Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
➜ summary: you don't really like jungwon. too bad, he likes you.
pairing: yjw x f!reader, wc: 13k words , genre: highschool, fluff, w: rude jokes, cussing
Yang Jungwon. Some claimed he was the greatest being to grace the earth since Albert Einstein. Others (okay, just you) thought he was stuck-up, snobby, and a walking narcissist.
Unfortunately, you fell squarely into the latter category. Fortunately, you were also the president, vice-president, and sole member of his anti-fan club. Uncontested views? Check. Lifelong grudge? Check. Emotional maturity? Debatable.
You couldn’t even remember exactly when your vendetta against him began. Maybe it was that time in fourth grade when he beat you in the spelling bee because you messed up the word “friendship.” Who knew there was an ‘i’ in friendship? (Jungwon did. Of course he did.)
Or maybe—and this one still haunts your dreams—it was that fateful night at your first senior party. The lights were dim, the music was loud, and Jungwon spun the bottle. It landed on you. Everyone screamed. He looked you dead in the eye, let out a low chuckle, and said:
“I can’t take her first kiss like this.”
Cue the chorus of laughter that still echoes in your ears during your quiet poops.
So no. You didn’t like Jungwon. At all. Obviously.
You glanced up at the boys near the front of the classroom. They were crowded around the class skeleton, draping a hoodie over its shoulders and pretending it was a hot girl. You blinked once, then sighed long and hard. This was your peer group. Children. Absolute children. To your left, a group of girls giggled behind manicured hands, their eyes glued to their phones. You didn’t have to look twice to know they were texting their college boyfriends, acting like seventeen wasn’t a whole year away from knowing how taxes worked.
Maybe you did, in fact, relate to that one viral Jaden Smith video. The one where he claimed his peers were all stupid and that he preferred to talk about the political and economic state of the world. Maybe you too wanted to host a philosophical podcast at lunch instead of watching Park Jongseong from the neighbouring class pretend the skeleton had an OnlyFans.
But the truth was: you were still in high school. Still surrounded by greasy cafeteria fries, half-hearted gossip, and teenage delusion. You had your own brand of immaturity—though you’d never admit it. You were far too busy judging everyone else to notice your own. Just like any other high schooler.
You turned back to Heeseung, who was slumped dramatically on his desk, face buried in his arms like the world had ended overnight.
“Hee,” you whispered—not exactly a whisper, more like a stage-whisper with yelling ambitions.
He groaned without lifting his head. “Didn’t get any sleep last night. Don’t bother me.”
“You son of a—this is important!”
“Now what,” he mumbled, “could possibly be more important than my beauty sleep?”
“It’s really not my fault you stayed up all night playing that wretched game of—”
“I was this close to Diamond again!” Heeseung sat up with a jolt, eyes wide and bloodshot with the weight of regret. He turned to you, serious as a man whose world had crumbled. “That stupid, no-good Park Sunghoon lost it for all of us.”
You scoffed. “Sure. Blame Sunghoon.”
Your eye roll was practically a full-body movement. Heeseung looked like he was about to launch into a passionate monologue about teamwork and betrayal, but just as he opened his mouth—
The classroom door creaked open.
And in walked the bane of your existence.
Well, not walked exactly. He sauntered in, with the kind of swagger reserved for people who peaked at seventeen. His hand went up lazily in greeting, a wave aimed toward the back of the class.
“Ni-ki!” he called out, voice way too loud for eight in the morning, like he was the only person who existed in this entire room.
You rolled your eyes so hard you could see your own brain. Could he not tell that other people were trying to have a breakdown in peace? Rude.
“Did you wake me up just to stare at Yang Jungwon?” Heeseung muttered..
“No. I actually wanted to ask if you were coming over after school. My mom misses you.”
Heeseung grinned as he stretched, cracking his neck like he was preparing for battle. “I guess even she prefers me over you.”
“I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
“And your mom will kill you for even thinking about laying hands on her precious son-in-law.”
“We’re not getting married, Lee.”
“I hope not. I’m trying to have good-looking children.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Aw, come on. You love me.”
You rolled your eyes again, but this time, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips before you could stop it.
Heeseung shifted, burying his face back into his arms like he was preparing for hibernation, then turned his head just slightly to glance at you.
“Y’know I was kidding, right?” he murmured.
“Huh?”
“You’re pretty,” he said, simple as breathing. “Before you start overthinking in there—” he lazily pointed to your forehead, “—I figured I’d clarify.”
You rolled your eyes, heat threatening to creep up your neck. “Yes, Heeseung. I know you’re joking.”
“Good,” he mumbled, eyes already closing again. “Because if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re stupid.”
And with a dramatic sigh and a yawn, he slipped right back into sleep.
You liked Heeseung. Like… liked liked him.
Maybe it was because he was the only guy friend you had who didn’t make you want to choke yourself with a charging cable. Or maybe it was the way he always knew how far to go with his jokes—never pushing too hard, never making you feel like the punchline. He just got you. Like he had some internal manual titled How to Handle You Without Ruining Everything. He was just… right.
You thought he was handsome. Kind. Genuinely funny. And yet, he never really seemed interested in dating anyone. Which was objectively bizarre, considering how many girls trailed after him.
But he’d just smile, ruffle their hair like an older brother, and say, “I’m sorry, I’m not really looking for anything right now. But thank you for being honest.” Then he’d say something so sweet—so emotionally intelligent—it almost cancelled out the heartbreak.
But it wasn’t like you were in love with the guy. That would be insane. It was just a silly little crush. Something that should’ve faded after a few weeks. Only… it had been six months.
You shrugged to yourself. It’s not like you’d ever act on it. Heeseung was eyeing some fancy art school in Seoul, while you were hoping for SNU, fingers crossed for a spot in English Language and Literature. You were both headed in opposite directions, and you’d made peace with that.
-
Jungwon wasn’t exactly sure when it started. All he knew was that you had been staring at him for the past few minutes. And not the accidental kind, either. The kind that lingered.
At first, he thought maybe there was something on his face. Food, maybe. Ink? But no—he had checked. Twice. Then he thought you might be staring past him. But there was literally nothing behind him except a dead plant and Ni-ki trying to balance a pen on his nose.
So what was it?
He wasn’t trying to be narcissistic. God, no. Contrary to popular belief, he hated that reputation. He was just curious. Mildly intrigued. Intellectually invested, even. Then you stood up and walked out of the room, presumably to the toilet. And before he could stop himself, Jungwon was at your desk. Sitting in your seat.
He faced the direction you’d been looking, squinting slightly. His eyes landed on his own desk. Then his own chair. Then himself, reflected in the window across from where you sat.
Oh.
Interesting.
His gaze drifted downward. He didn’t mean to snoop. He really didn’t. But there, scribbled hastily at the top of your notebook, was a line repeated over and over in varying levels of despairing handwriting:
“You’ll only get hurt. Don’t fall for him. You’ll only get hurt. Don’t fall for him.”
His eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead.
Okay. Wow. That was a lot. Intense, even. Dramatic. A little poetic, if he was being honest.
And then—just to make things worse—his eyes fell on the side pocket of your pencil case. A doodle of a heart. Literally. A heart. With... a J scribbled next to it. Could've been anyone. But this was high school. It was always obvious.
He sat back, blinking in disbelief.
You liked him.
You liked him.
Holy shit.
He stood abruptly, knocking your chair back an inch. He didn’t mean to see all of that. God, he really didn’t. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered a quiet curse under his breath.
And just as he turned to walk away, he heard footsteps behind him. You. Coming back.
Panicked, he grabbed the first thing he saw—your eraser—and pretended to inspect it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. You walked in just in time to see Jungwon squinting down at your strawberry-scented eraser like it held the secrets to the universe.
“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, blinking.
He looked up, face neutral, maybe a little smug. “Didn’t know you were so into cryptic love notes,” he said, voice maddeningly calm.
You froze. “Huh?”
He pointed casually at your notebook, then raised a brow. “You’re being kind of obvious, you know.”
“Obvious about what?” you snapped, walking back to your seat, already feeling that familiar sense of dread pooling in your stomach.
“Nothing,” he said, smile just barely twitching at the corners. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
And with that, he walked off with your eraser in hand.
-
For the rest of class, you could feel it, eyes burning into the back of your skull like laser beams. Yang Jungwon, for some reason only the gods could explain, wouldn’t stop staring at you.
You turned your head slightly, catching him in the act. His gaze snapped up, caught red-handed. You narrowed your eyes and offered him the most vicious glare you could muster, like you were trying to kill him with pure facial expression alone.
“Stop staring!"
-
After class, Heeseung shot out of his seat like a rocket, clutching his stomach and mumbling something about the milk he drank that morning definitely being expired.
“I swear to God, if I die like this—” he was already halfway out the door.
You snorted, laughing as you packed up your books, slinging your bag over one shoulder while checking your phone. Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake had already texted the group chat, promising to save you and Heeseung a seat at the cafeteria. You were halfway to freedom.
Until an arm blocked your exit.
“What do you want?”
He tilted his head at you, that same smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Y’know, I was wondering why you were playing this whole... thing. The game. The attitude. The icy act. And now I know.”
You blinked. “Know what?”
He grinned wider, like he was about to drop the world’s most obvious truth bomb. “Still playing dumb?”
“What?”
“Come on.” He nudged your shoulder lightly with his own. “Be honest.”
You stared at him, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Jungwon rolled his eyes, as if you were the one being dramatic. “Dude. It’s obvious. Just give it up.”
You blinked. Once. Twice. “What—are you on drugs?”
“No—! I—” He looked personally offended by the question, then let out a long-suffering sigh. “I know you like me.”
Silence.
You looked at Jungwon. Then at the floor. Then back at Jungwon.
And then, you burst out laughing.
“You think—” you gasped between giggles, “you think I like you?”
Another wave of uncontrollable laughter ripped through you. You clutched your side, barely able to breathe.
Jungwon blinked, watching you spiral, visibly unsure if he should be flattered or insulted.
By minute two of your personal stand-up comedy routine, his smile had disappeared completely. His arms crossed. His brows furrowed. The tips of his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.
“Okay,” he said, arms still crossed, watching you as your laughter finally died down into breathless wheezing. “You done?”
You wiped your eyes, still catching your breath. “I mean—seriously, Jungwon. Me? Like you? Be so serious right now.”
He stared at you like you were the one being delusional. “I am being serious.”
“You stare at me in class,” he said, casually following you. “A lot.”
You turned on your heel. “What? I glare at you in class.”
“Staring is staring,” he shrugged. “Even with murderous intent.”
“That doesn’t count—”
“You always roll your eyes at me”
“That’s because you deserve it.”
He stepped closer. “You laugh at my jokes.”
“They’re not even funny, it’s like pitiful laughter” you snapped.
“But you still laugh.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Jungwon’s eyes glinted like he’d just scored a point in a very dumb game only he was playing. “You let me copy your notes.”
“That’s because you’d fail if I didn’t!”
“You scold me when I forget my umbrella, and you told Jay I shouldn’t drink soda after 10 p.m. because ‘some people are still growing.’”
“That was a general health comment I made once at a party!”
“Sure it was,” he said smugly.
You stared at him, half in disbelief, half… okay, maybe just a tiny bit panicked. Not because he was right. He wasn’t. Obviously. But because somehow, he had compiled a semi-coherent case of you being suspiciously human around him.
“Jungwon,” you said slowly, carefully, like explaining to a child. “I do not like you.”
He squinted at you, like you were a glitch in his very confident reality.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I would rather set myself on fire.”
“And I would bring the marshmallows. But that doesn’t change the fact that you like me.”
-
You poked your chicken like it was the one who had personally accused you of emotional damage.
“The chicken’s already dead,” Jay said casually.
You looked up and scowled at him. He raised his hands in mock defence.
“Damn. The things I get for just saying stuff.”
“She looks on edge… Should we tell her the bad news now or later?” Jake whispered.
You turned your glare to him. “What bad news?”
“Nothing!” Jake’s voice shot up an octave. His eyes darted away.
You were terrifying when you were pissed. Like, hella terrifying. Only two people could handle you in that state: Heeseung and your mother.
“Sim Jaeyun, I will tear you up.”
Jake folded instantly. “The rumor! The one about you liking Jungwon and how he rejected you!”
You froze.
“What?!”
You looked at Jake, then at the rest of your friends who were now all suddenly very interested in the contents of their trays.
“Who started this rumour?”
“A few upperclassmen overheard your little... conversation,” Jake said, wincing.
“That conversation happened ten minutes ago.” you yelped.
Jay shrugged, grimacing. “You know how this school is. Gossip moves fast.”
“So it’s true?” Sunghoon asked, brows raised.
“Ew no!” you snapped, gagging.
Your friends blinked at you in unison.
“The rumor… it’s kinda spreading through the school really fast,” Jake said carefully. “I tried to stop it.”
“Oh really?” you deadpanned. “What did you do?”
He glanced up, sheepish. “I said, ‘oh really?’”
You stared at him. “That’s your damage control?”
“I don’t know! I was just curious if it was true!”
You rubbed your temples. “Don’t you think you guys would know if it was true?”
Jake opened his mouth, but Heeseung beat him to it. “You rarely tell us anything about that secret crush you’re harboring. We just assumed it was him.”
