things were no longer good how they were, and they hadn’t been for a while.

there was something particularly embarrassing about realising you’d been wrong. not devastatingly wrong or life-altering or anything dramatic enough to warrant crying over to your friends at two in the morning. just quietly, painfully wrong in a way that made you wish you could go back and shake yourself from three weeks ago. you weren’t upset with jungwon, you couldn’t be. that would imply he’d done something wrong when, if anything, he’d been much kinder than he needed to be. looking back now, you weren’t entirely sure where your confidence had come from that afternoon. maybe the months of small moments, insignificant accumulating into something bigger in your mind. perhaps it had been everyone else’s comments beginning to blur the lines in your head. or perhaps it had simply been wishful thinking.

whatever it had been, it had been yours. not his. that was the important part. you had offered him an open door and he’d quietly, gently closed it. that was all there was to it. it should have been easy enough to move on from.

the embarrassing part was that you found yourself replaying months worth of memories and wondering how many of them you had gotten wrong. moments that had made your stomach twist pleasantly suddenly felt different when viewed from another perspective.

of course he remembered your coffee order, because jungwon remembered everyone’s. of course he walked you home whenever it got late, because he was simply thoughtful. of course he stayed a little longer whenever the two of you studied together because he enjoyed spending time with his friends.

you hated how quickly your own thoughts began correcting themselves now. there had been a time, not even a month ago, where those moments would have made your heart race for entirely different reasons. now, they simply made your cheeks warm with embarrassment, hot shame burning in your gut.

perhaps that was why you had unconsciously started pulling back. not because you were upset or angry or trying to punish him for anything, but because liking someone who didn’t like you back was difficult enough without making yourself feel disgustingly foolish every time you looked at them.

you still wanted to be his friend. more than that, really. you couldn’t imagine suddenly removing him from your life after everything the two of you had become over the last few months. jungwon had become one of your favourite parts of uni so gradually that you hadn’t noticed it happening until it already had. that hadn’t changed simply because he didn’t feel the same way. you still smiled whenever he sent you something funny. you still looked forward to your thursday afternoons together. you still thought he was one of the kindest people you’d ever met.

you simply couldn’t afford to like him quite so loudly anymore. it was wierd, the little things you stopped yourself from doing without ever consciously deciding to.

you stopped reaching for his sleeve whenever you wanted his attention. you stopped sending him photographs of random things throughout your day simply because they reminded you of him. you stopped sitting quite so close whenever the two of you studied together.

small things. almost insignificant things. except they weren’t insignificant to you. because each one had been an unconscious expression of your affection before you’d realised what it was. you had never meant for him to become so woven into your everyday life.

some days were easier than others. there were moments where you forgot entirely and everything felt comfortably familiar again. then there were moments where he laughed quietly at something you’d said or looked at you with that same soft expression he always wore around you and your heart would ache just a little before settling once more.

you wondered if that feeling would ever completely disappear. hopefully, eventually, it would. for now, though, you thought friendship was enough. it had always been enough before you’d become so greedy for more.

maybe that was why you felt guilty sometimes when jungwon looked slightly confused whenever you thanked him for something or didn’t immediately steal the pen he’d unconsciously left beside your notebook.

because none of this was his fault, he hadn’t changed. you had.

and if protecting your own feelings meant becoming slightly more careful around him for a little while, then you thought that was something you could live with.

jungwon couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite so out of place.

looking back, he probably should have refused when heeseung asked him for what felt like the hundredth time if he wanted to tag along. in his defence, it had been a particularly long week and an even longer month. assignments had begun piling up again, he’d somehow managed to spill coffee over half of his notes two days ago, and, perhaps most embarrassingly of all, he’d spent the better part of three weeks pretending he wasn’t miserable whenever he noticed that things between you two had changed.

he was tired of moping around his apartment. riki had become particularly ruthless about pointing it out over the last fortnight and heeseung had long since given up pretending to be subtle whenever he brought your name into conversation.

apparently, staring sadly at your contact for twenty minutes before deciding against sending a message about a video he’d seen was gross and pathetic behaviour. at least according to riki. who was probably right as he knew a whole lot more about these things than jungwon.

despite that, jungwon had still voiced that riki’s assessment of his conduct was unnecessarily harsh. heeseung had wholly disagreed. which was how he’d somehow found himself accepting a drink from jake less than two minutes after arriving.

and then another. and then one he’d accepted entirely because he’d forgotten he’d already had two. he wasn’t drunk. he never really had been. well, at least, he didn’t think he was.

he was simply pleasantly warm and considerably more relaxed than usual, leaning against the kitchen counter while only half listening to whatever story sunghoon was currently telling him. the music was louder than anything he would ever willingly choose to listen to himself and there were significantly more people crammed into the house than he’d initially anticipated, but he was enjoying himself more than he’d expected. granted, he was doing his best to ignore the heavy smell of weed emanating off of jake.

he’d laughed more tonight than he usually did in an entire week. perhaps heeseung had been right after all.

“you should do this more often,” heeseung smiled, nudging his shoulder lightly as he handed him another drink.

jungwon looked down suspiciously at the cup before looking back at him.

“i’ve learnt enough from tonight to know that’s a terrible idea.”

heeseung laughed quietly.

“you’re surprisingly tolerable when you’re tipsy.”

“thank you.”

“that wasn’t entirely a compliment.”

before jungwon had the opportunity to respond, riki appeared between them carrying approximately four different bags of snacks tucked beneath one arm.

“he smiled at a stranger twenty minutes ago.”

jungwon frowned. “i was being polite.”

“you apologised when they walked into you.”

“…that’s also polite.” jungwon muttered back after a moment of hesitation.

“no,” riki laughed, “that’s just wierd.”

heeseung just smirked into his drink. there was something strangely amusing about watching jungwon slightly tipsy. he’d spent so much of uni worrying and overthinking and analysing every situation presented to him that removing even a small amount of that caution left behind him considerably softer than people expected. he laughed easier. smiled more readily. he allowed himself to simply exist amongst conversations rather than constantly listening from the outside of them.

he seemed lighter somehow. it really suited him.

“where’s y/n?” jungwon asked quietly before quickly taking another sip of his drink, pulling his cup up to his mouth with slightly shaky hands.

the three seconds of silence that followed were perhaps the most suspicious seconds of silence he’d ever experienced in his life.

slowly, against his better judgment, he looked up, only to be met with a slightly unsightly view of heeseung and riki garishly grinning at him, their eyes wide but gaze lacking the surprise that usually went hand in hand with this kind of exaggerated expression.

somewhere behind him, he was reasonably certain he could hear jake giggling, although, he could be mistaking it for a cough, courtesy of jake’s persistent tendency to inhale too quick.

“…what?” jungwon snapped, eyebrows furrowed.

“nothing,” riki replied immediately.

“you asked where she was before you’ve asked where literally anyone else is.”

“i asked where you were.”

“after i’d been standing beside you for twenty minutes.”

jungwon chose not to dignify that observation with a response. instead, he just looked towards heeseung expectantly.

“sunoo said she should be here soon.” heeseung said reassuringly, supportively placing his hand on jungwon’s shoulder. although, in hindsight, that may’ve just been to hinder his incessant swaying.

jungwon nodded absentmindedly before returning his attention towards the conversation around him. he didn’t think very much of it. after all, asking where you were wasn’t particularly unusual anymore. he was simply accustomed to knowing whether or not you’d be somewhere.

that was all.

at least, that’s what he’d spent the last three weeks desperately trying to convince himself. it was considerably easier to maintain that delusion when you weren’t standing in front of him.

he heard your laugh before he saw you. 

that wasn’t unusual either.

he thought he’d probably recognise your laugh anywhere now, which was perhaps a more embarrassing admission than he’d ever willingly make aloud. his head turned instinctively towards the front door before he’d consciously registered why and suddenly there you were, laughing quietly at something sunghoon had said as you slipped your coat from your shoulders.

you looked really pretty tonight. the thought came so quickly and naturally that it startled him slightly. you always looked pretty, obviously. he’d realised that a long time ago. he simply didn’t allow himself to think about it very often.

perhaps alcohol was significantly more dangerous than he’d initially given it credit for. he watched absentmindedly as you smiled brightly at everyone gathered in the room before your eyes eventually found his. the smile that appeared faltered slightly, but almost immediately afterwards became softer somehow.

“you’re here?” 

there was something oddly sweet about the genuine surprise in your expression.

“i’m beginning to regret it already,” he smiled quietly, suddenly all too aware of the heat on his cheeks and the smoky smell clinging to his hoodie.

you laughed softly at that before making your way towards him.

“that’s because you’ve only been here for an hour.”

he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d spent the last few days forcibly convincing himself things hadn’t changed all that much between the two of you.

they had. he’d known that. he simply hadn’t realised quite how much he’d missed this. you still smiled at him exactly the same way you always had. you still laughed quietly whenever he made particularly terrible jokes. you still seemed happier somehow whenever the two of you were talking.

the difference was subtle enough that nobody except him would ever notice it. you didn’t touch his arm absentmindedly anymore when you laughed. you left slightly more space between the two of you than before. and perhaps most noticeably of all, you no longer looked at him first whenever something happened that you thought was funny.

they were impossibly small things. he noticed every single one of them anyway.

the rest of the evening passed comfortably enough. conversations blurred together as more people arrived and the music grew louder, everyone splitting themselves into smaller groups before eventually finding their way back together once more.

somewhere throughout all of that, jungwon had unconsciously begun following you around. it wasn’t intentional. at least, not consciously.

if you were in the kitchen, he somehow found himself there five minutes later. if you sat beside sunoo on the sofa, he’d absentmindedly occupy the empty space beside you without thinking very much about it.

he simply preferred being wherever you happened to be.

heeseung had noticed approximately thirty minutes after you’d arrived. riki had noticed considerably faster than that.

“oh my god.”

heeseung looked up from where he’d been talking to jake.

“what?”

riki gestured vaguely towards the living room where jungwon was currently laughing quietly at something you’d said.

“he’s literally following her.”

heeseung just shrugged noncommittally in reply, grin still pasted onto his face.

“no, hyung. look.” riki urged him, poking at his arm before pointing at you and jungwon.

there was something strangely amusing about watching jungwon tonight. he smiled more whenever he was speaking to you. his shoulders relaxed whenever you sat beside him. if somebody asked him a question whilst he was looking at you, there was an unusually chance he’d need it repeated.

he was completely hopeless. his tipsy state wasn’t helping matters, especially considering it was more or less his first time.

“that’s actually insane,” jake laughed quietly as he watched you fix the hood on jungwon’s hoodie where it had folded awkwardly against itself.

jungwon thanked you absentmindedly before immediately continuing whatever conversation he’d been having with you moments earlier. he hadn’t even seemed to notice he’d paused talking entirely whilst you’d fixed it, neck hot as you’d brushed it slightly with your fingers.

sunghoon laughed quietly beside him.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him look at another person that much.”

heeseung smiled into his drink.

“i’ve been saying this for months.”

riki looked genuinely offended.

“and nobody thought to tell him?”

“we have.”

“repeatedly.”

the younger boy’s expression somehow became even more scandalised.

“he’s more oblivious than she is.”

perhaps the most ridiculous part of all of this was that jungwon remained entirely unaware of every observation being made about him throughout the evening. he was too busy wondering whether you’d always looked quite so beautiful whenever you laughed.

he was beginning to suspect that perhaps you’d always looked exactly like this and he’d simply spent too much time pretending not to notice. for someone who had spent weeks mourning the small changes in your friendship, he was finding it increasingly difficult to remember why he’d ever thought things were better before.

it was approaching three in the morning by the time people began discussing leaving.

the house had quietened considerably over the last hour or so, conversations becoming softer as people sank further into sofas and armchairs, unwilling to brave the walk back home just yet. somebody had long since changed the music to something significantly quieter and there was something strangely comfortable about the aftermath of nights like these.

jungwon found that he didn’t mind this part nearly as much as he’d expected to.

he was pleasantly tipsy now, the warmth from the alcohol still lingering comfortably in his chest as he sat amongst conversations that seemed to weave together around him. for perhaps the first time since beginning uni, he wasn’t thinking quite so carefully about every little thing he said or did. he simply existed amongst it all.

more importantly, though, he’d spent most of the evening sitting beside you. 

it had been strangely easy to fall back into old habits tonight. somewhere between laughing quietly at your complaints about one of your assignments and listening to sunoo dramatically retell something that had happened earlier in the week, jungwon had almost forgotten that things had ever changed between the two of you at all.

almost.

because every so often, he’d catch himself waiting for you to unconsciously lean your shoulder against his before remembering that you didn’t really do that anymore. looking back, he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d become quite so selfish.

“you seem suspiciously happy tonight.”

jungwon glanced towards riki sitting opposite him before quietly rolling his eyes.

“i’m fine.” he replied, forcing back a pout.

“that’s somehow significantly more suspicious.”

heeseung laughed quietly from beside him before following riki’s gaze towards where you were sitting, your cheeks slightly pink from both the alcohol and your laughter as you listened to jake explain something particularly enthusiastically with his usual accompanying hand gestures.

“…oh,” riki deadpanned. “never mind.”

jungwon frowned slightly. “what does that mean?”

“nothing.”

it meant considerably more than absolutely nothing.

you looked so beautiful tonight. he thought perhaps indulging in so many drinks had simply removed whatever part of his brain usually stopped him from acknowledging thoughts like that because he’d lost count of how many times he’d found himself looking at you throughout the evening.

it wasn’t only physical attraction anymore either, although he’d long since realised he found you beautiful. it was smaller things than that. he liked the sound of your laugh when you were tired because it became slightly quieter than usual. he liked listening to you talk excitedly about things he knew absolutely nothing about simply because you always looked so happy when you did. he liked that you still became flustered whenever somebody complimented you despite spending your entire life being loved so easily by the people around you.

he liked who you were when you thought nobody was really paying attention. which never truly happened. people were just drawn to you in that way, himself included.

you caught him looking at you from across the room and smiled instinctively, lifting your hand slightly in a small wave before continuing your conversation. his expression softened almost immediately. heeseung watched the entire interaction over the rim of red plastic cup before looking towards riki.

“‘s painful to watch.” he whispered into riki’s ear.

eventually, conversations again turned towards leaving. sunoo had somehow managed to fall asleep against sunghoon’s shoulder almost twenty minutes earlier and jake had been unsuccessfully attempting to convince everyone to stay for another hour despite complaining about how tired he was himself.

jungwon had been helping clear empty glasses from the coffee table when he’d heard you shyly giggling beside him. he glanced towards you immediately.

“how much have you had to drink?”

you thought about it briefly before laughing again sheepishly.

“that’s probably not something i should have to think about.”

he just smiled quietly at that. you weren’t drunk, not really. simply pleasantly tipsy in much the same way he was. your movements were slightly slower than usual and your smile was somehow impossibly softer than it had been all evening.

still, it was enough for him to dislike the idea of you walking home by yourself.  you’d always gone out more than he had throughout uni. if he was being honest with himself, he had worried about you walking home late more times than he would ever willingly admit aloud. that wasn’t particularly new. what was new, however, was his willingness to actually voice it.

“i want to walk you home.”

the words came so naturally that he didn’t really think about them before saying them.

“you don’t have to.” you said, not bothering to stifle the way your jaw temporarily dropped open at his words.

“i know.” he whispered, turning quickly before you could see the further flush on his cheeks, half flustered, half guilty at the way you seemed so shocked by the simple words he usually just held back.

i know. you felt your heart ache slightly before reminding yourself that jungwon had always been thoughtful. he would have offered regardless. you smiled softly up at him.

“okay.”

the walk back was quieter than most. perhaps because the world always seemed gentler after midnight or perhaps because the alcohol had left both of you softer around the edges than usual. your fingers brushed accidentally once when the two of you reached for the sleeve of your jacket that had slipped from your shoulder and neither of you commented on it.

somehow, though, neither of you immediately pulled away either.

and for perhaps the first time in weeks, things didn’t feel quite so different between the two of you anymore. not yet, at least.

there was something comforting about walking through the city this late at night. the rush of the evening had long since disappeared, leaving behind little more than the occasional passing car and the sound of quiet conversation spilling from restaurants preparing to close for the evening. you’d always loved nights like this.

perhaps that was why you’d never minded when jungwon walked you home after studying ran particularly late or movie nights stretched far longer than anyone had originally intended. somewhere along the way, walking beside him had become one of the most familiar things in your life. you were very grateful for that.

the last few weeks had been easier than you’d expected them to be. difficult sometimes, certainly, but easier nonetheless. enough time had passed now that the burning humiliation had softened around the edges into something a little more manageable. jungwon was still one of your favourite people and, if you were being honest with yourself, you thought he probably always would be.

beside you, jungwon was unusually quiet. perhaps he was simply tired after an evening spent far more socialising than he usually subjected himself to. still, there was something different about him tonight. he’d spent almost the entire evening beside you. every time you’d looked around the room, he’d somehow found his way back to wherever you happened to be. even now, his hand brushed occasionally against yours as the two of you walked side by side down familiar streets.

it reminded you a little too much of before.

“thank you for walking me home.”

his eyebrows pulled together slightly at that.

“you don’t have to thank me every time.”

you smiled faintly. “it’s still polite.”

“you never used to.” he blurted out, voice dropping an octave. the words were quiet enough that you almost missed them.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. there were some conversations that seemed easier to avoid than begin. you looked down at the pavement briefly before laughing quietly to yourself. “i’m trying to be better.”

“i don’t think you… needed improving.” he slurred his words a little at the edges.

you hated how easily he could still make your heart ache sometimes. the thing about jungwon was that he had always said the kindest things when he wasn’t thinking about them first. before you had the opportunity to reply, he spoke again.

“i’m sorry.”

you frowned slightly as you looked towards him.

“for what?”

he was quiet for longer than usual this time, his attention fixed somewhere ahead of the two of you. he’d spent the last few weeks thinking about very little else besides what he’d said to you that afternoon and every moment that had followed afterwards. he missed things he hadn’t even realised he would notice before they disappeared. he missed you in ways that felt increasingly impossible to ignore despite the fact that you’d never actually gone anywhere.

it had become difficult pretending that nothing had changed when he thought about you constantly. he was tired of pretending.

“everything.”

your expression softened immediately.

“jungwon…”

“i’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

you laughed quietly. only then did he notice the deep shame behind your eyes before you lowered your head. “that doesn’t surprise me very much.” you mumbled.

that earned a small smile from him before it disappeared just as quickly.

“i lied.”

you felt yourself pause slightly beside him.

“about what?”

his laugh, usually filled with affection, sounded soft and self-deprecating somehow.

“things being good how they were.”

you froze, gaze still locked onto the floor. suddenly, the walk home didn’t feel so quiet anymore.

“i thought they should be,” he admitted quietly. “i thought if i ignored it for long enough it would just…” he trailed off before shaking his head slightly. “i don’t know.”

there was something almost unfair about hearing him say the things you’d spent weeks trying to convince yourself you’d imagined. you let him continue, feeling a prickling in the corner of your eyes.

“i miss you.”

the confession was so quiet that it almost disappeared amongst the sounds of the city around the two of you.

“i’m right here,” you muttered, watery smile still pasted onto your face for as long as you could muster.

“that’s not what i mean.” he cleared his throat, steely gaze locked onto you.

your heart was beating far too quickly now. so much so that it felt like it’d pop out of your throat.

“then what do you mean?”

he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d become brave enough to say these things. maybe the everflowing drinks had simply quietened the part of him that usually overthought every feeling before allowing himself to voice it. or perhaps he was simply tired of slowly losing the bits of you he liked so much.

“i miss the way things were before that day in the coffee shop,” he admitted honestly. “i miss you texting me about things that don’t matter and sitting too close to me whenever we study and stealing my pens even though we both know you’ve amassed such a collection that you could probably make good money selling them.” he babbled out, suddenly feeling like he was speaking at the speed of light.

your eyes softened almost immediately.

“jungwon…”

“and i know i don’t really get to miss those things because this was my fault.”

a long pause. you didn’t want to fill the silence.

“heeseung says i’ve been insufferable for like… three weeks.”

that startled a giggle from you despite yourself.

“only three?”

“apparently riki thinks that’s generous.”

the two of you smiled at each other softly before the moment settled into something quieter once more.

“i was really scared,” he admitted finally. “and i think i still am.”

you waited patiently for him to continue.

“but i’ve realised i’m… significantly more scared of things staying like this.”

the honesty in his voice stole whatever response you’d been preparing.

slowly, he reached for your hand, his fingers slipping carefully between yours as though he was still giving you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted to.

you didn’t.

“i like you,” he smiled quietly. “which is unfortunate because i’m beginning to think i’ve liked you for a really long time.”

“that is unfortunate.” you whispered, unable to hold back your pout now.

there had never really been anyone else who made him feel the way you did. not in the way you had slowly become part of his everyday life without either of you noticing. not in the way he searched for you the moment he walked into a room, or how easily his mood changed simply because you were there. not in the way he had spent weeks feeling the absence of things he hadn’t realised he depended on until they were gone.

and now, standing in front of you, he finally understood just how much he had been avoiding. the moment he finished speaking, there was a quietness between you that felt different from all the others you’d shared before.

then your eyes filled.

jungwon froze.

the guilt hit him almost immediately. he hadn’t expected that. he’d imagined this moment so many times over the last few weeks, but somehow he’d never considered that you might cry. not because he thought you wouldn’t care, but because he hadn’t realised just how much his hesitation had hurt you.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

his hand lifted almost without thinking, fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he wiped away the tear before it could fall any further. the familiar gesture felt strangely unfamiliar now, like he was finally allowing himself to do all the things he had spent months stopping himself from doing.

“jungwon,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly.

you weren’t upset with him. that was the worst part. even now, even after he had made you feel like you had imagined everything between you, you were still looking at him like you were worried about him feeling guilty.

because that was who you were. and maybe that was the exact reason he had fallen for you without noticing. you had always been patient with him. you had always made space for him. you had always understood the things he struggled to say. and he had spent weeks convincing himself that keeping things the same was safer, when losing the little pieces of you that had become so important had been far worse. the small smile you gave him was enough to ease some of the tension in his expression.

“you’re so unbelievable,” you whispered, voice still slightly unsteady.

he let out a quiet laugh, relieved despite himself.

“i know.”

and somehow, that was enough.

enough for you to stop worrying about whether you were misunderstanding him. enough for him to stop wondering whether he had ruined everything. because for the first time in weeks, neither of you were holding back.

the hands resting on your shoulders crept up to hold your face again, brushing away another stray tear as jungwon motioned to tilt your head up a little further, his reassuring gaze meeting yours again. he cautiously brought this thumb around to brush over your lip, searching your eyes for any unwillingness. he took note of the way your face fit perfectly in his grasp before leaning in, lips finally meeting yours.

the kiss was hesitant at first, almost like both of you were waiting to make sure this was real. but when you leaned into him, when you didn’t pull away, the uncertainty slowly disappeared. he took your bottom lip into his mouth as you somehow reached between the little space between you two to wrap your arms around his head, fingers resting at the nape of his neck, softly carding through the dark hair at the bottom.  

to your dismay, the tears you had tried to hold back slipped free anyway, caught between relief and the overwhelming feeling of finally getting what you had spent so long trying not to want.

jungwon noticed immediately. of course he did.

he pulled back, despite your unintentional and somewhat embarrassing whine at the loss of his soft lips against yours. his hand stayed against your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye as his expression softened with that same guilt from before.

but before he could apologise again, before he could turn this moment into another thing he needed to fix, you kissed him again. softer this time, a quiet reassurance. the way you pressed against him serving as a reminder that he didn’t have to keep apologising for caring about you.

OFFICE ! JAKE who stays late every night “catching up on reports” but really he’s on his knees under your desk, face buried between your thighs with his warm tongue working you slowly while you finish emails. He stays there for as long as you want, soft and obedient, letting you use his mouth whenever you need.

OFFICE ! JAKE who gets so fucking desperate during all-hands calls that he’ll grind against the seam of his slacks under the table, chasing friction while you speak. Sometimes he cums untouched just from your voice and the humiliation of it —biting his lip bloody to stay quiet while his cock pulses and ruins his underwear.

OFFICE ! JAKE who loves when you keep him denied for days. You’ll edge him in the copy room, fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him slow and sweet until he’s shaking and begging under his breath, then tuck him back in right before he tips over. “Not yet, baby. Hold it for me.” He’ll spend the rest of the afternoon aching and dripping, thighs trembling every time he has to stand up.

OFFICE ! JAKE who melts when you call him your sweet boy, your good fucking boy, your pretty little office slut while you get behind him after hours, stroking his cock from behind. Just filthy praise that makes his eyes water and his whole body shake.

OFFICE ! JAKE who wears a toy to the big client dinner because you told him to. He sits across from you at the fancy restaurant, cheeks flushed, trying to focus on the conversation while the toy presses right against his prostate every time he shifts. By dessert he’s so close he nearly cums in his pants from nothing but the pressure and the smug look you’re giving him.

OFFICE ! JAKE who gets ruined so perfectly when you finally let him cum. You’ll jerk him fast and tight in the supply closet, whispering how proud you are, how well he takes everything you give him, until he’s crying out and spilling over your fingers— only for u to pull back at the last second so most of it just pulses weakly into his ruined boxers, leaving him oversensitive and whimpering.

OFFICE ! JAKE who turns into the softest, clingiest boy after hours. Once the building empties he’ll pull you into his lap in your big leather chair, while you stroke his hair and tell him what a perfect, obedient little thing he is. He lives for the praise, for the gentle kisses pressed to his temple while your hand works slowly between his legs until he’s shaking and cumming again, this time allowed to make all the pretty noises he wants.

OFFICE ! JAKE who keeps a spare pair of slacks in his drawer because he never knows when you’re going to make him cum in his pants like a desperate slut during the workday. He changes in the bathroom with shaky hands, cheeks burning at the wet spot he has to hide, already getting hard again just from the humiliation of it.

OFFICE ! JAKE who is the model employee on paper— polite, hardworking, always smiling—but the second you text him “my office, now” he’s hurrying over with his cock already twitching, ready to drop to his knees between your thighs nd let you use him however you want, because nothing feels better than being your good boy.

OFFICE ! JAKE who squirms in his chair during long meetings because you texted him not to use the bathroom all day. He’s rock hard and desperate, trying to focus while his bladder aches, the humiliation of knowing you control even this making him leak precum into his slacks.

OFFICE ! JAKE who drops to his knees the second you lock your office door, mouth eager between your thighs. He eats you out like he’s starving, moaning into your pussy, tongue working desperately while you praise him—“That’s my good boy, fuck, just like that”—until you cum on his face and he’s whimpering, cock straining untouched.

OFFICE ! JAKE who ends up on your desk after hours with his cock buried deep inside your tight, wet pussy. You ride him slow, grinding down while whispering how proud you are of your sweet boy for holding it so long. The pressure builds until he can’t anymore—he cums hard with a broken whimper, hot piss flooding inside you at the same time in powerful, uncontrollable spurts that mix with his cum and leak out around his cock.