That made you pause. Your head shot up. “What?”
“Oh, cut the crap,” Sunghoon said, leaning back in his seat. “We know you’re in love with someone.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh please,” Jay chimed in. “You’re always scribbling those cringe girly things in your textbooks.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I do not.”
“You literally wrote ‘love is a knife’ next to a drawing of a bleeding heart,” Sunghoon said.
“That was an artistic expression!”
“Was it?” Heeseung said through a mouthful of rice.
Jake nodded. “Also, you wrote ‘you’ll only get hurt, don’t fall for him’ like ten times on your English test paper.”
You clutched your tray like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. “Can we not dissect my mental breakdowns over lunch?!”
The table went quiet for two seconds. Then Jay asked, “So if it’s not Jungwon, then who is it?”
You blinked. Trying not to look over at Heeseung. Then stood up.
“Where are you going?” Jay called.
“To find out who started this rumor,” you said, already storming off.
The noise around you, the clatter of trays, the conversations, the squeak of sneakers on tile—faded into white noise. Your eyes were locked onto one person, and one person only: Yang Jungwon.
He sat at a table near the windows with Ni-ki and Sunoo, laughing at something on Ni-ki’s phone, chopsticks mid-air as he reached for a piece of meat. He didn’t even see you coming.
But he looked up just as your shadow fell over the table.
And the moment his eyes met yours?
It was done.
His expression shifted. Mouth slightly parted. Shock flashing across his face for just a split second before it was replaced by that annoyingly calm, infuriatingly confident smirk. Like he knew.
The entire cafeteria quieted. Forks paused midair. Conversations stopped mid-word. Every single person turned to look. It was like the first ten seconds of a movie scene, right before someone makes a very public mistake.
You didn’t care.
You reached down, grabbed the front of his uniform, and yanked his tie upward, forcing him to stand.
Jungwon stood slowly, the smirk never leaving his face. Your fists were tight in his tie. His face was close now and every pair of eyes in the room was on the two of you.
“We need to talk.”
-
“Well, whatever happened to ‘hello’?” Jungwon said, his voice laced with amusement as you dragged him out of the cafeteria.
You stopped just outside the doors, where the hallway was quiet and empty except for the vending machine humming in the corner. You turned to face him, still gripping his tie, though you finally let go with a dramatic flick of your wrist.
“Did you start that rumor?” you snapped.
Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “What rumor?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
He blinked. “You’re going to have to be more specific. There are a lot of rumors about me. I’m very mysterious.”
You let out a breath through your nose. “The one where I like you. You absolute—” You cut yourself off before your vocabulary got too colorful. “Did you spread it?”
“You think I started that rumor?” he asked, grinning as he leaned a shoulder casually against the wall. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know!” you snapped. “Maybe because your ego’s the size of the entire school—”
He held up a hand. “Think about it. Why would I spread the idea that you like me?” He looked at you, head tilted.
You hated that he had a point.
You stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “Look. I don’t like you.”
“Mmm,” he said, pretending to ponder. “Sure.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, no, totally. You glare at me because you’re overwhelmed with love.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t even like you like that—”
“I know, I know,” Jungwon said, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s okay to be scared of your feelings. Happens to the best of—”
“For God’s sake, I like Heeseung!” you snapped, voice loud and sharp enough to slice through the air like a blade.
Silence.
Jungwon went completely still, the smirk wiped off his face so fast it was like it had never been there to begin with. He stared at you.
“I—” you tried.
But the words got stuck somewhere in your throat.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
And in that quiet hallway, you felt the air around you shift. Not because of what you’d said about him but because of what you’d accidentally admitted about someone else.
Your hand flew up, clamping over your mouth.
Too late.
You said it.
Jungwon blinked once, but didn’t speak. He just stood there, his tie slightly wrinkled, hair a little messy from when you’d grabbed him earlier, like the entire moment had punched a hole in whatever game the two of you had been playing.
You stormed off, heart pounding, fingers raking through your hair like they could somehow untangle the mess you’d just made.
“Whoa, you good?”
You looked up and nearly ran straight into Heeseung.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
He looked at you, one brow raised, concern etched across his features. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You opened your mouth, but your voice came out weird and high-pitched. “I’m fine.”
“Really?” he asked. “I saw you drag Jungwon outside. Thought you were gonna kill him.”
You forced a nod, your heart now beating even faster. Like it was trying to launch itself straight out of your ribcage. “Yeah. Totally fine.”
You tried to brush past him. “Anyway, I should get back to—”
“Wait.” He stepped in front of you gently, blocking your path. “You sure you're okay?”
“I said I’m—” You turned away, flustered, and ran a hand through your hair again, this time tugging a little at the roots. “God. This day is just—stupid.”
“You don’t get like this,” he said. “Not unless something actually gets to you. So are you sure you’re okay?”
You stilled before nodding again.
He watched you for another moment, like he was trying to read between the lines.
“Then… can I ask something?”
You hesitated. “Uh—sure?”
He didn’t look away from you. Didn’t even blink.
“This guy…” Heeseung said quietly. “The one you’ve been writing about. If it’s not Jungwon… then is it someone I know?”
Your brain short-circuited.
“What?” you asked, like maybe if you pretended not to hear him, this wouldn’t be happening.
But Heeseung just looked at you. Really looked at you. And in that second, you could see it—he knew. Of course he did.
He wasn’t dumb. He noticed things. The way your voice shifted when you talked to him. The way you hovered around his desk longer than necessary. The way you went quiet every time he joked about dating someone. The way you scribbled the same damn line in your notebook like your brain couldn’t let it go.
And now he was standing there, trying to be kind about it. He was trying to let you down easy. Just like how he did with those random girls.
He even smiled, just a little, just enough to soften the edges of what was coming. “Is it–”
“It’s me.”
Your head snapped toward the voice.
Jungwon.
“She likes me,” he repeated, like he was confirming a fact. “Didn’t you hear the rumor?”
Heeseung blinked, all the softness in his expression flickering into confusion. “Yeah, I heard. But… isn’t it an unfounded rumor?”
Jungwon pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “Well, it’s founded now.”
He looked at Heeseung, then at you. “She likes me.”
The way Jungwon looked at you. And for a second, you understood. And for the first time since this whole disaster started… he was trying to help you. So you nodded.
It was barely a movement, just a small dip of your chin. But Jungwon caught it. And something softened in his expression.
Tears pricked at your eyes, not from anything anyone had said, but from the rejection that hadn’t even come. From the moment you realized Heeseung had been preparing to let you down gently, and you’d beat him to it with a lie.
You turned your gaze toward Jungwon, voice quiet and raw.
“I lied before,” you said. “I like Jungwon.”
That caught Heeseung off guard. He blinked, his brows drawing together. “Hm?”
You couldn’t look at him anymore.
“We just… finished having a little chat, y’know?” Jungwon stepped in smoothly, voice light. “And we decided to give things a try.”
You didn’t speak.
You couldn’t.
Because now you were standing in a lie of your own making, held up only by Jungwon’s unexpected kindness. And somewhere deep down, it hurt more than if Heeseung had just said no.
You couldn’t look up at Heeseung.
You wanted to. You wanted to explain, to laugh it off, to make the world rewind ten minutes—but you couldn’t. You could only look at Jungwon. The boy you hated. The boy who annoyed you more than anyone else on Earth.
But right now?
He was your only hope.
And then you felt it.
His hand, slowly sliding into yours, warm and solid. His other arm came around your shoulder, holding you just enough to make it look real.
You looked up at him, your back fully turned to Heeseung now, and mouthed, “Get me out of here.”
Jungwon’s fingers tightened around yours.
And for the first time since you'd met him, you saw something completely unfamiliar in his face. Just a quiet seriousness in the way he nodded. Like he understood. Like he knew exactly how badly this was hurting you.
He cleared his throat and looked back at Heeseung.
“Sorry, bro,” Jungwon said. “If it’s okay with you… I really need to tell her something in private. We haven’t really fine-tuned the specifics of our new relationship, so…”
He let the words trail off with a shrug, like this was nothing.
Heeseung blinked, then nodded slowly.
“Yeah. Sure,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. Then, even softer, “You’re okay?”
“Mhm,” you managed, your voice barely there. “I am.”
“Good.”
You just let Jungwon lead you down the hall, your fingers still laced in his.
You were still crying, your face buried in the front of your mortal enemy’s uniform, and your fists clenched weakly into the fabric like you didn’t know where else to hold on. Your body trembled from the sobs you couldn’t seem to swallow, and it was humiliating in the kind of way that burned. But you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe you were falling apart like this in front of him.
And yet, there was Jungwon.
He didn’t say much. He didn’t tease, didn’t laugh, didn’t pull away like he normally would’ve if this had happened on any other day in any other world. He just stood there, arm wrapped around your shoulders, hand patting your back with the kind of clumsy way that said he had absolutely no idea what he was doing but he was doing it anyway. Slowly, his palm flattened, movements gentler, slower, as if he finally knew how to comfort you. His fingers brushed circles along your spine, and for some reason, it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like it was him.
You hiccupped between sobs, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I hate this.”
“I know,” he said softly, and you hated how kind his voice sounded.
“I hate you,” you added, almost out of reflex, the words heavy and desperate and stupid.
That made him snort, and you felt the faintest rise of his chest with it. “You’re the one sobbing into me, not the other way around.”
You weakly punched his chest with the side of your fist, not even enough force to matter. “Shut up.”
Eventually, the tears stopped.
Not all at once, but slowly. Like your body had run out of grief for the moment and was now just tired. The shaking eased. Your breathing slowed. The front of Jungwon’s shirt was slightly damp where your face had been, and the realization of that sent a fresh wave of embarrassment crawling up your spine.
You pulled back just enough to wipe at your eyes with the sleeves of your uniform, not looking at him. His arm was still around your shoulder, though he loosened it a little like he wasn’t sure if it was still needed. He didn’t say anything right away. He gave you space to gather yourself.
Then you cleared your throat, “How bout that weather…”
“You really don’t like talking about your feelings.”
“Not to you.” You said.
“Right…” He nodded.
Then he was quiet again, like he was letting you bask in the silence.
“You know,” he said slowly, resting his chin on his hand, “now it’s starting to make a little more sense.”
“What is?” you asked, wary.
He shrugged. “Y’know… the way you brighten up when Heeseung walks into the classroom—”
You narrowed your eyes. “Are you actively trying to push me down a slippery slope right now?”
“No but if it helps,” he added, “I think you handled it way better than I would’ve.”
-
You didn’t really speak to Jungwon for the rest of the day.
Not because you were mad at him. Not even because things were awkward. You just figured he’d already done enough for you. The least you could do was give him some space. Let him sit at his desk, laugh at whatever Ni-ki was whispering beside him, and pretend today had been normal.
But it was hard.
It was hard not to think about it when Lee Heeseung was sitting directly in front of you…existing.
You stared at the back of his head, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking too slow. The corner of your worksheet. The pen cap between your fingers. Anything.
And then it happened.
Another wave of emotion.
You felt it build in your chest rising fast, sharp and hot, wrapping around your lungs until it was hard to breathe. A quiet whimper slipped out before you could stop it. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide, panic rising.
Heeseung started to turn in his seat, halfway twisting to check on you. “Hey, are you—?”
You stood up abruptly.
Didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him. Just walked fast, unsteady, as you made your way across the classroom. Jungwon was at the back, hunched over his notebook, laughing at something Ni-ki had drawn in the margins.
You stopped beside his desk, eyes already glassy. He turned, mid-laugh, only to freeze when he saw your face. The smile fell. His eyes darted to your hands, then your face again, immediately reading the panic.
His chair scraped back as he stood.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, voice lower now.
You swallowed hard. “I felt emotion.”
He blinked. “That’s… great?”
“Negative emotion,” you clarified, your voice barely holding steady.
“Oh.”
He didn’t say anything else. Just stepped around his chair and gently took your wrist, guiding you away from the rows of desks, past curious glances and hushed whispers. You felt Ni-ki’s eyes follow you as Jungwon pulled you toward the door.
“Come on,” he murmured.
And you followed.
Because even though he was the last person you ever imagined seeking comfort from…
He was the only one who actually knew what to do with you.
Jungwon didn’t say a word as he led you up the stairs, his grip on your wrist light but steady.
You just followed…past the classroom door, past curious stares, past whatever thoughts were trying to claw their way into your head. Up one flight of stairs, then another. The world narrowed to the sound of your footsteps and the quiet hum of the building.
When he pushed open the rooftop door, the breeze hit you first. You stepped out slowly, blinking at the sudden wash of sunlight, and Jungwon finally let go of your wrist. He walked ahead a few steps, then turned and sat on the short concrete ledge that wrapped around the rooftop’s edge. His shoulders relaxed, his usual energy fading into something quieter as he glanced toward the sky. For once, he didn’t fill the silence with teasing.
You stood there for a second, arms crossed over your chest, not sure if the tightness in your throat was going to come back or not.
Then you let out a breath and walked over to sit beside him.
He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the sky, one leg bouncing slightly against the ledge, like he was giving you space to start first—if you wanted to.
“I didn’t mean to cry,” you said eventually.
“Well…you’re processing all of this in just one day so I figured…you wouldn’t be too…okay.”