OFFICE ! JAKE who sometimes gets sooo full he can’t hold it anymore. You keep him denied and desperate until he’s begging, then let him hump your thigh in the supply closet. He cums hard in his pants but can’t stop the hot rush of piss that follows, soaking through his slacks while he hides his burning face in your neck, shaking with shame and pleasure.

taglist is open 🫶🏿

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

for a long time, you had thought you were just waiting for the right kind of soft.

you had tried, too. you had allowed yourself to be taken out to quiet dinners, had sat under warm porch lights, listening to men talk about their lives with gentle, earnest eyes. you had let them hold your hand across small wooden tables, feeling the steady warmth of their palms, and you had waited. you had waited for that sudden shift in the air, that secret hum in the gut that people spent their whole lives writing songs about.

but every time someone leaned in, every time warm lips pressed against yours in the cool night air, it had felt like nothing at all. dry skin against dry skin. a strange, mechanical stillness. it was like watching a match strike through a thick sheet of glass. you could see the heat, could acknowledge the flame, but not a single spark ever managed to reach your skin.

the panic had been quiet at first, a slow burning ache in the back of your throat, before it turned into something suffocating. it wasn't that you were picky. it wasn't that you were holding out for some cinematic ideal. it was the lonely realization that the mechanism inside you was simply broken. your chest was an empty room, dark and quiet, while everyone else seemed to be burning alive.

eventually, you had stopped trying to force a pulse out of stone. you had accepted the dull safety of your own mind.

working at the dive bar had made it easier to forget. the place was always loud enough to drown out the quiet inside your head — sticky floors, the sharp tang of spilt rye, and the dense humidity of too many bodies packed into a low-ceilinged room. you moved through the crowds with a tray tucked under your arm, brushing off clumsy jokes and easy smiles with a polite curve of your lips that never quite reached your eyes. you watched people fall apart over each other every weekend, tangling their fingers together in the dark corners, and you felt like a ghost observing a world you weren't allowed to touch.

watching them was a quiet kind of grief. there was something raw and messy — and violently alive — about the way strangers reached for each other under those flickering neon lights. a bruised knee knocking against another beneath a booth, teeth catching on a lower lip, two people leaning into each other’s space like the air everywhere else was unbreathable. they looked desperate. they looked reckless and stupid and completely undone.

and every time you wove through the narrow aisles with a tray of empty pint glasses, you felt the cold weight of your own detachment settle deeper into your marrow.

you wanted to hate them for it. you wanted to pretend you were above the embarrassing, chaotic urge to give yourself away to someone else. but you weren't above it. you were just locked out.

you had been entirely immune to it all, safe behind the glass, until thursdays started feeling different.

it hadn't happened all at once. it began with the heavy thud of sound equipment being dragged through the alley door, the sudden smell of rain and cheap tobacco cutting through the stale beer. you hadn't even looked at the stage the first night his band played. you had just been standing by the service well, wiping down a greasy counter, when a low, dirty frequency had bled out of the speakers. it was a vibration so deep it didn't just rattle the floorboards under your sneakers, it had settled directly into the hollow space behind your ribs, making your breath hitch in the dark.

you had looked up then. through the shifting haze of blue stage lights and the dull fog of the bar, your eyes caught on the guitarist.

he wasn't trying to pull the room's attention. he didn't have that loud need to be perceived that ruined most musicians who played there. he was just leaning over his instrument like it was the only thing in the room keeping him anchored, dark hair falling across his forehead, casting shadows over sharp features. he wasn't putting on a show. he just played.

when the song ended, he didn't bask in the scattered applause. he just turned his head, exchanged a low, private word with the drummer, and offered a fleeting curve of his mouth that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

and there, standing by the soda gun with a damp rag clutched in your fist, you felt it.

a crack.

it wasn't an explosion. it wasn't a roaring fire. it was just a tiny fracture in the thick glass that had kept you numb for years. a sudden rush of heat that bloomed at the base of your throat and travelled all the way down to your fingertips. you had swallowed hard, your pulse suddenly loud in your own ears, completely paralyzed by the sheer shock of simply feeling something.

you didn't know his name. you didn't know anything about him. but for the rest of your shift, you couldn't stop your eyes from drifting back to the stage.

it started like that. a silent, harmless curiosity.

but as the thursdays bled into each other, the curiosity hardened into something heavier. you learned his name was jay only because you overheard the bartender shouting it over the noise to hand him his tab. you learned that he drank his whiskey neat, that he had a habit of rolling his sleeves up just below the elbow, and that he existed inside a quiet, untouchable bubble.

he had a pull to him, a natural magnetism that drew people in, but he never seemed to entertain it for long. you watched people try their luck after sets — sliding up to the edge of the stage, offering glossy smiles and lingering touches. he wasn't cold, exactly. he would offer a polite nod, maybe a brief response that you couldn't hear over the music, but he never seemed to let anyone in. he always stepped neatly out of their gravity, turning back to pack up his pedals or heading out the back door to smoke with his bandmates. he was polite, but entirely walled off. a mystery that didn't want to be solved.

and slowly, you found yourself sinking into it.

it was a quiet kind of admiration. the kind that crept up on you in the dead spaces of your shift. you found yourself tracking him in your periphery, anticipating the exact moment he would walk through the front door with his guitar case. you memorized the way his hands moved over the frets, the way his jaw set when he was concentrating, the low, raspy pitch of his voice when he occasionally leaned into the microphone for backing vocals.

you made peace with the silence of it. you didn't need to be the person who walked up to him, you were content to stay behind the bar. it didn't matter that he barely looked your way, or that to him, you were probably just a passing blur in an apron clearing empty pint glasses from his table.

it was a one-sided devotion, completely hidden in the dark. but after years of feeling nothing at all, the sweet ache of simply wanting him was a relief. you finally had a pulse, and you guarded that secret bruise with everything you had.

it became a rhythm you lived by. the rest of your week felt like empty space, a dull stretch of days you just had to wade through until thursday rolled around. you started noticing intricate things. like how the faulty neon sign in the window cast a reddish glow over his leather jacket when he stood by the door. or how he tapped his boot against the base of the mic stand before the first song. the heavy silver rings on his right hand too, dull and scratched under the stage lights.

you felt hyper-aware whenever he was in the building, walking through the room like your skin was suddenly too thin. every time you had to walk past the stage to serve the front booths, your shoulders stiffened and your breath turned shallow. you wondered if everyone could see it — this glaring spotlight of a crush burning inside your chest. but no one noticed. especially not him.

the first time he actually spoke to you, it was entirely mundane.

it happened on a night when the heating in the bar had broken. the air was stifling, thick with humidity and the smell of warm beer. he had just finished his set, leaving his guitar on the stand, and instead of heading out to the alley, he walked straight toward the narrow stretch of the service well where you were refilling the garnish trays.

you didn't hear him approach over the sudden noise of the jukebox filling the silence. you just turned around with a plastic container of sliced limes, and he was suddenly there, leaning a casual arm against the dark wood of the bar.

up close, the sheer gravity of him was suffocating. you could smell the faint trace of tobacco clinging to his clothes, mixed with something clean and sharp beneath it. your heart gave a panicked lurch, hammering against your ribs so hard you thought he might hear it.

"hey." he said. his voice was raspy from singing, carrying that same effortless cadence he used with everyone. "could i just get some water?"

you froze. the container of limes suddenly felt heavy in your hands. out of all the desperate, ridiculous scenarios you had accidentally imagined, simply handing him water hadn't been one of them.

"yeah." you managed to say, but your voice came out thin, strained.

you felt the heat rush violently to your cheeks as you spun back around, fumbling for a clean glass. your fingers were suddenly clumsy, stupid, completely betraying you. you dropped an ice cube on the rubber mat and nearly missed the glass with the soda gun.

he didn't seem to notice your quiet spiral. or if he did, he didn't care. he just waited, looking past you, his dark eyes casually scanning the row of liquor bottles on the shelf, completely untethered, completely calm. to him, this was nothing. just a pit stop.

you set the glass down in front of him, a little too abruptly, water sloshing perilously close to the rim.

"sorry." you mumbled, wiping your trembling hands hastily on your apron, wanting nothing more than for the floorboards to open up and swallow you whole.

he didn't bat an eye. he just pulled the glass toward him, offering that same polite nod he gave everyone else, treating you exactly the way he treated the sound guy, the bouncer, the rest of the world.

"thanks." he murmured.

and then he turned around and walked back to his bandmates, taking all the air in the room with him.

he hadn't lingered. he hadn't really looked at you. the interaction had lasted less than thirty seconds. but as you stood there, gripping the edge of the service well with white knuckles, your chest was heaving like you had just run a marathon.

you felt pathetic. utterly ruined by a man who was just thirsty. but those thirty seconds sustained you for a month.

you hated yourself for it. you spent the following weeks dissecting the interaction until there was nothing left but the humiliating reality that you had practically trembled in front of him, and he hadn't even perceived you as a person. you were just a function. a pair of hands that delivered his glass.

but then, it became a routine.

the next thursday, after the first set, he didn't go to the alley. he didn't go to the wider, less crowded side of the bar where the other bartender was standing idly. he walked straight through the crowd and stopped at your cramped corner of the service well.

he didn't say hey this time. he just leaned his forearms against the sticky wood, his dark eyes fixed on the dirty mirror behind the liquor shelf, and tapped his silver-ringed fingers once against the rubber bar mat.

you didn't ask what he wanted. you just reached for a clean glass, your chest tightening painfully, and poured the water.

he took it, gave that same detached nod, and walked away.

it turned into a brutal, silent arrangement. every week, he would come to your exact corner. he never asked your name. he never asked how your shift was going. to you, it felt like you were entirely invisible, just a convenient fixture in the background of his night. he would stand there, chest heaving slightly from the performance, smelling of smoke and sweat, taking up all the oxygen in your immediate radius.

sometimes he would drink it right there, turning his back to you to lean against the bar and survey the room. you would stand inches behind him, trying to remember how to breathe, wiping the same spot on the stainless steel counter over and over just to have something to do with your hands.

it was toxic, this tiny sliver of proximity. you were starving, and he was dropping crumbs without even looking down to see what was eating them.

you rationalized it, of course. it was obviously just convenience. he was a creature of habit. he came to your well because he knew you wouldn't bother him, wouldn't try to touch his arm or shout over the music like the people who hovered near the stage. he came to you because you were practically a ghost. you offered no resistance, no annoying conversation. you were just a silent dispenser of whatever he needed.

but god, you started living for those quiet, devastating minutes.

you started making sure you were anchored at the well right before his set ended, ensuring you wouldn't be called away to a table. you started wearing a little more perfume on thursdays, putting on a darker shade of lip balm, hoping that maybe, just once, his dark eyes would snag on you for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

they never did. his gaze always slid right past you, completely blank, completely untethered.

the worst part was the accidental touches. it didn't happen often — maybe three times over the course of two months. you would slide the cold glass across the wood, and his large fingers would reach out to take it, the rough pad of his thumb grazing your knuckles.

it was always an accident. it had to be. he would pull the glass away with that same maddening expression, completely unaffected, while the brief contact sent a violent shockwave straight up your arm. your skin would burn for hours where he had touched you for less than a second.

you would spend the rest of the night clutching your serving tray against your ribs, nursing the humiliating agony of knowing that you were completely consumed by a man who couldn't even pick you out of a lineup. you were letting him ruin you, and he didn't even know he was doing it.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

it was a rainy mid-november thursday, past two in the morning, and the bar had emptied out into the storm outside. the jukebox was off, leaving only the low hum of the beer fridges and the rhythmic patter of rain against the grimy back window. the other bartender had gone to the back office to count the drawer, leaving you alone to wipe down the sticky surfaces.

he hadn't left with his band. he was sitting on a high stool at the far edge of your well, his leather jacket damp from the rain, spinning a wooden match between his fingers.

you were trying to keep your hands busy, rinsing glasses in the sink, your pulse doing that familiar dance against your ribs just knowing he was sitting three feet away. you kept your head down, tucked behind the shield of your hair, praying your face wasn't as flushed as it felt.

when you finally moved to clear the counter in front of him, you reached out to take his empty glass.

his fingers were still loosely curled around the base of the heavy tumbler. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, your breath catching, before carefully reaching for the rim. but as you pulled it toward you, the back of your knuckles brushed against the side of his hand. a tiny, accidental touch.

you froze, expecting him to pull away like he usually did. but he didn't move. instead, he slowly lifted his head. for the first time in months, his heavy lidded eyes travelled up from the wood of the counter and locked directly onto yours.

the world narrowed down to the space between you. up close, in the dim red light of the neon sign, you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the intoxicating weight of his focus. it was like breathing in smoke.

he didn't look angry, or amused, or bored. he just looked at you, his gaze steady and quiet, taking you in while your lungs completely locked up.

"you got a light?" he asked. his voice was a low rasp, stripped of the stage's volume, vibrating softly in the empty room. it hit you right in the center of your chest.

"uh…" you stammered, your voice pathetically small. "yeah. yeah, under the register."

you turned around too fast, your hands trembling so violently you almost knocked over a bottle of bitters. you fumbled beneath the counter, your heart hammering against your collarbone like a trapped bird, before your fingers finally caught a small cardboard matchbook.

when you turned back, he was watching you. not with impatience, but with a slow quiet that made your skin prickle with heat.

you reached across the bar, extending the matches. instead of taking the book by the edge, his calloused hand closed around yours, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of your fingers to take it from your grip. the heat of his skin was shocking, a searing contrast to the cold glass you had been washing.

he didn't let go instantly. for two agonizing seconds, his fingers lingered against yours, holding the matchbook — and your hand — between you.

and then, he pulled back.

you stood there, gripping the edge of the sink behind you with white knuckles, unable to move, unable to think. you watched as he struck the match. the sharp tang of sulfur filled the space between you, the tiny orange flame illuminating the sharp planes of his face for a split second before he brought it to the tip of his cigarette.

he took a slow drag, blew a thin trail of smoke toward the ceiling, and tossed the matchbook back onto the wet wood of the bar.

"thanks." he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours for just one more endless beat.

he slid off the stool, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, and walked toward the alley exit without another word. the heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet bar with the smell of sweet tobacco and sulfur hanging thick in the air.

you sank against the counter, your knees weak, pressing your burning palm against your chest. you didn't know what it meant. you didn't know if he was just being polite, or if he even remembered your face now that he was out in the rain. but as you stood there in the dark, gasping for air, you knew one thing for certain — the quiet bruise of wanting him had just turned into a fire you had no idea how to put out.

you took the matchbook off the wet bar before you locked up that night. you tucked it into the breast pocket of your apron like a stolen secret, your thumb smoothing over the damp cardboard all the way home on the late night bus. in your small, quiet bedroom, you put it on your nightstand, next to your bed, staring at the charred tips of the few burned matches inside until your eyes burned. it was pathetic. it was the most humiliating thing you had ever done — practically building an altar out of a stranger’s trash.

but the next thursday, the air in the bar felt fundamentally altered.

the invisible line had been crossed, and even if you tried to convince yourself it was all in your head, you couldn’t help feeling hopeful. when his band took the stage, you couldn't even pretend to do your job properly. every muscle in your back was locked, your skin humming with a terrible awareness.

and then, halfway through their third song, it happened.

jay was leaning into a slow riff, his dark hair falling over his face in a beautiful way, when his head tilted. he didn't look at the drunks by the stage. he didn't look at his pedals. his dark, hooded eyes swept straight across the crowded room and locked onto you, standing frozen by the ice well.

it lasted two seconds. maybe three. just an unblinking hold through the blue stage smoke before he looked back down at his guitar.

your breath hitched so hard you choked on it. you backed into the stainless steel counter, hands gripping the edge, telling yourself you were delusional. he was just looking at the clock behind you. he was just scanning the room. he doesn't see you. but it all tasted bitter in your mouth, because the heat in your face was real, and your heart was hammering a desperate rhythm against your ribs.

when the set ended, he didn't wait for the bar to clear out.

he walked straight to your well while the room was still loud and chaotic. he stepped right up to the narrow gap in the counter where you were standing, taking up every inch of space, leaning his forearms over the wood until he was lingering directly in your personal bubble.

up close, the smell of him — stale rain, sweet tobacco, and warm skin — was an absolute sensory assault.

you didn't wait for him to speak. with trembling fingers, you quickly reached for a clean glass and filled it from the pitcher, sliding it toward him without meeting his eyes. "here." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the jukebox.

but he didn't take the glass.

instead, he just leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours across the narrow divider. he placed his silver-ringed hand flat on the bar mat, right beside your trembling wrist. close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"didn't even have to ask." he murmured. his voice was a low rumble meant only for you, dropping beneath the noise of the bar. you looked up, trapped, your eyes flying to his.

he was watching you with a quiet intensity. it felt like he was invading your space completely, casually asserting himself over you, letting the quiet weight of his presence suffocate you while you stood there, utterly helpless.

"you always know what i want, y/n?"

the sound of your name on his lips sent a sickening thrill straight down your spine. you hadn't told him your name. you had never introduced yourself. he had simply taken it, learned it in the dark, and was now holding it against your throat like a blade.

"i-" you swallowed, your throat completely bone dry, your mind spinning into a panicked blur. "it's just... you always order water."

a faint, almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his mouth. not a smile, but something darker.

he finally reached out and grabbed the glass, taking a slow sip as his eyes never left your flushed face, just to set it back down right in front of you. as he turned and walked away into the crowd, you gripped the edge of the sink, gasping for air, completely shocked at the terrifying realization that maybe you weren't a ghost to him anymore.

you spent the next ten minutes in the back room, leaning your forehead against the cool painted cinderblock, violently dismantling every second of it.

you were actually delusional. your nametag was pinned right to the strap of your apron, faded white plastic with your name scratched into the corner. of course he had just read the tag while waiting for his drink, using it to be vaguely polite, and you had turned it into some profound revelation.

the humiliation was a heavy weight in your stomach, but as you picked up your tray to finish closing, you still couldn't stop the embarrassing flutter in your chest.

by three in the morning, the bar was nearly pitch black, saved only by the dim red glow of the exit sign and the streetlights bleeding through the front glass. the doors were locked, and you were clearing the last of the back booths near the stage, desperately trying to hurry so you could escape into the rain.

you didn't realize he was still there until you rounded the corner of the booth.

jay was sitting alone in the dark leather seat, a half empty glass of amber liquor in front of him, his long legs stretched out into the narrow aisle. his jacket was off, draped over the back of the seat, his dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his beautiful skin. he was staring down at his phone, the blue light catching the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

you froze, the heavy tray clattering loudly against your thigh. right then, you tried to pull back, to turn around before he noticed you, but your sneakers squeaked against the slick tile.

he didn't jump. he just slowly raised his head, locking those heavy lidded eyes on you through the gloom.

"sorry." you blurted out, the word tumbling out of your mouth way too fast, way too high. "i-i thought everyone was gone. i'm just clearing tables. i mean, obviously you're here. i can come back later. when you're done." you sounded pathetic, babbling, and completely transparent.

jay didn't move. he just watched you scramble over your own words, his expression completely unreadable. he took a slow sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass, taking his sweet time while you stood there burning alive under his gaze.

"i'm done." he said softly. his voice sounded even lower in the empty bar, a lazy purr that seemed to coat the inside of your ears.

you nodded frantically, stepping forward to reach for the empty beer bottles on the far side of his table. but to reach them, you had to lean slightly into his space, your apron brushing against the wooden edge of his booth. you were so terrified of touching him that your hands were shaking again, your fingers fumbling uselessly around the neck of a glass.

"you always seem to be in a rush, y/n." he murmured. it wasn't a question, it was a slow statement.

"i'm- i just have a lot to clean." you stammered, your eyes fixed firmly on the sticky tabletop, refusing to look at him. "and the bus stops running at three thirty. so. yeah."

"is that why you're trembling?"

the question hit you like a drop of ice water down your spine. you snapped your head up, your mouth falling open slightly.

he was leaning back against the leather, his head tilted, watching you with quiet curiosity. he didn't look mean. he didn't look cold. he just looked like a man who had caught a small animal in a trap and was casually watching it squirm.

"i'm not-" you swallowed hard, your throat locking up. "it's just cold in here."

a dry breath slipped past his lips — not quite a laugh, but close enough to make your face burn with a sudden heat.

he reached out, his long fingers casually picking up the last empty glass on the far side of the table — the one you had been struggling to reach without leaning over him — and slid it across the wood, setting it directly onto your tray.

his fingertips brushed against yours as he let go. just a brief, heavy whisper of skin.

"there." he rasped, his dark eyes holding yours with a suffocating intensity. "now you won't miss your bus."

you couldn't even mutter a thanks. you just clutched the tray against your chest, offered a jerking nod, and practically ran toward the back kitchen, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs you thought it might burst right out of your chest.

you were an idiot. a complete, tragic idiot, mistaking a hot guy messing with his waitress for something else. but as you leaned against the sink in the back, listening to the quiet sound of his footsteps heading toward the exit, your skin was still screaming where his hand had brushed yours.

you stood there for five long minutes, pressing the cold water tap against your burning wrists, trying to force your pulse to slow down. it was actually embarrassing. you were an open wound, bleeding out in front of a man who was just bored, amused by how easy it was to throw you off balance. you told yourself to get a grip, to untie your apron, pack your bag, and leave before you made a bigger fool of yourself.

you put your coat on, shoved your hands deep into your pockets, and pushed through the heavy metal back door into the alleyway.

the rain was coming down hard now, slapping against the pavement and washing away the grime of the night. you ducked your head, pulling your collar up around your throat, preparing to sprint the three blocks to the bus stop.

you took two steps before you saw him.

jay was leaning against the damp brick wall right beneath the narrow tin awning, protected from the downpour. you stopped dead in your tracks, your heart dropping straight to the soles of your shoes.

"you missed it." he said softly. his voice didn't carry over the sound of the rain — it sat beneath it, low and raspy, vibrating in the narrow space between the brick walls.

"what?" you stammered, your voice catching in your dry throat.

he didn't answer with words. he just raised his left arm, tapping the face of his watch with his thumb. the faint red glow of the streetlight caught the hands.

three thirty four.

"oh." you breathed. the last bus was gone.

you stood there, exposed in the cold rain, water instantly soaking through the canvas of your sneakers, feeling small and completely stranded. you should have turned around. you should have walked back inside, called a cab, or walked the forty minutes home in the freezing wet. but your feet were glued to the pavement. you were starving, so pathetic and desperate for the heat radiating off him that you couldn't move a single inch away.

jay took a long drag of his cigarette, his dark eyes never leaving your wet face. he didn't offer a ride. he didn't offer an apology. he just watched you drown in the rain, taking up all the dry space beneath the awning like he owned it.

then, without taking his eyes off you, he stepped back an inch, dropping his shoulder slightly toward the brick wall. it was the smallest, most dismissive invitation in the world. a silent command.

your body moved before your brain could stop it. you stepped out of the pouring rain and under the narrow awning, sinking right into his space.

the sudden heat off him was staggering. you could smell his familiar scent, taking over your senses so violently you felt dizzy. you were standing mere inches from his chest, your soaked shoulder almost touching his arm, your breath coming in ragged puffs that misted in the cold night air.

"you're soaking wet." he murmured.

he lifted his hand — the same hand that played those dirty riffs on stage — and brought it to your face.

you flinched, your eyes wide, your lungs seizing up entirely. but he didn't pull back. his knuckles pressed gently against the side of your neck, his thumb deliberately wiping a drop of rain off your cheekbone. the touch was so hot it felt like a brand, sending a exquisite shiver straight down your spine.

"you're freezing too." he rasped, his thumb dragging down to the side of your jaw, pressing just hard enough to feel the frantic hammering of your pulse against his skin.

you wanted to tell him to stop. you wanted to push his hand away and call him cruel for playing with you like this, for holding you under his thumb when you meant absolutely nothing to him. but you couldn't speak. you were drowning in him, your body betraying you so completely that you tilted your head a fraction of an inch into his palm, desperate for a heat you knew you couldn’t have.

the moment you yielded, the moment your skin pressed just a fraction of an inch heavier into his palm, a terrifying heat rushed straight down to your core.

it was heavy and sudden, a warm pull in your lower belly that made your knees feel completely useless. you had never felt this before — this raw, desperate spike of arousal just from a thumb brushing your jawline. you were completely swallowed up by the sight of him. you took in the sharp line of his throat as he tilted his head, the rain-dampened strands of hair falling over his forehead, the beautiful shape of his mouth. he was a walking disaster. he smelled like dark tobacco and rain, and he felt like the one thing you had been starving for your entire life.

he held his hand there for three agonizing seconds. you could feel the rough calluses on his fingers holding you in place while your breath hitched erratically. he was studying your face, taking in the dilated state of your pupils and the pathetic parting of your lips.

a low hum vibrated in the back of his throat. and then, with agonizing slowness, he dropped his hand.

the absence of his touch was like a physical blow. the freezing alley air slammed back against your wet skin, and a quiet gasp slipped out of your mouth before you could bite it down. your body actually jerked forward a fraction of an inch, subconsciously chasing the heat of his palm, before you caught yourself and stiffened.

you prayed he hadn’t noticed. he probably hadn’t noticed.

jay lifted his cigarette back to his lips, taking a slow drag. he leaned his head back against the brick, watching you shiver under the awning. he looked entirely untouched by the rain, completely in control, while you were falling apart at the seams. it was intoxicating. the fact that he could reduce you to a trembling, aching mess without even trying made you want to press yourself directly against his chest and let him ruin you completely.

"so what's the plan, y/n?" he rasped, blowing a thick stream of smoke over your head. "you're just going to stand here and freeze?"

you wrapped your arms tightly around your own waist, hugging your damp coat against your body, trying to hide the way your chest was heaving. "i don't... i don't know. i'll figure it out."

"the buses are done." he stated, his tone flat. he wasn't looking at you with pity. he was just observing a fact, watching you squirm under the weight of it.

"i know." you swallowed hard, your voice shaking. "i can walk."

his dark eyes flicked down to your soaked canvas sneakers, then slowly dragged back up the length of your body, lingering for a fraction of a second on the frantic pulse at your throat. a faint scoff left his chest.

"you're not walking." he murmured.

he didn't ask. he didn't offer to be a gentleman. he just dropped his cigarette onto the wet concrete, crushing the orange ember beneath the heavy heel of his boot. he stepped away from the wall, his broad shoulders shifting as he adjusted his leather jacket.

"my car's parked on fourth." he said, his voice dropping into that authoritative cadence.

he turned his back to you and stepped out into the freezing rain. he didn't look over his shoulder to see if you were following. he didn't hold out a hand or wait for you to agree. he just walked into the dark, projecting a quiet gravity, seemingly knowing with absolute certainty that you had no willpower left.

and as the pulsing ache in your stomach twisted even tighter, you stepped out from under the awning and followed him into the rain without a second thought.

the walk to his car was a blur of cold rain and slick pavement. you kept your eyes fixed on the broad line of his shoulders, terrified that if you stopped for even a second, you would wake up and realize you were still alone in the alley. he stopped next to a dark sedan, unlocking it with a sharp click that cut through the sound of the storm.

you slipped into the passenger seat, the heavy door shutting behind you and instantly swallowing the noise of the rain.

the silence inside the car was deafening. the interior was pitch black, but it smelled exactly like him — worn leather, lingering stale smoke, and that sharp scent that made your head spin. a second later, the driver's side door opened, and he folded himself into the seat beside you, bringing a gust of cold air with him.

he didn't put the key in the ignition. he didn't start the engine. he just sat there in the dark, his large hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, staring out the rain-slicked windshield.

you sat rigidly, your damp coat clinging to your skin, your knees pressed tightly together as you tried to suppress a violent shiver. the proximity was suffocating. in the narrow space of the front seat, his physical presence felt massive, a heavy gravity pulling on every nerve ending in your body.

"you didn't even hesitate." he said suddenly. his voice was low, filling the enclosed space until there was no room left to breathe.

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the damp fabric of your jeans. "what?"

"i told you i was parked on fourth, and you just followed me into the dark." he turned his head slowly, the dim amber glow of a distant streetlight casting sharp shadows across his face. "you always this trusting, y/n?"

the word hit you directly in the stomach, a hot pull that made your thighs ache. "i was freezing. and you offered to drive me."

he didn't say anything to that. he just watched you for a quiet moment. then, he shifted in his seat, leaning across the center console.

your breath hitched. your body instantly braced for the heat of his touch, your chest tightening in desperate anticipation as his broad shoulder eclipsed your vision. but his hand just brushed past your trembling knee, his knuckles grazing your wet denim, to flick a dial on the dashboard.

the heater roared to life, blasting warm air over your freezing legs.

he leaned back into his own space, leaving you entirely bereft. you hated how badly you had wanted his hand to land on your thigh. you hated how obvious the sharp intake of your breath had been.

"you shouldn't get into cars with guys you don't know." he murmured, his voice a lazy drawl over the sound of the fan.

"i know you." you tried to sound steady, but your voice came out breathless and weak, betraying exactly how rattled you were.

jay let out a quiet sound — a rough exhale that vibrated deep in his chest. "you know my drink order, sweetheart. you don't know me."

the nickname made your stomach drop, somehow feeling more condescending than sweet. the words hung heavy in the warm air, because you couldn't argue with him. you didn't know his last name, didn't know where he lived or what he was like when he wasn't dragging those heavy riffs out of his guitar. you didn't know anything real about him at all.

but you knew the exact shape of his hands. you knew the way his throat moved when he swallowed. you knew that you were sitting in his passenger seat, soaking wet, practically vibrating with need just because his eyes were on you. it was a terrifying, blind obsession, and you were completely powerless to stop it.

he watched you fall silent, his dark eyes dropping slowly to the frantic pulse jumping beneath the wet collar of your shirt. he watched it beat for a long second, the silence stretching so tight you thought it might snap. he didn't mock you. he just observed you, taking in the absolute mess he had reduced you to with nothing more than his proximity.

he finally reached down and turned the key in the ignition. the engine rumbled to life, a deep vibration that rattled the floorboards and shot straight up your spine.

"so," he murmured, resting his arm casually on the back of your seat, his fingers brushing the wet ends of your hair. "where am i taking you?"

you rattled off an address that was fifteen minutes away across town, the name of the street barely making it past the nervous knot in your throat.

he didn't say a word. he just pulled the gearshift down, his knuckles brushing dangerously close to your knee, and eased the heavy car out into the empty streets.

the drive was excruciating. you pressed yourself as far into the passenger door as you could, staring out the window at the blurred city. but you couldn't escape him. the car was entirely his domain, saturated with his scent and the brooding quiet he carried everywhere. looking out the window didn't help either — the wet glass just acted like a mirror against the dark night, reflecting the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed slump of his shoulders, the careless way he drove with one hand resting at the bottom of the steering wheel.

his other hand was still resting on the center console. right in the narrow space between your seats, mere inches from your thigh.

the hypnotic sweep of the windshield wipers was the only sound in the car besides the low roar of the heater. the warm air was slowly thawing your frozen skin, but the heat pooling low in your stomach had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.

he stopped at a red light. the car idled with a deep purr that vibrated up through the floorboards.

jay shifted his hand on the console, his long fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the dark plastic. every time his hand moved, your eyes darted toward it, completely hypnotized by the heavy silver rings glinting in the dim amber light of the streetlamps.

he caught you looking. his eyes flicked from the windshield to you, catching your gaze in the reflection of the glass before you could tear it away.

"you pay a lot of attention." he murmured into the quiet.

you flinched, your fingers tightening around the damp canvas of your coat. you didn't look at him. you just stared straight ahead at the rain hitting the glass. "what?"

"on thursdays." he clarified softly, his voice a gravelly hum that seemed to wrap itself right around your throat. "you always stand in the exact same spot by the ice well. you don't talk to anyone, you just watch. right?"

your heart gave a sickening lurch, hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break out. he knew.

the panic seized your chest, but beneath it, a dark wave of arousal rushed straight down your body.

because he was right. you did watch. you had spent months completely consumed by the way he played, memorizing every microscopic detail. you knew how his large hands slid down the neck of the guitar, fingers pressing effortlessly into the frets. you knew the exact moment his eyes would slip shut during the bridge of that one slow song, lost in the dragging rhythm. you knew the way his hips moved when he leaned into the microphone, a slow sway that made your mouth go completely dry.

every thursday, you stood in the dark and let the deep bass of his guitar rattle around in your chest, imagining what those heavy hands would feel like mapping out the shape of your waist instead of the instrument. you had spent hours agonizing over what that kind of intense focus would feel like directed solely at you, letting the thought pool hot and heavy between your thighs until you could barely stand the friction of your own jeans.

but you couldn't just tell him that. "it's a small bar." you lied, your voice wavering pathetically. you swallowed hard, trying to sound indifferent, trying not to let him hear how badly you were shaking. "there's nowhere else to look."

jay didn't argue. he didn't call you a liar or push you to confess. he just let out a quiet exhale that sounded entirely too much like a laugh.

the light turned green. he looked back at the road and hit the gas, the sudden acceleration pressing you deep into the leather seat.

he didn't take his hand off the center console. instead, he shifted it just a fraction of an inch closer, his knuckles grazing the damp fabric of your coat where it spilled over your leg. he just left his hand there, hovering in the agonizing space right beside your thigh in absolute silence.

when the car finally rolled to a stop near your apartment building, the deep rumble of the engine stayed alive between you. you gripped your bag tightly, your knees pressed together under your wet coat, desperate to escape before your body gave you away completely.