You turned to look at him. He was still facing forward, but there was something in the set of his jaw, the way his hands were folded loosely in his lap that told you he wasn’t brushing this off. He was listening.
After a moment, he tilted his head and finally looked at you.
“I get why you didn’t tell him,” he said. “Heeseung.”
Your shoulders tensed. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You didn’t want to ruin the thing you had. You liked the version of him that didn’t know. It was safer.”
You blinked.
He wasn’t wrong.
You looked down at your hands. “Is that stupid?”
“No,” he said. “You’re a good person.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t used to Jungwon being serious. You weren’t used to anyone being this gentle with you when you were messy and falling apart. You opened your mouth to say something but your voice didn’t come out.
Instead, you just sat there, next to the boy you hated. The boy who pretended to be your 2 minute boyfriend for the sake of your dignity.
The wind picked up slightly, tousling your hair as you stared down at your hands, the silence between you and Jungwon finally feeling a little less heavy.
You didn’t expect it when he said, “Do you want a hug?”
You looked up, surprised. “What?”
He shifted a little, clearly second-guessing himself now that the words were out. “You know. Like—just if it helps. People do that. In sad movies and stuff.”
You gave him a look. “Are you insane? Why would I hug you?”
“Well… I’m sorry for offering one! I thought girls liked it—I watched a movie—”
“If I hug you, will you shut up?” you cut in, glaring.
“No. Now I don’t want to hug you anymore,” Jungwon said, crossing his arms.
“Oh please. You’re such a child.”
“Oh, I’m the child?” he scoffed. “Just accept the warm embrace of an acquaintance trying to help you.”
“Gross.”
“Oh, real mature,” he snapped.
“I’ll have you know I am mature,” you replied, poking a finger into his arm.
“Oh really?” he shot back. “Crying over someone and then not being brave enough to hug your mortal enemy who’s been helping you sounds super mature.”
Your eyes narrowed. “I am mature.”
“Prove it.”
“I will!”
“Go ahead, then!”
You stepped forward, arms raised like a dare. “Look. I’ll hug you right now!”
And just as you lunged forward—arms out, dramatically wrapping around Jungwon in the most half-committed, competitive embrace of all time—
“HEY!”
You both froze mid-hug, heads turning slowly toward the rooftop door where the school security guard was now standing, arms crossed and judgment fully loaded.
Jungwon's arms were still halfway around you. Your face was about three inches from his shoulder. Neither of you moved.
“You two!” the guard shouted. “You think I don’t see you?! This is a school, not a honeymoon!”
You jumped back so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet.
“Wait—no—we weren’t—!” you yelped.
“We don’t even like each other like that!” Jungwon added quickly, already putting space between you two like it would erase the entire situation.
The guard squinted. “Uh-huh. Down the stairs. Now.”
“But we didn’t even—”
“Go!”
-
You opened the door to your house and stepped inside, already dreading what fresh embarrassment awaited you. Kicking your shoes off at the door, you called out automatically, “I’m home!”
From the kitchen came your mom’s voice, loud and cheerful: “Did Heeseung come today?”
Your soul left your body.
“No,” you called back, grimacing. “I… brought another friend though.”
The word friend felt foreign and uncomfortable in your mouth. It sounded wrong.
Behind you, Jungwon stepped in, hands in his pockets, looking around curiously like he was touring a museum. His eyes skimmed over the hallway, the furniture, the wall of framed photos—until one in particular made him pause.
“Cute,” he said, pointing at a picture hung slightly crooked on the wall.
You turned your head.
It was you. Age six. Dressed in mismatched pajamas, standing in the backyard with a watermelon slice in both hands and two missing front teeth.
You groaned, already regretting everything about this.
Jungwon turned to you, grinning like he’d just discovered a secret.
“Don’t.”
“But it’s so cute.”
“I will push you down the stairs.”
Then your mom appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Oh! Is this him?” she beamed.
You didn’t even have time to introduce him before Jungwon stepped forward with a charming smile and said, “Hi Auntie, I’m Jungwon. It’s really nice to meet you.”
Instead, your mom smiled like she’d just met her future son-in-law and said, “Jungwon? The Yang Jungwon? My daughter talks about you all the time.”
Jungwon smirked, “She does? Good things, I hope.”
Your mom paused, visibly digging through memories.
“Well,” she said, thoughtfully, “he doesn’t look anything like you described.”
Your stomach dropped. “Mom.”
Jungwon tilted his head, curious. “Oh? How did she describe me?”
Your mom smiled warmly, like this was the most innocent conversation in the world. “Do you know that green monster? It’s this cartoon she used to love? What’s it called… Shrill…Shr…Shrek?”
Jungwon’s smile froze.
“Shrek?”
Your mom nodded, completely sincere. “Yes! But I don’t see it. You’re very handsome.”
Jungwon turned to you, eyebrows raised. “You think I look like Shrek?”
You stared at the ceiling, wishing for divine intervention. “Well. Are you forgetting that I hate you or–”
“Sweetheart,” your mom interjected, “we do not hate.”
You sighed. “You didn’t let me finish. I meant to say I don’t hate him anymore.”
Jungwon blinked. “Anymore?”
Your mom raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you said you wanted to boil him alive?”
You gave her a look. “A day can change someone’s opinion.”
Your mom ignored you, looking over to Jungwon and beamed. “Would you like some oranges?”
You stood up immediately. “He’s probably busy, I’m walking him out.”
“Stay for dinner!” she called.
“She’s gonna kill me,” Jungwon whispered.
“Not on my watch,” your mom said, standing in front of the doorway like a tiny but terrifying general. “Stay for dinner. This is a demand.”
Jungwon blinked. “Okay.”
He nodded obediently, already kicking his shoes off. You stared at him, betrayed by the switch up. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you.
You glared. You knew he was enjoying this.
-
Ten minutes later, you were upstairs, towel in hand, trying to mentally detach yourself from the fact that Jungwon was in your kitchen. With your mom. Bonding.
You could still hear them through the floor vents.
The occasional “Oh, she did what?” from Jungwon that made you slam your door shut just a little louder than necessary.
Downstairs, Jungwon stood at the counter beside your mom, sleeves rolled up as he helped slice vegetables for dinner. It was strangely peaceful.
“She’s stubborn,” your mom said as she chopped green onions with practiced precision. “She gets it from her father.”
“Oh yeah,” Jungwon replied with a smirk. “She once refused to do group work unless we let her pick the team name.”
“She picked the name, didn’t she?”
“Friends 4ever. With the number four.’”
Your mom laughed.
“She’s a little difficult, you know,” she added, softer now. “Strong-willed. Always arguing.”
“She’s kind of like that at school, too,” he said. “Always trying to win every conversation. Gets dramatic about almost everything. Complains about anything.”
“But I guess…” he continued, glancing toward the stairs without meaning to, “she’s also the first person to offer you her charger when your phone’s dying. Or send you the notes even when you didn’t ask. She’ll grumble the whole time, but she’ll do it. Even if she claims she hates you.”
He paused. “She’s kind of… sweet. When no one’s watching.”
Your mom didn’t say anything, just quietly slid another cutting board toward him.
“And,” Jungwon said after a moment, his eyes flicking back to the tomatoes he was slicing, “she’s… really something.”
Your mom didn’t respond, just kept chopping, quiet and patient.
He kept going, almost like he was talking to himself now.
“She does this thing when she’s mad—flips her hair, real dramatic. It’s actually kind of funny. Like she’s about to fight someone. As if anyone could take her seriously.”
Your mom chuckled softly.
“And when she’s nervous,” Jungwon added, “she bites her finger. Not like the finer but just the nail. Like she doesn’t know she’s doing it which is probably why her nails are so brittle and short all the time.”
There was a small pause.
“And she has this smile,” he said, voice softer now, the rhythm of his chopping slowing. “It’s kinda crooked. Only shows on one side at first. And it only shows up when she thinks no one’s looking.”
He let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head.
“It’s cute.”
He didn’t even realize he’d said it.
Your mom didn’t say anything.
She just looked at him.
And for a split second, Jungwon realized he may have said a little too much.
But your mom just gave a small nod and turned back to her vegetables. She didn’t say anything, not then. Not about the way he’d talked about you. Not about the little smile that had curled at the corner of his mouth without him noticing.
She just let it sit there.
Like maybe, just maybe, she knew.
Because whether he realized it or not…
Jungwon liked you.
-
Dinner was a mistake.
Not because the food wasn’t good, your mom had gone all out, as usual, and Jungwon, the absolute traitor, had already complimented the soup three separate times.
No. The mistake was sitting down across from both of them like you were the guest of those roasts celebrities did.
“She used to cry if her rice was touching the sauce so we had to separate it far apart,” your mom said, setting a bowl in front of Jungwon.
“I did not,” you muttered, stabbing a piece of tofu.
“You definitely did,” your mom confirmed.
“That explains so much,” Jungwon said, barely holding in a laugh.
You rolled your eyes. “I was five.”
“She was five and dramatic,” your mom added, sitting down beside you.
“She’s still dramatic,” Jungwon said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
You glared at him across the table. “I can literally throw this bowl at your head.”
“She says that, but she won’t,” he smirked. “Too soft.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I am not soft.”
“Oh really?” he grinned, leaning over the table slightly. “Say it again without pouting.”
“I’m not—!”
But before you could finish, he reached forward and pinched both of your cheeks at once, squishing your face together.
“You’re adorable,” he said in the most irritatingly smug voice you’d ever heard.
“Yang Jung–” You burst into laughter, batting his hands away while trying to keep a straight face. “Get off me!”
He sat back, grinning, while you glared at him through the tail end of your laughter.
And then it hit you, your mom had gone silent.
You both turned at the same time.
She was watching the two of you with her chin in her hand, smiling.
“What?” you and Jungwon said in unison.
She didn’t answer. Just smiled.
After helping your mom with the dishes, Jungwon stood by the door, sliding his shoes back on with the same efficiency he did everything else.
You hovered near the entryway, arms crossed lightly over your chest. The words were already building in your throat, but when they finally came out, they sounded more like a mumble.
“Thanks… for today.”
He looked up mid–shoelace knot, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re surprisingly fun to hang out with,” you added, slightly louder, refusing to make eye contact.
“Oh really now?” Jungwon grinned.
“I’m not repeating it.”
“Didn’t say you had to,” he said, pulling the knot tight and standing up with a sigh.
He glanced down at you, smile softer now. “Not gonna lie… I had fun today too.”
You nodded. “It was… a little dramatic. But fun. Even though half the day was me crying.”
“You’re taking today better than anyone would’ve,” he said.
“Well, yeah. Because I’m strong.” You smiled, baring your teeth just a little like it was part joke, part fact.
“You are,” he said without missing a beat. “You did really good today.”
You blinked. Your smile faded, just slightly, the air around you going a little still.
Because he wasn’t joking.
He wasn’t teasing, or playing, or waiting to say something sarcastic afterward.
And for some reason, that made your chest ache in a way that was hard to explain.
You nodded, looking down at your socks. “Right. Thanks.”
“It’s fine,” he said, rocking on his heels. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Friends?” you echoed. A slow, skeptical smile crept onto your face. “I’m friends with Yang Jungwon?”
He smirked. “Surprise, surprise. Turns out I’m actually real fun and a decent guy. The things you find out when your first love breaks your heart.”
Your smile dropped instantly into a frown.
He winced. “Too soon?”
“You think?” you deadpanned.
Jungwon laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fair. Poor timing.”
You shook your head, the edge of a reluctant smile tugging at your lips again despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Still your friend, though,” he said, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own.
-
The next few days were… funny.
Suddenly, all eyes were on you and Jungwon. Whispered questions trailed behind you in the hallways. Side glances turned into straight-up stares. Were the two of you really dating? Was it serious? Were you holding hands after school or just walking next to each other by accident?
You didn’t bother answering. Neither did Jungwon.
Let them wonder.
And maybe that was the problem. Because you weren’t exactly doing anything to make it look less real.
You hung out with him more now. A lot more. Every lunch break, after eating with your usual group, you’d pick up your tray and walk over to his table like it was muscle memory. You’d sit beside him, sometimes across, depending on the day. And it never felt weird.
In fact, it felt... easy.
Your friends didn’t say much. They’d just exchange glances or smile knowingly as you wandered off with your tray, all of them clearly under the impression that the two of you were trying to date. Trying to “work it out.”
And you let them think that.
Maybe because correcting them would mean explaining how stupid your first heartbreak (if you could even call it that) felt.
And if you thought about it too hard, about how Jungwon always saved you a seat without asking, or how he passed you the parts of his lunch you liked without a word, or how he said things like "you look tired today" in a voice that made you feel seen.
You were sure you didn’t have any feelings for Jungwon. None. Whatsoever. The idea was laughable, really. Besides, you were still emotionally recuperating from your extremely inconvenient, mildly soul-crushing crush on Heeseung. It had been a whole month since the incident. You were healing. You were doing so much better now. You could even look at Heeseung and have a full conversation without tearing your eyelids off or biting your tongue in half. That was progress. Real, mature, adult-level progress.