"this is me." you murmured, your voice breathless. "thanks again. for the ride."

you reached for the handle, but before your fingers could pull it, his voice cut through the dark.

"you didn't ask why i was out there."

you froze, your hand hovering over the cold plastic latch. "what?"

jay shifted in the driver's seat, resting one wrist over the top of the steering wheel. the light from the streetlamp caught the sharp angle of his jaw, his heavy eyes fixed entirely on you.

"in the alley." he said, his voice a low rasp. "you just stepped under the awning like you were expecting me to be standing there."

your heart gave a sickening thud against your ribs. a sudden rush of heat pooled low in your stomach, heavy and aching.

"i- i wasn't expecting you." you answered, the words tripping helplessly over your tongue. "i thought you were just smoking."

"i finished my cigarette ten minutes before you walked out the back door." he murmured.

the air left your lungs in an instant. your mind raced into a dizzying tailspin. did he wait for you? why would he wait for you? you tried to convince yourself it was a coincidence, that he was just killing time, but the deliberate way he was watching you made your throat go completely bone dry.

"then... why were you waiting?" you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it, pathetic and fragile in the quiet car.

jay didn't answer right away. he slowly leaned across the center console, taking up all the air in the vehicle, bringing the suffocating heat of his body right into yours. you braced your back against the passenger door, your chest heaving, your pulse hammering violently in your ears.

he didn't touch you. he just rested his forearm against the top of your seat, his fingers trailing so close to your shoulder that you could feel the heat radiating off his leather jacket.

"why do you think, y/n?" he rasped softly.

the proximity was agonizing. up close, you could see his beautiful features and the dark intensity in his eyes. you wanted so desperately to say something — anything — to bridge the inch between you, to tilt your head up and sink into him. you were starving for it, completely undone by the mere possibility that he wanted you back.

but the fear was bigger. the humiliating certainty that you were just reading into things, that he was playing with a clearly anxious woman who didn't know how to handle him.

"i don't know." you stammered, your eyes dropping helplessly to his lips before darting back to his eyes.

jay stared at you for two endless beats, taking in the flushed heat on your face, the breathless parting of your lips, the absolute ruin he had made of your composure.

an imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his mouth. "liar." he murmured softly.

before you could process the word, his hand moved, his thumb casually reaching out to drag over the sharp line of your collarbone — just a fleeting stroke of skin that sent a shockwave directly down your spine — before he reached past you and clicked the door handle open.

the cold night air rushed into the car, snapping the suffocating heat between you like a twig.

jay pulled back into his seat, his large hands settling back onto the steering wheel, completely unbothered, his face a mask of calm composure.

"go inside." he said quietly, looking back out at the rain-soaked street. "you need some sleep."

you sat there, paralyzed, your body throbbing with an unfulfilled ache, your heart slamming against your chest. he had left you completely exposed, dangling on the edge, and pulled back without a second thought.

"goodnight, jay." you choked out.

you scrambled out of the car into the freezing rain, your knees so weak you practically stumbled up the steps to your building. as you fumbled with your keys in the dark doorway, your skin still burning where his thumb had touched you, the sound of his engine faded into the night — leaving you alone in the cold, utterly consumed.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

the seven days between thursdays felt less like a week and more like a slow fever.

your sleep schedule was done for. every time you closed your eyes, you were back in the dark interior of his car, feeling the phantom heat of his thumb dragging over your collarbone, hearing that soft liar echoing in your ears. the humiliation of bracing for a kiss he never gave you burned like an open wound, but the sickening hunger it left behind was a thousand times worse.

by ten o'clock the following thursday, the bar was a suffocating wall of heat, noise, and smoke. you spent the entire set doing everything in your power to avoid looking toward the stage. you kept your head down, aggressively wiping down the wooden counters, restocking glasses, pretending you were entirely immune to his presence. but your body betrayed you at every turn. the heavy rumble of his guitar vibrated straight through the floorboards, shooting directly up your spine and settling in the pit of your stomach.

the second their last song ended, you grabbed an empty ice bucket and escaped down the dimly lit back hallway toward the heavy stainless steel ice machine.

the back hallway was quiet, smelling of damp concrete and cold metal. you shoved the bucket under the chute and hit the lever, the loud avalanche of crushing ice filling the silence. you leaned your forehead against the cold material, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath to force your pulse to slow down.

"you missed the solo." the voice came from the dark shadows behind you — low and entirely unhurried. you snapped your head up, your heart leaping straight into your throat.

jay was leaning his broad shoulder against the damp brick wall a few feet away, his arms folded loosely across his chest. he had just come off stage; his dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his usual black shirt was unfastened at the top, revealing the sharp line of his chest. he looked completely relaxed while you instantly unraveled.

"i was working." you stammered, your fingers tightening around the edge of the metal bucket until your knuckles turned white.

"you were working last week, too." he murmured, his voice a smooth rasp. "didn't stop you from staring then."

a hot wave of heat rushed up your neck, burning your cheeks. you tried to swallow, but your throat was bone dry. "i wasn't staring."

jay didn't argue. he just pushed off the brick wall with effortless grace, taking two slow steps toward you.

the space between you vanished in an instant. the sheer size of him in the narrow hallway was suffocating. he brought a staggering wall of heat with him — saturated in that intoxicating scent of distortion, fresh sweat, tobacco, and warm skin that made your head spin. it felt like your senses were made to betray you, every instinct sharpening and blurring at once until all you could register was him standing there, stealing the air from your lungs without saying a word.

you pressed your back flat against the cold metal of the ice machine, completely trapped.

"you're terrible at lying, y/n." he murmured softly.

he didn't touch you, but he reached past your waist, his long fingers resting casually on the edge of the ice machine right next to your hip. he leaned in slightly, his broad shoulders blocking out the hallway light, casting his sharp features in deep shadows.

"i'm not lying." you whispered, though your voice cracked pathetically on the last word. up close, the sight of him was overwhelming. you took in the dark fringe of his eyelashes, the faint sheen of moisture on his throat, the beautiful shape of his lips. you were practically vibrating, starving for him to bridge the inch between you, desperate to feel those heavy hands on your body.

jay tilted his head, his dark eyes slowly sweeping over your face. "why didn't you look at me tonight?" he asked softly, his tone completely neutral, as if he were asking about the weather.

"you told me i watch too much." you choked on the words, your eyes helplessly dropping to his mouth before darting back to his. it was becoming a bad habit at this point.

an almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his sharp mouth. "i said you pay attention." he corrected, his voice dropping an octave, slipping over your skin like velvet. "i didn't tell you to stop."

the words hit you directly in the stomach, a hot pull that made your inner thighs press tightly together beneath your apron. your mind completely short-circuited. you stood there, paralyzed, drowning in the absolute control he held over you.

he lifted his other hand — slowly, agonizingly slow — and let his knuckles lightly graze the side of your neck.

the touch sent a blinding shockwave straight down your spine. a soft gasp slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. you tilted your head just a fraction of a millimeter into his hand, completely surrendered, silently begging him to take more, to press you against the cold metal and ruin you right there in the dark.

but he didn't pull you closer. instead, his thumb lightly dragged up over your jawline, holding you captive in the dark for one more breathless second.

"your ice is overflowing." he rasped softly, his breath fanning hot against your mouth.

and then, he stepped back.

the sudden absence of his touch was a physical blow. the cold hallway air slammed back against your skin, leaving you feeling entirely breathless and humiliated.

you looked down with wide, unspooling eyes. the ice machine was overflowing, cold cubes spilling over the rim of the bucket and clattering onto the concrete floor around your shoes.

jay stood there, entirely unbothered, his composure completely intact as if he hadn't just brought you to the absolute edge of sanity. he casually shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.

"see you around, y/n." he murmured indifferently. he turned his back to you and strolled down the hallway, disappearing back into the crowded bar without a single glance over his shoulder.

you slid down the front of the ice machine until your knees hit the cold floor, clutching your arms around your waist, shivering uncontrollably. your skin was still burning, your body throbbing with a desperate feeling you had never experienced before.

he was playing you like an instrument. the anger didn't arrive all at once, starting as a bitter burn in the pit of your stomach while you picked ice cubes off the floor, tossing them one by one into the drain.

he was doing it on purpose. the thought took root, cold and ugly, pulling you up off your knees. it wasn't an accident. it wasn't just a string of awkward coincidences or a series of moments where you happened to misread the room. the deliberate way he moved into your space, the exact second he chose to drop his touch — it was calculated. he pushed just far enough to watch you break, to feel your pulse go erratic against his skin, and then he pulled away the second you offered yourself up to him.

he was entertaining himself. you were just a pathetic waitress at a bar, practically begging a stupidly hot guitarist to notice her, giving him an ego boost on his walk out to the alley.

and yet, as you hoisted the heavy bucket back up to your hip, a sickening wave of doubt crashed over your anger, drowning it out.

what if he wasn't? what if you were completely insane? what if he was just an indifferent, naturally invasive man who stepped into people's personal space without thinking twice about it? what if every single drop of tension you felt was a pathetic fantasy you had constructed inside your own lonely head?

the thought made your face burn hotter than the humiliation. you were torn straight down the middle — half of you furious at him for being a sadistic bastard, the other half utterly disgusted with yourself for being delusional enough to think he gave a damn.

by two in the morning, the main floor had finally drained of people.

you were behind the counter, desperately praying you could just finish up and escape into the cold night air. right in that moment, jen, the server who was supposed to lock up with you, rushed out of the back hallway, clutching her coat.

"y/n, i am so, so sorry." she breathed, looking panicked. "my sister just called. her car overheated on the highway and she's stuck on the shoulder. can you please finish wiping down and lock the back door? the drawer is already counted."

"yeah... go ahead." you murmured, forcing a small smile despite the sudden drop in your stomach. "drive safe."

she thanked you three times and bolted out the front entrance, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

you were alone. or at least, you should have been.

you couldn't set the alarm or lock the rear exit because jay was still inside. the rest of his band had picked up the heavy amps ten minutes ago, their voices long faded down the alley, but jay hadn't left.

he was sitting on a tall stool in the far, shadowy corner near the empty stage, a single overhead amber light allowing you to see him. he had his electric guitar resting against his hip — unplugged, raw, and quiet. his fingers were sliding over the frets, dragging out lazy riffs that vibrated through the empty room.

the sound was hypnotic. it echoed softly against the bare brick walls, that dragging rhythm that always shot straight down your spine.

you were supposed to be cleaning, but you were completely paralyzed. you stood behind the bar with the damp rag clutched in your hand, mesmerized by the effortless way his fingers moved over the dark instrument. you hated him for it. you hated how easily he held you captive without even looking at you, how a few lazy notes from his hands could make your knees feel hollow.

and then, the music stopped. a single string vibrated into silence. slowly, jay tilted his head back, his dark eyes locking onto yours across the empty room.

a lazy, mocking smirk spread across his lips. "still paying attention, sweetheart?" he rasped. his voice carried effortlessly through the quiet bar, laced with a condescending warmth. "thought you said there was nowhere else to look."

a stinging heat rushed up your neck, burning your cheeks. you gripped the rag tighter, your jaw setting in a rigid line. "i'm waiting for you to leave so i can lock up."

"are you?" he slowly unstrapped his guitar, resting it against the stool with agonizing slowness. he didn't look bothered. he didn't look tired. he looked like a predator who had just spent the last two hours watching you squirm in a cage he built for you.

he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and began walking slowly toward the bar. every step he took sent your heart hammering violently against your ribs. you stood your ground behind the mahogany counter, trying desperately to look cold, distant, and unbothered. but as he drew closer, the sheer physical weight of his presence started stripping away your meager defenses.

he didn't stop on the other side of the counter. without taking his eyes off you, jay reached down, unlatched the small wooden gate at the side of the bar, and stepped straight into your space.

the sound of his heavy boots against the floorboards behind the counter was a shockwave. people weren't allowed back there. it was the one physical barrier that kept you safe from him, and he had just shattered it without a second thought.

"jay-" you stammered, your composure instantly fracturing as you backed up until your thighs slammed against the low liquor display behind you. "you can't be back here."

"make me leave, then." he murmured smoothly.

he didn't stop until he was towering directly over you in the narrow aisle, blocking out the amber light, trapping you between his broad chest and the glass bottles behind you. the sudden heat coming off his body was overwhelming.

he looked down at you, his eyes utterly ruthless as he took in your heaving chest and the pathetic way your breath was hitching in your throat.

"you look annoyed, y/n." he rasped, a mocking chuckle vibrating deep in his chest. "what's the matter?"

the words hit you like a slap, raw and humiliating, laying your most embarrassing secret completely bare. your mouth parted in a sharp gasp, your eyes wide with shock. "i- i’m not-"

"lying again? mmh?" he purred softly, cutting you off before you could even build a defense.

he reached out, his fingers taking the damp rag out of your trembling hand and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder onto the sink. your hands were left completely empty, completely exposed.

"you've been standing in the dark watching me for months, haven’t you?" he rasped, stepping half an inch closer until the front of his unbuttoned shirt pressed directly against your apron. "you practically shook out of your clothes when i put my hand near your leg in the car. and when i touched your neck by the ice machine, you tilted your head right into it. aren’t you such a desperate little thing?"

every single word was a cruel sentence, destroying any remaining delusion that it had all been in your head. he had known the entire time, and he was taking immense pleasure in watching you drown in it.

you felt a tear of overwhelming frustration sting the back of your eyes. "you're being an asshole, jay." you choked out, your voice trembling with a mixture of intense anger and something else you didn’t want to accept.

jay didn't flinch. his smile only widened, turning dark and entirely devoid of mercy. "maybe." he murmured softly.

he slowly raised his hand, his calloused palm sliding up your throat, his fingers wrapping firmly around the back of your neck. his grip was warm, heavy, and absolute, tilting your face up until your lips were mere millimeters from his. "but you're still shaking for me, from just playing a few notes." he rasped, his thumb pressing deliberately over your frantic pulse, feeling the absolute ruin he had reduced you to. "you hate it, but you want me so bad you can barely stand up. don't you?"

your mouth parted, but no sound came out. you wanted to deny it, to tear his hand away from your neck and spit some lie about how he was conceited, how you didn't care. but his thumb was pressing so firmly against your throat, feeling the chaotic rhythm of your heart betraying every single thought. you were completely exposed, pinned against the low display shelf, with his dark-clothed body trapping you in.

"i..." you choked out, your eyes darting helplessly to his lips before flying back to his mocking eyes.

"that's what i thought." he murmured, his voice a low purr of absolute victory. he slowly let his hand slide down your neck, his knuckles dragging over your collarbone with agonizing slowness before he stepped back, taking that heat with him. you felt a cold shiver run down your spine at the sudden loss of his touch.

he looked down at you, his gaze sweeping over your flushed face and your trembling hands, a slow smirk playing on his lips.

"you're a mess, y/n." he rasped softly, his tone laced with a teasing warmth. "i have my amp setup at my place." he murmured, leaning his hip against the bar, looking entirely relaxed while you were practically vibrating. "since you like watching so much, come back with me. i'll play for you. privately."

the condescending arrogance of his voice should have made you scream. he was being an absolute asshole, treating you like some easy toy he could wind up and watch spin. you knew you should say no. you knew that going to his apartment was walking straight into a trap where he would keep pulling the strings.

but the hunger inside you was a physical sickness. it had been building for seven long days, for months of thursdays in the dark, and you were too weak to fight it.

"okay." you whispered, your voice pathetically small.

jay's smirk widened, dark and possessive. "mmh. grab your coat."

the drive was a silent torture. the rain lashed against the windshield of his car, the steady scrape of the wipers doing nothing to ease the suffocating tension in the small space. jay drove with one hand, looking completely unbothered, while you sat frozen in the passenger seat, your hands knotted tightly in your lap, your mind spinning in a dizzying loop of anticipation and shame.

when he finally unlocked the door to his loft, the darkness of his space swallowed you whole. it smelled heavily of tobacco, old wood, and the warm scent of his skin.

he didn't take his leather jacket off. he just walked over to a low leather couch, leaving the lights off except for the dim streetlamp glow filtering through the wet windowpane. he picked up his electric guitar, plugging it into a small amp on the floor. the heavy hum of the electricity filled the room, making your pulse spike.

"sit." he commanded softly, gesturing to the edge of the low table right in front of him.

you slowly crossed the room, your knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your footing. you sat down on the edge of the wood, your knees practically touching his denim-clad thighs.

jay didn't wait. his fingers settled over the strings as he began to play.

it wasn't the loud music from the stage. it was a slow, dragging, incredibly dirty riff. the distorted notes vibrated right through the floor, straight up through the table, settling like liquid fire directly between your thighs. the sound was hypnotic, wrapping around your senses until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, your eyes locked onto the effortless movement of his hands.

he looked up through the dark fringe of his hair, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he kept playing, his fingers sliding over the frets with agonizing precision.

"look at you." he rasped over the low hum of the guitar, a toxic smile curving his lips. "you're practically dripping just from the sound of it, aren't you?"

"jay, i..." you whispered, your chest heaving, the friction of your own jeans against your aching core becoming completely unbearable. the music was winding you so tight you felt like you were going to snap.

"what is it, sweetheart?" he teased, his fingers plucking a deep chord that sent a literal shiver straight down your spine. "you wanted me to play for you. you've been dreaming about this. watch my hands, y/n. tell me what you want them to do to you."

the agonizing teasing was too much. you leaned forward, your hands gripping his knees, your eyes wide and pleading in the dark. "put it down. please."

jay didn't put the guitar down. instead, he stopped playing, the last distorted note echoing into the dark corners of the room before dying out. he looked down at your hands clutching his knees, his dark eyes glinting with a slow amusement that made your stomach twist.

"put it down?" he murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp. "why would i do that when you're paying such close attention?"

he slowly raised his right hand. pinched between his long fingers was his guitar pick — a small, thin piece of black plastic, still warm from his grip.

you stared at it, your breath hitching as he brought it toward your face. he didn't touch you with his hand. instead, he used the flat edge of the pick to trace the line of your lower lip. he dragged it slowly, deliberately, pulling the sensitive skin down just enough to force a quiet gasp from your mouth.

"you want my hands so bad." he whispered, his eyes locked on your parted lips as he slid the pick down your chin, tracing the sensitive skin of your throat. "but you haven't earned them yet."

the sharp edge of the plastic felt like fire against your heated skin. you shivered, your eyes fluttering shut as he dragged the pick further down, slipping it past the collar of your shirt, tracing the valley between your breasts, and then down, down, until he pressed it firmly against the seam of your jeans.

an agonizing throb bloomed between your thighs. you whined, your hips instinctively twitching upward, begging for the pressure, but jay immediately pulled the pick away, letting out a soft chuckle.

"so impatient." he teased, his voice dropping into a velvet purr. "since you love my music so much, i think we should let the guitar do the work."

before you could process his words, jay reached out. his heavy hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he easily lifted you off the edge of the table.

you thought he was pulling you onto his lap. you thought you were finally going to get the friction you were starving for.

but as he sat you down, he didn't pull you against his thighs. instead, he guided you right over the solid body of his electric guitar.

your breath left your lungs in a violent shock. you were straddling the hard wood of the instrument, the cool finish pressing directly against your soaking wet center through the thin fabric of your jeans.

"jay-" you gasped, your hands flying to his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

"shhh." he murmured, his hands wrapping firmly around your hips, pinning you down so you couldn't pull away. "stay right there."

he reached around your body, his long fingers settling over the fretboard and the strings behind you. you were completely caged by his arms, trapped on top of the instrument, your face buried in the crook of his neck. you could smell the intoxicating scent of his warm skin, so close you could taste it.

and then, jay struck a low, heavy chord.

the electric guitar was plugged into the amp on the floor. the distorted sound didn't just fill the room — it vibrated violently through the solid wood of the guitar's body, shooting a physical shockwave of vibration directly into your pelvic bone, straight to your sensitive core.

your back arched off him, a helpless cry tearing from your throat as your head fell back. the unexpected intensity of the vibration sent a blinding wave of pleasure straight to your brain, making your inner thighs tremble uncontrollably.

"do you like that, sweetheart?" jay rasped in your ear, his voice laced with a cruel warmth.

he struck another chord, a slow, dragging rhythm. the vibration hummed continuously against your wet denim, winding you so tight you felt like you were going to snap. you began to move, your hips instinctively grinding down against the hard wood of the guitar, desperate to chase the friction.

but jay's hands tightened on your hips, holding you perfectly still.

"i didn't tell you to move." he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "just take the music."

"please, jay, let me move." you sobbed softly, the denial of friction becoming a literal torture. your core was throbbing, practically weeping against the hard instrument, desperate for any release. "please, i want to slide, let me-"

"tell me what you want." he commanded, his fingers plucking a resonant note that made your entire body shudder against the wood. "say it, y/n. tell me what you're riding."

"your guitar." you cried out, your pride completely shattered, your face burning with a mixture of intense shame and overwhelming arousal. "i'm riding your guitar. please, jay..."

a dangerous chuckle vibrated against your chest. "good girl." he murmured, his grip on your hips finally loosening just a fraction, allowing you to slide. "now show me how desperate you are. ride it for me."

with his hands guiding your hips, you slowly began to shift, dragging your aching center over the vibrating wood of his guitar. every time you moved, he plucked another deep chord, the physical vibrations combining with the friction of your jeans to push you closer and closer to the absolute edge of sanity. you clutched his shoulders, your eyes rolled back, completely ruined, riding his instrument in the dark while he watched your undoing with a victorious smile.

you shifted against the smooth finish, your head thrown back as the continuous vibration of another low chord hummed straight through your pelvic bone. every friction-filled glide of your jeans against the wood was sweet torture, but you couldn't get close enough. you were chasing a release that remained agonizingly out of reach, completely trapped in the rhythm of his hands.

jay watched the desperate tilt of your hips, his eyes dark and dilated in the shadows. he let out a rough hum, the sound vibrating against your chest where your bodies brushed.

"look at you." he rasped, his voice dripping with that toxic satisfaction. "ruined for me. and i haven't even touched you yet."

he kept his left hand on the fretboard, casually holding down a rumbling note that kept the wood buzzing against your wet heat. but his right hand left the strings.

you opened your eyes, blinking past the tears of frustration, and saw him holding that thin, black guitar pick again.

your breath hitched, your hips freezing for a split second. "jay..."

"i didn't tell you to stop, y/n." he murmured, his tone a mocking warning. "keep moving."

you swallowed hard, forced to slowly drag your aching core over the vibrating wood again, your eyes locked onto his fingers.

jay slowly brought his hand down between your bodies, his fingers reaching the button of your jeans. with agonizing slowness, he popped it open. the sound of your zipper being dragged down felt incredibly loud in the quiet room.

he didn't slide his hand inside to cup you. he didn't give you the warm touch of his palm that you were begging for.

instead, his knuckles brushed your stomach as he slipped his hand just inside the parted denim, the cool edge of the plastic pick sliding past the damp lace of your underwear.

the second the thin plastic pressed directly against your swollen clit, you let out a broken sob. your back arched, your fingers digging violently into his shoulders as a blinding jolt of pleasure shot straight to your core.

"so wet." jay whispered, his voice a dark purr right against your ear.

he didn't move his hand away. as you instinctively tried to push your hips forward into the pressure, his fingers held the pick perfectly still, letting the flat edge of the plastic press firmly against your sensitive bud. at the same time, his other hand plucked another deep chord on the guitar.

the double assault was completely overwhelming. the wood vibrated violently against your pelvic bone while the thin plastic pick teased the most sensitive point of your core.

"slide for me, baby." he commanded softly, his grip on your hips tightening just enough to guide you. "rub yourself right against the pick, y/n. let me feel how much you actually want it."

you cried out, the humiliating filth of his words sending a fresh wave of heat down your thighs. but you couldn't stop. you were entirely unraveled, completely at his mercy. you slowly shifted your hips, dragging yourself over the vibrating guitar body while the hard edge of his pick scraped and teased over your dripping heat with every agonizing movement.

"please, jay." you wept, your forehead pressing into his neck as you frantically chased the edge, your inner thighs shaking so hard you could barely hold yourself up over the instrument. "please... it's too much."

"it's exactly what you wanted, sweetheart." he rasped, his eyes watching your face with possessive intensity. he dragged the flat edge of the pick slowly up and down, parting your sensitive folds, coating the plastic in your own slick moisture while the guitar kept humming beneath you. "show me how much you can take before you break."

he brought the slick guitar pick back down, but he didn't slide it. instead, he pressed the very tip of the plastic right against the swollen center of your pleasure. he began to vibrate his hand with the same rapid motion he used to shred on stage, turning the plastic pick into a dizzying blur against your clit.

the sensation was so sharp, so violently intense, that your vision literally went black at the edges. you screamed, your hips bucking frantically against his grip, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. but his hands on your hips were like iron bands, locking you down, forcing you to take every single agonizing vibration.

"jay! please, please- i'm going to-" you cried out, your fingers clawing desperately at the leather of his jacket, tears finally spilling over your hot cheeks.

"mmh? " he teased as he kept his hand vibrating against you, pushing you closer and closer to a messy peak.

in a fleeting second, he stopped his hand, holding the pick perfectly still, pressing it hard against your throbbing bud. you gasped, hovering on the very brink of your orgasm, your body trembling, completely suspended in mid-air.

"fuck, jay!" you wept, your voice breaking, completely ruined, any ounce of your dignity long gone, scattered on the floor of his dark loft. "please let me. please, jay."

jay stared up at you, his dark eyes flashing with a heavy hunger that finally burned away the mocking amusement. his chest was heaving now, his own breathing ragged as he took in the sight of you — completely stripped of your defenses, crying and begging for him, entirely his.

but he didn’t budge. he kept his hand absolutely still, holding you hostage on the very peak of the cliff, your body trembling so violently the guitar strings beneath you hummed a chaotic note.

he leaned forward, his face close enough that his warm, tobacco-scented breath brushed your wet cheek. the dark smirk on his lips was entirely devoid of pity.

"crying over a guitar pick. you’re so easy it’s almost boring, y/n." he whispered, a low chuckle scraping against your ear.

a sob caught in your throat, your fingers clenching the leather of his jacket. the sheer humiliation of his words burned, but the ache between your thighs was a screaming demand, drowning out every shred of your dignity. "jay... i can't... i need-"

"what do you need?" he interrupted smoothly, his silver-ringed fingers gently tapping the side of your neck, right over your throbbing pulse. "tell me exactly how pathetic you are right now. let me hear it."

you shook your head, trying to hide your face in his shoulder, but he caught your chin in a firm grip, forcing you to look into his ruthless eyes.

"say it." he commanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet purr. "tell me you're just a desperate slut begging for whatever crumbs i feel like giving you."

"i'm... i'm desperate. i’ve been waiting for so long, jay." you wept, the words tasting like ash and fire on your tongue. "please, please let me come..."

his dark eyes flared with a predatory satisfaction. "my patient girl. that’s it." he rasped, the praise dripping with toxic sweetness.

he didn't remove the pick. instead, he gripped your hips with bruising force, pinning you down, and struck one final chord on the guitar. at the very same instant, his hand holding the pick flicked sharply, dragging the flat edge hard against your overstimulated clit.

the dual explosion of the violent vibration and his sharp touch shattered you. a loud, broken moan tore from your throat as your body bucked wildly against his hands. a violent orgasm crashed over you, your inner thighs spasming uncontrollably as you flooded the hard wood of his instrument. you clutched him like a drowning person, your face buried in his neck, sobbing through the exhausting intensity of the release.

jay didn't move. he just held you tightly against him, letting you shiver and break, listening to your ragged gasps with a quiet hum.

when the worst of the tremors finally began to fade, leaving you hollow and completely spent, he slowly let go of your hips. he reached down, casually tossing the wet guitar pick onto the table, before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you off the instrument.

he set the guitar aside, letting it clatter carelessly against the floor, and pulled your limp body directly onto his lap. you slumped against his chest, too weak to even lift your head.

jay slowly ran his fingers through your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle, though his voice remained laced with that same mocking warmth.

"look at the mess you made of my guitar, sweetheart." he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed a possessive kiss to your temple. "i guess you're going to have to clean that up, too. but first..."

his hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the bare skin of your hip, pulling you flush against the hard bulge of his jeans. "you're going to have to thank me."

you shivered against him, your forehead still pressed into his neck as your chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. below you, the thick ridge of his jeans pressed right against your freshly ruined core.

the contrast was absolute torture. every tiny twitch of his thighs sent a jolt of electricity straight to your overstimulated nerves, making your hips shudder helplessly on his lap.

"i'm waiting, y/n." jay murmured. his large hand slid up your thigh, his calloused thumb digging deliberately into the sensitive flesh of your inner leg, forcing them wider. "where is my thank you?"

you swallowed hard, your throat tight with a humiliating mixture of tears and burning lust. you wanted to fight him. you wanted to claw at his chest and scream at him for being so unbelievably cruel. but you were too far gone. he had stripped away every single defense you had, leaving you completely raw.

"thank you..." you whispered, your voice cracking pathetically. "thank you, jay."

a condescending chuckle vibrated against your chest. jay tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a look of pure triumph. "is that it?" he rasped, his hand sliding further up, his fingers brushing the wet warmth between your thighs, making you gasp and arch into his hand. "sounds a little half-hearted. especially after you made such a disgusting mess of my gear."

"jay, please." you begged, your hands clenching the leather of his jacket as you desperately ground your hips down against his hand, trying to force his fingers inside you. "i can't... please, i need you. inside me. now."

"you're so greedy." he purred, his fingers teasing the very edge of your wetness but refusing to slide in, intentionally keeping you hovering on the edge of madness. "you spent months pretending you weren’t even looking at me, and now you’re begging like a dog on my lap. do you want to feel how big i am compared to that little plastic toy? is that it?"

"fuck, jay. please." you begged, completely abandoned to the filth of his words.

that did it. the last thread of jay's mocking restraint finally snapped. his dark eyes flared with a vicious hunger, his breathing turning incredibly heavy. in one swift, incredibly rough motion, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, slamming your back flat against the leather couch. the impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, but before you could even inhale, jay was hovering over you, his heavy body pinning you down.

he didn't waste any time. he reached down and aggressively ripped his belt open, the metallic clinking of his buckle sounding incredibly loud in the dark room. he shoved his jeans down, exposing his pulsing cock, already slick and fully prepared to ruin you.

"you said you've been waiting for this for months, right?" jay rasped, his voice entirely stripped of its quiet playfulness. he grabbed both of your knees, brutally pushing them up toward your chest, exposing you completely beneath him. "let's see if you can actually handle it, or if you're just all talk."

"jay-"

you didn't even get to finish his name. jay leaned down, his large hand wrapping firmly around your throat to keep you still, and plunged himself straight into you in one deep, merciless thrust.

a choked cry tore from your throat as your eyes rolled back. he was massive, stretching you to your absolute limit, filling the aching void that had been torturing you for weeks. the friction was so intense, so violently good, that your hips immediately tried to rise to meet him.

but jay kept you pinned, his hand on your throat tightening just enough to command your absolute obedience. "don't move." he growled, a possessive sneer on his lips as he began to pull back and thrust into you again, harder this time. the slapping sound of his skin against yours filled the quiet loft, dirty and loud. "just lie there and take it."

he began to pace himself with a brutal rhythm, his thrusts heavy and deep, bottoming out against you with a force that made the entire couch shake. every time he slammed into you, his silver rings bit into the skin of your hips, leaving bruises that would remind you of this night for weeks.

"look at me." he commanded roughly, slamming into you so hard your head bounced against the leather cushion. "look at me while i finally fuck you, y/n."

you opened your tear-filled eyes, staring up at his beautiful face. he looked absolutely lethal in the dim light — his jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his neck, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a consuming intensity. he was mocking you, degrading you, treating you like nothing more than a place to release his own dirty urges, and yet you had never felt so utterly alive.

"you're so tight." jay growled, his pace turning fast and frantic, his control finally fracturing under the sheer heat of your wet walls crushing around him. he leaned down, his mouth catching yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue invading your mouth just as roughly as his lower half was splitting you open.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in as deep as he could possibly go, a shattered moan muffling against his lips. he bit down hard on your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look down at you, his breathing heavy and ragged, his hips never slowing down for a single second.

"you really thought you were subtle, didn't you?" he rasped, his voice dripping with that arrogant tone as he slammed back into you, making your entire body jolt against the leather. "every single thursday night. standing in the shadowy corner behind the bar, pretending to clean the same spot on the counter for twenty minutes straight."

your eyes widened slightly through your tears, a soft sob breaking out of your chest as his words laid you completely bare.

"i saw you every fucking time, y/n." he growled, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he thrust deeper, hitting that exact sensitive spot inside you until your toes curled. "watching my hands on the fretboard. biting your lip like a pathetic little stalker. wondering if i'd ever notice you."

"jay..." you choked out, your hands digging into his shoulders, trying to endure the agonizing perfection of his relentless rhythm.

"i knew exactly what you were doing." he purred, leaning down to drag his teeth over your sensitive pulse point while his lower half brutally worked you open. "i let you sit there and starve on purpose. and look at you now, so fucking desperate you're taking every inch of me on my couch."

he tightened his hand around your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but just enough to force your head back as his thrusts turned fast, brutal, and completely merciless. the sound of your wet center clinging to him mixed with the heavy creak of the couch frame echoed loudly through the dark loft.

"tell me i was worth the wait." he commanded roughly, his dark eyes burning into yours as he pounded into you with relentless force. "tell me how much better this is than your little fantasies."

"it's... fuck, jay, it's so much better." you sobbed, completely unraveled, your hips desperately lifting to meet every devastating strike of his body. "please... don't stop..."

"i'm not stopping until i completely ruin you." he growled against your skin.

he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up even wider, and drove himself in so hard your vision blurred. the sudden angle sent a blinding spike of pure ecstasy straight to your core. your inner walls squeezed him violently, contracting in am uncontrollable spasm.

jay let out a guttural curse, his jaw clenching as your tightness threatened to snap his restraint. "yeah, just like that. squeeze me, sweetheart. show me how much you needed this."

the words were still vibrating against your skin when your vision completely shattered into white-hot sparks. you let out a broken scream, your fingers clawing violently at his shoulders, tearing at his shirt as the orgasm ripped through you. your inner walls clamped down on his thick length like a vice, pulsing in frantic waves that made him growl out loud, his neck straining as he fought his own release.

but jay didn't let you enjoy the finish. he didn't slow down, and he didn't give you a single second to breathe. instead, he kept driving himself into you, his heavy hips slamming against yours with a brutal force, mercilessly pounding straight into your freshly oversensitive core.

"f-fuck, jay! stop- please. too much!" you sobbed, your head thrashing against the leather cushion as the pleasure turned so sharp it was almost painful. every heavy thrust felt like electricity shooting straight to your brain.

"stop?" he mocked, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. he leaned down, his sweat dripping onto your chest, his dark eyes wide and completely feral in the shadows. "when you spent months begging for this?"

he hit that deep spot again, hard, as you let out a high whine, your thighs shaking so violently they were practically vibrating.

"look at you." he rasped, his voice dripping with absolute satisfaction. "so fucking pathetic. crying and shaking over my cock like it's the only thing keeping you alive. is it, y/n? is this the only thing you've been thinking about while you were serving my band?"

"jay…" you wept, completely stripped of any remaining self-respect, your hands clutching helplessly at his hair. "yes, jay, please..."

"such a dirty little thing." he purred, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, leaving deep marks as he kept up the punishing pace. "you're making a fucking mess of my leather, fuck."

you couldn't even answer him. all you could do was let out useless whimpers as he mercilessly worked you over, his heavy body crushing you into the cushions. the relentless friction of your overstimulated clit against his pelvis was too much. another wave of heat started building immediately, tighter and even more desperate than the first.

"that's it." jay growled, his own breathing turning incredibly shallow, his chest heaving as he felt your inner walls starting to spasm tightly around him again. "come again for me. let me feel how easy you are."

he grabbed your other leg, shoving both of your knees practically to your chest, folding you completely in half as he delivered three final, devastatingly deep thrusts.

your voice broke completely, a shattered sob tearing from your throat as you crashed over the edge for a second time, your core clenching around him in a tight grip. the sheer intensity of your climax finally broke jay's remaining control. he let out a guttural roar, his body locking up as he gave one last, bruising thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you as he flooded you with his hot release.

"fucking hell, y/n…" jay moaned as he finished inside you, completely breathless, locking his dark eyes onto yours with a terrifyingly intimate intensity.

the quiet that followed didn't feel like relief. it dropped over the dark loft like lead, drowning out the electric hum of the amp on the floor.

for a long moment, he didn't pull away. his weight stayed heavy against you, his forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving in ragged pulses that mirrored your own. the arrogant edge in his posture had fractured — just for a fraction of a second — leaving only the harsh heat of his skin and the violent rhythm of his pulse hammering against your jaw.

in the dark, you couldn't tell where the friction ended and the silence began. you lay there trapped beneath him, your heart thrashing against your ribs, desperately searching his face for any slip in his composure, any proof that he had lost himself to you as completely as you had lost yourself to him.

then, slowly, the dark closed back in.

jay lifted his head. the amber streetlamp light filtered through the rain-streaked windowpane, catching the sharp contour of his jaw and the damp fringe of hair clinging to his forehead. the feral hunger that had consumed him vanished as quickly as it had arrived, slipping smoothly back behind that unbothered calm.

he slid his hand slowly up your throat, his thumb dragging across the flushed heat of your cheek with gentle weight. he didn't say a word right away. he just stared down at you, taking in the absolute ruin of your posture, the lingering tremble in your legs, the quiet tears drying on your temples.

he had given you everything you had spent agonizing months starving for. he had pulled you into the dark and undone you piece by piece.

as he finally leaned down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice dropping into a teasing whisper that made your stomach twist.

"let's see if you can still look away next thursday, sweetheart."

At the root of anyone's envy of you, is the easy-going nature you possess. 

Nothing in life seems to deter you. No tears wept over spilt milk, no conversation or adventure too outlandish for the flow you coast on. It's the kind of blasé attitude that makes hardship foreign to you, because even if inconveniences arises, is it not a happy detour to your final destination? A moment for pause, to think, remember the smell of roses despite the figurative collapse of life coming down around you ─ and like everything in life, you don't go through it ─ everything bends to your will, sea parting because that's what life's like when water runs off your back. Life's better that way ─ less complicated, more fun, somehow always finding yourself in situations that earn all the gasps and laughter at the flock of people surrounding you, starved for the stories you tell and whatever way they can possibly weave themselves into new ones.

It's a phenomenon ─ never through your own admission ─ that entices men, suitors hard pressed to be interesting enough to warrant the stray of your life. Sometimes, you indulge, because the mundane is inevitable, but like the rest of your stories, they're in the past, your heart fully present and drenched in the colours of raw emotion, but built with the capacity to move on. It's how you've found yourself at your latest chapter, navigating what should be a serious third-year at university, only for it to be some off-hand detail in the grand scheme of things. Dancing on bar tables, dressing triple your age during pub golf, travelling oceans away on a course trip, celebrating victory wins hoisted up by teammates and ultimately kissed on the pitch, by your adoring and doting boyfriend, Jake.

He has every bit of your heart, swooping in with his charming smile and sun-kissed skin from the vacation you'd met on. All you assume it to be is a summer romance, a whirlwind week where you ride on the back of his moped bike, arms circled around his waist with the coastal winds wisping through your hair. His feather-light giggles float past your ears, manoeuvring through the streets of the obscure European beach town you'd travelled to on a whim. Summer's clutches would not leave you, nagging, and as the due date for the academic year draws nearer, you decide to write another chapter. One more paragraph to close out the summer and it's your best chapter yet. Catching shellfish, cooking them over a fire made on a one-man island, immersing with locals who quickly adopt you as their own, free-floating in the ocean with the little time you spend on land spent exploring. Enriching yourself in the beauty life had to offer beyond the drone of normalcy, and Jake's there for it all. Captivated by you, as you are him and when your last night together comes, some part of you really can't let it go. Wondering if this heartbreak may crack the rose-tinted lens you see the world in, echoing over the plane's roaring engine as you clutch the necklace he'd wielded for you, a singular J etched into a heart that's fully his.

And to your surprise (as if life taught you the concept), the heartache doesn't last long. Not when Jake shows up on your university campus, parting the grump grey clouds plagued by your uni town, but being the sunshine beaming down on you two as you embrace, held in his arms as he twirls you around, giggles free-falling from your fallen lips.

Not a thought is spared, sticking together like glue because that's the thing about whims, you're constantly on one. Doing this, doing that. With someone, then another. Your friends enjoy it for what it's worth, enjoying the fresh flowers he adorns your uni house in and the handiwork he does your maintenance man can't be bothered with, but they know. Know like everything else, this won't last. But Jake sticks, weathers the autumn he comes in and nestles into the winter you creep into, your fingers interlaced as you marvel at the city carnival, somehow finding his way around rigged games and winning the biggest plushie your eyes dazzle from.

It's straight out-of-a-movie, perfect in every way. You're not together like how vacation-you were, building towards ambition as you live your own lives, and it's…freeing. The thing about men before him is that even the securest of them had a knack for insecurity. Feeling small in the grandness of your existence. They couldn't handle anything being more fulfilling than them, they had to be the most interesting thing about you and that, you couldn't stand, serving as a canvas for their own painting. You are your own person with Jake, painting the strokes to your own story while he does nothing but admire yours, a kiss to your cheek before he gets to his own, choosing his own set of colours instead of borrowing your own. You work together, in ways that are conventional and some that…aren't.

Perhaps you're too-free of two souls, no limit to the flight of your wings that situations where someone else would recoil, actually open up earnest dialogue between you two. You're not sure who breaches the topic first ─ you or Jake, but you're in the situation you are in now because of it. So stupidly in love with each other, but still able to fuck other people.

It's a civil agreement. It happens, but isn't discussed at length with each other. There are so many things to try, so many people to meet, why be bound by the ties of monogamy? Sex is something you're nearly matched in, no shortage of kinks explored, but when something new creeps in, when the other is too tired for another rendezvous, isn't it convenient to have an outlet? No sad jerk-off or groan at your battery-drained toy, but another human. Another person you have your moment of relief with, vanishing in the morning where Jake wakes you up with bed in breakfast, looking at you with the same overflowing love in his eyes like he did last.

Initially, you're surprised by your newfound liberty, looking over your shoulder as you scroll through dating apps you'd sworn off, Jake folding over your back and swiping as if he'd be meeting the men. To no surprise, no one draws your attention and even on night outs, those who approach you don't get anywhere beyond a gentle rejection squeeze on the shoulder. It doesn't necessarily worry you, more so opens up an avenue for unconventionality, meeting someone in the waking hours of your crawling campus. 

Jungwon is one of them. 

He's one of the students below you in the tutoring program you'd randomly got roped into. How could you pass up the opportunity to extend a helping hand? Especially when your professor begged with clasped hands, looking at you like you're his sole saviour. It jam-packs your schedule, but you prefer it that way. Less time to ponder, to lose yourself in rumination because you aren't immune to it either. Point is, you take on his request and offer sparse sessions to the two students you're delegated with. One another second year girl whose transition into uni is wobbly at best, but bettered by your assurance. And the other, Jungwon.

In the library is where you first see him, your head lifting at the call of your name. When you're due to confirm it, the answer dies on your tongue. He is strikingly beautiful, an intricate mix of features contrasting between cute and handsome. It hits you like a ton of bricks, nothing but the flutter of your lashes echoing on the talking library floor, background nothing but that in his presence. He smiles like he's caught you, but there's no cockiness to it. If your eyes aren't deceiving you, there's a flicker of reciprocity in it, but it's quickly shut down. No matter how lawless you may seem, your purpose is to tutor him, not to flirt.

So, that's what you do. Flash him a friendly smile, known to charm, and extend your hand, eclipsed in his larger one. You pretend you don't feel the jolt of electricity at the mere touch and immediately crack open your previous notes, the first bit of your session utilized to gauge the basis of his knowledge and build from there. You leave the session rushing off to football practice, promising him the better grade he's searching for and leave feeling accomplished, willing the back of your mind not to draw forwards. You tell Jake about it, the tutoring session that is, over the burger bowl he's invited you to try out. You don't really tell him other things related to Jungwon ─ how your hands sparked to the touch, that from time to time, your attention would stray to the obscene stretch of his shoulders or the sneaky spread of his smile. No, you just mention offhandedly that he's handsome and Jake nods, all good-natured, but ends up laughing into his lettuce, knowing better.

Knowing you.

To be loved is to be seen, and while you'd always thought of the sentiment as reassuring, it now feels like unnecessary exposure. Like you'd been caught with your hand in a cookie jar and while the shame shouldn't come with it, it does. Because like Jake, Jungwon charges you with something similar. Current beneath your fingertips, the extra thump to your heart that bruises your chest and keeps your eyes pried when you really should be sleeping. Not because you're capable of falling in love with him too, but because even the slight question of its possibility poses an issue. Ruins the mirage of what life's been like with Jake because even if you're able to fuck people, there's perimeters for it. Suggestions, Jake had corrected you. While repeat lovers aren't frowned upon, they need to be discussed. Put under a lens for inspection because if they're someone you keep running back to, the foundation of your relationship has no choice but to be called into question.

Why are we together? Where do we not click? Do we need to make it work or are they the one for you? To what extent are they the one for you?

So many question posed, messing with the harmony you love. The constant you've come to crave, so you firm it. Push any possibilities to the furthest points of your expansive mind and run on auto-pilot, teaching Jungwon until he knows better, keeping things friendly until things run their course, his steady good grades no longer requiring your services.

Unfortunately, like you've known him to be, he's lovely about your last meet-up, gifting you the biggest pack of your favourite chocolate ─ the one you'd been snacking on during your sessions ─ and a bouquet of flowers, modest but meaningful because they'd been the same you'd picked up on your walk to the library one time.

"It's the least I could do. Your time has nothing on these," he says, admiring the clutch you do to your chest of all the goodies. Then his eyes find yours, like they always do, sparkling in their earnest way. Except there's a hint of darkness behind them, a doom you know you'll be subjected to.

He steps closer, the grey of his sweatshirt stretched across his chest, glasses balancing on his nose. His hair is a bit shorter, and you loved his long hair, but now you might love his shorter hair more, a bit dishevelled in a stupidly handsome way. And he's there, a hair-length away from you, his fresh linen scent consuming you with the flutter-shut of your eyes, only pried open when you feel him move.

Jungwon ducks, lowering his head to meet you at eye-level, tone like gravel as he's close enough for your lips to graze if you'll allow it, your lashes weaved together.

"And if you need any of my services," he smirks, the sound etched into your memory. "You know where to find me."

This all happens in a library. A public one, full of said to be concentrating students who mindlessly yap the hours away, laying witness to your knee buckle, willed by a mechanical smile and the close proximity of a nearby table.

He leaves and when he's out of sight, you're not even graceful enough to collapse into a pulled-out chair, a pool of melted limbs on the carpeted floor you can only pray has been cleaned.

Jungwon knows you're with Jake. You haven't shared that part of your relationship, but he knows enough by your Instagram posts where everyone portrays themselves to be happier than they really are. It should make you think different of him, less, because sex is on the table for him despite you being very committed to your partner. You don't know if that makes him sick or somehow captivating, as if he hasn't reduced you to the mess you are, face buried in a bunch of flowers you'll dry so they'll last longer.

You're weak. So fucking weak because whatever high and mighty standards you may have held yourself to now come crashing down on you, leaving you no choice but to yield.

To listen to the voice at the back of your head, even though you know better.

A time is set, one you do share with Jake almost like an admission of guilt.

He won't have it.

"Hey," he calls sweetly, finger nudging your chin upwards. In your vision, he lays himself as its centre, kind eyes offered to you. He's never nothing but understanding, seen in the words he speaks. "This is meant to be a good thing. Your tutoring sessions are over with, so there's nothing holding you back,"

"Frowning doesn't suit you," he jokes, smiling in the face of your own. "Don't think about it too much. Have your cake and eat it too."

thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated.ᐟ ᰔ

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you've never avoided him to this extent before, and you just end up waking him anyway, to which he responds by throwing the covers over his head with a huff and a bitter impression about being the object of your, well . . . indifference.

not that it bothers him. not in the slightest. except this time around, jake cannot, for the life of him, find it in himself to go back to sleep.

whenever he closes his eyes, he's back in the great hall with his obnoxious friends, very obviously warring between themselves over sneaking around closed corridors and alleged late night meetings that you had somehow been compelled to agree to —

none of which being jake's problems whatsoever.

except as he twists and turns in an attempt to quiet his mind, the sound of rustling sheets a testament to his pain, the sim heir stops to think.

sunoo has always been fond of you — that much had been clear. to jake, and the entirety of this school. ever since you doused him with beer water at a party he'd only even set up to humiliate you, sunoo has been glued to your side like a lost puppy dog that bites on command.

and if jake knew anything about sunoo, it was that he bit hard, drawing blood and misery from anybody that just so breathed at him (read: and now you,) wrong.

what he wasn't aware of, however, was how close you'd gotten with heeseung.

it came as much as a suprise to him as everyone else at the lunch table when sunoo had leaned back in his seat, picking and prodding at every coy remark that heeseung had to shoot back at him.

"if it makes you feel better, she agreed to see me again tonight."

jake suddenly finds himself shooting up in bed, head snapping towards the blinds as he tries to search for any sliver of sunlight that might find itself seeping through the windows, and finds none.

jake has been up for thirty minutes at least, twisting and turning until heat had begun to seep from his body and down onto the sheets, and there's still no sign of the sun coming up anytime soon.

you didn't seriously mean to agree to that, did you . . . ?

with a groan and a quick ruffle of his hair, the sim heir is rising from his bed, shuffling into a thick woolen jacket and the closest pair of shoes he could find.

and even if you had agreed, what could you possibly be doing out with his friend at this hour? definitely not anything within the strict rules imposed upon council members and this very academy, that's what.

so with a deep breath and a sharp turn on his heel, he supposes it wouldn't hurt to check. for completely council-related moral reasons, of course.

.

.

.

"REMIND ME WHY i said yes to you again?"

crouched low behind lancet windows and praying that the tracery will conceal your form and that of a six-foot calculus prodigy is not how you imagined your evening to unfold, but you try your best to be very still nonetheless.

that, and completely quiet when heeseung whips his head around to gesture you to shush.

when he averts his gaze back towards the window overlooking the old, gothic chapel as if mulling over your words, you find his neck craned back towards you in no time.

"because you like me?" he offers quietly, shooting you a goofy smile as his eyes flick between you and the chapel where your ta had proposed to meet this mystery person. "just a little bit?"

you kick harshly at his ankles, and when heeseung has to cover his mouth to keep from groaning in pain, you can barely keep from grinning.

once the quiet that usually came with solstice nights falls over the two of you once more, you find yourself surveying the grounds ahead with a newfound impatience. you two have been here for thirty minutes now, and your feet have begun to ache.

besides, if the chill in the air was anything to go by, it was that the seasons would change soon, and with it, came the bitter realization that you've still made no progress infiltrating the north tower — and so close to jiwoo's death anniversary.

you can hardly keep from shifting in place, switching to a kneel so that you might alleviate the aching pressure that nips at your heels.

nearly one year. you'd been given one full year in your fight for evidence, and yet, you still find yourself with so little answers.

tonight, you'd have to find some way to break away from heeseung and change that.

"why do you think they haven't shown up yet?" you murmur, staring intensely at the chapel as though it might shift and reveal all of your ta's secrets if you looked hard enough.

"patience, scholarship girl," heeseung whispers, but there's no real malice hidden within the nickname he's given you. you roll your eyes anyway, and you fear they might roll to the back of your head and remain there from the amount of times you've done so in his presence.

"they're bound to show up sometime tonight."

you grunt. "if they don't peddle themselves out here faster, jake will pop out from the darkness and drag me back to the dorms himself."

heeseung lets out a laugh at that, albeit quiet and breathy, and puts his hands down on the windowsill where dust had undoubtedly begun to collect so that he might lean forward for a better view of the grounds. you wince.

"i think my friends are pretty fond of you," he whispers, though his eyes never leave the chapel courtyard ahead.

"what?" you frown, shooting him another nasty look he isn't even present enough to receive. "who?"

"you know who."

"i know of one. friends, plural?"

"yes, plural," heeseung snaps, whipping his head around to jokingly return your glare head-on. "at lunch today, sunoo damn near threw a fit and confronted me when i took a seat at the table."

"that's sunoo for you," you mutter disinterestedly. your partner-in-crime only looks down at his feet as if mulling something over, and the silence that has descended over the desolate hall suddenly shifts into something more curious. more alive.

"and there was jake," he says thoughtfully, tilting his head like the thought alone had intrigued him enough to serve as entertainment for the better part of a week. you pause.

"jake?" you frown. "what about jake?"

"he got all quiet," the real estate heir shrugs, maroon hair falling over his eyes as you look down at your feet deep in thought. "it was like he — "

CRASH!

when a sound vibrates from the far end of the hall, you and heeseung take care to crouch even lower behind the tracery, heads whipping to look at each other with wide eyes.

"what was that?"

.

.

.

"THIS CAN'T BE REAL," jake mutters, eyes raking up and down the dim-witted fool who'd decided that a heavy white coat and designer house slippers were the perfect attire to fly under the radar.

"well, believe it." sunoo smiles, silvery blonde hair hidden under his hood and looking entirely too pleased for a student trespassing after curfew in fluffy slippers.

jake pinches his nose and closes his eyes, and for one impossible second, entertains the fantasy that kim sunoo might disappear if he hopes hard enough — to no such luck. the blonde simply tucks his hands into his pockets, looking around with a casualness as though they'd run into each other over brunch instead of a forbidden outing.

one that jake hadn't planned or anticipated whatsoever.

"so," sunoo hums, completely uncaring towards the fact that they could be caught out by the council members that roam the halls any day now. "would you happen to know where your roommate went?"

"you're following her," jake says, jaw tightening for reasons completely beyond him.

sunoo doesn't miss a beat.

"so are you," the elite mutters, evidently losing more and more of his poorly-contained patience by the second. "but last time i checked, you and the scholarship girl aren't exactly the best of friends."

"and because you two are," jake starts, raising a brow at the blonde. "it's completely normal for you to be following her out at this hour . . . ?"

the corridor stretches long in between them, illuminated by only the sparse wall torches that the janitors on the night shift had so kindly taken the time to light. the amber that spills from their light cast brilliant pools across stone floors, and outside, the trees bend to the will of the winds and scrape against stained glass windows. somewhere far below the academy, old pipes groan beneath the cold.

the silence that had found itself falling over them lasts all but three seconds before sunoo sighs dramatically.

"what's your part in this?" he tilts his head, and jake frowns.

the truth is, he's not entirely sure.

you've been off lately. even from the perspective of someone who lived around, but never exactly with you — that much had been clear. you're clearly tired, having grown sloppy from all the tasks that yoon seems to enjoy imposing upon your peace and . . . something else.

something far beyond his comprehension.

"i'm making sure a council member isn't violating curfew," jake says finally.

sunoo blinks. ". . . that's your excuse?"

"what's yours, then?"

"much simpler, actually." the blonde lets out a thoughtful hum, shoving his hands deeper into the warmth of his pockets and letting the corners of his mouth twitch. "i missed her."

the sim heir swears he could throw up all over the cold cobble that lies beneath their feet. despite himself, something unpleasant twists in his stomach.

he's positively irritated.

"right," jake exhales, "to answer your question, i don't know where she is, eithe —"

when the sound of shuffling and distant giggles fill the desolate halls, both boys straighten immediately. without so much as another word, the two share one reluctant glance before sinking deeper into the shadows.

and for exactly five seconds, they make a surprisingly efficient team, creeping through the shadows without so much as a peep. on the sixth —

CRASH!

sunoo accidentally slams himself into a trophy case, the contents clashing against each other. the sound ricochets through the corridor, and for one, agonizing second, jake lets himself close his eyes.

low echoes of "what was that?" echo through the dark corridor, and jake springs into action. in no time, he's grabbing his friend by the neck of his coat and dragging him away from the case and behind a corner overlooking the turn.

around the corner, two silhouettes shuffle behind the intricate stone tracery overlooking the chapel courtyard. one, he immediately recognizes as heeseung, and the other —

jake looks on as heeseung reaches out, carefully guiding you lower behind the carved window frame with a hand upon the small of your back, and neither of you seem to notice.

this . . . is how you've been spending your evenings? this is why you've looked exhausted for weeks?

jake is hit with the chest-tightening realization that he's had it all wrong. you never rose earlier to avoid him — you'd done it for him, in the hopes that you could sneak around and enjoy each other's company before daybreak when all eyes would inevitably fall on you both.

and god, does the sim heir want to scoff. did you know that heeseung used to cry whenever he lost a bout in middle school?

or that he threw up all over a park bench when they were kids after he insisted he could stomach both the cheese rings and the two ice cream bars?

if you knew, would you still be sneaking around with him after hours? let him stand that close as you went on doing whatever it is that you were doing?

jake's jaw tightens. apparently, yes.

beside him, sunoo is freakishly still.

his gaze, completely blank and loaded with frightening focus, flick from the hall beyond, to the old chapel courtyard, to the faculty offices, then back again.

and slowly but surely, the pieces begin to fall into place like a nicely-set chessboard — the scheming around faculty halls. you. heeseung. professor jung.

he's long since heard the news of the dreary maternity leave and the subsequent entrance of your new, albeit terrifying, substitute professor.

he knows full well that you and heeseung share one, singular class under said professor, and he's aware of the lengths that his dear friend would go to preserve his perfect gpa.

after all, if the gossip that littered through these halls had a heart and soul, pumping blood into the whispers and providing life, it would be kim sunoo.

his lips part ever so slightly, and then they curve into the slightest of smiles.

smart girl, he thinks, and the admiration that twinkles behind his eyes shines brighter than the damn coat he'd dragged along to come find you.

the smartest.

sunoo underestimated you, and now, he'd make sure to never make the same mistake again.

.

.

.

WHEN FOOTSTEPS SOUND from beyond the tall windows, and you and heeseung stiffen simultaneously.

across the courtyard and beneath the ancient archway leading into the dark chapel, a familiar silhouette steps into the moonlight.

professor jung, and —

“holy shit,” heeseung whispers, eyes wide as the second figure, a woman this time, steps into view. “is that . . . ?”

“jia,” you finish for him, voice spilling out before you can even begin to stop yourself.

moonlight catches against the woman’s face as she lowers the hood of her jacket, and your heart plummets somewhere to your feet. beside you, heeseung is gaping like he’s never seen something more outrageous in his life.

perhaps so, because standing below the shadow of the arch with your professor, had been your classmate.

and there had been no mistaking her. song jia, senior, and an elite resident of the east wing.

the same girl who played debussy on the flute after your introductory speech at the very first orientation of the year. soft spoken, brilliant, and exactly the type of student that students and professors alike held in the highest regard.

“fuck—“ you swear instinctively, ducking lower beneath the windowsill and reaching over to fumble with heeseung’s pockets. “give me your phone.”

“what — what’re you doing?” heeseung whispers, a little flustered by the way you dig in his pants for his cellphone.

when you finally get a hold of it and press record with shaky fingers, you shoot back at him: “what do you think i’m doing, genius?”

you fumble once or twice, nearly dropping the damn thing in the process before the screen lights your face with its pale glow.

“hah,” he splutters, practically breathless as his lips quirk upwards into a ghost of a smile. “you’re a quick thinker.”

across the courtyard, jia steps even closer to professor jung, mumbling something incoherent from where you stand. but that didn’t matter — not when the older man’s hand finds her cheek with practiced familiarity.

you could hurl.

your pulse bangs against your ears.

“. . . keep recording,” heeseung whispers against your ear, and the two figures slowly inch towards each other, closing the distance between them as they move.

you gasp loudly, nearly dropping the phone in the process.

caught mid-kiss, the couple whips their heads towards the source of the sound. for one, agonizing second, nobody moves.

before either you or heeseung can even think to duck, a crash reverberates from opposite corridor, even louder this time.