And okay, so maybe you hung out with Jungwon a lot. And maybe he texted you dumb TikToks at 2 a.m. and maybe you always answered. And maybe you knew his favorite bubble tea order by heart now and maybe he always ate the cherry tomato from your lunch when you didn’t want it. But that didn’t mean anything.
-
Lunch was loud as usual, someone shouting across the cafeteria, trays clattering, a wave of laughter erupting from one of the far tables. You tuned most of it out as you made your way to the back, tray in hand, moving on autopilot.
You didn’t even ask if you could sit next to him anymore. You just did.
Jungwon was already mid-conversation with Ni-ki, hands moving as he animatedly reenacted something ridiculous like Sunoo falling down the stairs again. You set your tray down next to his, plopped into the seat, and sighed.
“Aw man, I forgot my banana milk.”
You didn’t expect anyone to answer. You hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.
But without missing a beat, Jungwon reached into the side pocket of his backpack, pulled out a packet of banana milk, and slid it across the table toward you, all while still talking to Ni-ki.
“Oh, yay!” You mumbled.
He just nodded like it was nothing, like this was routine, like he hadn’t just read your mind.
You opened the straw, eyes still on him, quietly puzzled.
Then he reached for the pair of disposable chopsticks sitting on your tray. Snapped them clean in one quick motion. Rubbed them together, precisely three times, just the way you did when you thought they felt too splintery.
Again, he didn’t say anything. Just broke the chopsticks and placed them neatly back on your tray before going back to his story.
And you were still sitting there, watching him.
Then came the final hit: your tonkatsu.
You hadn’t even started eating yet. Just poking at the rice absentmindedly, eyes wandering around the cafeteria while you waited for your brain to feel like food. But Jungwon, with his fork already halfway through his own meal, glanced at your tray and casually reached over with your knife cutting up your tonkatsu into neat little pieces before you even realized it.
He didn’t even look.
He just did it.
All while telling Ni-ki about how someone had nearly set the chem lab on fire.
You sat there, twiddling your thumbs, watching him work through your tray like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was muscle memory. Like it was natural.
And that was the moment it hit you.
He knew you.
Not just the surface-level stuff. Not just your favorite color or your star sign or your Instagram handle.
He knew how you liked your chopsticks. Knew your go-to drink without asking. Knew when you weren’t feeling hungry enough to start on your food, but still wanted it ready.
You didn’t even know when he started paying attention.
But he had.
You stared at him.
He looked up mid-sentence and blinked. “What?”
You shook your head quickly. “Nothing.”
-
It wasn’t supposed to turn into a routine.
But it did.
Ever since that one dinner at your house, Jungwon had started coming over. At first, once. Then again. Then twice a week. Now, it was just expected. Part of the schedule.
Your mom adored him. Naturally.
And somehow, your dad, who was barely home before 9 p.m. most days, knew him too. Not in the passing, handshake-and-small-talk kind of way. No. He knew him. Asked him about his classes. Invited him to stay for dessert. Offered him beer once. Jungwon declined politely, of course, but still. You weren’t sure your dad even knew your blood type, and yet he knew Jungwon’s college plans.
He was a crowd favorite in your house.
And he made himself at home like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He knew where everything went now. The moment you stepped into the entryway after school, he’d lean down, take your coat off your shoulders without being asked, and hang it by the door while placing his shoes neatly on the rack. Then he’d stroll into the kitchen to greet your mom with the same cheery “Hi, Auntie!” like he lived there.
He’d wait for you to finish showering..
And by the time you came out, hair damp, wrapped in your towel robe, your favorite show would already be playing on the living room TV. He’d set a hot cup of tea in front of the couch, carefully positioned at your usual spot. He never drank it himself. Just made it for you. Every time.
You never had to ask.
Then he’d return to the kitchen to help your mom with dinner, sleeves rolled up, chopping and washing and stirring like he belonged in that apron. You could hear them from the living room. Talking. Giggling over some ridiculous story he’d tell about you at school. How you tripped over your own shoelaces in front of the vending machine. How you pretended to be allergic to gym just to avoid running.
Your mom loved it. Ate it all up.
And then came dinner.
He’d set the table without being asked. Laid out all your favorite dishes in front of your seat. Your favorite part of the chicken already on your plate—deboned. The kimchi snipped into bite-sized pieces with the kitchen scissors, just the way you liked it.
You sat down, glanced at your plate, and everything was already done.
He didn’t even sit until you did.
And you never asked him to do any of it.
He just did.
Like he'd been watching and learning you this whole time.
And it was easy, so, so easy to pretend it was normal.
But every now and then, while sipping your tea and watching him laugh with your family like he was part of it, you’d get this strange feeling in your chest.
Dinner was normal. Jungwon was helping your dad refill side dishes, your mom was happily recounting a story from her work, and you were comfortably tucked into the rhythm of your usual meal. For a while, everything felt good.
Until, mid-bite, your mom looked up and said, “By the way, sweetheart… how’s Heeseung?”
You froze.
It wasn’t even a pointed question. Just a casual thought, dropped innocently into the center of the table like it wasn’t going to crack everything open.
She laughed a little, smiling to herself. “I still remember how the two of you kept saying you’d marry each other when you grew up. Now I rarely see him.” She sighed, fond and wistful. “Kids grow up so fast, huh, dear?”
Your dad chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Ah, well. He’s a smart boy. Probably busy studying.”
You nodded, careful to keep your voice light. “Yeah. I’ll ask him to come over with the others next time they’re free.”
“Oh, please do,” your mom said. “I miss them.”
You nodded again, forcing a smile, trying to say all the right things because that’s what you did.
But then your eyes drifted across the table.
To Jungwon.
He was quietly playing with a piece of chicken on his plate. Not eating. Not listening.
Just moving it around like it didn’t matter.
Like he didn’t want to be there.
And it bothered you.
“Won,” you said softly, “you okay?”
He looked up quickly, blinking like you’d snapped him out of something. His expression didn’t falter, not even for a second. A smile appeared right on cue—bright, easy.
“Yeah,” he said, voice smooth. “I’m good!”
Then, without missing a beat, he popped the chicken into his mouth and turned to your dad with a question about soccer, like the moment had never happened.
Like he hadn’t just gone completely silent.
Like the name Heeseung hadn’t changed the entire air around him.
You stared for a moment longer, something tight curling in your stomach.
He was acting normal.
And that was the most unconvincing part of all.
-
You were laying on your stomach, sprawled across your bed like roadkill, head buried halfway into your pillow and the corners of your math textbook stabbing your ribs. The numbers blurred in and out of focus. Functions, graphs, equations, you were pretty sure none of this was going to help you in your actual future unless you somehow grew up to become a calculator.
“This is actual torture,” you groaned.
Jungwon, who had been spinning gently in your roller chair like he lived there, snorted. “Oh, c’mon. There’s literally two more questions.”
“That’s two more than I want to do,” you grumbled.
He rolled over beside you and reached out to poke your side, right where he knew you were ticklish. You flinched with a squeak, kicking your leg back without looking.
“Fine!” you whined dramatically, lifting your head just enough to glare at the textbook. “But I genuinely think they should’ve used math for death row instead of the guillotine.”
Jungwon just laughed and started reading out the next question aloud, voice low and casual. He mumbled through the word problem, pausing here and there as he tried to figure it out, assuming you were listening.
But you weren’t.
Not really.
Because at some point, your eyes had drifted toward him and they hadn’t moved since.
You watched the way his lips moved around, soft and easy, every syllable deliberate. You noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed when he got stuck, how his eyes went wider when something clicked. How he bit his lip when he was trying to remember a formula. How he licked the corner of his mouth absentmindedly when he was really thinking.
You blinked.
And then blinked again.
Because suddenly you were no longer hearing anything he was saying.
Instead, all you could think about was how close he was. How warm his voice was. How much you wanted to lean forward and—
Your heart stuttered. You blinked hard and sat up a little too quickly, grabbing your pencil like it was some sort of emotional grounding stick.
Did you just—?
Were you actually just thinking about kissing Jungwon? Yang Jungwon.
You stared at your textbook in horror, the numbers looking even worse now.
You were in trouble.
“Okay, seriously,” Jungwon sighed, dragging his chair closer. “You’re just not listening at this point.”
“I am listening,” you lied, gripping your pencil tightly.
“You’ve been stuck on the same question for more than five minutes.”
You blinked at him, heart still racing from your earlier thoughts. “Well, maybe if math was as interesting as, I don’t know, literally anything else—”
“Okay, that’s it,” he muttered, rolling his chair right up to your bedside and leaning over your textbook. “Come here. I’m showing you.”
Before you could protest, he was right there, sliding the textbook toward both of you, one hand pressed casually beside your arm, the other using his pen to point at the equation. His voice was low, focused.
“So here, this part,” he said, tapping the numbers, “you just need to factor this term and then move it to the other side.”
You tried to follow.
You really did.
But your brain had fully abandoned you. All you could focus on was how close he was. The warm brush of his arm against yours. The subtle scent of his shampoo—something citrusy and soft. His lips moved just inches from your face, forming words you couldn’t process. His eyelashes flicked downward, dark and long, as he concentrated.
And then he paused, glancing up when he noticed your lack of response.
“Are you even—”
He turned to look at you.
And you were already looking at him.
The movement brought your faces dangerously close, just an inch between your mouths. Close enough to feel his breath catch. Close enough to notice the way his lips parted slightly in surprise. Close enough that if either of you tilted just a little, you’d be kissing.
Everything around you faded, the ticking of your clock, the noise outside, the textbook lying open and ignored between you.
He didn’t move.
Neither did you.
The space between you was impossibly small—an inch, maybe less. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. Your heart thudded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Neither were you.
Jungwon’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.
Your breath hitched.
And then, softly, gently his hand came up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, featherlight.
“Would it be stupid if I kissed you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Your throat tightened.You shook your head.
He leaned in the tiniest bit, like the air between you was magnetic, like maybe you were already meeting halfway—
Knock knock knock
“My love, I cut some oranges!”
You both flinched, violently.
You practically fell off the bed. Jungwon shot back in his chair so fast it nearly rolled into the wall.
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then your mom’s voice called again, cheerful and oblivious: “Should I bring them in?”
“No!” you and Jungwon shouted at the same time.
Another beat of silence.
“…Okay, then,” she replied, still chipper, her footsteps padding back down the hallway.
You stared at the floor, heart hammering, trying to remember how to breathe.
Jungwon cleared his throat.
You still couldn’t look at him.
He still wasn’t looking at you.
Neither of you spoke.
You just turned back to the math textbook.
But suddenly, you couldn’t remember what the question was anymore.
Jungwon was the first to move.
Fast.
Too fast.
He stood up abruptly, muttering something about homework and his mom probably texting him. He was already grabbing his bag, already rolling his sleeves back down, already not looking at you.
You blinked.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
Just a quick, “See you tomorrow,” tossed over his shoulder like it meant nothing. Like you weren’t both still sitting in the ruins of something that almost happened.
And then the door shut behind him.
-
The next day at school, neither of you said a word.
You saw him across the courtyard that morning, maybe thirty feet away. Normally, you would’ve walked beside him, bumped shoulders, made some snarky comment about his bed hair. But today?
You turned the other way.
By the time Math class rolled around, your nerves were already shot.
You walked into the classroom a few minutes early, automatically glancing toward his seat.
Empty.
Good.
You sat down, keeping your eyes locked on your desk. Your stomach felt weird.
Jungwon came in two minutes later, quietly slipping into his seat like a ghost. Not a single glance in your direction. Not even the usual eye-roll or quiet hey.
You didn't look at him either.
Not once.
And then the teacher began going through the homework questions.
“Alright,” she said, tapping her marker against the whiteboard. “Now for question eight. Let’s go over this together. Anyone want to walk me through it?”
Your eyes dropped to your open textbook.
There it was.
Question eight.
The one he was explaining. The one you weren’t listening to. The one you didn’t hear a single word of because you were too busy staring at his mouth and imagining something that never happened.
“I need to go to the bathroom!”
“I need to go to the bathroom!”
Both of you said it at the exact same time.
The entire class turned.
Even the teacher paused, marker still in hand, eyebrows rising slowly.
You didn’t dare look at him. Not directly. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jungwon frozen mid-shuffle, eyes slightly wide, caught in the same panic as you.
A beat of silence passed.
“...Is there something wrong with the school water?” your teacher asked dryly.
No one laughed.
No one said anything.
You both stood there like two idiots sharing one brain cell, equally horrified that you’d spoken in sync, equally determined not to explain why.
“Fine,” your teacher sighed after a moment and then waved her hand. “Go.”
You didn’t wait.
The next thing you knew, you both bolted out of the room like you were fleeing a crime scene.
You kept walking. He kept walking. Until finally, both of you turned a corner—empty corridor, cold tile, no witnesses.
“We need to talk.”
Jungwon was the first to speak, voice quiet but steady.
You shifted your weight, eyes flicking away. “About what?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know what.”
You crossed your arms. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I do,” he said, firmer this time. “I don’t know about you, but you’ve become a routine to me. So I can’t possibly pretend nothing’s wrong. Because it’ll feel weird if I can’t… do things for you. If I can’t be next to you.”
You blinked, throat tightening. “Jungwon—school barely started.”
“And we didn’t even go into class together.”
His voice cracked just slightly at the end.
You finally looked at him.
He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even pushing. He just looked... lost. Like he didn’t know where to put any of this.
“I didn’t know if I should say hi,” he added quietly. “I didn’t know if I should sit next to you. If I should look at you. And that’s the part that freaked me out the most.”
“Look,” Jungwon said, his voice lower now, more careful. “We can pretend it didn’t happen last night.”
You blinked at him, heart stalling.
“Like we didn’t almost kiss,” he added, like saying it out loud might make it less real. “If it makes you feel better.”
You stayed quiet.
Not because you didn’t have anything to say.
But because you didn’t know how to say it. Because the word almost hit harder than it should’ve. Because it hadn’t happened but it almost did. And that almost felt like a confession in its own right.
Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine. I mean—it was late. We were tired. You were upset. It’s probably better we didn’t—”
“Don’t,” you said suddenly.
He froze. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to explain it away like it didn’t mean anything.”
He looked at you then. Really looked. And for a second, neither of you breathed.
“I’m not saying it meant something,” you added quickly, heart pounding now. “I’m just saying… don’t pretend like it didn’t almost…happen..”
Jungwon swallowed hard. Nodded once. “Then…should we talk about it?”
You were about to nod–
“Hey,” Heeseung’s voice called out, casual and bright, like he hadn’t just stepped straight into the middle of something fragile. “You ready to head to the next class?”
You jolted upright. Your body moved before your mind could catch up. The sudden intrusion cracked the moment like glass underfoot. Jungwon stiffened beside you, his eyes flicking to Heeseung, then back to you.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t offer even a quiet “see you later.”
Something in him shifted. A flicker of hesitation. A wall going up too fast to stop. You weren’t sure what it was, not exactly but it made your stomach twist, cold and tight. He just looked at you, a beat too long, like he was deciding whether or not to say something. And then he didn’t. He turned and walked away.
But just before he rounded the corner, he looked back.
That one glance hit harder than anything else he could’ve done. You met his eyes. For half a second, neither of you blinked.
Then you shook your head.
And you followed Heeseung.
He didn’t seem to notice at first. Just walked next to you, casual as always, your shoulder brushing his in the way it used to feel comforting. Today it felt like pressure.
It was silent for a while. Then, gently, Heeseung asked, “Are you okay?”
Your throat tightened. The honest answer formed before you could lie.
“No,” you said, quiet and shaky.
He stopped walking. Turned to face you fully, brows furrowed now. “Does this have something to do with… Jungwon?”
You didn’t answer immediately. You couldn’t. There was a sharp sting in your chest. A lump in your throat you couldn’t seem to swallow down. Because it wasn’t just the almost-kiss or the silence or the way he couldn’t look at you in class. It was the fact that you didn’t want to pretend anymore. And it was terrifying.
You nodded.
Just once.
And suddenly the hallway felt too long, and your next class felt impossibly far away, and your heart… didn’t know what to do with itself anymore.
-
Jungwon shouldn’t have looked back.
He knew it the second he did, that one glance over his shoulder felt like walking into the very thing he was trying to leave behind. But he looked anyway.
And there you were. Standing beside Heeseung. Nodding. Following.
Not him.
Jungwon’s jaw clenched. He turned back around quickly, the hallway ahead of him blurring around the edges. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping to see. That you’d hesitate? That you’d stop? That maybe you’d chase him?
But you didn’t.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to breathe through the pressure that had started building in his chest. It was stupid. All of it. You weren’t even dating. The fake thing had never meant to go this far.
Except.
He was ready.
Or at least, he had been right up until Heeseung showed up and you nodded like he was the one you wanted to follow. Like he was still the center of your universe, even after everything. And now Jungwon wasn’t sure if he was more mad at himself… or at the situation.
Because if he hadn’t hesitated last night…
If he’d just kissed you…
Would you still have walked away?
-
You stopped walking.
Just like that, your feet rooted themselves to the floor.
“I like him,” you murmured, so low it felt more like an admission to yourself than anyone else.
Heeseung turned back instantly, confused. “What?”
Your eyes were fixed on the floor now. You didn’t move, didn’t blink. Your voice was steadier the second time, but your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear yourself speak.
“I like Jungwon.”
Heeseung stared at you. There was no shock in his expression, not really.
“Yeah,” he said gently, nodding once. “I know. I thought we cleared that up.”
You shook your head. “No. Heeseung, you don’t get it.”
You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.
“I really like him.”
The words were soft.
“I was pretending at first—like it was funny, like it was just to get past the whole thing with you, or the rumor, or whatever. And I told myself it didn’t mean anything. I kept saying it didn’t. But now…” You paused, your voice catching in your throat.
“Now I don’t think I’m pretending anymore,” you whispered. “I think I actually… really do like him.”
The hallway was quiet.
So quiet, it almost scared you.
Heeseung didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. And then, very softly, he exhaled.
You looked down, your throat tight.
“He probably needs to hear it, too.”
You hesitated. “What if—”
“If you keep thinking about what ifs instead of doing something about it,” he interrupted gently, but firmly, “then nothing’s ever going to come out of it.”
“You’ve been brave for other people before,” he added, watching you closely. “Try being brave for yourself this time.”
That broke something in you.
Your heart clenched, your feet already itching to move. Because he was right. Because this wasn’t about timing anymore, it was about trying.
You met his eyes.
And then you ran.
Your shoes hit the floor hard as you bolted down the corridor, barely registering the blur of students and teachers around you. You didn’t know what you were going to say. You didn’t have a speech. You just knew you had to find him.
You checked his next class first, flinging the door open with more force than necessary. A few students looked up. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet. But Jungwon wasn’t there.
“Have you seen Jungwon?” you asked, eyes wide, voice tight. The girl closest to the door shook her head, confused, and that was all you needed to be gone again.
You searched the cafeteria—empty. The courtyard—quiet. The stairwell, the science wing, even the vending machines by the old lockers. Nowhere.
He wasn’t anywhere.
Finally, you reached the rooftop. Your last hope.
You pushed open the door so hard it banged against the wall with a clang that echoed across the open space.
But no one answered.
The wind rushed past your ears as you stepped forward slowly, chest heaving.
The rooftop was empty.
You stood alone on the rooftop, surrounded by silence and cold metal railings, your breath forming quick clouds in the crisp afternoon air. Your fingers curled tightly into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you tried to swallow down the frustration bubbling in your chest.
"God," you muttered under your breath, voice cracking at the edges. Your hand shot up, dragging through your hair with shaky frustration. The wind whipped around you, rustling your sleeves and your thoughts and every shaky breath you couldn’t get under control.
Without thinking, you turned toward the nearest thing, an old dented metal trash can by the wall and kicked it as hard as you could.
And then—
“...Woah, woah, woah, you okay?”
Your body froze mid-breath. Your heart stopped, then slammed against your ribs with dizzying force.
Slowly, you turned.
And there he was.
Jungwon.
Standing in the doorway like he’d just stumbled into the middle of your breakdown. His hand still rested on the handle, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide. He looked caught, unsure, surprised. Like he wasn’t sure if he should take a step closer or stay exactly where he was.
Your eyes locked.
Neither of you moved.
Your hands hung at your sides, fingers twitching with adrenaline. His brows were slightly furrowed, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
And something inside you snapped.
Your feet hit the ground hard as you ran toward him, closing the distance in seconds. His eyes widened again, but he didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.
You reached up, grabbing the front of his hoodie with both hands and pulled him down to you. Your breath was uneven. His eyes searched yours for only a second before you leaned in, closing the space, and kissed him.
Then he kissed you back.
His hands came up one finding your waist, the other cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing just beneath your jaw. His grip was gentle, but grounding. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. Like this was the thing that had been waiting between you for weeks, quietly demanding to be acknowledged.
“Damn,” he said. “So you like me.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him.
“What?”
His lips curved.
Your face twisted in mock offense, eyes narrowing as you pulled back slightly to look at him properly. “Oh, you wanna play that game?”
His grin widened, cocky and boyish.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve had a crush on me even before I did,” you said, crossing your arms even as your smile betrayed you.
Jungwon blinked, deadpan. “You’re not wrong.”
His expression contorted for half a second, like admitting it physically hurt, then melted into something a little sheepish, a little too real.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“Obvious to who, exactly?”
He exhaled like it was the most dramatic moment of his life. “Who do you think I’ve been venting to about you for the past month?”
You paused.
Your smile faded into something wary. “Wait. Who?”
He looked at you.
You blinked, slowly putting two and two together.
Then your eyes widened in horror.
“No. No way.”
“She’s the only one who listened without judging me!”
“You’ve been telling my mom?! About your feelings?! For me?!”
And then it all made sense.
-
It was the night before.
Your mom was finishing up some dishes in the kitchen, and you’d just excused yourself to the bathroom, disappearing down the hallway.
Jungwon stayed where he was, sitting politely on the couch in the living room, hands clasped, trying not to look too out of place in a home that had started to feel painfully too familiar. He glanced toward the hallway once, then back at the TV that was playing some cooking show on mute. He didn’t expect your mom to come sit next to him.
But she did.
Not with her usual teasing smile or nosy aunt energy, this time, it was softer. Almost… concerned.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentle. “When I brought Heeseung up earlier?”
Jungwon blinked. “What?”
She smiled kindly, her eyes scanning his face. “You got quiet. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”
“Oh. No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No! Never. I just… it wasn’t that.”
She looked at him knowingly. “You know… it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that you like my daughter.”
Jungwon let out a quiet groan, dropping his face into his hands. “Is it that obvious?”
“Very,” she said with a laugh. “But the good thing is…my daughter is completely oblivious.”
He exhaled a helpless little laugh, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t know how to make it more obvious if I tried, Auntie. I swear, I’ve done everything short of confessing.”
“Telling her wouldn’t kill you,” she teased, nudging his arm.
He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I just… I figured she’s still got feelings for Heeseung.”
Your mom shook her head, eyes twinkling like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
She turned toward him fully, folding her arms, her voice more certain now. “Do you really think I don’t know my own daughter? I’ve seen her with her friends. She’s never been like this with anyone.”
Jungwon raised his eyebrows slightly. “Like what?”
“Comfortable. Herself. She looks at you like you’re the only person in the world,” she said, matter-of-fact. “She lets her walls down around you. You don’t know how rare that is.”
Jungwon blinked. His throat tightened a little.
“And let me ask you something,” she said, leaning in like she was telling a secret. “Do you really think she wakes up at five in the morning to go grocery shopping with me just for fun?”
He frowned. “What?”
Your mom grinned. “She goes with me just to pick up ingredients for your favorite dishes and she prioritizes sleep more than anything in this world.”
“She does?”
“Every time you come over. You think it’s a coincidence we always happen to have your favorites? No, Jungwon. She picks them out.”
Jungwon stared at her, completely still.
“Oh.”
Your mom reached over and patted his hand gently, smiling. “You’re in deeper than you think, sweetheart.”
-
“Remember that day at your place… when I stayed for dinner the first time?”
You opened your eyes, looking up at him. “Yeah?”
“She told me,” Jungwon went on, his eyes crinkling, “that you wake up early to go grocery shopping with her before school. Just so you could cook the things I like for dinner.”
You blinked. Heat rushed to your cheeks.
“Honestly, I was still trying to figure out how to tell you I liked you,” he said, laughing softly, “while your mom was out here practically planning our wedding.”
Your mouth fell open slightly, words stuck in your throat.
He looked down at you. His gaze was steady, open, entirely unreadable in the way that meant it was everything all at once. “I’ve liked you since the beginning,” he said quietly, and this time he didn’t laugh. “Even when you said you hated me. Even when you swore you’d never like me back.”
“Wait,” you said slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been crushing on me… this whole time?”
Jungwon tilted his head.
“Since the spelling bee,” he said, laughing.
You choked. “Fourth grade?!”
“Friendship,” he mimicked, grinning like the devil himself. “F–R–E–N–D–S–H–I–P.”
“You’re evil,” you said flatly, staring at him like you were trying to set him on fire with your mind.
“While we’re reminiscing,” Jungwon said, his voice tilting cocky again. “I guess I did end up taking your first kiss after all.”
You blinked.
And suddenly, the rooftop wasn’t cold anymore.
Your mind flashed back, months ago, during that stupid party, during that even stupider game of spin the bottle. You remembered the way the bottle had landed on you. The way he’d chuckled. The way he’d leaned in only to pause, shake his head, and say, “I can’t take her first kiss like this.”
Now, you looked at him again. Really looked.
“You could’ve just done it then,” you said, softer now. “Gotten it over with.”
He shrugged, almost shy. “Felt like it’d be unfair if your first kiss happened in some stupid spin-the-bottle game. In front of all those idiots.”
You searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper. “How are you so sure that was my first kiss?”
“Because,” he said quietly, “I knew you’d be mine.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” he said, laughing softly. “You really think I’ve kissed someone?”
“Uh—yeah?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like I kiss random people at parties?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. He looked at you, all teasing faded now.
“I was saving it,” he said simply, like it wasn’t the most heart-stopping thing he’d ever confessed. “For someone special.”
And suddenly you weren’t breathing.
He looked back at you like it was obvious.
You reached for his hoodie again, your fingers twisting into the fabric without even thinking. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered.