“OW!”

the yelp is followed by a string of very loud, very theatrical complaints. almost as if someone had been purposefully causing a commotion to twist the odds in your favor as you and heeseung exchange one stunned glance.

“wait — stop hitting me already!”

“hey!” another voice joins the fray, and the academy’s elderly janitor rounds the hall with his cart in tow and a wet mop in his hands.

a ring of heavy brass keys swing from the cart, and your eyes lock onto them immediately.

“heeseung,” you whisper, eyes as wide as two saucers as you shove the phone back in his hands. “run the other way. we’ll talk tomorrow over breakfast.”

before he can even begin to argue, you’re already moving. and as if on cue, another series of loud clangs echo from somewhere far ahead, and the old man abandons the cart entirely to jog towards the source of the racket.

“who’s there?!”

you don’t stop to think. not even for a second. instead, you sprint with all your might, coming to duck behind the janitor’s cart and sorting through the brass keys one by one like a madwoman.

and then you find it: the key to the north tower. it’s a little larger than the rest and labeled N.T. on the bow, and with one harsh tug you manage to pull it off the ring and break into another sprint.

bingo.

the key slides cleanly into your sweaty palm, and you vanish into the shadow of a corridor far, far away from the commotion caused by a few blundering idiots who were stupid enough to get caught out past curfew, no doubt.

and by the time your pulse stops racing enough for you to begin producing real, rational thoughts once more, heeseung has disappeared, and so have jung and jia.

what remains is the furious voice of the old janitor, scolding two figures further down in the hall that you can’t quite make out.

you’ve finally done it.

.

.

.

WHEN JAKE FINDS himself back within the comforts of your council dorm, the sun has already begun to shine overhead, its light spilling onto the wooden floors in long, golden stripes.

his shoulders ache. his eyes burn. and if he hears the phrase, “gross behavior unbecoming of a council member” one more time, he thinks he might lose it.

never, in all his years at this academy, did jake sim ever believe he was going to spend a night standing rigid beside sunoo of all people, wincing and nodding as the elderly janitor of solstice lectured them about curfew hours and gross misconduct in the halls with the lungs of a military commander.

and unfortunately, beginning their defense with “— the trophy cabinet attacked me first!” had only extended the lecture by another hour or so.

by the second, they’d been roped into scraping gum off the bottoms of the tables in the dining hall.

by the third, even the janitor had begun to look tired.

jake hardly remembers hauling himself back to the dorms, slamming the door shut behind him as he drags his feet across polished wood.

and just when he’s in the middle of shrugging off his jacket —

“. . . morning,” you greet him, and the common room door creaks open. jake looks up instinctively, and your eyes meet. regrettably so.

he blinks. “morning.”

just ahead of him, you stand with a hot cup of coffee nestled between your palms. you’re in dire need of it, from the way your shoulders slump in exhaustion despite having already showered and dressed into your scholarship uniform.

one awkward beat passes, then another. “uh, where have you been?”

“. . . lacrosse practice.”

“practice? all night?”

“yes,” he coughs, ignoring the way your eyes have wandered over to the tips of his ears. god, he hopes they haven’t flushed pink. “coach was pissed. it happens.”

“huh,” you say, looking down at your feet like you’re carefully contemplating what to say next. to which jake thinks — what could you possibly even have to say?!

“. . . thanks,” you murmur, and jake freezes like he hadn’t heard you right the first time.

not what he was expecting, to say the least. in fact, he’d fully expected you to never acknowledge him again.

jake’s brows knit together. “for what?”

“for covering for me,” you say earnestly, shuffling awkwardly as your roommate gapes at you. “i know i’ve been pretty sloppy on the job lately.”

the admission looks like it pains you.

“yoon would’ve thrown me out of the north wing by now if you hadn’t picked up the slack, so . . . thank you.”

and god knows you have been sloppy, but jake would rather go through a hundred nights of what he and sunoo just had to endure before saying that to your face.

not that he would’ve been able to in the first place, because he’s seemingly forgotten how to speak.

“i. . . i dont — it was nothing —“

jake wants to thank you too, for saying what you did about his brother down at the jazz club. but before he can even begin to find the words —

“so.” you lift the mug in your hands, smiling at him with a strange, genuine warmth that leaves him reeling. “i’m gonna head to class. don’t work too hard, sim.”

and then you’re gone, having slipped between the crack in the door and leaving him at a loss for words.

he blinks once, then twice, and drops onto the couch with a heavy groan. his head falls back onto the cushions and for a long while, he simply stays there.

then, absentmindedly, his gaze drifts towards the coffee table.

your things are scattered across the table exactly as you’d left them in your rush to class. a half-finished problem set, a few loose council reports, your student id, and . . .

resting innocently and twinkling beneath the light of a fresh sunrise, is a key.

slowly, almost instinctively, jake leans forward.

“what’s this?” he mumbles to no one in particular, fishing the piece of brass from under your papers and holding it to the light. and stamped onto the bow, in tiny engraved letters, were N.T.

for north tower.

his blood runs cold.

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It isn’t that he is spoiled in his demands, or particularly difficult to work with. In fact, he isn’t difficult because he barely talks at all. It’s the way he enters the sewing chambers, muttering about another incident while staring at his shoes like he had become ten years younger. It’s the way he changes the issue each time—a fraying edge, a missing button—so he can deny that he visits you more than a prince with a reputation to uphold should. It’s the quiet, steady way his gaze follows you as you pin his latest tear or brush his side while taking measurements, making silence itself clay he could mold into meaning. 

His brothers should logically be in his place. Prince Jake regularly travels across kingdoms for matters of diplomacy, coming back with ragged tunics you aren’t sure you want to know the cause of. Prince Riki and Prince Sunoo cause trouble around the palace grounds every other week. And yet, Prince Sunghoon is the one asking for your services the most.

The realization hits you during a sun-drenched afternoon, where golden light emerges through the tiny sewing room windows and dances across Prince Sunghoon’s polished boots. He has requested your presence once more, claiming that stitches on his waistcoat had come loose before the ball this evening. By now, you are used to his silence. Once intimidating, it now lets you feel like you can breathe after hours of frenzied chatter and whirling thoughts. 

Somebody plucks an airy melody on harp strings, practicing for the high-society guests this evening. The sound echoes through open windows and cracked doors. You find yourself humming the bits and pieces you remember.

The prince lets out a breath verging on a sigh, relaxing into your steady grip on the shoulder of his coat. You tilt your head in confusion.

“What are you still doing here?” you mumbled.

“Excuse me?” 

You pause your work briefly, lowering your eyes. “Nothing, Your Highness. Forget I spoke.”

He meets your gaze when you lift your head, watching you with a measured, hawk-like intensity.

“It is a bit late for that,” he said. 

You draw a breath, hoping that his fixed stare did not promise an accusation of treason. “Forgive my bold words, Prince Sunghoon, but there must be some hidden motive behind…your lingering presence. One can only endure so many loose threads and lost buttons before people notice.” You huff a laugh. “Most of all me.”

He narrows his eyes and hums acknowledgement—not quite agreeing, but also not quite explaining.

“And what else would you suggest I do with my time?”

“I am only a seamstress, I have no knowledge of royal pastimes,” you deflect, privately deciding you would prefer not to educate yourself. “Read through a book in the library. Use your fancy mirrors before the ball. Run about with other nobles, as Prince Jake often does.”

His gaze grows more unreadable, if possible. “I see. Is that all, Y/N? Do you view me as a foolish man, never knowing how to divide my time? Or simply an extension of my brother’s actions?”

It’s the largest amount of words he’s ever spoken to you.

You lower your eyes once more, continuing the intricate stitching on his waiting shoulder. 

“I see you as Prince Sunghoon,” you say. “Someone I cannot figure out.”

He falls silent after that, and you relax into finishing the final details of the waistcoat without interruption. You prepare for him to walk out of the room in his quiet, methodical way, as is typical for your encounters, but this time he stands in the room as you put away your needles and thread.

You turn toward him again.

“Can I help you?” you ask.

He stretches out an arm and wraps a hand around your fingertips, touch more delicate than a butterfly’s wing.

“Come with me,” he says. “To the ball tonight.”

You frown. “What?” 

“I have not been as forthcoming as you deserve in explaining my time here,” he says, stroking your curled palm with a gentle swipe of his thumb. Noticing the motion sparks something low in your stomach. “But it is only because I am overwhelmed by the thought of you. I want you to be mine in every sense of the word.”

With dawning horror, you realize what he means.

“Your Highness, no,” you start. “I am only a servant. And I don’t believe anyone would consider me to be a suitable partner for you, anyway.”

“Why not? You are hardworking and loyal and kind. I admire those things. Any man would be privileged to adore you, much less pursue you.”

Your heart gives a traitorous flutter at the conviction in his voice. “Prince Sunghoon, is it not tradition for royalty to pursue someone of their station?”

He chuckles. “Tradition? Prince Jake has always been the one who bears the weight of the throne. Am I not more than a piece of meat to bargain with?”

“But surely your parents—”

“Already know,” he answers. His smile widens, glowing and tender and somehow because of you. “I would still be asking you if they didn’t.” 

“Oh.” You feel your cheeks heat against your will. You hope it isn’t too noticeable.

You realize the prince is still holding onto your hand. A small, silly part of you refuses to let go.

“I have nothing to wear,” you whisper.

His eyes brighten like you just promised to catch the moon for him. “You’ll go, then? With me?”

“I can’t sew a dress for myself in a few hours, Your Highness.” You gain a bit of courage to add, “You should know that, with you being here so much.”

If anything, your feeble excuse seems to make Prince Sunghoon bolder in his affection. He grasps your hand fully in his, drawing you closer to his side. “Sewing like a madwoman isn’t necessary. What about that dress you’ve been working on for your birthday coming up?”

You gasp a bit—you don’t remember mentioning it to him more than once, although it’s a project you’ve enjoyed continuing since you began it last year.

“That…that might work, actually."

“Good,” Prince Sunghoon says. “I’d like to see you there.”

You chuckle, his unbridled enthusiasm doing drastic things to your nerves. This moment feels like something out of a hazy daydream, one you’d slip back into during mundane tasks and talk about in excited whispers only to the fellow seamstresses your age. 

His lips curl up at your laughter, and you are incredibly thankful this moment is real.

“Give me an hour, then, to finish it up for you,” you tell him, already bringing out your sewing materials again. “Keep me company as I work?”

His answering gaze feels brighter than the sunshine outside. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Currently, you were in the living room of your shared apartment with Doohwa. According to him, his father had returned home after spending the past four weeks flying from one country to another and Doohwa wanted to take this chance to introduce you to his father, to build a closer connection and relationship.

You had never met him before back when you were dating. According to your fiance, his father was a busy man—with his career being a freelance architecture.

You don't know much about that specific industry but what you do know was how the man was highly regarded and respected, due to his talents.

You had finished getting dressed and was now waiting for him to come and pick you up after he was done with work.

As time passed, your eyelids gradually felt heavier. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep on the couch…

EIGHT MONTHS AGO...

You had finished your final examination and as per the standard culture you and your small group of friends shared—it was time to party. After all, you didn't spent the past two to three weeks cramming, inhaling energy drinks and further ruining your already ruined sleep cycle for nothing.

As much as you loved partying like your life depended on it, you wanted to get good grades so you can graduate without regrets.

You were the first to arrive at your usual place—a bar called Hidden Eve that's located on a few streets away from your campus. It's a cozy place with the drinks both being good and are at an affordable prices, especially in today's society.

You stood outside, hugging your thick coat around you, shivering involuntarily when a strong gust of cold, chilling wind blew past you. Winter wasn't even here yet but you were already bundled up like a walking rice-ball.

Thankfully, you didn't have to wait long as your friends had arrived. One of them laughed when they saw how red your nose had became.

"Looks like Rudolph the Reindeer has some competition," she teased, causing the whole group except for you to burst out laughing.

You light-heatedly rolled your eyes, knowing they were merely joking. "Haha. Very funny. Now let's go in and drink before i can't feel my hands and legs anymore."

With that, all of you entered the bar. The small bell hanging on top of the door made a 'ding ding!' sound as it was pushed open.

Warm amber lights glowed from vintage sconces along the brick walls, casting the space in a soft, honeyed haze. Low wooden beams crossed the ceiling, darkened with age while trailing ivy and dried floral curled lazily around iron fixtures.

The bar counter stretched along the left side, polished oak worn smooth by years of elbow and spilled confessions, its shelves covered with glass bottles that shimmered like jewels under the dim lights.

For once, the place was crowded.

Voices overlapped in a constant hum—laughter, murmured conversations and the occasional clink of glasses with customers toasting to something. Every seat seemed to be occupied, bodies packed close together and strangers brushed shoulders without apology.

The air smelled faintly of citrus, alcohol and something smoky beneath it all, grounding and intoxicating.

Jazz music played low and steady from hidden speakers, a slow, sultry rhythm that seeped into your bones rather than demanding for attention. It made the bar feel alive, pulsing, as though it was breathing along with the people inside it.

To you and your friends, this was home.

You followed them as they moved to the counter on the right with ease while chatting and laughing with one another. Thankfully, there were some space enough for the four of you to squeeze in together.

You weren't listening to what your friends were talking, absentmindedly nodding your head here and there as your eyes aimlessly drifted, scanning the sea of faces around you.

And that's when you saw him.

You knew he's a staff, with how he came out from the back door and was dressed in black from head to toe, the kind of uniform meant to blend in and go unnoticed.

It failed for him.

The fitted black shirt clung lightly to his frame, sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms as he adjusted the cuff with practiced ease. A slim apron was tied around his waist, hanging low against dark jeans that perfectly further accentuated his long legs. You swore at first glance, his legs would make up half of his height.

He wore accessories—a simple double pair of rings hanging on his earlobes and his hands were decorated in silver, glowing rings. It glimmered like jewels underneath the dim lights, drawing attention to his long and slender fingers. His midnight-black hair was slightly damp, as if he had just washed it, stray strands falling carelessly over his forehead. He pushed them back once, distracted, before reaching for the towel draped on his shoulder.

You pretended you didn't choked on air when you saw him running his hand through his hair, unable to tear your eyes away from him as you watched. You weren't sure why but there was something mesmerizing about the way he moved—efficient yet unhurried, every motion was deliberate.

He slipped behind the counter, exchanging a few words with his co-worker and immediately got to work, hands busy as he prepared glasses and checked bottles, like this was all second nature to him.

He hasn't noticed you yet.

And you decide to change that.

Ignoring your friends, you walked around them and approached him with a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it was the aftereffects of finishing your examinations. Maybe it was the way he carried himself but whatever it was, you wanted him to notice you.

Every step you took reduced the distance between the two of you and you stood before him, with the high counter being the only thing hindering your way.

Thankfully, he had his back facing you as he was busy preparing drinks for an order. Which gave you a front-row seat of staring (or drooling because you're only human) at his broad back, the way you can see his back muscles moved whenever he shook the mixture in a Boston Shaker, only for it to paint a… different image in your mind.

You rapidly shook your head, getting rid of the indecent thought, clearing your throat to muster the remains of your courage left.

"Excuse me, I would like to order," you called out, ensuring to raise you voice a little to make yourself heard.

Your words were a mix of half-lie and half-truth. After all, it would be foolish of you not to order anything when you're a regular at Hidden Eve. He raised his head and turned, looking at you over your shoulder.

And then, he fully turned to face you and oh god, he looked devastatingly handsome.

He had the kind of face that made people paused without realizing why. Sharp yet youthful. Every featured was carved with an almost predatory elegance. His eyes were the first thing you noticed—dark, intense and puma-like, heavy-lidded with a quiet intensity that felt instinctual rather than learned.

There was something watchful in them, something that made you felt seen even when his expression remained unreadable.

His nose was straight and defined, giving his profile a clean, striking line. His lips—full, thick and plump, rested in a neutral curve that made you wondered how it'll feel when pressed against yours.

It also made you wondered if he was a good kisser or not. His jawline was sharp and unforgiving, the kind that catches the light whenever he tilted his head slightly, shadows tracing along the hollow of his cheekbones.

"What do you want to order?" He asked, setting down the shaker as he gave you his fullest attention, cocking his head to the side. The movement caused his earrings to sway side to side.

Your mind blanked out. Even though you had been here many times, it's like the menu you had long remembered by heart had been erased from your memory. You opened and closed your mouth, resembling a gaping fish out of water.

At this point, you were making a complete fool of yourself by standing there, head empty with not a single thought in it.

"…Can I order you or are you only available for dine-in?"

Fuck.

The words slipped out of your mouth before your mind could processed it. Thankfully, the people around you were either busy getting drunk or chit-chatting with their friends to pay you any mind—something you were immensely grateful for.

You gulped and fidgeted with the hem of your coat, twisting and pinching the fabric between your fingers.

After what felt like eternity, the guy chuckled, lips curved upward. His shoulders shook as he laughed. Even though it was crowded and noisy, your ears could only registered the sound of his amused chuckle—the sound low, deep and husky.

You never felt like this before—the effect a complete handsome stranger had on you, but you weren't complaining one bit.

"You're funny, I'll give you that but no, I'm not. Sorry to disappoint," he answered, looking at you with his head tilted to the side, amused.

"But if you want, I can make a drink for you. Call it a personal recommendation from the best bartender," he continued. "So? What do you say?"

You couldn't trust your voice at that moment, wordlessly nodding your head in a daze. He noticed it. Of course he does but he didn't point out loud. Instead, he hummed and began moving about with experience and confidence, like he knew what he was doing.

You watched as he reached for a glass without hesitation, fingers long and steady as he inspected it under the lights before setting it down. Ice followed—measured and deliberate, the sound sharp and clean against the hum of the bar. He moved like he had done this a thousand times, muscle memory guiding him for every step.

Bottles came next.

He selected them with utmost care, only briefly reading labels before uncapping them, the soft clink lost beneath the music. A pour of something dark and smooth, followed by a lighter spirit that caught the light as it flowed.

He didn't rushed. Didn't overthink. Each motion was precise, practiced and almost intimate—like the drink wasn't just being made, but considered.

Every now and then, his eyes flicked up.

Just for a second but enough to check if you were watching.

And you were.

Right from the very start.

He added a twist of citrus, fingers pressing the peel just enough for the liquids to mist over the rim before dropping it in. The scent reached you first—warm, sharp and addictive. He stirred once and twice, then slid the drink across the counter toward you.

"There. Not on the menu," he said, meeting your gaze again.

The glass was cold beneath your fingers when you took it, condensation already forming. One sip was enough to tell you everything—you didn't know what it was called, but it was smooth, layered and deceptively gentle before the heat bloomed low in your chest.

He watched your reaction closely, eyes narrowing slightly, waiting expectantly. When your expression shifted from surprise to reluctant approval, the right corner of his mouth lifted.

"Told you," he murmured, pleased with your reaction.

"I won't be too confident if I were you. I'll have you know that I'm quite picky with my drinks," you retorted, internally wincing at how weak your words and voice sounded.

"Right," the attractive stranger—bartender, drawled. "I'm sure I can impress you with skills so I am pretty confident."

Huh. Never thought you have a thing for confident men but here you are, attempting to shoot your shot on someone who you just met for the first time.

It also made you wondered why you haven't seen him before in your previous few trips to Hidden Eve, but you simply shrugged it off that he was a newly-joined staff.

You rested your elbows on the bar with your half-drank glass resting before you, flashing him a coy smile. "Well, color me impressed then. Wanna get out of here?"

The stranger blinked.

Once. Twice.

He let out a laugh, the sound light-hearted and kind. It was the kind of tone where you knew this was going—not according to your plan.

"Bold, but no thanks, I'm good. Nice try though," he politely shot down your offer.

You parted your lips, wanting to say something but a large group of people entered the bar. He glanced at you, almost like he was hesitant on whether he should still tend to you or move to help his co-worker in making the large order.

Seeing this, you flashed him with what you hoped was an reassuring smile and waved him off. No words were exchanged.

He nodded, glancing your way one final time before speeding off, easily reaching his co-worker in less than ten large strides and began to help him make the drinks. Now that you were left alone, you decided it was time to regroup with your friends.

It was easy to spot them. They managed to find themselves a table, either half-drunk or completely drunk with no in-between.

"Look who's here to bless us with her presence!" One of your friends shouted at a loud voice, unaware of the startled looks she got from the people around her.

Your face burned as you sat down, placing your drink down on the table. "Shut up, I wasn't gone for that long."

Another one who was sober the entire time, giggled as she playfully nudged her elbow against yours. "Don't think we didn't saw how you were flirting with the bartender back there. He's cute too."

You smiled unknowingly, only to realize it a few seconds later. Your friends wasted no time in teasing you. Some even made the loud and immature kissing sounds, much to your embarrassment.

You flipped them off but despite your reaction, you were already laughing, feeling the waves of their happiness and the current moment you had with them.

"You guys are so annoying," you complained, giggling at how your friend threw an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in to ruffle your hair.

"We love you too. Now drink! We're not leaving until you're shit-faced!"

The second time you met him was at Hidden Eve again, which wasn't a surprise since he is working there. Except you went alone, without your friends. They had decided to go on a shopping trip for the whole day and that was something you couldn't handled.

You didn't have the stamina nor energy to spend your day walking around, browsing at countless shops and feeling your wallet getting lighter and lighter.

Besides, you were on a mission. A mission to get to know the bartender.

After that first encounter with him, you were very determined to have him. No matter what. And if there was anything about you, it was the fact that you can be a persistent person when the situation called for it. Said situation meant now—with you wanting the bartender's number, name and if possible, to sleep with him.

It was close to six-thirty when you entered Hidden Eve and with how they had opened thirty minutes ago, there was only a few people in there, drinking to their heart's content.

You stood near the door, letting your eyes scanned the surroundings while trying to locate a certain someone, unaware that your presence was noticed by one of the bartenders.

"Looking for someone?" An amused voice asked, scaring you.

Your head snapped to your right, startled.

A man stood just a few steps away behind the bar, one elbow leaning against the counter as he wiped down a glass with an unhurried ease, like he has all the time in the world.

He looked relaxed, like someone who had seen all kinds of customers walking through Hidden Eve's doors and could read them within seconds.

His lips curved into an amused smile, eyes flicking from your face to the door and back again, clearly entertained by the way you had been caught red-handed.

"Woah, easy. Didn't mean to scare you," he said lightly.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you tugged it closer, to protect yourself. From what? You weren't sure. "I—"

The word died before it could became anything else.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing and then glanced around the bar once more—empty stools, quiet corners and only a handful of patrons nursing their drinks.

"Let me guess, you're looking for someone," he said, stating it like it was a fact. Like this had happened before.

Heat crept up your neck. You hesitated, debating whether to lie. But your eyes betrayed you, instinctively darting toward the counter, the hallway behind it, anywhere but him.

That was enough for him to know your intention.

He let out a soft laugh. "You've got a terrible poker face."

Your embarrassment must've been obvious because his smile softened, losing its teasing edge. "Don't worry, you're not the first who came back looking for him. Won't be the last either."

Before you could asked what he meant or who exactly he was, he set the glass aside and nodded towards the narrow corridor beside the bar. "If it's him you're looking for, he stepped out a few minutes ago."

Your breath caught. You knew who he was referring to without his name mentioned.

"He does that sometimes before he starts. Smoke break. Clears his head, or so he says," the bartender went on casually, eyeing you with an unreadable look on his face, his doe-like eyes focused on your figure.

You opened your mouth, question after question piling up this time but again, no words came out. The man noticed. Of course he did.

"He won't be long," he added, tone almost reassuring. "Back door's past the storage room. Just follow the hallway and you'll be able to find it."

He gave you one final knowing look before turning back to his work, like the interaction had already ended. Like he had told you something that was probably, against a stranger's violation of privacy.

Left with no choice and no excuse to linger, you took a breath and moved past the bar. Your shoes echoed softly against the floor as you slipped into the narrow corridor.

The warmth and low music of Hidden Eve dulled with every step, replaced by cooler air and the faint, unmistakable scent of cigarettes drifting from somewhere ahead.

Your pulse picked up.

You didn't know why you were nervous. You barely knew him. And yet, here you are, pushing the back door open as your eyes looked around and then, you saw him.

He stood a few steps away, leaning against the wall with one foot propped up behind him, posture loose in a way that suggested this was familiar to him.

A cigarette rested between his fingers, glowing faintly as he took a slow drag, the ember brightening before dimming again. Smoke slipped past his thick lips in a steady exhale, rising and dissolving into the night air.

His other hand held his phone, thumb scrolling absently as if whatever was on the screen couldn't captured his attention. The soft light from it cast subtle shadows across his face, sharpening his features—the sharp and deadly line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his eyebrows and the way his eyelashes lowered as he focused.

Even when he's dressed in black, sleeves deliciously and sinfully rolled up, he looked effortlessly out of place but perfectly at ease, all at once. There was something private about the moment, something you felt like you had stumbled into by accident.

You froze at the doorway, unsure whether to announce your presence or retreat.

As if sensing you, he paused mid-scroll. He lowered his phone slightly, eyes lifting from the screen and landing on you. The surprise was brief, barely there, but you caught it. His gaze lingered—assessing and curious, before the corners of his mouth tugged upward in the faintest hint of a smile.

"You lost?" He asked, voice roughened a little by the cigarette.

The question itself was casual but the way his eyes stayed on you wasn't.

"N-No," you answered, wincing at how you stuttered over that one, singular word.

You fiddled with the hem of your right sleeve as you stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

He didn't looked away, eyes locked onto you like a sniper locked onto their target. "You're the girl from before. The one who tried to hit on me," he pointed out.

A part of you wanted to giggle out loud. At the fact that he actually remembered you—a random, nameless strange. Another part of you wanted to crawl into a hole and bury yourself. At how he remembered you as the girl who tried to hit on him. Sure he wasn't wrong but he could have said something else, other than that.

"It'd be great if you could remember me as anything else but that," you replied and your words made him chuckled.

You watched as he took another puff of his cigarette, exhaling it through his parted lips with his head tilted back slightly. And fuck, the sight instantly made your mind drifted—to how good he'd look with you straddling his lap as you ride him. If possible, you want him to blow you the smoke from his mouth, somewhat like a kiss.

He took one, final puff before dropping it onto the dirtied ground, extinguishing it by crushing it with his right shoe. You watched as he dropped his left foot onto the ground, pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and moved to your direction.

You stood there, staring at him with wide eyes until he stopped before you, leaving some distance between the two of you.

"So, you here for a drink or trying to hit on me again?" He casually asked, the calmness and how easily he asked you made you choked on air.

"Don't get too cocky now. Not everything's about you," you weakly retorted but deep down, the both of you knew you were lying.

He didn't believed you. He arched an eyebrow and since when such a simple, meaningless action looked this attractive? He slowly nodded his head, lips pursed in a thin line. Something pink poked out from his lips and your eyes instinctively flicked down before snapping it back up.

However, he had noticed it. Of course he did.

"Sure about that? No one other than Heeseung knows I'm back here. Which meant he was the one who told you where I am," he said.

Heeseung? That must be the other guy's name.

You nervously swallowed. "..What would you do if I say yes?"

"Nothing, it's not like I can kick you out of the bar when you didn't do anything wrong. Besides, you're not the first person who tried to hit on me," he shrugged his shoulders, shifting to the right so he can head for the door, opening it and moved to the side.

"After you. If you want, I can make another drink for you. Except you need to pay this time, can't keep giving drinks away for free," he smirked.

And like the whip fool you are, you obliged and stepped in with him hot on your heels. The bar was still quite empty, considering how it was close to seven, which meant today will be a slow day.

You moved to the bar as he slipped behind the counter, throwing on the apron to tie it around his waist. You sat on the nearest vacant high-stool, placing your bag on your lap as you stared at the menu, pondering over which drink to order.

"What are you planning on getting?" He asked.

You continued to scan the menu, eyes landing on a drink name that piqued your attention. "The Elden's Fall."

He hummed, leaning in slightly to see what you had picked. "Bold choice. Sure you can handle the heat?"

Before you could ask what that meant, he had already looked away and got straight to work.

He moved fast—too fast that it startled you for a moment. A clean glass appeared in his hand out of thin air, like it was summoned by magic. Ice shortly followed, the sharp clink echoing softly beneath the music from the speakers.

He reached for bottles without hesitation, fingers wrapping around them with practiced familiarity, pouring with a precision that spoke of long hours and muscle memory.

You watched, mesmerized by the show he put on.

There was no wasted movement. No second-guessing. He worked like he trusted himself completely, measuring by instinct rather than sight, switching bottles, shaking and straining. Each step flowed seamlessly into the next. The shaker rattled briefly in his hands before he set it down, already reaching for a garnish.

In less than a minute, he slid the glass towards you, the liquid catching the warm bar light. The color was rich in color and deceptively inviting and alluring.

"Here. Elden's Fall," he announced.

You blinked. "That was… fast."

He smirked. "When you've worked here for a while, you can pretty much make anything even with your eyes closed."

You wrapped your fingers around the glass, feeling the chill seeping into your skin. The first sip surprised you—smooth at first, then warming, with a subtle bite that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. Riki watched your reaction closely and like before, waiting with an expectant look on his face.

When you raised your eyebrows slightly, he nodded, satisfied. "Told you."

"Do you do this with every customer you talked to?" You asked as you placed the glass down on the counter with a soft, inaudible 'clink'.

"Do what?" He asked. Whether he was acting innocent or oblivious, you weren't sure.

"Whatever," you gestured to the both of you, "this is."

He chuckled, drying his hands on a nearby towel. "What? Talking to a customer and preparing their drink? It's part of the job."

You rolled your eyes but the way your lips twitched upwards say otherwise. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" He cocked his head to the side, a faint smile still playing on his lips as he leaned against the counter.

You hummed, unconvinced. "Funny. You didn't look this attentive the first time I saw you."

The bartender was unfazed, arching an eyebrow. "That's because I was busy and it's peak hours."

"And now?"

"Now it's quieter and from the looks of it, the pace won't change until it's closing time," he answered calmly. His gaze dipped to your glass, then rose again, lingering this time. The way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. You felt seen—a rare feeling.

The air between you shifted. It was subtle, almost imperceptible but you knew something had changed.

You took another sip, buying yourself a few more seconds. "So what, you just choose to spend time talking to me instead of working? Wonder what your boss will say."

"Heeseung doesn't really care as long as I get my job done. Lucky him, I'm fast on my legs and hands," he shrugged off your words with a dismissive flick of his hand.

This time, it was your turn to arch an eyebrow. "Heeseung's your boss? The one who snitched on you?"

He chuckled, nodding. "Yup, that's him. He's like a older brother to me and was nice enough to offer me a job when I needed money. Flexible working hours. Having your friend as your boss, being able to make different drinks and," he paused—deliberate, with a sly smile that made heat pooled in your stomach, "talking to pretty customers like you is a bonus."

You set the glass down again, fingers absently tracing the condensation. "Careful. That almost sounded like flirting."

"Almost? You're the one who came in looking for me. If anyone's flirting, that'd be you," he pointed out.

You opened your mouth to argue, then stopped.

He let out a soft laugh, quieter this time. "Relax," he said, despite how his expression said anything but that. "If I flirted with every customer, I'd never get any work done."

"And yet, here you are. Not working," you countered.

"Break's over," he said, eyes flicking briefly to the bar clock then back to you. "But I don't mind taking my time."

Your pulse betrayed you, quickening at the unspoken implication. He straightened, reaching for another glass as someone down the bar waved him over. Before turning away, he looked over his shoulder and added, "Finish your drink. If you want another… well, you know where to find me."

He walked away, leaving you sitting there on the stool, with your heart racing like you had ran a marathon, flustered and breathless. It was only when you left an hour later did it hit you that you didn't get his name.

Again.

The third time you bumped into him was once again, at Hidden Eve. This time however, you weren't alone. Your friends wanted to come along, stating that they wanted to see you fumble for the third time and how they will do anything but to support you.

Which brought you to your current situation—you and your friends managed to find a table for yourselves while looking at the menu, wanting to try something different instead of ordering the usual drinks.

And then, someone approached your table, gaining your attention.

"Looks like you ladies are struggling and thought I could help," a familiar silky smooth male voice spoke up, making himself heard through the music playing from the speakers.

All of you looked up and everyone except you were confused, not knowing who he was.

"Are you Heeseung?" You asked warily and your friends snapped their heads to you at lightning speed that it was a miracle they didn't dislocated their necks.

The man—Heeseung, blinked twice and then recognition appeared on his face. "Oh, it's you. You're the one who came over last week. I remember you."

"You what?"

"So the reason why you abandoned the all girl's day was because you came here? To flirt with your boyfriend?"

"Damn, so how did it go?"

Your friends wasted no time in bombarding you with questions until you weren't given the chance to defend yourself. But then, why do that when they were merely speaking the truth.

Your cheeks and ears turned red as you averted your eyes, unable to look at them. Heeseung, on the other hand, was having the time of his life laughing at your current situation.

"Oh, I'm glad someone find this funny. Are you here to make fun of me or helping us?" You scowled, throwing him a light-hearted glare.

Heeseung raised his hands in mock surrender. "Woah, calm down. Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Let me know if you want something light or heavy then we can start from there."

You and two of your friends went with light, not wanting to get drunk while the rest went with heavy. Heeseung didn't asked for more questions.

Instead, he turned and walked away, heading to the bar like a man on a mission. You and your friends shared a confused look as you watched Heeseung moved like he owns the place.

And he does.

After all, he is the owner.

It took him less than ten minutes to finish making the drinks. He placed them on a round, circular-shaped tray, balanced it with his left palm like an experienced waiter as he approached your table. A charming smile was stretched on his face as he stopped before you and your friends.

"Hello ladies, here are your drinks," he announced, setting all of the glasses down.

Two of them were in a beautiful shade of white and blue. The other three had the same shade of bold and dark red mixed with yellow and orange. The two different colors left trails behind, making the drink looked like it had three different layers. All of you took your very first sips, making the same amazed expressions in unison.

Heeseung smiled, obviously proud and satisfied with your reactions. "What do you think? It's good, right?" He asked, trying to fish for compliments.

Your friends giggled, hooked by both his charms and his notably good features. "Yes, it's better than what we had so far."

"Hey, those drinks were personally selected by me. Please be more mindful of your words or you're hurting my oh so fragile heart," Heeseung protested, resting a hand on his chest with a faux hurt look on his face.

You rolled your eyes, choosing to observe from the sidelines as the bartender talked to your friends while you took a few slow sips here and there. You weren't sure how much time had passed. It could be minutes or hours.

"Hyung, there you are. Stop flirting with the customers and get your ass back to work. We got a huge order to make."

That voice.

Your body stilled. Your fingers tightened its grip around your glass. You didn't had to look up to know who had approached your table. To know who was standing beside Heeseung, talking to him in such a familiar manner—like they had known each other for a while.

However, your body betrayed you, choosing to go against your mind and heart, despite how they were yelling at you to not look his way.

Your eyes drifted up and there he stood. Dressed in the same, standard all black uniform from head to toe with an apron tied around his waist. Nothing about him had changed since you last saw him, which was two weeks later. But god, he always looked good to the point where you found it extremely unfair.

His eyes jumped from one face to another, lingering longer than usual on yours—long enough for you to catch it. But he looked away when you blinked, making you wondered if your eyes were playing tricks on you or you were hallucinating.

"Right, I'll be there," Heeseung answered his co-worker and turned to you and your friends with an apologetic but charming smile, "sorry but seems like work calls. Enjoy the drinks and no, it's not on the house."

Your friends dramatically booed and giving him the thumbs-down gesture as he walked away with his co-worker—the very same bartender who you tried to hit on. Not once but twice.

Your eyes unconsciously followed him, trailing after his tall figure as he moved through the sea of people until he slipped out of your sights, leaving you to sigh under your breath.

There goes my final chance.

Shrugging the thought aside, you decided to focus on enjoying the current moment you have. The moment with your friends while living in temporary happiness.

"That's the spirit! Bottoms up, everyone!" Your friend on your right hollered.

This went on for the next two to three hours. As time passed, more and more people entered Hidden Eve until it was packed with people. It was in full swing, with the sound of customers laughing as they chatted among themselves, along with the clinking of glasses as they made a toast to something.

Three of your friends who had chosen the heavy option had long passed out after making a complete fool of themselves—shouting nonsense at the top of their lungs while fighting against your poor, futile attempts of getting them to calm down.

You were the only sober one left as your two other friends—the very same two friends who chose the light options, were lightweights. But thankfully, they were easier to handle and were now passed out by the table.

You had long finished your drink and one glance at your phone told you the time was close to one in the morning. You decided it was time to go home but here comes the most difficult part—waking your drunk friends up while calling a cab for them.

You managed to wake the two of them up and after sobering them up with water, the three of you half-carried and half-dragged your other friends out of the bar.

You barely managed to take more than three steps before you tripped over someone's foot. The floor was about to welcome you with open arms with how close you were about to face-plant into it when a familiar, firm and warm hand grabbed your right shoulder, both stopping and rescuing you in the nick of time.

You glanced over, choking on air when it was none other than the attractive and handsome bartender.

"You good? Looks like you need a little help," he asked, steadying you with both hands. You ignored how you could still felt his warmth emitted from his palms when he withdrew his hands.

"Uh, I think I can manage," you answered, readjusting your friend who had buried her face in the crook of your neck while mumbling something inaudible under her breath.

He hummed, looking over your head, lips quirked upward in an amused smile when he saw the similar states they were in. "Right, I think I should help you before one of your friends dropped someone. Won't want that to happen, do we?"

"I—"

He didn't wait for your response, already moving before you could finished your sentence. You watched as he tended to you. Not your friends but you. He easily threw your friend's right arm around his shoulders with one hand supporting her by the waist—always above the waistline of her jeans, high enough to tell he was a respectful man. Unlike those kinds of men.

When he noticed that you were simply staring at him with a dumbfounded look, he arched an eyebrow. "What? Is there something on my face?" He inquired.

You coughed, averting your eyes to anywhere else but him. "N-Nothing. I'll open the door and call a cab."

You were quick to flee, ears faintly registering his amused chuckle as you opened the door wide enough so him and your other friends were able to half-walk and half-stumble out of the bar.

The moment the door closed, silence engulfed all of you with the music now reduced to a muffled hum in the background. You pulled out your phone and much to your relief, you were able to hail a cab.

"Alright, the driver's coming in seven minutes," you announced to your sober friends, who nodded in acknowledgment as they went to sit on the nearest bench, giving the two of you privacy.

Silence took over the space.

Until he spoke up, breaking it with his low voice.

"Did you gave up?" He asked.

You blinked. "On what?"

He shot you a knowing look, looking downright amused. "You know, I've been waiting for you to shoot your final shot but you didn't. What a shame. Can't believe you left me hanging for the whole day and you're already leaving when it's only one."

You made a noise that strangely sounded like a strangled animal. "I—I didn't want to disturb you, not when you were busy with your job. And besides, it's not like I'm the only one who tried to hit on you."

You couldn't helped yourself with the last sentence and with how petty you sounded. The words slipped out before you could stopped yourself.

It was only when you finished speaking was when the realization and mortification hits you at once without warning. The bartender, however, burst out laughing at the sight of your flustered face.

The sound was warm and unrestrained, spilling out of him in a way that caught you completely off-guard. It wasn't fake—it was real, full-bodied and dangerously charming.

The kind that made your ears flushed red and your heart stuttered at once.

"Is that jealousy I hear?" He teased when he finally calmed down, eyes still crinkled at the corners as he readjusted his grip on your friend who was now using him as a standing lamppost to support herself. "Didn't know you're the jealous type."

"I'm not—" You protested, only for you to stop when you realized what he was doing, with how his grin stretched wider across his face. "I didn't mean it like that."

He hummed, unconvinced but didn't prod further. "Relax. I like it."

What the fuck does that even mean?

The conversation flowed easily after that, like something had finally clicked into place. You talked about nothing and everything—the origin of Hidden Eve, your academic life and your lazy, useless group-mates in your previous group projects and so on.

Talking to him was easy. Like you had nothing to worry about. Like he had somehow eased your burdens without you knowing.

However, you were brought back to reality when a car stopped before you and you recognized the plate number as the cab you had booked.

"Oh, my car's here," you reluctantly said, hesitant.

"Guess it is. C'mon, I'll help you and your friends in getting them in," he said, being the first to open the backdoor as he easily and gently placed your friend in the backseat.

He even helped your other two friends and shortly after, three sleeping girls had fully occupied the backseat. Your two friends took the middle row and you were about to walk around the cab, so you could sit in the passenger seat when the bartender grabbed your wrist in a gentle grip.

Like he was giving you an option to push him away.

"Hey, you don't have to, you know," he murmured, stepping closer while tugging you towards him.

Your breath hitched. "What?"

He leaned in slightly, close enough for you to smell his lingering cologne and the faint smell of cigarettes lingering on his body. "I'm off soon. My place isn't far. We could keep talking… somewhere quieter."

It wasn't a demand or an suggestion.

It was an invitation.

And you would be a fool to turn him down.

You didn't get the chance to remove your shoes or take in his apartment, for you were immediately pressed up against the nearest solid surface—the wall on your left. Your startled gasp was swallowed by a intense, dizzying kiss.

You didn't pushed him away, hands reaching out to grip onto the front of his shirt to pull him closer until you're squished chest-to-chest, not wanting to be separated from him.

Your knees buckled when he sensually ran his tongue along the seam of your lips. You obliged, parting your mouth, whining when he gave a light, teasing nip on your bottom lip.

It was hard enough for it to sting but not hard enough for it to bleed. His hands moved like it had a mind of its own, touching and mapping you greedily.

Goosebumps formed on your skin at how cold his hands were—the effects of the current chilling weather.

"Your hands are cold," you murmured against his lips, eyes half-lidded with him looking right at you.

"Really? Didn't noticed. Guess you need to help me warm them up," he drawled and you couldn't hold back the light giggle at his words.

"That was corny," you pointed out.

"Hey, god forbid a guy from trying to be corny," he retorted, faux hurt evident in his voice but you saw the teasing glint in his eyes.

He was about to kiss you again when you slapped your hand over his lips, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

"Before we continue, you still haven't told me your name. And I'd like to know the name of the man who I managed to charm, thank you very much," you said.

He stared at you.

Blinked once.

Twice.

"..You can't be serious."

You solemnly nodded. "No, this is a serious matter to me. I treat this very seriously."

The bartender snorted, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "cute" under his breath.

His hand slipped under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. You gulped at how his eyes darkened in unrestrained, pent-up desire and lust. The desire to take you right there and then.

"Listen up, doll. Name's Nishimura Riki. You better remember it because I'll have you screaming it when I'm done with you."

Beep beep!

The sound of a car horn going off made you got up from the couch. You looked around, mind still half asleep and that's when it hit you—Doohwa was already waiting outside.

You quickly rushed to freshen up—rinsing your mouth, ensuring your make-up wasn't smudged and your appearance was decent enough to be acceptable.

Satisfied, you grabbed your small bag and left after locking the door behind you.

Doohwa's face lit up at the sight of you as he pushed himself off the car, pulling you into a warm and loving embrace when you got close enough. You laughed, returning the gesture while letting him pressed multiple kisses on your cheek.

"Hi, sweetheart. You ready?" He asked, pulling back so he could see your face.

You nodded, flashing him a smile of your own. "Yup. Ready as I'll ever be. I hope your dad would like me."

Doohwa chuckled as he opened the passenger door for you. "I've told you before, he's a nice and understanding man. Besides, you got nothing to worry about. If he ever says anything weird, just tell me and I'll beat him up for you."

You let out a surprised laugh, watching as he walked round the car and slide into the driver's seat. "What? That's your father, Doohwa. You can't just beat him up."

Your fiance merely shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just doing what anyone would do."

You chose not to say anything else, not wanting to prolong the conversation any further. Doohwa drove off, leaving a trail of smoke and dust behind in his wake.

The drive to your destination took you an hour and a half off as his father stayed in a well-off area and you weren't surprised to find yourself in the city.

After parking the car, the two of you got out. Doohwa lead the way to a house with you lingering behind. You fiddled with the strap of your bag as you stood on the porch while he went to knock on the door twice, firm and resolute.

Knock knock.

Doohwa moved back until he was standing beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder. Your ears registered the sound of a pair of approaching footsteps that gradually grew louder and louder until the door was opened from inside.

Your eyes widened. Breath hitched in your throat. Heart stopped—more like it slammed so hard against your ribcage you thought it might have shattered them.

The man standing in the doorway was not a stranger.

He was taller than you remembered, broader shoulders with the sharp edges of youth smoothed into something colder, more dangerous and more tempting.

Time had carved authority into his features, lines at the corner of his puma-like eyes speaking of years lived without softness. His hair was dyed black, except for a specific part that was in the shade of silver or gray, looking like a streak of moonlight.

He may have changed but you can still recognized him.

Nishimura Riki.

Older. Grown. Devastatingly familiar and still fine as always, aging like fine wine.

For a brief moment, his composure cracked. His eyes—those same eyes that once traced every inch of you, flickered with unmistakable recognition. Shock passed through them so quickly but was immediately buried beneath a mask of control so practiced that it terrified you.

"Doohwa." he greeted his son calmly, voice deeper than before, steadier. "You're early."

His gaze shifted to you.

The air turned suffocating.

You felt Doohwa's shoulder brushed against yours again, unaware of the way your body had gone rigid, unaware that the man in front of him had once known the exact sounds you made when you fell apart, letting him broke you down—part by part. A private and exclusive performance put up for him.

You didn't know how to react, not when Riki's eyes lingered on your parted and lipstick-coated lips a second too long—just long enough for the past to surge violently back to life.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.

He moved to the side, allowing the two of you to enter his home.

Riki's apartment opened up into a spacious living area, immediately striking in its quiet luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one side of the room, sheer curtains pulled back to reveal reveal the city stretching out below with glass and steel reflecting everything beneath you. The view alone spoke of money, of success earned and sustained.

Everything inside was deliberate.

Muted tones dominated the space—charcoal, warm beige, deep wood and was balanced by clean, white lines. A low leather sofa was in the middle, placed on top of a textured rug, facing a sleek entertainment unit that was seamlessly built into the wall.

There were no unnecessary decorations and no clutter. Everything placed in their respective positions was done with both purpose and intentions.

Your gaze aimlessly drifted further as you stood there, the hushed conversation between father and son turning into white noise as it blended into the background.

This place didn't belonged to the Riki you met at Hidden Eve. The bartender dressed in all-black and making drinks faster than you could blinked.

No, this apartment belonged to a man who had built a life out of stability and control, a man whose success was etched onto every possible surface.

The current Riki standing a few feet away from you—his broad back and taller figure was different. Seeing both father and son together was when you realized you had been a fool.

How could you not noticed the way they looked similar? Your fiance shares some of his father's features—his unfairly tall height, slightly build figure and the way he carried himself. With nothing but confidence and silent attention.

The kind of attention that drew people in without them knowing. Which was how Riki got you wrapped around his thumb.

But what happened in the past was done. There was nothing you could do to return to it.

"(Name)? You alright?"

You blinked, snapping back to reality when Doohwa called out your name and noticed both men were now looking at you but the way they looked at you was different. One was worried while the other was amused.

Amused like he knew the exact thoughts running through your mind. Like he knew that you were trying to remain calm and not lose your mind.

Like he knew that you felt ashamed of yourself for hooking up with his father back then.

"(Name)? Do you wanna head home instead?" Doohwa asked in a softer tone as he approached you, checking your temperature with one hand pressed against your forehead.

"You don't have a fever, do you?"

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look at him while ignoring Riki's heavy and intense gaze that was boring holes into your head. You flashed your fiance a smile.

To make yourself feel better and definitely not to send a message to Riki, you rested your hand on Doohwa's wrist. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the way Riki's jaw tightened.

Good. Let him see.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I'm just a little tired from the drive," you answered, playing the role of the polite and well-mannered daughter-in-law.

Doohwa nodded, thankfully buying your lie. He then turned to his father with a oblivious smile on his face. "So, do you need help in making dinner?" He asked.

Riki scoffed and rolled his eyes. He pulled the long sleeves of his gray sweatshirt up, revealing his lower arms. You hated how your eyes immediately zoned in on the newly revealed skin, even though you had seen it before. Riki subtly smirked when he caught you staring.

Of course he did.

"No need, just make yourselves at home and it'll be ready soon," he waved off his son's offer and words, pointing to the couch and walked into the kitchen without waiting for his response.

This is going to be a long night…

Riki ended up making seafood pasta for the three of you. At first, you didn't want to eat as you weren't hungry but your stomach chose that moment to betray you by grumbling out loud, much to your embarrassment and horror.

The two men glanced at one another before they burst out laughing, leaving you standing there while trying to resist the urge to jump out of the nearest window. Eventually, the three of you settled down by the dining table and begin eating.

It was quiet for the first fifteen minutes, with none of you uttering a single word and the occasional clink-clanking of your utensils against your plates. You pointedly avoided Riki's gaze, able to feel him staring at you from across the table.

To make matters worse, you were seated directly opposite of him while Doohwa was completely oblivious to the thick and tense silence between the two of you.

That was until, Riki broke the silence by asking a harmless, almost seemingly innocent question.

"So, mind introducing your girlfriend to me?" He asked, eyes flicking to your direction for a quick, fleeting second. It was so fast that you wouldn't have caught it if you weren't already looking at him.

Doohwa paused mid-bite, fork frozen in mid-air. He glanced at you and you nodded, resting your hand above his underneath the table—the very same hands that wore the matching rings. He swallowed his mouthful of food, nearly choking on it and placed the fork down on his plate.

"Uh, actually, she's not my girlfriend," he started off.

You resist the urge to facepalm. Riki, on the other hand, arched an eyebrow and waited for his son to finish speaking. He leaned back in his seat, his long legs stretching out before him.

You flinched when he purposely knocked his feet against yours, causing you to grip onto your dress with your free hand. Riki didn't looked at you, like he knew the effect he had on you, even though some time had passed.

Doohwa raised your intertwined hands, proudly showing off the rings wrapped around your ring fingers. "We're engaged."

Silence.

Riki didn't moved at all, like he had been frozen. He furrowed his eyebrows, not in confusion but in something sharper—calculation. The proud ease he had carried moments ago was gone, now replaced by a carefully curated blank expression that doesn't reached his eyes.

His eyes flicked down to your intertwined hands, zeroing in on the rings that caught the lights.

His jaw tightened. Such a subtle reaction, the kind of reaction that only someone who knew him well or had once known him intimately, would notice. The muscle in his cheek flexed once. Twice, as if he was biting back the words threatening to slip from his tongue.

"Engaged."

He said quietly, testing the word and how it felt on his tongue—like it was foreign to him. He looked up, finally meeting your eyes and there it was.

Recognition.

Not of the situation but the sheer irony of it all. Of the past violently colliding with the present. You saw the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath slowed just a fraction too late. He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

Except now, it was layered with years, choices and consequences.

The rest of dinner passed in a blink of an eye, with both father and son catching up on what they had missed out. You weren't listening as you stared at a random spot of the table, your empty plate staring back, almost like it was mocking you.

Laughing at how cruel fate was—for you to now be engaged to the son of a man who you used to sleep with. It's a miracle that Doohwa didn't knew about your past, as he didn't asked back when he was dating you.

But now, here you are, sitting there, it made you wondered: should you have told him? If you did, how would he react? Would he call off the engagement immediately? If yes, how were you going to explain to your parents and friends?

You could imagine their reactions—horrified and disgusted if they were to find out. Worst case scenario was how they will refuse to acknowledge your presence and kicked you out, leaving you to fend for yourself.

"…me), hello? Are you still there?"

You snapped out of your trance, raising your head to see that they were looking at you. Your eyes instinctively landed on Riki's face first before you looked away, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with Doohwa.

"Yea?" You asked, grateful that your voice didn't cracked or stuttered.

"I was thinking if you're fine with staying over the night," your fiance. He was quick to slip in another sentence when he saw the mild confusion on your face. "That is, if you don't mind, of course. But if you don't want to, then we can just drive home since it's already getting late."

One look thrown in the clock's direction told you it was close to ten and at this time, the streets were completely empty and dark. Not that great for driving. You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip.

The last thing you wanted was to stay in the same roof as Riki but you didn't want to be that one fiance who tried to stop their partner from spending quality time with their family.

Or single parent, in this case.

Which was why you ended up nodding your head, although reluctantly. "Fine, we can stay over."

You pretended not to notice how Riki's lips curved upward in a faint, knowing smile. Not wanting to be in the same room as him for another second, you quickly stood up from your seat, startling the two of them.

"I—I'll go and wash the dishes," you muttered under your breath, quickly grabbing the plates and fled to the kitchen, like your life depended on it, leaving a confused Doohwa and a quiet Riki behind as you disappeared from their sights.

You silently washed the dishes, scrubbing every inch of the plates with the sponge to buy yourself more time. You were so engrossed in your current task that you didn't registered another presence, who had entered the kitchen without you knowing. Which was why you nearly dropped the plate into the sink when he spoke up.

"You always know how to pick the right ones."

You spun around on your feet, staring at Riki who leaned against the fridge with his arms loosely crossed. He chuckled at your wide eyes and startled reaction, his eyes shamelessly scanned you from head to toe. His gaze was intense enough to make you squirmed on the spot.

"What are you talking about?" You asked.

Pushing himself off the fridge, the older man shortened the distance in no more than six large strides. You leaned back, wanting to stay as far away as possible but it was futile when the cool surface of the counter dug into your skin.

You could feel your dress getting soaked in the water near the sink area, causing you to shiver as the now cold fabric clung onto your skin.

Riki chuckled, bracing his right hand on the edge of the counter while the other confidently rested on your hip—like he knew exactly where to touch you to make you all putty in his grip. He leaned in, not close enough for him to kiss you but close enough to make you ached for it.

"You know what I'm talking about. Could've just said you missed me," he murmured, angling his head to the side so he could whispered into your right ear, his hot breath grazing against your skin with every word he spoke.

"Tell me, does he fuck you better than me, hm? Does he know you like your hair being pulled? Does he know you like being edged until you're a begging mess?"

His sudden crude and filthy words drew an involuntarily whimper from you. Shame hit you like a tidal wave when you realized what just happened.

"Stop," you protested but the way your voice came off weak only made Riki continued, wanting to push you over the edge.

The hand that was braced at your side moved to cup your chin with his thumb resting against your bottom lip. You knew you should pushed him away, that he shouldn't be touching you like this—like he owns you.

But you couldn't. Couldn't moved or do anything. Instead, you let him do as he pleased.

Just like the good old times.

Riki smirked, tilting your chin up. Your breath hitched when he leaned closer. Now, he was close enough for his lips to graze against yours in the lightest kiss. Only either one of you had to lean in and you would be kissing already.

"You say stop but look at you, already letting me do what I want," he purred, voice low and velvety smooth.

His eyes darted down to your parted lips, looking like he was about to cross the final, invisible line.

"(Name)?" Doohwa called out your name.

The sudden appearance of his voice felt like someone had delivered a slap to your face. You jerked your head back, freeing yourself from his grasp and managed to shove Riki away, ignoring how a part of you wanted him to come back, already missing his warmth.

You couldn't find it in yourself to look at him, blindly walking past him as you left the kitchen and headed to the living room—the direction of where Doohwa's voice came from.

"Hey, there you are—woah, are you alright? You looked a little red," he said, only to stop when he saw how your cheeks were slightly red.

"I'm fine, just tired. Why did you called me?" You shook off his concern, relieved that he had saved you without him knowing.

"Ah, right. There's a guest room available for you, so you can take it," he said.

You blinked. "Wait, what about you?"

Doohwa sighed. "I need to head to work. Got a sudden call from my boss and he said he needs me to come in."

"What? But it's already late! And it's a Saturday too," you pointed out.

You didn't want to be left alone with Riki, not after what nearly happened back then.

"I know, but this is the kind of risk I have to take when it comes to being a lawyer. I'm really sorry. I'm not sure how long I'll be away so if I'm not back tomorrow morning, you can ask my dad to drop you off," he apologized, stepping closer to pull you into a soft and loving embrace as he kissed your forehead.

Sighing, you leaned into his chest and returned the gesture. "..Fine, text me when you reach and when you're done. Don't make me worry about you."

"Can't promise that—ow! Did you just flicked my forehead!?"

Rolling your eyes, you shooed him out of the apartment after kissing him on his lips and closed the door. This time, you could sensed his presence without turning around.

"Don't even think about it," you said as you turned around, crossing your arms as you glared and scowled with your entire might at Riki.

"I didn't even say anything," he pointed out, looking offended like you had thought the worst of him.

And you did.

"I don't trust you," you muttered under your breath but he caught it.

"Oh, that's rich coming from someone who ran away the moment it gets too much," he retorted.

His words which contained the harsh, brutal truth made you flinched. It was also the way he said it—with venom seeping into his voice, how his shoulders tensed up and how he narrowed his eyes.

From where you stood, you were gravely reminded of that fateful night. The night when Riki wanted to be something more. Something that involved you having to tie your life with his. Something that required you to commit.

You remembered how you refused, how the two of you ended up arguing and how you stormed out of his house, ignoring how he shouted your name—with both anger and hurt laced in his voice. How Riki had no choice but to watch your retreating figure until you were out of his sight.

After that night, you had cut ties with him—blocking him everywhere and avoided him like the plague. At first, it was hard since you were so used to having him in your life that you felt lonely. But you didn't went on one-night stands. You couldn't focused on anything and it was a sheer miracle that you even graduated in the first place.

And now, here you were—trying to hold your ground as your past had came back to haunt you.

"I told you that I don't do relationships," you croaked out.

Riki barked out a cold, bitter laugh as he approached you, closing the distance with every step he took. "You say that but don't think I didn't seen the way you looked at me," he fired back.

"What are you talking about?" You frowned, confused but you didn't moved, standing where you are as the man gets closer and closer.

"Don't play dumb with me, (Name). I've seen it, every time when you think I'm not looking," he said, voice low and edged with something dangerously close to resentment. "The way your eyes lingered. The way your breath changed when I get too close. You don't get to pretend none of that means anything."

You weakly scoffed, shuffling your feet about on the spot as if that could buy you time. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?"

Riki stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his warmth, his presence pressing into your space the same, effortless way he used to.

"Because this feels a lot like before. Late nights and stolen looks. You acting like it's nothing while I'm the one left wondering where I stand."

"That's not fair," you replied, your voice trembling despite yourself. "I was honest with you from the start. I told you I didn't want more."

"And then you stayed!" Riki snapped, having lost the last few shreds of his patience and self-restraint. You flinched at the sudden loud volume of his voice.

"You kept coming back. You let me touch you like it didn't mean anything. Like I didn't mean anything. Like I was just someone for you to use," he continued, not giving you any room to speak.

The words hung heavy in the air. You couldn't looked him in the eyes any longer, letting your gaze dropped to the floor. "I left because it was getting complicated."

Riki went silent, staring at you with an incredulous look before he chuckled. But the sound contained no emotions. It was simply exhaustion and frustration.

"No. You left because it was getting real," he corrected you, not feeling any form of remorse when you cowered underneath his gaze.

"You disappeared without looking back. No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone. And now you're here, engaged to my son, telling me you don't do relationships like that's able to erase what we had!?"

"I didn't ran away. I chose a different route," you whispered but deep down, the both of you knew that was nothing more than a pathetic excuse.

Riki sharply exhaled, like he had reached the end of his restraint.

"I've had enough," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

Before you could react, he was in front of you, one hand on your waist while the other tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. His face was inches away now, breath warm against your skin, eyes searching yours with something raw and unguarded.

He leaned in and then stopped.

It was like time froze. He stayed there, forehead resting against yours. You knew what he was doing. He was giving you time. Space and a choice. The choice of pushing him away and telling him to stop.

But you didn't.

Your silence was enough to act as a response.

Something dark and resolved flickered across Riki's face before he took the leap of faith, closing the distance.