His eyes crinkled, you tugged on the strings of his hoodie. Pulled him closer. Close enough to see the flutter in his lashes. Close enough that his breath hitched when your noses brushed.
And then you kissed him again.
His arms tightened around your waist immediately, pulling you in, deeper this time. It was slow and certain and everything that had been waiting between you for weeks—months, really. The rooftop wind curled around the two of you, but it didn’t matter. He was warm.
And then—
“Are you kidding me?! You two again?!”
You froze.
Jungwon jerked back so fast you almost stumbled.
You turned slowly, lips still tingling, and there he was—again.
The same security guard from the last time. Hands on his hips. Brow raised.
“Now I know for sure you’re kissing,” he said, squinting at both of you. “Don’t even try that hug excuse again.”
“We weren’t—” you started.
“It was windy,” Jungwon said quickly, brushing his hair out of his face. “And she almost fell—”
“Into your mouth?” the guard snapped.
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Jungwon cleared his throat.
“Uh. We’re dating,” he finally said, sheepish, a little proud. “Officially. So.”
The guard narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Congratulations. Now get off the rooftop before I call your principal.”
“Yes, sir,” you both muttered in unison, scrambling for your bags.
As you walked down the stairs side by side, shoulder bumping into his, you could feel your face burning. But when you looked up at Jungwon, he was smiling like it had all been worth it.
“We should’ve made out in the library,” he whispered.
“You’re the worst,” you muttered, shoving him lightly.
➜ summary: you ask jake to teach you how to flirt so jay will notice you. he says yes...despite having a 10 year crush on you
pairing: sjy/jake x f!reader,wc: 13k words , genre: friends to lovers, neighbor!au, fluff, romcom w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
If someone asked you what Jake Sim smells like, you’d say a spoonful of ego, a dash of overpriced cologne samples he steals from Sephora, and a hint...just a hint of asshole. You’ve known him since you were six and he tried to sell you your own eraser for a dollar. You called him a scammer and well, he called you stupid for not realising it sooner.
It’s only been downhill ever since.
You grew up with him through scraped knees, schoolyard brawls, and the terrifying year he thought bleach blonde hair made him look like Draco Malfoy. It didn’t. Made him look like a surfer dude, probably named, Todd.
In middle school, he once convinced your entire class that you’d peed your pants during dodgeball. Naturally, you got your revenge by hacking into his Habbo account and stealing all his hard-earned furniture. He didn’t speak to you for a week…though you framed the silent treatment as “the best week of your life.” He jumped on you and tried to strangle you with his bare hands before you kicked him in the groin. The two of you had to be pulled apart by your parents and forced to kiss and make up.
But then again… you were also the only one there when his pet turtle died. He went through four tissue boxes, wiping away tears over the early death of his beloved friend, Sheldon. You stood beside him in his backyard, both dressed in black, as he solemnly lowered the shoebox coffin into the soil. You played Auld Lang Syne on the recorder because Jake, with tears in his eyes and dirt under his fingernails, insisted it was what Sheldon “would have wanted.”
And then there was that one time in algebra class when you got bored. You sat behind him in the class, and thought you’d try your hand at hairstyling…with actual scissors. He went home with a bald patch the size of a nickel and didn’t let you live it down. He cried. You laughed which obviously made him scream bloody murder. You only laughed harder.
That night, instead of letting it go like a normal person, he stood by his bedroom window which was exactly three feet away from yours and started launching tiny pebbles at your glass. Every ten seconds. Tap. Tap. Tap.
You tried to ignore it. Stuffed your head under a pillow. But by the twentieth pebble, you yanked your window open and glared at him across the narrow gap between your houses.
“God’s sake, Yun, it’s midnight.”
He didn’t even flinch. Just pointed dramatically at the back of his head like he was presenting a war wound. “I've bald patch because of you!” he whisper-shouted, so he wouldn’t get in trouble.
You felt bad. Only a little though. So you didn’t yell when he kept throwing pebbles until sunrise. You just stuffed your head under the pillow and endured it. Because that’s what Jake Sim was…an unavoidable constant. Just like those darn pebbles.
–
The two of you sat in your respective rooms, windows wide open. You were blasting your music loud enough for the bass to shake his desk lamp, and he didn't even complain. If anything, he hummed along.
Jake was sprawled in his desk chair, legs kicked up, pencil spinning between his fingers. “What’d you get for number six?” he called out.
You didn’t even look up. “I’m not gonna tell you.”
He scoffed. “Why the hell not?”
“Because you’re not gonna learn if I just give you the answer,” you replied, circling something on your worksheet just to look busy.
“Oh please, you get worse grades than I do.”
You whipped your head toward your window. “That was one time.”
“You mean multiple times, dumbass.” He leaned forward, smug. “Don’t make me pull out the receipts. Midterms, Chemistry quiz, that one math test you didn’t even finish—”
“Okay, okay, shut up,” you groaned, chucking an eraser in his general direction. It bounced off the wall beside his window and dropped harmlessly into the space between.
Jake grinned like he’d just won something. “You’re so aggressive. No wonder Jay won’t look at you.”
You froze.
“What is that supposed to fucking mean?”
“Oh, come on,” he said, unabashed. “You don’t think I notice the way you look at him? It’s painfully obvious.”
You scowled. “You’re such a dick.”
He smirked. “Relax. I know you like the back of my hand, Bun.”
Your eye twitched. “The nickname's getting old. Retire it”
“No, it's not. It's a national treasure.”
“I was six,” you snapped.
“And yet so confident. ‘Jaebun! Jaebun!’” He mimicked your childhood voice with alarming accuracy.
You muttered, “Should’ve gone with dumbass instead.”
“Too late.” he said cheerfully.
You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Since you claim to know me so well, when’s my birthday?”
He didn’t even blink, answering you in less than a second.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “...Lucky guess.”
He leaned back in his chair, smug as ever. “Try me again.”
“What’s my favourite colour?”
“Trick question,” he said immediately. “You don’t have one. You once said colours were 'capitalist scams to sell more color pencils’”
You stared at him.
He shrugged. “I listen. Unfortunately.”
You grabbed a pen and pointed it at him like a threat. “Say ‘Bun’ again and I’m glueing your locker shut tomorrow.”
He only grinned wider. “Sure thing, Bun.”
–
Jake wasn’t wrong. You did perhaps have the tiniest crush on Jongseong and it wasn’t like you had crushes all the time. In fact, you barely had any. You were too busy…in your own little world.
Besides, Jongseong was different. He was quiet but warm, always smiling. Sure, you didn’t really know him but you could, if only he ever looked in your direction.
But he didn’t. Well, not specifically at you. He was nice to everyone. That was part of his charm.
The thing was, Jongseong only seemed to date girls who were everything you weren’t. The kind who wore frilly dresses and tiny skirts, who always smelled like some kind of floral mist. The girls who sat with their ankles crossed and giggled behind their hands. The girls whose hair was always curled and upright. The ones who never cussed.
You, on the other hand, lived in Jake’s old hoodie, the one he tossed at you when you were shivering so you’d stop shaking the bed. You never gave it back, and he never asked.
You sat with one leg propped up. You swore like a sailor and forgot lip balm existed. Your lips peeled constantly, sometimes dotted with dried blood from the sheer lack of moisture.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with being girly…it just wasn’t you.
You so badly wanted to be.
But you didn’t think you could pull it off.
You weren’t that girl.
You were never going to be that girl.
Or… so you thought.
—
It happened on a Tuesday.
You and Jongseong had been assigned to the same bio project, which, for the record, you took as a cosmic sign that fate was finally giving you a win. He’d come over to ask you something and you’d tried to hold an actual conversation with him while pretending you weren’t breaking into a nervous sweat.
It was going well. You thought it was going well. You were almost funny.
And then it happened. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it.
A girl, pretty, with soft makeup and a sundress, waved at him from the lockers. He glanced over.
There was a flicker in his eyes. Something subtle. Something you couldn’t quite describe. But you caught it. Something you’d never been on the receiving end of.
He looked back at you and kept smiling. The same smile he gave the lunch lady. The janitor. It wasn’t attraction. It was…niceness. Jongseong was just being nice.
And for some reason, that wrecked you.
–
The lunch line crawled forward at a snail’s pace, the dull clatter of trays and scraping chairs echoing through the cafeteria. You stood still, half-slumped over your plastic tray, caught in the kind of daze that wasn’t sleepy so much as indifferent.
You stared blankly ahead, shoulders hunched. Your hoodie sleeves hung past your wrists, fingers tugging at the frayed edge while the smell of overcooked rice and some kind of mystery soup drifted around you. You barely noticed the guy who cut in front of you until his tray knocked against yours, loud and careless.
He didn’t look at you. Didn’t see you.
A hot senior. One of those boys who walked through life like it was a fuckin’ breeze and perhaps it was for him.
You sighed through your nose, small and bitter, eyes flicking instinctively to the other side of the cafeteria.
There he was.
Park Jongseong, laughing with his friends at their usual table by the windows. His perfect hair, his clean white shirt collar poking out of his sweater.
Why would someone like Jongseong ever court someone like you?
You dropped your gaze quickly, heat rising up your neck for no reason at all. Just in time for the cafeteria auntie to scoop a mound of fried noodles onto your tray.
You trudged toward your usual table, trying to hold the tray steady with numb fingers. Ni-ki and Sunoo were already seated, arguing about something stupid. Their voices bubbled in the background, warm and alive, but you barely heard them. You moved on autopilot.
And then your eyes wandered again.
A few tables down, Jake had his arms draped over the shoulders of some girl you didn’t recognize by name, but had definitely seen hovering around him during gym. Her nails were perfect. Hair curled. Really pretty.
Sunghoon said something, and their table erupted in laughter. Jake leaned in, grin sharp and stupidly attractive, fingers squeezing the girl’s shoulder like it was second nature. She turned her face toward his without missing a beat and kissed his cheek. Like she’d done it a hundred times.
You blinked.
Your grip on your fork tightened slightly.
Of course Mr. Resident Playboy was surrounded by affection, by attention, by options. While you sat here picking at your noodles, heart full of things you wouldn’t dare say out loud, mourning the simple, brutal truth:
You weren’t anybody’s type.
Not Jongseong’s.
Not anyone’s.
And definitely not Jake’s.
–
That night, you stood in front of your mirror, hoodie sleeves tugged over your palms, joggers slouching low on your hips. You weren’t sad, exactly. Just… tired. Of being invisible. Of blending into the background in every hallway. Of being the kind of person people looked through, never at.
Your gaze scanned your reflection. Slouched posture. That faint acne scar near your cheekbone. The uneven hair you barely brushed unless someone nagged you. There was nothing extraordinary about the person staring back. And yet, all you could think about was the way Jongseong had looked at her.
Not just looked…seen. That quiet, effortless kind of attention. Like she wasn’t just beautiful. She mattered. Like the world bent slightly in her direction just to be closer. You wanted that.
So you did the unthinkable.
You unlocked your window and slid it open, the humid night air brushing your skin. The three-foot gap between your houses had always felt insignificant—just years of shared childhood, unfinished arguments, and mutual pranks. You leaned out, scanning the opposite window.
“Yun,” you called softly.
No answer.
You stared a little longer before scooping up a small pebble from the ledge and flicking it against his window with a soft click.
Still nothing.
Of course. He was probably gaming again, headset on, screaming profanities at preteens while Park Sunghoon made terrible jokes in the background. You groaned, fished out your phone, and tapped his name.
You blinked at your screen, jaw slack. “Asshole,” you muttered, arms crossed as you stared at his dark window.
A full minute passed. Then, the curtains shifted and his window creaked open. Jake leaned out lazily, resting his forearms on the sill. His hair was messy, and he looked like he’d just rolled off his bed. “Sorry,” he said. “I was mid-shit.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. Of course. He always said things like that. Because he didn’t see you like that. You weren’t a girl in his eyes. Just you. And even if you didn’t like Jake like that, it still stung more than it should’ve.
Your fingers gripped your window ledge tighter.
“Yun,” you tried again, voice lower now, more vulnerable. “I need your help.”
Jake squinted across the narrow space between your windows, “Sup?”
You hovered near the edge of your bed, fingers curling into the blanket. The words clung to your throat like they didn’t want to be let out. “I, uh…”
He tilted his head, eyebrows pulling together. “You what?”
You looked away, suddenly regretting saying anything at all.
Jake let out a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Dude. Just spit it out. You’re stressing me out.”
Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “I want you to teach me how to be a girl.”
He blinked before scoffing, “Stop fuckin’ around. I’m in a Fortnite lobby with Sunghoon. I don’t have time for this.”
“I’m not fucking around.” Your breath hitched slightly. You didn’t mean to sound dramatic, but you couldn’t help it.
Jake leaned farther out the window, his legs swinging carelessly over the edge as he peered at you like he was trying to read your face. “You’re insane.”
“How am I insane?”
“You’re already a…a girl.”
You crossed your arms. “Just ten minutes ago, you told me you took a big fat shit.”
“So? I always say that kind of stuff to you.”
“Exactly. Now, would you say that to the hot girls you’re trying to flirt with?”
“No, but that—”
“No,” you cut in sharply. “You wouldn’t. And that means…”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “That means what?”
“That means you don’t see me as a…” Your voice softened to a whisper. “Woman.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Well, I clearly do now. You’re acting like you’re on your period.”
You grabbed a ping pong ball from your nightstand and lobbed it at his head. It bounced off his temple with a soft thwack.
“OW—?” he recoiled, rubbing the spot. “What the hell?”
“You practically asked for it,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.
Jake sighed, shifting to sit properly on his window ledge, feet dangling as he leaned his head against the frame. “Is this about… your crush on…uh…Jongseong?”
You said nothing. Just stared at your blanket.
Jake let out a low laugh. “It is, isn’t it? Why do you wanna change anyway? You're fine the way you are...just like this.”
"I don't wanna be just—"
"God, you are such a girl."
“If you’re gonna be an asshole about it, I’m—”
“You’re gonna what? Threaten me even though I know your biggest, darkest secret?”
You scoffed, arms tightening across your chest. “Fine. You win. Like always. You get the girls you want, the friends, the popularity. You get everything, Jaeyun.”
Jake let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, except it wasn’t. “You think I get what I want? You are sorely mistaken because–”
He paused. His eyes flicked to you. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something but he shut it just as fast and shook his head. “Doesn’t even matter.”
You didn’t press him. You figured it’d be something sarcastic or gross anyway.
“Yun…” You bit your lip. “You don’t know what it’s like. Knowing people don’t look at you the way you want them to. I don’t mind being invisible. I don’t mind being forgettable. But sometimes it just sucks. Watching people flirt with girls like they’re the only ones worth looking at. And I’m not. This is stupid but it’s just–”
“It’s really funny you think that way.” He said, laughing almost bitterly before he shook his head.
The room fell into silence. Jake didn’t say anything for a while.
“Look, if I help you, will you shut up about this cringey bullshit?” He spoke again.
You looked up. A slow smile tugged at your lips. “You’ll help?”
Jake rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m the person you’re asking.”
“You’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”
He stilled.
And that, more than anything, made Jake stop and think.
–
Jake hated Wednesdays.
He hated the long hours, the after school academy his mom sends him to, the way the fluorescent lights in the academy made his eyes ache by the second hour. Everyone there moved like machines, quiet, efficient, terrifyingly focused. He didn’t know anyone, and no one cared to know him.Just equations and deadlines and that one girl who once cried during a physics mock.
But one thing made it bearable.
You.
Same academy, different class. Same hell, different schedule. But you always ended up outside the gates at exactly 9 p.m., when his last class ended.
He saw you before he felt the wind, your figure under the yellow glow of the streetlamp, head bowed, nose buried in a half-crumpled chemistry textbook. Your bag hung off one shoulder, your cardigan sleeves pushed up, revealing ink-stained wrists. You were walking slowly, lips moving like you were mouthing formulas, completely oblivious to the world around you.
Jake watched for a second, letting the cold bite his cheeks.
He adjusted his hoodie and jogged up to meet you, as he always did, no hello, no warning, just bumped your shoulder lightly with his.
You blinked up from your book, startled, “Jesus fu—Jaeyun. You scared me.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you wait for me up front?”
“I wanted to get the last hotteok before the shop closed,” you said, pointing ahead.
“Without me?”
“You always take your time, and I got lazy.” You rolled your eyes and snapped your book shut, fumbling to shove it back into your bag.
Jake scoffed, reaching over to grab the book from you. He slid it into your bag with ease. “What makes you think I didn’t want any?”
“I was gonna get you one and pass it to you through the window,” you muttered.
Jake grinned. “How sweet.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Why the sudden generosity?” Jake asked, giving you a sideways glance as the two of you continued walking under the soft orange glow of the streetlights. The path curved through the park, quiet except for the faint rustle of leaves.
You hesitated. “Last night—” You swallowed hard. “I… I was in a rut. And I didn’t really mean for you to, you know, teach me how to be a girl. I think I was just...spiralling."
Jake didn’t say anything, but he slowed a little, turning just slightly toward you.
“You were right,” you went on, hugging your arms around yourself. “I am a girl. And I don’t have to… change who I am to be with Jongseong.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Glad you finally see it my way.”
“But…” You stopped walking, spinning to face him as you pointed a finger at his chest. “I do want to change my request.”
Jake groaned, head tipping back as he rolled his eyes. “What now?”
You shifted your weight from foot to foot, fingers fidgeting at the sleeves of your cardigan. The words got stuck in your throat. You looked anywhere but him, your shoes, the tree beside you, the flickering street lamp overhead.
“If you’re not gonna teach me how to be girlier…” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, “could you at least teach me how to…”
There was a pause. Your hands made vague, awkward motions in the air. Jake just stood there, waiting, arms folded, eyebrow raised, looking far too amused.
“What?”
You looked up at him, cheeks burning. “Could you teach me how to… flirt?”
Jake blinked. “You want…me to teach you how to flirt?”
His voice cracked…barely, but enough to make your shoulders tense.
Then, slowly, his expression shifted. The corners of his mouth twitched. His brows lifted, eyes lighting up. You knew he was about to say something incredibly annoying.
“Oh.” He took a step closer, head tilted, grin spreading wide. “Oh. Flirting, huh…”
You immediately regretted speaking. “Don’t make it weird, Jake.”
“Too late,” he said, voice practically gleeful. “So do you call me Mr. Sim now? I have a small whiteboard at home. I could bring it over tomorrow. Maybe some flashcards—OW!”
You smacked his arm, sharp and fast. He flinched back, laughing as he rubbed the spot you hit.
“You’re the worst,” you muttered, spinning on your heel. Your pace picked up, arms crossed tight over your chest as your bag bounced against your side with each frustrated step.
Jake was still laughing behind you, low and amused. You could hear the gravel crunch under his sneakers as he jogged to catch up.
“Bun, come on,” he called, still breathless with laughter. “Don’t be like that. I’ll stop. I swear.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t even slow down.
Jake finally caught up, matching your stride as he nudged your arm with his elbow, more gentle this time. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”
You glanced at him, eyes narrowed. “Really?”
He nodded, gaze fixed ahead now, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets. His grin was still there but a little softer, a little less smug.
“Yeah,” he said. “Why not.”
And though he kept smiling, though he bumped your shoulder again like everything was fine, something tugged quietly at the edge of his chest.
–
It was a Saturday afternoon, and Jake had insisted your “first official lesson” take place at a café just down the street from school.
You sat across from him at a window seat, fingers wrapped awkwardly around a lukewarm latte while Jake leaned back in his chair, legs spread, one arm slung casually across the backrest.
“Alright,” he said, tapping the side of his cup with a spoon. “First target locked. Look at that guy over there.”
You followed his nod toward a boy near the counter. He had dark hair that curled just slightly at the nape of his neck, a clean, sharp profile, and a navy windbreaker slung effortlessly over a white tee. He was scrolling through his phone, occasionally glancing toward the barista with a faint, almost unreadable smile.
“Ooh, he’s kinda cute,” you murmured, straightening a little in your seat.
Jake blinked before shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. New target.”
“What? Why?” you frowned.
“He… he doesn’t seem nice,” Jake muttered, picking up his drink and deliberately looking away.
You squinted at him. “He seems totally nice. Mysterious, sure, but definitely polite.”
Jake scoffed under his breath. “You don’t know men.”
You rolled your eyes. “And you do?”
“I am one,” he snapped, scanning the room again like a snob.
“You are? Didn’t notice.”
Jake frowned, ignoring your comment. A second later, he pointed toward a guy near the pastry shelf. “That guy.”
You followed his gaze again, but you were still stuck on the first one.
“…He’s not even cute,” you said flatly.
Jake didn’t look at you. “Exactly, so ask him out.”
“But he’s not even–”
He exhaled sharply through his nose and cut you off. “Look, we’re here to boost your confidence. It’s not gonna be a sure thing, so start small.”
“Fine,” you muttered, folding your arms. After a beat, you turned to him. “Do I look okay?”
Your hair was down for once, soft waves brushing just past your shoulders. You’d run a brush through it and tucked one side neatly behind your ear. Your skin had that subtle glow, not from makeup really, but from actually washing your face and maybe using that tinted sunscreen your friend, Sunoo, swore by.
That even Jake had done a double take when you opened the front door. He’d blinked, eyes flicking from your hair to your blouse like his brain couldn’t compute what he was seeing.
EARLIER THAT DAY
Jake showed up five minutes early, as usual, slouching on your porch with his phone in hand. He didn’t bother knocking…he never had to. He was practically part of the house by now.
The front door swung open before he could even reach for the handle.
“Oh, Jaeyun,” your mom greeted with a knowing smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You’re early today.”
Jake grinned. “Just a little. Didn’t wanna get yelled at for being late.”
She laughed and stepped aside to let him in. “She’s taking a bit long today. Not too sure why.”
He kicked off his shoes and followed her into the entryway, glancing up the stairs. “It’s fine, I can wait.”
Your mom raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “I mean…sure. But she usually doesn’t take this long. She’s been up getting ready for two hours.”
Jake nearly choked. “Two hours?”
Before your mom could answer, your voice floated from upstairs.
“Is Jake here, Mom?”
“Just arrived!” she called back.
Jake leaned against the banister, still puzzled. He could hear your footsteps now. Then you appeared at the top of the stairs.
He paused.
Your hair was down. Like, fully down. He hadn’t seen that since you were twelve and you’d cut your own bangs in a bathroom mirror. It was longer now, softer, brushed neatly around your shoulders.
You wore a pink blouse with tiny buttons and puffed sleeves, cinched just slightly at the waist. It hugged your frame in a way none of your hoodies ever had. Paired with a white skirt and sneakers that didn’t look like they’d survived through hell and back, for once, you looked… polished.
His heart stuttered.
Jake cleared his throat, eyes trailing over you as you stepped down the stairs. “You look… different.”
You froze mid-step, one foot hovering slightly above the next stair, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Different good? Different bad? God, I knew I shouldn’t have followed that stupid Pinterest board. It said ‘cute girl outfits’ and I just assumed—”
“I didn’t even say—”
“Oh my God, I do look stupid.” You looked down at yourself in dismay, tugging at the hem of your skirt.
“God, Bun,” Jake muttered, already striding up the steps toward you.
He reached out, exasperated but weirdly gentle, and slapped a hand over your mouth.
“Let me fuckin' speak,” he said, voice low and a little too sincere for comfort. “You look good. Now shut up.”
And his hand lingered for just a second too long before he seemed to realise what he was doing and stepped back.
PRESENT
His gaze dragged from your eyes to your mouth, then darted away too fast, like he’d been caught staring. “Yeah, you look fine” he said, nodding once, maybe a little too firmly.
You frowned. “Are you sure?”
Digging into your pocket, you pulled out a tube of gloss and held it up. “Do I need more lip gloss? I saw this TikTok? Apparently these are, like, really in right now.”
You leaned toward the window as you dabbed it on, lips pressing together with a soft smack. Then you turned back to him. “Better?”
Jake swallowed. His jaw twitched.
He turned back toward the window a beat too quickly, pretending to scan the crowd like he hadn’t heard you. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice dipping low. “You look fine.”
“Is that the only thing you can say?”
He groaned. “What the hell do you want me to say?”
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. So what do I do now, Mr. Sim?”
He cleared his throat, straightening up. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping just a notch as he shifted gears.
“Well… one thing about guys is that they’re simple. They like to be complimented.”
You raised a brow. “Are they dogs?”
“Not gonna lie, they tend to be,” Jake snorted. “Anyway, since your hair’s already down… you could just—”
His hand moved before your brain could catch up. Fingers brushing lightly behind your ear as he tucked a loose strand of hair back.
Your breath caught.
He didn’t pull away immediately, just hovered there, close enough that you could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, unreadable for half a second.
“Then,” he said, voice lower now, “just flick your hair over your shoulder when you laugh. It’ll drive him crazy. Trust me.”
You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”
Jake stepped back, giving a short, almost nervous laugh. “Alright. Let’s have a test run. Show me the flick. Let’s see if you’re ready.”
You blinked. “Now?”
“Yes now,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Flip your hair. Then bat your eyelashes. Slowly.”
You gave him a long look. Then, trying to copy the motion, you awkwardly tossed your hair over your shoulder and blinked up at him, slightly exaggerated and incredibly mechanical.
Jake choked on his own breath.
You gasped and smacked his arm. “Don’t be a fucking prick!”
“I didn’t even say anything!” he protested before bursting into laughter.
“You didn't have to!”
“It's not my fault you looked insane!”
“You told me to flip my hair and bat my lashes!”
“Yeah, I told you to do it normally. I didn’t tell you to give me crazy eyes.”
You crossed your arms, shoulders slumping. “I can’t do this. This is stupid.”
“Yes, you can,” Jake said firmly. “Now look at me. Try it again.”
You sighed, took a breath then did it.
Your fingers swept through your hair, flicking it over your shoulder in one fluid motion. You glanced up at him, wide-eyed, lashes fluttering with just enough hesitation to make it feel real. Your lips parted slightly, soft with a natural pout. And the soft blush on your cheeks—God. It made you look so much cuter than he was prepared for.
Jake’s breath caught in his throat. He didn't move. Didn't say a single thing.
Because somehow, in the middle of this dumb pretend flirting lesson, you’d accidentally knocked the wind out of him.