His lips crashed against yours with force. Not reckless but desperate. Like he had been holding back for years. Like he had been dreaming about this.

Wanting to feel the intoxicating feeling of your soft lips against his. The kiss was deep and consuming, all of his pent-up frustration and unfinished words was poured into the kiss.

You let him tilt your head to the side while deepening the kiss. You had done this before—kissing but this? This was different. Unlike the old times when you kissed just for the sake of it, this felt more real and raw.

You obediently parted your lips, granting him entrance and just like before, Riki ran his tongue along the seam before exploring your warm, wet mouth with one slow and thorough lick.

The sensation was enough to make your head spin and ears burned at how the loud lewd sounds echoed in the living room. Your knees buckled, threatening to give way but Riki was faster.

In one smooth and fluid movement, Riki had blindly maneuvered you to the nearest wall surface that was located behind you. You gasped into his mouth when your back landed against the firm, cool surface of the wall.

With Riki's taller frame completely hovering over you, you had nowhere else to run.

Not that you wanted to run in the first place.

"W-Wait—" You protested but your voice died in your throat when Riki lifted you up, leaving your feet uselessly hanging in the air.

You squeaked; startled and out of pure instinct of the numerous times you had done this, you wrapped your legs around his waist. Riki grinned into the kiss—something you purposely ignored.

You knew he will be smug about it, about how things haven't changed and how you still reacted the same way, back when you were younger.

The way Riki kissed you was completely different from Doohwa. Unlike your fiance who treats you gently, with such care, love and devotion, Riki was the completely opposite. He kissed you like he wanted to claim and devour you, both inside and outside.

Your mind spun, hands now gripping onto the front of his sweatshirt to ground yourself into the current moment.

You flinched when he nipped at your bottom lip, the sharp and stinging sensation making you let out a whimper that was greedily swallowed by Riki. Without you knowing, your hands began moving like it had a mind of its own.

You moved to grab a fistful of his abyssal-like hair, tugging at it which elicited a low groan from him—the sound sending shivers down your spine and heat pooling in your stomach.

You couldn't even crossed your legs with how they were wrapped around his waist. After what felt like forever, Riki broke the kiss. He rested his forehead against yours as the both of you spent a few minutes catching your breath.

You couldn't looked away from him and with how close he was, you could see nothing but pure desire and lust behind them.

The sight of it was so overwhelming that you turned your head to the side. But Riki didn't liked that.

"Ah ah, look at me," he murmured, voice low and raspy as he grabbed your chin and turned you back to him.

To Riki, nothing could compared to how you looked before him. Your eyes were wide and dazed. Your lips were swollen and the lipstick you wore was smudged around the corners. He was certain that his lips was probably stained as well, but he didn't cared.

Riki's eyes darkened as a dark and twisted smile stretched across his face, resting his thumb on your bottom lip while he pressed down on it, watching how you obliged him by letting him do as he pleased.

"You have no idea how long I waited for this," he cooed.

He then moved back and placed you back down onto your feet. He steadied you when your body swayed slightly. He raised his hand, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your right ear.

The smile on his face was anything but soft and loving. No, it looked almost dark, twisted and something else. Something that made him seemed like he knew something you don't.

"I'll stop here for now. But next time," he paused briefly, leaning down so he could whisper into your ear, "next time, I won't stop."

Riki didn't wait for your response, turning to walk away while leaving you standing there as reality gradually sink in of what you had just done.

~

Needless to say, you didn't slept well that night. You spent the entire night tossing and turning on the bed in the guestroom. Riki was generous enough to leave a spare set of clothes on the bed when he showed you to the guestroom.

You ignored how the clothes belonged to him and how they completely engulfed you with the black sweatshirt reaching your thighs and how you had to pull the strings of the sweatpants until it's tight enough so it won't dropped.

Every time you closed your eyes, your mind went back to the kiss. To how Riki kissed you effortlessly and to the way he looked at you with that glint in his eyes.

But most importantly, you couldn't stopped thinking about the things he said before he kissed you. How hurt and frustrated he was with you back then.

Somehow and someway, you managed to catch some sleep. When you woke up and checked your phone, it was already close to ten in the morning. You got out, headed to the guest bathroom where there was an extra set of toiletries for you to use.

Once you were done with your morning routine, you left the room and headed to the kitchen, mouth watering at the fragrant smell of bacon, coffee and scrambled eggs.

Riki glanced up at the sound of your approaching footsteps. The way his jaw clenched and how he had to physically hold himself back at how good you looked, dressed in his clothes didn't went unnoticed by you.

"You're awake. I made breakfast. Doohwa told me to drop you off later," he said, gesturing to the table.

You silently nodded as you took your seat and helped yourself to the food. Riki sat opposite of you but unlike you, he didn't eat. Instead, he stared at you. To say it was nerve-wrecking would be an understatement. It felt like you were a prey and he was the predator, watching you while hidden in the shadows before making his move.

And he did.

"So, did you sleep well?" He inquired.

The sudden question made you stilled.

To anyone else, it would had been an innocent and harmless question. But you knew better. You knew the meaning behind it. Riki knew the effect he had on you. He knew you didn't slept at all. He knew you couldn't stopped replaying the kiss in your mind, over and over in an endless cycle.

He knew you were starting to have doubts.

You gripped onto the chopsticks, eyes staring at a random spot of the table. You wanted to lie, to tell him that "yes, I slept well" but this was Riki. Someone who had known you better than you knowing yourself.

Which was why you placed your chopsticks down with a silent 'thud' on your bowl.

"We need to talk," you started, mustering the most serious look on your face, not wanting him to see you lose your composure.

Riki arched an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. He leaned back in his seat and threw an arm onto the back of the chair situated on his right. The way he portrayed himself—laid-back and easy was enough to make your left eyebrow twitched subtly in mild annoyance.

"Oh? What about?" He asked, having the audacity to act like he was innocent. Especially after the bold move he pulled yesterday.

You swallowed down the tempting urge to just yell at him, knowing that will bring you nowhere. "You can't do that again, Riki. It's highly inappropriate and if Doohwa were to know, he—"

"Woah, why are you making it sound like I'm the bad guy here. If I remember correctly, you kissed me back too."

You opened and closed your mouth. Riki smirked, knowing you couldn't say anything. Not when he had you cornered and when he was merely speaking the truth.

You awkwardly cleared your throat, bringing a mixture of bacon strips and scrambled eggs into your mouth as you chewed, anything to buy yourself more time while your mind struggled to find a response.

"Regardless of who kissed who, it's still highly inappropriate, Riki. You need to understand that I'm engaged to Doohwa now," you forced yourself to speak, because you wanted him to understand that you had moved on. That your life no longer revolved around him.

Riki stared at you with an unreadable expression on his face. And then, he rose to his full height and walked round the table, heading to your direction while remaining uneasily calm. You pressed yourself against the chair, gripping onto your utensils for dear life, like it could protect you from him.

The walking definition of sin and temptation.

When he was close enough, Riki placed one hand on the back of your chair while the other smoothly slid under your chin, holding your face on his index finger.

Your body betrayed you. Your breath caught. You found yourself leaning into his touch before your mind could processed it.

"You say all that but the moment I laid my hands on you, you're all quiet," he taunts you, leaning down until the tips of your noses brushed against one another.

"Admit it, you still love me," he demanded in a soft but authoritative tone, enough to make you squeezed and rubbed your legs together.

Both of you didn't do anything at first, merely having a staring competition while daring the other party to make the first move. To let their guard down and give in to the temptation.

Clink clink!

The sound of your metal utensils dropping to the table pierced through the silence. Your hands shot out, grabbing a fistful of Riki's hoodie that had no right in making him looked more attractive than he already was. You caught the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes as you roughly tugged him down to smash your lips against his.

Riki froze for a few seconds but when he realized what was happening, he eagerly reciprocated it and easily took the lead. He moved to stand between your legs while resting his right knee on the empty space on the chair, dangerously closed to your clothed cunt.

You had to tilt your head all the way back and you knew you'll be getting a horrible neck cramp tomorrow. But right now, you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

"Is this your way of saying yes?" He chuckled, mumbling the words against your lips, refusing to pull back like the distance could kill him.

"Shut up. You piss me off, you know that?" You snarled, refusing to acknowledge his question and cut off his laughter by kissing him again.

Unlike before, Riki's hands began greedily tracing the outline and silhouette of your body—trying to figure out how much you had changed. He boldly slid his large, warm hands underneath the sweatshirt—his sweatshirt, smirking into the kiss at how you subtly arched into his touch when he slid his hand up your spine, slowly and teasingly.

"You look hot when you're pissed. Maybe I should piss you more often," he joked and before you could retort with something snarky, he pulled back from the kiss, leaving a visible trail of saliva that snapped into half and sank to his knees.

You watched with bated breath, both hands gripping onto the edge of the chair you were seated on. Your breakfast was long forgotten at this point.

Riki tapped on your thigh twice and you obeyed, slightly lifting your hips up, aiding him in the removal of your—well, his, sweatpants. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed you didn't worn anything underneath it.

"No panty? Dirty girl. Did you touched yourself last night?" He questioned you, not bothering to remove the sweatpants and letting it pooled around your ankles.

Riki threw your right leg over his shoulder, grabbing onto your thigh to tug you forward. You let out a surprised sound when your body slid down and lurched forward until you were in an awkward position—half-kneeling and half-sitting on the chair.

Heat crept up the back of your neck at how focused Riki was as he stared at your bare, throbbing and aching cunt that fluttered while being on the receiving end of his puma-like gaze. He didn't asked for permission or warned you, diving in like he hasn't eaten for months. His tongue darted out, licking from the opening up to your clit.

To tease you and further pushed you over the edge, he gave a light, fleeting suck that drew a loud and high-pitched broken moan from the depths of your throat.

"F-Fuck, Riki," you moaned, head tilted back until it's bent backwards over the back of the chair as you canted your hips forward, craving for more.

The older man paid you no mind as he alternated between slow, flat stripes and quick, kittenish licks, the rapid change giving you whiplash. You couldn't keep up, mind blanking out with how good he was. Not even Doohwa had gotten this far with you, even though you were already engaged.

Riki glanced up from where he knelt—between your legs, like he was a loyal worshiper. His eyes lingered on your facial expression—how you bit down on your bottom lip, how your eyes were squeezed tight and how you furrowed your eyebrows as you struggled to hold back the noises.

That won't do.

Determined to hear it, he buried his face deeper and with his other hand, he spread you apart with his middle and index fingers. You let out a strangled whine as he pushed his tongue in, moving past your wet, soaking folds.

Heck, you could even felt his nose bumping against the hood of your clit just right.

"Fuck, look at you. Riding my face like that. Has my son not done this before?" He groaned.

If Riki could, he wished to spend an eternity between your legs, having his mouth on your pussy—eating it for breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner and supper. He couldn't get enough of how sweet and addictive you taste.

The indirect mention of Doohwa's name made you let out a weak mewl, mind already too far gone as you continued rocking your hips against the sharp outline of his nose. Broken moans, gasps and chanting of Riki's name fell from your lips like a sacred prayer.

"Riki.. oh god, d-don't stop.. fuck, pleasepleaseplease," you pleaded, voice dripping with such neediness that it made his cock twitched against the loose restraints of his sweatpants.

Riki moaned, the sound muffled and the vibration against your pussy was enough for you to reach your climax. Your legs spasmed out as your entire body trembled from the overwhelming and intense feeling.

You would had kicked him right in the face if he didn't held you down by your waist firmly.

Riki didn't stopped, tongue still lapping away while ensuring not a single drop had gone wasted. Eventually, he pulled away with the bottom half of his face covered in your slick. His plump lips looked even more irresistible than it already was, making you dryly swallowed. Riki didn't broke your eye contact, wiping your slick away with the back of his right hand.

What he did next nearly made you jumped on him, right there and then.

He brought his now soaked hand to his mouth and licked your slick up, like a cat greedily lapping from a plate of milk. You couldn't looked away, like your body had betrayed you as you stared at him, in both disbelief and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Something else that is related to you wanting to kiss the living life out of him, like a vampire. As if knowing what you're thinking, Riki smirked and stood up.

"Thanks for breakfast," he simply said before walking away, leaving you seated on the chair with your sweatpants still around your ankles as you struggled to wrap your mind around the mere fact that you had crossed a line and was now in a very dangerous territory.

What's worse was the fact that you wouldn't mind doing this again.

~

Whatever happened afterwards was a blur to you. You don't remembered finishing the remains of your breakfast, washing the dishes and changing back to the dress you wore yesterday. You don't remembered getting into Riki's car as he drove you back to you and Doohwa's home. You don't remembered him sneakily slipping something—a neatly folded piece of paper into your purse before you noticed it.

At first, things were normal. Both you and Doohwa were focused on your respective work life and the never-ending list of responsibilities that came with it. Doohwa had to spend more time in the office—reason being was his company had shortlisted him for an upcoming promotion. When he told you about it, you were on cloud nine and you went all out.

You made his favorite dishes and even going the going extra mile of pulling out the bottle of red wine that was given to you from your parents as a housewarming gift. The two of you spent the entire night drinking and chatting to your hearts' content.

Things were normal, until they weren't.

"I'll get going now," you announced to your co-worker, who nodded and bid you farewell.

"Bye and have a good weekend!" She said and you smiled, throwing her words back at her as well.

You stepped out of your company, already searching for Doohwa's car when you came to a stop. Your eyes landed on a certain tall figure, who casually leaned against his car with his arms loosely crossed across his chest. There were a few passerby who did a double take when they saw him, no doubt flustered by his looks. Some even giggled and whispered among themselves, wondering whose boyfriend or husband does he belonged to.

They were completely oblivious to the truth.

You swore your face turned as pale as a ghost. As if sensing your presence, he looked up and easily located you from where he stood. Riki arched an eyebrow, watching you. It's obvious he was waiting for your next move, curious to see what you would choose: fight or flight? If this was the old you, you would had immediately turned and bolted.

But now that you had grown up and became a young woman, you chose fight. Holding your head high while ignoring how every step you took only made your heartbeat quickened, you approached him and stopped before him.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, not bothering to sound polite or even greet him. "And more importantly, how do you know where I work?"

Riki was unfazed with your bluntness and merely smirked. "Doohwa called me. Asked if I could give you a ride home. Told me he won't be coming home tonight since he needs to work hard for his promotion."

You blinked and then narrowed your eyes at him. "And why should I believe you? How do I know you're not lying?" You asked, eyeing him warily.

Sighing, the man reached into the pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, opened the Messages app and turned it to show you the messages his son had sent him. You had to squint your eyes to get a clearer look at it.

Doohwa: Hey dad, could you help to pick (Name) up after work? I won't be able to do it since I'll be working overtime… Here's her company address: XXX-XXXXXXXX.

"That piece of shit. He could've at least called me," you muttered under your breath as you moved back when you realized you were standing too close to him.

"He did. But I think your phone died. He tried calling you too but all of it went to voicemails, which was why he came to me instead," Riki answered, tucking his phone aside and pushed himself off the car he was leaning on.

"Get in, we can grab something to eat then I'll drop you off," he said, opening the passenger door for you.

A part of you wanted to walk away, stating that you don't need him to drive you home but another part of you wanted this. You ended up getting in and he closed the door after you. Riki walked round his car and got into the driver's seat. One quick scan of the black, sleek and polished design of the interior of the car told you enough.

"Looks like someone's earning a fortune," you pointed out, unable to hide the sarcasm that managed to seep into your voice.

"Oh, thanks. It's all part of the job," he casually answered and somehow, your left eyebrow twitched with how causal he said it. Like he was better than you.

You swallowed the rising and tempting urge to lose your temper and asked another question. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

You scoffed as you hugged your work bag close to your chest, like it could shield you from him. "Don't tell me you're kidnapping me or something."

Riki glanced at you and something akin to mischief twinkled in his eyes. "Relax. If I do that, we'll be heading to my place in no time."

Your cheeks burned at the implication behind his words, making you tightened your grip around your work bag. "You're disgusting."

"You say that but you literally let me eat you out."

"Riki!"

Out of all places you had in mind, you didn't expect for him to pull up in front of a familiar place. A place where it all began. You got out of the car after Riki parked it, staring at the bar with a bewildered look on your face. Footsteps approached you until he stood beside you, hands shoved into his pockets.

"What do you think? You like my surprise?" He asked, unable to hide the wide grin stretching across his face.

Your eyes darted between the name and his face. You barely managed to conceal the surprise that had already made itself known, awkwardly clearing your throat. "Don't tell me you're feeling nostalgic and decided to bring me here for a memory refresh."

He chuckled; amused and shook his shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows."

You frowned, clearly disliking how he's being vague. "You—"

"Ah ah, stop arguing with me. If you hate it so much, you can walk away right now. I won't stop you," he interrupted, watching you with a knowing glint.

He knew you wouldn't walked away. He knew you would stay with him. He knew you would let him do as he pleased—like what happened before. When you said nothing or didn't walked away, Riki smirked and gestured for you to walk ahead of him. You shot him a glare and if looks could kill, he would have died on the spot as you walked past him, even purposely bumping your shoulder against his, just because you're petty.

Riki said nothing as he followed you, purposely brushing his shoulder against yours. He opened the door for you, allowing you to enter and when you did, you had to pause, stand by the doorway to take in everything.

It was still the same.

There were no major changes done. The lighting, the atmosphere, the furniture and even the interior was exactly the same. You were so caught-up taking in your surroundings that you weren't even aware someone standing behind the counter spotted the two of you.

"Yo, what the—(Name)? Is that you?"

You snapped back to reality when someone called out your name over the music playing from the speakers. Before you knew it, Lee Heeseung had appeared in your sights. One look at him told you that he had aged well, just like the man currently standing beside you. Heeseung pulled you into an embrace without warning. You stilled for a few seconds but returned the hug and patted him on his back.

What you didn't know however, was how Heeseung playfully stuck his tongue out at Riki over your shoulder, causing the younger man to scowl. Heeseung broke the hug and smiled down at you, briefly and respectfully scans you from head to toe.

"Looks like adulthood's been treating you well. You grew up to be a fine woman, with all due respect, of course," he complimented you.

And you laughed for the first time today, waving off his words with a bashful smile on your face. "Stop it. You and your sweet words."

Heeseung chuckled. "What can I say? I'm a natural sweet-talker. You guys can grab yourselves some seats and if Riki wants, he can make the drinks as I'm kinda busy," he continued while pointing at his ex co-worker.

"You sure that's allowed, hyung?" Riki teased.

His ex-boss rolled his eyes. "I'm the owner of this place. What are they gonna do? Fire me? Hah, I'd like to see them try. But seriously, just do it if you want to. I need to go. Maybe we can talk again later."

Heeseung ruffled Riki's hair—much to the younger's annoyance. He gave you a friendly smile before disappearing into the sea of people. Your eyes scanned the place, managing to find an empty table and sped-walked towards it. You were the first to sit down, placing your work bag on your lap as you stared at the menu that was placed on it.

Riki, on the other hand, plopped down in the opposite seat of yours as he observed you with an unreadable look on his face. "You two look awfully cozy back there," he commented.

You didn't glanced up, scanning both the food and drinks sections. "Heeseung? Yeah, we became good friends after he made me and my friends drinks. Too bad they weren't on the house though."

"Yeah, and he's also someone who couldn't keep his hands to himself," he grumbled under his breath.

"Did you say something?" You asked, raising your head.

"Nothing. What are you planning on getting?" Riki immediately changed the subject.

You eyed him for a while but didn't brought it up, choosing to go with the flow instead. "I was thinking of getting the steak and probably something non-alcoholic for the drinks," you answered while pointing at the dish you mentioned.

Riki had to lean forward to get a closer look, his shadow being cast across both the menu and table when he does so. "Non-alcoholic? Didn't take you as the boring type."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You glared at him for the unknown time.

Seeing your reaction, he smirked—knowing he had you right where he wanted you to be. "I'm just saying. Non-alcoholic on a Friday? C'mon, it's a Saturday tomorrow. You need to loosen up a little. Unless you're scared."

The last word nearly made you see red.

"Scared? Oh, I'll show you what scared really looks like," you retorted.

Riki smirked as he stood up. "That's my girl. Be right back. I'll make your order."

Before you could say anything, he headed backdoor to where only staff was granted access, leaving you seated by the table, cheeks flushed at how he had called you his girl.

~

"Wait—!"

You weakly protested but your voice died down in your throat when Riki moved abruptly.

Bam!

The door slammed shut behind you as he used his weight to pin it closed. The sound echoed throughout the quiet and still apartment. His hands grabbed both sides of your head as he maneuvered you backward until your back was against the wall, trapping you there—not hurting or rough but desperate. His breathing was uneven now, chest rising and dropping fast as his forehead briefly dropped to yours, like he was fighting to control himself.

To control himself.

"Don't. Don't say anything," he said in a hoarse voice.

And he kissed you.

It was frantic, nothing like the controlled restraint he had shown before or the way he kissed you back then. This was different. More intense. More needy. More desperate. His mouth moved hungrily against yours, like he wanted to swallow you whole. Like he couldn't bear the thought of watching you letting someone else that's not him talking to you, making you laughed and smiled freely.

Riki's hand slid down to your jaw, thumb pressing there with poorly contained tension as he deepened the kiss, angling your head to the side, like he knew exactly how to steal your breath. Your palms were sweating profusely, mind spinning from the remaining alcohol in your veins and you felt unusually warm.

But, you couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why.

You tried to break the kiss, tried to stop him but Riki was stubborn. He growled, impatient and frustrated when you repeatedly delivered light whacks to his shoulders.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was? Watching you smile at Heeseung like that? How you kept entertaining him?" He murmured against your lips between each kisses, voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine and the all-too familiar sensation of heat pooling in your stomach.

It's like your body only reacted this way when you're with Riki and not Doohwa.

You barely had time to process it before he kissed you again, slower this time but the intensity behind it remained the same, enough for you to openly and wetly pant against his lips. It felt possessive now, more deliberate—like he was reminding the both of you who was here first. Who still remembered.

His other hand rested at your waist, grounding and anchoring you to him, like he was afraid you will disappear the moment he loosened his grip.

"Every time hyung talked to you, you looked at ease. Like it was nothing. And I was right there, pretending it doesn't get under my skin," he continued quietly, jealousy bleeding through despite his best, futile attempts to keep it buried.

He rested his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling as you two breathed in the same space. You couldn't looked away, not when his eyes were dark and searching. Searching for any signs of you not wanting this, before it was too late.

"But it did. It got under my skin," he admitted.

"Ri—!"

You didn't managed to utter out his full name as he kissed you once more—not rushed or frantic, but full of weight and meaning, like a confession he could no longer keep inside. You couldn't keep up with him, not when your legs threatened to give way. You would've toppled to the ground if Riki didn't steadied you in the nick of time.

And then, your vision was tilted to the left.

Riki easily carried you in his arms bridal-style and headed to the bedroom—not the guestroom but to his own bedroom. Instead of placing or throwing you onto his bed, he pinned you against the wall the moment you stepped foot into the room, kissing you until you're breathless and your lips were swollen. You let him removed your clothes—the black blazer you wore to protect yourself from the cold, leaving you in your inner, plain black blouse and loose, black pants.

With lots of self-control behind it, he broke the kiss, chuckling at the disappointed whine you made at the sudden distance. He stopped you when you chased after him, causing you to furrow your eyebrows at him, confused with his intention.

"Get on your knees for me, doll," he demanded, voice firm and authoritative—leaving no room for objections.

Not that you were planning on going against him in the first place.

You compiled, involuntarily shivering at the usage of the pet-name—the very one he used back then. Your clothed knees hit the carpeted floor of his bedroom, sweaty palms resting on your lap as you looked up at him. Riki looked down at you and seeing you like this—willingly on your knees while batting your eyelashes at him, unaware of the effect you have on him.

"Fuck, you look pretty like this," he breathed out, resting his hand on top of your head as he grabbed a fistful of your hair with his fingers.

"Go on, I don't have all day," he drawled, cocking his head to the side as he looked down at you expectantly.

Your eyes darted between his face and the visible bludge in his pants that's right before you. To test the water, you raised your trembling hands. Out of excitement or nervousness, you weren't sure and you pulled the zipper down slowly. The sound of it being tugged down was loud, echoing throughout the four walls of the room, a foreshadowing of what's to come.

Riki didn't moved, watching and letting you pulled his pants and Chrome Hearts boxers until it's low enough, finally freeing his hardened cock proudly standing upright. Riki shivered at the light, fleeting sensation fo the cool wind brushing against his sensitive cock. Precum formed at the tip. You had to pause for a moment, unable to conceal the surprise that appeared in your eyes at how… well, huge he had gotten.

The last time you had sex with him, he wasn't even this big yet. It's times like these where you get reminded that the man standing before you now was longer the same as before.

Glancing up at him through your eyelashes, you scooted forward on your knees, so you can get closer without having to strain your neck. Instead of wasting time with foreplay or teasing him, you jumped right in. You swallowed him in one go, your gag reflex being non-existent. You slacked your jaw, pushing forward while ignoring the way your throat convulsed around the thick grith of his cock.

Riki groaned, head falling back to reveal his neck with his veins popping out. "Fuck, your mouth's still so good."

You moaned, the sound muffled and sending vibrations down the length of his cock, drawing a curse from the man above you. You began bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks as you traced the protruding veins along the sides of his cock. You even reached out to caress his heavy balls, grazing your nails against the outline, causing his thighs to twitch at the mere contact.

With borderline shaking hands, Riki managed to pull out his phone from the pockets of his pants. What was supposed to be an easy task of unlocking the device and opening the camera app proved to be a difficult task. Especially with how warm and tight your mouth felt. He couldn't stopped replaying the image of you taking him whole without gagging in his mind, like it was on loop.

"Fuck," he hissed through his gritted teeth and clenched jaw at a particular harsh from you.

You chose that moment to pull away, making an audible "pop" sound and pressed your lips against the mushroomy tip, lips curled up in a smile at how it visibly twitched in your grip.

"What's wrong? Can't unlock your phone?" You cooed, teasing and taunting him. "Need some help?"

Riki paused and looked down at you, phone held in his left hand. The next thing you knew, he roughly tugged you forward by using your hair as the reins, until the tip was pressed against your lips, but you refused to let him in, stubbornly keeping your mouth closed. His eyes hardened at your disobedience.

"You forgot you're not the one in-charge here, doll," he snarled, giving another tug of your hair as your head jerked backward at an awkward angle where you're forced to look at him.

"Open up. Or else," he warned you.

Your mouth instinctively opened and this time, Riki was well-prepared. He held his phone before him, the camera app already opened. He clicked the record button and the timer went off as he filmed him shoving you down on his cock. His sudden action elicited a muffled, choking sound from you. Your eyes widened with tears prickling at the corners, blurring your vision slightly but Riki didn't cared.

He thrusted into your mouth, not giving a damn about your comfort as he used you as a fleshlight while chasing after his pleasure. He didn't cared that you were drooling as well, with it trickling down your widely-stretched mouth. Some even rolled down to his balls. The temperature difference of your warm and thick saliva against his cool and tight balls sent shivers down his spine.

Riki couldn't tear his eyes away from the video as he recorded your fucked-out facial expression—your half-lidded teary eyes, your lips obscenely stretched wide to accommodate the thick grith of his cock in your mouth and how he could even see the outline of himself down your throat at every snap of his hips. You could barely breathed, having to inhale and exhale through your nose.

He didn't warned you as he spilled hot and thick cum down your throat, painting it in the shade of white. You weren't even fazed with the salty taste in your mouth, letting it rest on your tongue, waiting for his permission for you to swallow it. Riki pulled his now limp cock out of your bruised, swollen lips with a loud "pop" sound. He tilted your face up with his thumb on your chin, zooming in with two fingers until it's focused on your mouth.

"Open your mouth. Let me see it," he cooed.

You obeyed him, opening your mouth as wide as you can and then, he shoved two fingers down your throat without hesitation. You audibly gagged on it, your throat tightening around the sudden intrusion. This time, tears rolled down your face as he dipped his fingers into the mini pool of cum resting on your tongue before spreading it over your entire mouth, ensuring every inch was covered in it, like he was spreading butter on bread.

Satisfied, Riki withdrew his saliva-coated fingers but instead of wiping it clean, he returned to his previous position—thumb on your chin. You still had your mouth opened, looking at him with wide and innocent eyes.

Except you were anything but innocent.

You thought he'd asked you to swallow but he moved, bending over at waist level with his phone angled out of the way but he was still recording you. You let him further tilt your chin back and then—

Spat.

Your heart stopped beating. Riki had just spit into your mouth. He knowingly smirked at your reaction—how your brain malfunctioned on the spot. He tapped twice on your bottom lip with his index finger—the very same finger that was in your mouth a few minutes ago.

"Swallow it," he demanded.

And who were you to say no?

You obeyed, making a show of you swallowing everything—his cum and his saliva. When you did, you parted your lips to show your now cleaned mouth and he nodded, satisfied. Riki stopped the recording, pocketing his phone. He pulled you up to your feet to capture your lips in a intense, feverish kiss, not caring that he's able to taste himself on your lips which only further intensified the feeling.

He turned you around and made you moved backward until your knees knocked into the side of the bed. You fell backward onto the clean, neat and tidy sheets with a 'thud' sound. Riki was quick to be on top of you and trailed kisses down your neck, drawing a soft and pleased sigh from you. You tilted your head back, eyes closed in bliss with your chest pressed against his.

"Can I take this off?" He asked, voice unusually soft despite the rough way he manhandled you a few minutes ago.

You blinked but nodded your head. "Y-Yeah, you can."

Your ears turned red at how you stuttered but thankfully, Riki didn't comment on it. He finished unbuttoning the rest of the buttons of your blouse and you lifted yourself up from the sheets, allowing him to slide it off until the fabric is brunched around your elbows.

He quickly made quick work of his clothes, stripping until he's naked. Your eyes flicked down and you saw it—a red kiss mark tattoo on the side of his stomach. Your eyes lingered longer than usual but you forced yourself to look away. However, you knew you were caught red-handed with the knowing smirk Riki sent you.

"Like what you see?" He asked, voice low and deep.

You couldn't helped yourself, pushing yourself up to get a closer look. You reached out but your hands froze mid-air, looking at him, waiting for permission. Riki nodded and you took that as your sign, resting your right palm above the tattoo. You traced the outline of it with your fingers, ears registering the sharp inhale from Riki.

"You… When did you get this?" You murmured, voice soft.

"I got it when we were still…" His voice trailed off but you knew what he wanted to say.

When we were still having that friends-with-benefits relationship.

Riki awkwardly cleared his throat, resting his hand above yours—completely covering your hand from his view.

"What do you think? Do you like it?" He asked. If you were to listen closely, you could detect shyness behind it—like a young boy seeking approval from his mother.

You didn't answered him verbally, choosing to answer with your action instead. You gently pried his hand away from the tattoo, able to feel his confusion but it vanished when you leaned forward, pressing your lips against it, in the exact same position and angle.

The mere contact of your plush but still swollen lips against the kiss mark tattoo made him visibly jolt. Riki's breath hitched in his throat, eyes widening with genuine surprise at your unpredicted and bold action. You let your lips lingered against it for a while before pulling away. Riki snapped back to reality and cupped your face, kissing you with neediness that it made your head spun.

You let him pushed you back until you were laying on the bed. Riki broke the kiss, taking in the sight of you laying beneath him with your hair spread out like a messy halo. Feeling flustered with his gaze, you covered the bottom half of your face with the back of your palm, eyes averted to the side. But Riki clicked his tongue in disapproval. He reached out, grabbed your hand and pinned it on your left, smoothly intertwining your fingers together.

"Don't hide from me. You're beautiful," he reassured you, eyes filled with nothing but utmost sincerity.

You stared at him, taken aback by how honest he was. You didn't know how to respond and merely meekly nodded your head, not trusting in your voice. Riki chuckled, amused with your reaction. He didn't completely removed your blouse, leaving it hanging around your elbows as he made quick work of your pants, now leaving you in your matching set of underwear—a plain, black set of bra and lace panties.

Riki tossed your pants onto the floor, eyes zoned in on the evident wet spot, right over where your pussy was. He rested a finger on the wet spot, moving it upward with his eyes on your face—observing your reaction. He faintly smirked at how you gasped, hips canting forward, craving more of it.

Tugging the soaked and thin fabric aside, he let out a low and impressed whistle at how your pussy was drenched, with visible, thick and sticky strings of your arousal being stretched to the side, along with the movement.

"Look at you, already drippin' for me," he breathed out, amazed with how wet you are as his finger inched closer, now fully touching your bare pussy, savoring the little and soft whimpers spilling from your lips.

"Too bad that useless son of mine doesn't know how sweet you taste."

The moment he finished speaking, Riki dived in. He flattened his tongue as he ran it along your puffy, dripping folds, collecting your slick that couldn't stopped dripping. The sheer contact of his rough tongue against your sensitive pussy drew a loud and shameless moan from you.

Your back arched off the bed, legs now tightly wrapped around his head, locking him in place. You were worried that you were suffocating him but the thought flew out of your mind when he pushed not one, but two fingers in until he was knuckles-deep in.

Riki had to control himself when he felt how tight you were around his fingers, making him wonder: would you be able to take his cock? But as the saying goes, 'if there's a will, there's a way'.

The double penetration of his tongue and fingers made you see stars exploding behind your eyelids. Riki easily located that delicate spot located against your gummy and velvety walls. He expertly curled his fingers in just the right angle, drawing more angelic sounds from your lips.

"Ngh—F-Fuck, Riki, oh god," you moaned, throwing all ounces of shame and self-discipline out of the window at how he pressed his thumb down on the hood of your clit before moving it in a slow, circular motion in clockwise direction.

You weren't even aware that you started fucking yourself back on his fingers as he pumped them in and out at a steady interval. The bedroom was filled with your moans and the lewd sounds of him eating you out like there's no tomorrow. You couldn't registered what you were saying. It could be his name or you blabbering anything that sounded suspiciously like please and more.

Whatever it was, it seemed to have an effect on Riki with how he audibly moaned into your pussy, burying his face deeper like he wants to die between your legs with his tongue tasting your slick, treating it like sweet nectar from a sunflower.

"G-Gonna cum," you panted, warning him while trying to push him away but Riki was persistent. He ignored your weak and feeble attempts to shove him away as he continued to abuse your poor pussy.

All it took was for him to move his fingers in a scissors-like motion, spreading you opened and a slow, teasing flick with the tip of his tongue for you to come undone. Your stomach muscles tightened from the orgasm as overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Riki still didn't moved away, relentlessly eating you through your climax. It was only when you went pliant against the sheets was when he finally let you breathe.

He pushed himself up onto his knees, his pink tongue darting out to lick at the wetness coating his thick and plump lips. "Fuck, have you had sex with Doohwa before?" He asked.

The sudden question right after he gave you the most intense orgasm of your life made you stared at him, like he had spoken in a different language. It took you a few seconds for your mind to catch up and you shook your head, still in a daze.

"No, we didn't. We only kissed and made out, that's all. Never gone further than that," you admitted, oblivious to how your words made something in Riki twitched.

"So, he hasn't touched you here before?" He asked, scooting closer and boldly cupped your bare, overly-sensitive pussy, drawing a soft whine from you at the sudden contact.

Again, you shook your head but he wasn't pleased with the lack of verbal response.

"I needs words, doll. Answer me," he instructed, pushing the tip of his index finger back in, watching as how your head fell backward.

"N-No, he didn't—nonono!" You cried out at how he pulled his finger out, ignoring the way you pathetically clenched down on him, attempting to make him stay.

Riki lets out a dark and low laugh at the crestfallen look on your face and let out a faux coo, even furrowing his eyebrows in faux concern and pity. "Aw, poor baby. Sure you want my fingers?" He asked, chuckling at how you eagerly nodded your head, eyes half-lidded.

"Are you sure? Thought you want my cock instead," he continued.

The way your eyes widened and lit up at his words nearly made him laughed, if it wasn't for the mood of the current situation. Riki moved you upward until your head was resting on a pillow.

He placed another pillow underneath your hips as he situated himself between your spread out legs. He couldn't get enough with how sinful you looked—laying there while looking at him with wide and doe-like eyes, ready to take him.

Ready for you to become his.

Riki forgo the condoms as he didn't have them anymore. Not after he had Doohwa with one of his one-night stands. He reached over the bed, picking up his phone. This time, he was able to easily unlocked it and opened the camera app, pressing the record button.

He tilted the phone down, ensuring to capture the angle of him aligning himself against your weeping entrance but instead of pushing in, he rubbed the tip against your folds, collecting your slick as he coated it over his cock, acting as temporary lube.

"Beg for it, darling. Wanna hear you beg," he said, the recording perfectly capturing everything.

You whined, fingers gripping onto the pillow beneath your head with your nails digging into it. You tried to cant your hips forward, hoping he could just slide in but Riki held you down by your hips, his strength easily overwhelming yours.

"I say beg for it. Show me how much of a desperate woman you are, wanting someone else's cock instead of your fiance," he taunts, his crude words drawing a pitiful and needy whimper from you.

"P-Please, wan' you," you begged, frustrated tears burning in your eyes but Riki didn't gave in.

Not yet. He wants to push you further.

"Try again. You can do better."

You sniffled pathetically. At this point, your mind was no longer intact within your body. Which was why you barely comprehend the words that slipped from your mouth, like it was nothing.

"Please daddy, wan' your cock," you pleaded and fuck, the way you addressed him. That one singular word struck something deep and feral in Riki.

He didn't dropped his phone or stopped the recording. Instead, you felt his hard, thick cock pressed up adjacent in your cervix in a singular shove, his chest heaving up and down erratically as desire gleamed in his dazed eyes.

You felt the air being punched out of your lungs with how deep his cock was. You swore he could hit the entrance to your womb—something you didn't know was possible.

Until now.

"Shit, you're so tight," he cursed, zooming in to capture the lewd moment of your pussy lips stretched obscenely wide around the grith of his cock.

"Ki, move, please" you whispered.

Riki raised an eyebrow. "No, that's not what you called me just now."

You looked at him, mind struggling to process his words and that's when it hit you. Riki hummed at your hesitation.

"Guess you don't want it then," he shrugged his shoulders, pretending he was about to pull out but as he expected, you stopped him.

"No, don't!" You protested.

"Yes? What do you want, doll? Use your words," he coaxed you, ensuring that your face wasn't captured in the recording.

You paused for a few seconds, trying to pluck up the remains of your close to non-existent courage. "Please fuck me… daddy."

Riki audibly groaned at the last word, his cock twitched inside of you. He pulled out until his tip is still inside you and then pushed back in, slamming his hips against yours.

His balls slapped against your ass cheeks with every deep and harsh thrust from him. The older man grit his teeth at how you tightened around him.

He changed the angle slightly, easily finding the same spongy spot and wasted no time in abusing it, the tip of his cock kissing it with every thrust.

The new change of angle drew more high-pitched and breathless moans from you as you lay there, body shuffling up and down.

The bed-frame kept smacking against the wall with a series of loud and heavy thud, thud, thud.

You weren't even sure if Riki's neighbors were around but you hoped they weren't. Not with how loud you were being.

"Takin' me so well. You're made for me, aren't you?" He groaned, tossing his phone aside but he didn't stopped the recording. It landed camera down on the sheets and now, it was merely recording the loud, lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin.

Riki looked down, smirking when he saw a ring of white, thick liquid forming at the base of his cock. He reached out, hand spreading your fat pussy lips apart, watching as you took more of him.

"Ngh, d-daddy—hah, please, moremoremore," you chanted, eyes rolling up to the back of your head.

Riki lets out a breathless chuckle, leaning down so he can whisper into your ear, hand still spreading you apart for him. He didn't slowed down, still maintaining the ruthless pace he set earlier.

"Bet he won't fuck you this good, would he? Maybe I should show him the clips, hm? Show him how much of a slut you are, letting his dad fuck you. Begging for an older man's cock when you're engaged," he downright sneered, his words drawing a needy mewl from you and he continued.

"If you didn't walked away, you would had this a long time ago," he murmured under his breath, almost like he was talking to himself.

Riki's eyes trailed down to your stomach, able to make-out the faint outline of his cock. He watched as the bump moved up and down, along with him.

Seeing your stomach having a bulge because of him made his mind spin. Thoughts start to creep in—how would you looked carrying his child? Would it be a boy or a girl? Would they have your eyes, your smile and your laugh?

Just the thought of you being pregnant with his child is enough to give him a newfound motivation. The motivation to knock you up and doing this behind his beloved son's back only made it even more tempting and sinful.

"You'd like it, don't you? Carrying my kids, pretending you aren't getting fucked by his own father," he taunts, words dripping with nothing but mockery. But to you, it felt good, in a way you couldn't described.

You couldn't speak, not when you felt the all-too familiar sensation of your stomach tightening. Riki knew you were close, with how your breathing grew more ragged and heavier. He buried himself up to the hilt and you tipped over the edge.

Your mouth dropped open, forming a silent 'O' shape as your pussy convulsed around his cock, milking him dry as he followed suit—spilling thick and hot semen, painting your creamy walls white.

Marking you as his.

You laid on the stained sheets, mind too far gone and too exhausted to move your limbs or even raised a single finger. Riki, on the other hand, didn't pulled out. His cock was still inside of you. The only form of warning you got was him flipping you over until you were pathetically on your hands and knees, that were trembling, barely able to contain your weight.

Riki draped himself over you, his chest pressed against your back with his chin resting on your shoulder. His hand trailed down, gently running his hands along your pussy lips, savoring the way you shivered and how you unconsciously leaned into his touch.

"Don't think I'm done with you yet, doll. We need to make up for the lost time," he whispered into your ears and that's when you knew, you were in for a long, long night.

~

You told yourself that would be the final time you do… whatever this is with Riki. But no matter what you were doing—be it working, spending time with Doohwa or planning your wedding ceremony, your mind couldn't stopped thinking about him. Couldn't stopped thinking about the way his hands touched your body, knowing exactly where to touch, to make you crumble before him, reducing you to a flushed and pliant mess.

To make matters worse, Doohwa was constantly away—due to him gradually spending more time in his office while desperately chasing after his promotion. This only gave you the perfect excuse to keep this up. While your fiance was busy working with his life put on the line, you were busy… well, getting the best fucking of your life.

You should feel guilty for doing something as unforgivable as cheating on him. But then again, whenever you looked at Riki or when the two of you are alone in the same room, it was like gravity had pulled you together. Clothes were hurriedly removed, like they were nothing but nuisances and were getting in the way.

You had ran out of fingers and toes to count how many times Riki had you moaning his name. As far as you were aware, he had taken you on every possible flat surface in his apartment—the kitchen counter, the many walls he has, the dining table and the list goes on. Heck, you even found out that you were quite flexible too, with how he had you in a mating press or with your ankles nearly pressed against your ears as you were forced to take his cock, over and over again.

Time slipped past in a blur and before you knew it, the day had officially arrived.

The day of your wedding.

Normally, the bride would be thrilled or over the moon at the thought of finally being wedded to their fiance—who will soon be their husband. However, you were feeling anything but joy. You couldn't hear the compliments thrown your way from your family or friends. You couldn't hear the well wishes that fell from their lips and how some were borderline tearing up.

Currently, you were in the bridal suite after spending the past two to three hours letting the make-up artists and stylists making you as beautiful as possible, until you couldn't recognized the woman in the reflection. You stared at yourself, like you were looking at a complete stranger. The make-up wasn't bad in any way but what they didn't know was the sea of emotions in your heart and mind.

"You look gorgeous."

You instantly snapped your head to the door and there he was, standing there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his black pants. Just like everyone else, Riki had wore a tailored-made suit but somehow, he was able to pull off the look effortlessly, making him looked like he was a model ready to walk the runway soon.

And of course, he chose today to wear the glasses. A pair of black-rimmed glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. The very same glasses that made you lost your mind when you saw him wore it for the first time, resulting in you eagerly sinking to your knees when he was having an online meeting as you unbuckled his pants and—

"You're not supposed to be here!" You exclaimed, rising from your feet, pulling your long wedding dress up to not trip over it as you approached him.

Riki chuckled, not moving from his spot. "It's fine, I'm not the one you're marrying so the rule doesn't apply to me," he paused briefly, letting his eyes roamed down your figure without any ounce of shame and he stepped forward, causing your breath to hitch.

"And besides, I have a very special surprise for you," he murmured, lowering his head to brush his lips against yours, approval glimmered in his eyes when you didn't pushed him away.

You nervously gulped. "…What kind of surprise is it?"

Riki straightened himself and stepped away. "Now telling you will ruin it. But don't worry, it's not something bad."

He sniggered at your bemused expression and bid you farewell as he left the suite, gently closing the door behind him.

After the guests had taken their seats, the ceremony kicked off. The doors opened, revealing your father, wearing a suit, on the other side of the door. He stared at you in shock before his eyes softened—which only made you felt even worse, like you were about to vomit right there and then. Still, you mustered the best smile you can, slipping your hand around his arm as the two of you—father and daughter, began walking to the room where everyone was waiting.

Everyone with Riki included as well.

Soon, you arrived before a closed pair of doors. You tightened your grip on your father's arm, who rested his hand above yours, giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure you. The staff took that as their sign to open the doors and countless eyes instantly snapped to your direction. The guests rose from their seats, clapping and some even started throwing flowers as your father walked you down the aisle.

You looked to the front—seeing Doohwa wearing a suit and from the looks of his face and glossy eyes, he was on the verge of bursting into happy tears. You instinctively looked towards Riki, who stood a few feet away and the sight of his expression—calm and knowing, made you felt unsettled. His words replayed in your mind and you quickly looked away, pretending to not noticed the way he smirked at your reaction.

You reached the end of the aisle and robotically climbed up the small flight of stairs, with the staff helping you by lifting the back of your long dress and veil up. And then, you found yourself standing before Doohwa with the officiant now making his appearance as he stood between the two of you, a smile on his face.

"Today, we are gathered here to…"

You tuned out the rest of the wedding vows. Physically, you were looking at Doohwa while holding his hands but mentally, you were thinking about someone else. Someone who was not him, your future husband. The man who you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with. Your eyes flicked down to your stomach, resisting the urge to touch it as you didn't want to draw any attention to it but you knew something had shifted inside you.

Something that was related to you possibly being pregnant with Riki's child.

"..you agreed to take (Name) as your wife?" The officiant asked, directing the question to Doohwa, snapping you back to reality.

"I do," he answered without missing a beat. Without hesitation and you envied him.

"And you, (Name), do you agreed to take Doohwa as your husband?" He asked.

Everyone waited for your response, practically at the edges of their seats.

"I—" You opened your mouth and then, Riki made his move.

The screen on your right, which was playing a simple but romantic backstory of how the two of you met turned into a black screen. The crowd was confused as they murmured among themselves. At first, they assumed it was a techinal difficulty and that's when you saw something that made your heart dropped.

It was an audio.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, moans—your moans and Riki's grunts played from the speakers. Everyone in the room went still, unable to believe what they were hearing. Some of the parents rushed to cover their children's ears, to protect their innocence. Some were downright revolted as they quickly connect the dots, their previous happy expressions was now replaced with disappointment and resentment.

You couldn't find it in yourself to look at Doohwa, not wanting to face him after the secret you had hide with you for so long, was now revealed to the public. The audio went on for a few more seconds before it was cut off.

Silence.

Doohwa turned to you, his hands slipping from yours.

"What…?" His voice cracked but he regained his composure, expression now cold and void of any emotion. "Explain yourself."

You couldn't say a thing. Your vision blurred, the white of the ceremony, the flowers and the guests. Everything melted into indistinct shapes. You were now at the center of attention but for the wrong reasons. The echo of the audio still rang in your ears, like it was mocking you.

"I asked you something! Explain yourself," he demanded, taking a step closer, his shoulders trembling as he seethed with rage.

When you still didn't speak, his disbelief was replaced with something else—anger and just like the crowd, disgust.

"You slept with him. You fucking slept with my father," he spat out, each word sharp enough to draw blood if he were to mold it into a weapon.

Gasps rippled through the room. Whispers turned into murmurs and murmurs turned into silent but hostile judgment.

"You dare to stand in front of me, promising me forever and letting me put a ring on you, knowing you're with him," he continued, voice cracking the more he spoke and you were tempted to say something, anything.

But, what could you possibly say when all he said was the truth?

This time, tears freely rolled down your cheeks, not caring that your make-up was smudged. And until now, you didn't know what you could say to defend yourself.

"How could you!? How could you cheat on me? How could you do this?" He was shouting at the top of his lungs now.

And his outburst was a signal to the crowd, allowing them to freely voiced their uncensored thoughts.

"Shameless."

"How vile."

"She trapped him."

"No morals at all."

Each word struck you harder than anything else.

Your chest felt tight, breath shallow. You could feel the walls gradually closing in as the weight of every stare and every words bore down on you, until your legs were trembling below your dress. Someone laughed—short and derisive. Someone else cursed under their breath. Someone pulled out their phone, no doubt recording the whole thing.

You couldn't breathe.

"I—I didn't—" Your voice broke. "It wasn't—"

But no one wanted to hear it. Not when you had been painted as the villain.

You turned and ran. Your heels echoed sharply against the marbled floor as you fled down the aisle that was meant for vows, past the flowers, past the life you were supposed to have. Insults followed you like a swarm of angered bees—spatting words at you, anger, betrayal and disgust. The doors burst opened as you shoved through them, cold air hitting your face as you stumbled out, lungs burning as you gasped for breath.

And then—

"Did you like my surprise?"

You stilled, knowing who it was without turning around. But still, you slowly turned around, like how a ghost would be in a horror movie. Riki stood a few feet away from you—as cool and collected as always but this time, there was something dark and twisted in both his eyes and expression. Like he had planned this. Like he knew this will happened.

"You… You ruined my life," you accused while pointing at him.

The man merely blinked. "Don't put all of the blame on me, doll. You agreed to it. You were the one who willingly came to me too, so you don't get to act innocent."

You flinched, physically recoiling like a hostile cat. "I—"

Riki barked out a cold, humorless laugh as he closed the remaining distance, invading your invisible and personal line. He cupped your face, tilting your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes. "How about this: you come with me and we move to another country?"

"What?"

He let out a condescending sigh, like he was talking to a child. "Since you're no longer wanted here, you should come with me. We can move to Australia. I have a job offer there where I'm needed to work on a long-term project. Come with me and I can take care of the both of you."

Your breath hitched at the word 'both'. "How did you—"

"Did you think I'm someone who does things without planning them?" He cuts you off, getting the front-row seat of watching as realization hits you.

Your eyes widened, lips parting as you stared at him in horror and disbelief. "You… You planned all of this from the start? You made me carry your child and now you want to kidnap me? Taking me away from the people I love?"

Riki had the audacity to roll his eyes. "People you love? Oh please, they don't even loved you anymore. Not after what they just heard."

You clenched and unclenched your fingers, teeth grinding down on one another so hard that you would have shattered a tooth. "…What do you want from me?"

"Simple. I want you to come with me. And once you do, you won't regret it," he said, resting one hand on your waist.

You swallowed hard.

Your eyes flicked past him—to the now closed doors that you were facing thirty minutes ago, before your life flipped upside down. The whispers hasn't stopped. You could still feel them crawling under your skin, rewriting you into something ugly and unforgivable.

"I can't. There's nothing left for me if I go with you," you whispered but you didn't freed yourself from his grasp.

He leaned in, close enough for him to whisper into your ear. "There's nothing left for you if you don't come with me."

The last thread snapped. You thought of Doohwa's eyes when he looked at you a few moments ago. Of the ring that now felt heavier than before. Of how the word love had been stripped of meaning in front of everyone you knew.

And most importantly, the public humiliation you just suffered.

You laughed, hollow and broken. "You sure I won't regret it?" You asked, despite knowing his answer doesn't matter, not when he had you in the palm of his hands.

Riki didn't hesitate, just like Doohwa. "I swear."

You nodded.

The moment you did, his grip tightened. It wasn't painful but it was full of certainty. Possessive. Like he knew all along that you will say yes. He guided you away from the room, hand still holding your waist as he dragged you to the backdoor, where his car was intentionally parked there.

You didn't look behind you.

As you disappeared into the car with him, the door closed with a final and resolute thud, only one thought quietly echoed in your mind:

Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.

The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.

The apartment was supposed to be empty.

You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home. 

You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it 

Then it did. Your best friend.

You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears. 

The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound. 

Two years of engagement, gone.

Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday. 

You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.

You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.

"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.

"Too short."

"Too noticeable."

You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.

You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose.  You left the engagement ring where it was.

After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.  

.

.

.

Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.

Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about. 

He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why. 

The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.

A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.

He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet. 

She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.

"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.

"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.

"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"

"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.

"How long," he said again.

She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."

"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"

"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."

She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.

"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."

"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"

"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."

"Jungwon…"

"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.

"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"

He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her.  Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.

"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”

"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"

He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."

He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.

He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.

He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.

He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.

.

.

.

The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.

By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away.  You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.

He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger. 

That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.

His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.

You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.

"You look like you got dumped."

The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.

He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You still have your ring on," he said softly.

You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.

"I forgot to take it off."

It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.

"You look like you got dumped too."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I did."

He gave a slow nod.

"So did I."

The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.

He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"

You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."

Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."

The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.

"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."

You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.

He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome. 

He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.

"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.

He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.

Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away. 

The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.

Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.

"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.

He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.

Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.

He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.

"Look at me," he murmured.

You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.

The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.

"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.

You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.

You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.

As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.

.

.

.

A month passed by.

Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.

You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.

All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever. 

Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.

You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date. 

You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.

This was not normal.

Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched. 

"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been. 

It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere. 

You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you. 

One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning.  Anything.  All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.

By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew. 

You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.

As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.

Two lines. Then two more.

You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do.  The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"No..."

The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.

You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else. 

There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again.  You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.

You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.

A baby.

The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.

You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.

You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know. 

You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.

You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.

It didn't come.

Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.

You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.

Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.

You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.

A slow breath escaped you.

"I don't need him."

The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.

"I don't."

You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.

You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.

For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.

But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.

"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

"It's you and me now."

The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet,  somehow, they were enough.

.

.

.

The dream came to him three nights in a row.  Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.

In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch. 

He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.

He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.

"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."

Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"

"Yeah."

"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"

Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"

"It's a dream about fruit?"

Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to. 

"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."

Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing.  Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."

"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."

"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"

Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.

He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.

"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."

Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."

Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days.  A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.

.

.

.

The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.

A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.

You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.

You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind. 

We're not together.

If they pressed further, then—

I'd rather not discuss it.

Simple.

"Y/L/N?"

A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.

"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.

You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.

Then the door opened.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"

The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.

You looked up. And your whole body went cold.

He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.

The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.

Yang Jungwon.

Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.

"...You?"

It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.

You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.

Neither of you said anything. 

His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.

—

inexperienced bf! heeseung who believe it or not, has never masturbated before. he thought he would by the time puberty came around or at the very least after, considering it carried a high expectation, but he never felt the need to. he would hear his friends talk about it and experienced that same shocked expression time and time again whenever he’d share his truth.

inexperienced bf!heeseung who assumed he was just a late, late bloomer. as a teen, he thought that something was “wrong” with him for not sharing the same interests and habits as his peers. though with age, he grew to accept that it’ll happen when it happens.

inexperienced bf!heeseung who finally got his first hard on while he gave you his first kiss. the blush on his face was evident and if that somehow didn’t give it away, him rushing to pull his hoodie over his pants while stuttering definitely did. when you noticed, you had only smiled and coo’d at him which only made his situation worse. still, he didn’t act on it.

inexperienced bf!heeseung who is more than ready to have sex with you. despite everything, he knows that it’s you he wants to give himself to. he wants nothing more than sharing such an intimate and passionate experience with you and you alone. he knows that you’ve had sex before, so he feels a bit self conscious about his lack of experience, worrying that he won’t be able to make you feel what you deserve. you comfort him any time that he needs, tenderly expressing that none of that matters to you and it will be perfect regardless because it will be with him.

inexperienced bf!heeseung who has a bit of a sweet tooth. he finds himself in the kitchen searching for something that will satisfy him and his craving. he opens the pantry to search when something in particular catches his eye .. jake’s chocolate stash. it reads ‘do not eat!!’ and heeseung let’s out of huff mixed in with a light chuckle at what he thought was just theatrics. jake is out for the night, off doing something that he can’t be bothered to remember right now. still, he looks around before opening the bag.

inexperienced bf!heeseung who thinks to himself that he won’t notice if two are missing before unwrapping the candies.

…

desperate bf!heeseung who is now panting heavily in his room as he frantically takes his clothes off. everything is hot, too hot. his skin is damp with sweat as heat fills his body like a wildfire, but nothing compares to what he feels beneath himself. he drops to the bed before he can properly take off his boxers, whatever’s happening to him clearly clouding his mind. he knows what he needs right now and there’s absolutely no denying it.

desperate bf!heeseung who pulls his boxers down so fast that his dick springs against his abdomen. he let’s out a sharp cry from contact, covering his mouth with wide eyes. he’s never felt anything like that before and sure as hell never made a sound like that either. he wants to hesitate, to rethink what he’s about to do, but he just can’t.

desperate bf! heeseung who, without skipping another beat, spits into his palm and strokes himself. the moan he lets out is erotic as he arches his back off of the bed, chasing the foreign pleasure circling around his length. he watches himself briefly before shutting his eyes, catching how red and aroused he really is.

desperate bf!heeseung who somehow manages to clear his mind enough to find you in his thoughts, imagining his hand being yours or your mouth instead. he can barely recognize himself as whimpers and broken whines spill out of him.

depersate bf!heeseung who lets out a strings a pathetic ‘fucks’ and ‘pleases’ as he brings his hand to rub his tip, covered in salivia and more precum than he ever thought he’d produce. his eyebrows knit tightly together as his blush deepens.

desperate bf!heeseung who moves before he can even register what he’s doing. it’s like his body had a mind of it own only set on chasing its high, chasing you. he grabs the pillow behind him to place it between his legs, positioning himself to straddle down against it. he didn’t learn this anywhere, hell, he hasn’t even watched porn. but none of that matters right now .. especially not when

desperate bf!heeseung let’s out a high scream once he starts rocking his hips. he can only imagine how he looks right now, how you would see him from your perspective. “oh fuck!” he moans out, getting impossibly louder with each thrust. he hears your soft voice in his head, cooing at him so sweetly like you always do. ‘i know, baby. but you look so pretty for me,’ he humps even faster now with whines slipping out of his mouth positioned in a perfect ‘o’. “mmph! t-thank you,” he hears himself.

desperate bf!heeseung who feels something unfamiliar building inside him, but it feels so, so good. he feels his muscles burn slightly, but it feels like he’d rather die than stop chasing whatever this is. sweat drips from his hair as whines and whines and whines. when the feeling buds even closer is when he’s sure the neighbors can hear him, but he can’t find any will to care. ‘c’mon, baby’ he hears you again. ‘you gonna cum for me?’.

desperate bf!heeseung who finally realizes what this feeling is a bit too late. “oh fuck, fuck,” he cuts himself off with another moan. and another. and another. all building in volume and intensity. “oh my god. i’m- hah i’m cumming,” another moan. “oh fuck, mama please!”

the noise that follows is the loudest yet. his hips still as ropes of cum shoot out of him. he has never felt bliss like this in entire life and it feels never ending. its too much, too good, and he can’t decide if he wants it to stop. he’s cumming so much that the pillow is soaked through and shaking with the bucks of his hips as a result of overstimulation. when its finally over, his chest rises deeply as he struggles to catch his breath. he does, eventually. he opens his hazy eyes to look at the scene that just unfolded under him.

“what .. just happened,”

oh

virgin bf!heeseung who remembered the damn chocolates.

——-

a/n - this hate that i made you love me heeseung edit by lhrtjake on tiktok inspired me to make this .. got so hard it broke me out of writer’s block

tag list - @my1003soda @borikentaino @sonyui @2bamgyu @danerooni @ilovegojosatoru13 @liove-madl @skleppyx

not rockstar fic yet but close enough! - @loverkiller @d0llddeonu @dollitize

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