And you had no idea.
His mouth opened slightly but nothing came out. His heart stammered in his chest like it forgot how to beat properly. Fuck. You looked good doing whatever the hell that was.
Then you sighed. “Ugh. I looked ridiculous again, didn’t I? God, I’m such a mess—”
“No!” he blurted out, way too loud, making both of you jump. “You looked… fine. I think you’re ready.”
His voice cracked at the end. He turned his head like it would somehow hide it.
But it didn’t.
You didn’t seem to notice. Or if you did, you didn’t say anything.
“But… what do I even say to him?” you asked, your voice softer now, uncertain.
Jake cleared his throat, grounding himself. Right. This lesson wasn’t for him. It was for you. For Jongseong.
“Keep it simple,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets to keep them steady. “Ask what he’s drinking. Compliment his shirt. Make eye contact. Smile. Then ask for his number.”
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
“Guys don’t need a Shakespearean monologue,” he added with a dry chuckle. “Just give them a reason to look twice.”
You took a deep breath and repeated to yourself, “Okay… I can do this. I can do this.”
Jake grinned, tossing back the rest of his drink like it was a toast. “You can. Knock ’em dead.”
You wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans again. Useless. Your hands were still clammy, and your heart felt like it was sprinting laps in your chest.
You glared at him. “If I embarrass myself, I’m blaming you.”
“Can’t embarrass what’s already rock bottom,” he grinned.
You flipped him off but your legs still carried you across the café. You passed the actually cute guy Jake had vetoed and kept walking until you reached the guy Jake had actually pointed out.
He was okay. Not ugly, but his hair was gelled too flat, and his shirt had some ironic graphic that made you wince. He was tapping loudly on his phone, chewing gum. Still, he had decent shoulders. That was something.
You cleared your throat. “Hey.”
He looked up, blinked once like he was trying to figure out if he knew you,. “Hey.”
You gestured to his drink. “Is that the cold brew? I was gonna get one, but I panicked and got a hot chocolate instead.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Cold brew’s not bad. Keeps me awake for my 8ams, y’know?”
You forced a smile. “I’m the same way! I'm a totally different person without my morning coffee.”
He laughed. Good. Good. Great! Until it wasn't.
You flicked your hair back like Jake told you to, trying to make it look natural. It didn’t.
"What are you...doing?"
You immediately stopped, dropping your hands to your sides. Straightening up.
Then, before you could stop yourself, you added with what you thought was a flirty smile, “I love your elbows! They’re so…uh…pointy.”
The guy blinked. “Sorry—what?”
You laughed before panicking a little, “Like if you were ever robbed, you could probably stab the robber with your elbow.”
He was staring now, straw paused at his lips. “Uh–thanks?”
“Anyway!” you blurted. “I should—uh—my friend’s waiting. Bye.”
You turned and speed-walked back to your table. The moment you reached Jake, you crash-landed into the booth, practically throwing yourself onto his chest to hide your face.
Jake raised an eyebrow, then completely lost it, laughter spilling out before he gently pulled you closer, one hand sliding into your hair, the other resting lightly between your shoulder blades.
“Sim Jaeyun, I will kill you.” You lifted your head just enough to glare at him, your cheek still pressed against his chest.
He didn’t flinch. Just chuckled and eased you right back into him, his hand still idly moving through your hair. You could feel his laugh rumble beneath your cheek.
“It’s not my fault you couldn’t follow one simple instruction,” he wheezed, voice light. “Flick hair. Speak words. That’s it.”
“He was clearly not interested,” you muttered, sitting up and crossing your arms.
Jake shrugged, finally catching his breath. “Then he probably doesn’t have good taste.”
You paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked at you, blinking. “I mean—come on. You’re a total ten. And he’s like… a five. At best.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Did you just… call me a ten?”
“Y–yeah,” Jake said quickly, already regretting it. “On the insane scale.” He winced slightly, like even he knew that didn’t make any real sense.
You rolled your eyes and smacked his arm, “Can’t I just talk to the cute guy?”
Jake let out a sharp laugh, drumming his fingers against his cup. “You couldn’t even string a sentence together for that guy, and now you wanna shoot your shot with the hot one?”
You leaned back against the booth with a dramatic sigh, one arm flung across the backrest. “If I’m gonna die of embarrassment, I’d rather die pretty.”
Jake snorted. “You’re gonna die delusional.”
You turned to him, eyes narrowing with playful challenge. “Okay, then how about I practice on you?”
He blinked. “What?”
“I can’t practice on a hot guy. Too risky. And I already humiliated myself in front of the other one. So now I’m left with you.” You shrugged, like it was the most logical conclusion in the world. “Let me just see how it feels to flirt with someone I’m already comfortable with.”
Jake blinked again, visibly thrown. “And you think I’m the guy for that?”
“Yes,” you said, matter-of-factly. “Just treat me like one of those girls you’re always trying to impress.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” You pouted, lips pulling into a dramatic curve. “Am I not your type?”
Jake opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
“No. I didn’t say that.”
“Then what is it?” you challenged. “Why can’t I just practice on you?”
“Fine! Fine—just shut up for a second.” His voice was low, tight before covering your mouth with his palm to shut you up. “Or… we could get Sunghoon to help.”
You froze, eyes narrowing against his palm.
“Fungfoon?” you repeated through his hand.
He removed it slowly.
“You mean that trash ass frat boy who can’t shut up for more than thirty seconds?”
Jake narrowed his eyes right back. “Sunghoon’s my best friend.”
“I don’t care?”
Not even ten minutes later, Sunghoon strolled into the café, hoodie sleeves half-rolled, a lollipop tucked between his lips. You gave him a slow side-eye as he approached your table.
It wasn’t that you hated Sunghoon. But the two of you bickered like a divorced couple whenever you were together. Maybe it was your clashing playstyles when you gamed together, he was a reckless, charge-in-without-a-plan kind of guy, and you were more methodical, strategic. Or maybe it was just the fact that if Jake wasn’t hanging out with him, he was with you and well, Sunghoon could be… territorial.
He dropped into the seat beside Jake, legs wide, completely unbothered. “Alright. What is this even about? Why am I here to help the Devil herself?”
“Reason isn’t important but,” Jake muttered, not even looking up from his drink. “We just need you to pretend you’re some guy she’s trying to flirt with.”
Sunghoon pulled the lollipop from his mouth, brows raised. “Ew. Why would I flirt with her?”
You scoffed. “Don’t be flattered. You were my last choice.”
He grinned. “Still made the cut though.”
You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath, straightening your posture. Okay. Practice round. You could do this.
You turned to face him, smile soft, lashes lowered just a little. “Hey,” you said, voice dipped slightly lower. “You look kinda familiar…”
Sunghoon smirked, playing along, finally meeting your eyes after ignoring you the whole minute he arrived. “Oh yeah? From where?”
You flicked your hair back, just like Jake told you to, letting it fall behind your shoulder.
And that’s when it happened.
Sunghoon blinked. His entire body paused for a beat like his brain lagged for half a second before catching up. He stared at you, eyes trailing from your mouth to your collarbone, then back up again.
There was a few seconds of silence before...
“Dude,” Sunghoon muttered, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you again. “Did you do something to your hair? You look really good today.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying,” he said, leaning in a little, arms folded casually on the table. His tone wasn’t exactly flirty, more like intrigued. “You look different. In a good way.”
Your brain went completely silent.
Not because it was flattering. But because it was Sunghoon.
“Are you calling me—”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m calling you pretty. I can’t believe I’m saying it either.”
You gawked at him. Mouth slightly open. Sunghoon looked at you like he was analysing a glitch in the matrix, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face.
“Ew,” you said automatically, scrunching your nose. “I can’t believe you’d call me—wait. Hold on. I am?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, almost like he was confirming it for himself. “Totally. You’re just, like, glowing or whatever.”
“Well…” You sat up straighter. “I put on mascara. And some lip gloss.”
He was seeing you as a girl. Like...a girl girl. Not Jake’s best friend. Not the rando he was forced to game with when the squad was short one player.
You straightened slowly, crossing one leg over the other with a little more sway than necessary, letting your hair fall over one shoulder like a curtain. You tilted your head, gaze playful. “Well… maybe you’re just slow at noticing things.”
Sunghoon’s grin curled, his eyes dipped, lingering, and his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. “Or maybe you’ve been hiding that pretty face on purpose.”
You leaned in, elbows resting on the table, chin propped on your hand as your voice dropped to a murmur. “Or maybe you just never looked close enough.”
That did it. Sunghoon's posture straightened almost reflexively, and for half a second, he was visibly flustered, eyes flicking down again before darting back up to meet yours.
Across the table, Jake cleared his throat.
You didn’t even turn to look at him.
Jake slammed his hand on the table, not hard, but enough to rattle your water glass. “Alright. Lesson’s over.”
Sunghoon blinked. “What—why?”
Jake stood up, his jaw tight. “We’re done. Congrats. She flirts well. You’re dismissed.”
Sunghoon raised both brows. “I just got here.”
“You’re just back up, Hoon. She’s not actually trying to date you, dumbass.”
“But we so totally could though.” Sunghoon looked back at you, winking.
“Okay, we’re done here.” Jake stood up suddenly and grabbed Sunghoon by the arm. “Let’s go. Your turn’s over.”
“Chill,” Sunghoon said, laughing. “You jealous or something?”
Jake didn’t answer. Just pushed the door open and muttered, “Thanks for your service. You helped a ton.”
—
Yes. Okay, fine. Yes! Jake liked you.
He hated admitting it. Hated even thinking it.
But he did. He liked you.
The only person who knew? His mom. Or maybe Layla, his dog—if she actually understood English.
He’d liked you since the day you stood in his backyard, dressed in black, playing Auld Lang Syne on the recorder for his dead turtle. RIP Sheldon. You’re still missed.
But Jake was an idiot. As most boys are.
Somewhere along the way, his dumb boy brain decided the only logical way to get your attention was through relentless teasing and it stuck. It became a habit. Your thing.
Because, obviously, nothing says I like you like public humiliation.
Jake liked you with your hair up in that lazy bun you always wore. He liked you with it down, falling in soft, messy waves around your shoulders. He liked you when you were yelling profanities into your headset, and he liked you when you were quiet in your room, curled up with your knees to your chest, scribbling in that little diary you thought no one knew about.
He liked you when you were laughing so hard you snorted. And he liked you when you were trying to hide your smile behind your hand.
He never really understood why you wanted to change.
To him, you were already enough. You weren’t “boyish.” You weren’t “too girly.” You were just you. And to Jake, you had always been the point.
What mattered wasn’t how you looked. What mattered was that you were there.
So when he found out you liked Jongseong, he couldn’t even breathe for a second. It felt like ten million trains had flattened him right where he stood. But when he realised you didn’t just like him you were willing to change for him?
That broke something deep.
Because it meant you liked Jongseong enough to become someone else.
And Jake… Jake never wanted that.
But he had pride. Stupid, gnawing, heavy pride. And what made it worse, what buried the knife deeper, was knowing you’d never look at him that way.
Not the way you looked at Jongseong.
Not the way he looked at you.
Jake remembered one of his most recent so-called flings if you could even call them that.
To you, he was the local fuckboy. The guy who always had someone new to flirt with. You’d rolled your eyes every time he winked at someone, and he’d leaned into the reputation like it was armor.
But the truth was far messier.
Because somehow, the girls he messed around with… they always ended up knowing about you.
The last one, her name was Hyejin or maybe Hyerim, he couldn’t remember anymore, she ended up sitting next to him in her tiny apartment while he nursed a soda he didn’t want and tried not to cry.
“I just don’t get it,” he’d admitted, voice cracking a little. “I don’t know how to tell her I like her. And it’d be weird, right? If I suddenly just… said it?”
She’d looked at him, mascara slightly smudged from a long day, and tilted her head with a sigh. “Jake, you just have to be honest.”
He laughed at the time. “I can’t even be honest with myself.”
Jake swore there was nothing more humiliating than crying in front of a girl who he’d once tried to flirt with, only to have her comfort him about another girl entirely.
Worse than that?
She hugged him. Gave him her leftover tiramisu. And said, “I think she already knows. She just doesn’t know that you know.”
Jake sighed and leaned his forearm against the windowsill, the cool wood pressing into his skin as he looked across the short distance between your rooms. Your window was open again, curtains pulled halfway back.
You were lying on your stomach, half-buried in pillows, legs bent at the knees and swinging lazily in the air. Your phone was cradled in both hands, and every few seconds your shoulders shook with silent laughter.
Jake told himself he wasn’t watching. Just glancing.
He liked when your curtains were open. Not because he was trying to spy. It was more like… habit. You were always there, in that same spot, doing something normal and unbothered. Sometimes reading. Sometimes chewing on your pen while you worked. Sometimes yelling at your screen when your game crashed. He liked those quiet glimpses, the small, domestic pieces of you when you thought no one was watching.
From across the window, he could hear your soft giggle through the open night air.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” he called out from his side of the room, voice echoing slightly against the concrete walls outside.
You turned your head, chin resting on your wrist. “It’s just... nothing.” Your lips curled again as you looked back at your screen.
Jake smiled, just a little, then pushed off the sill and crossed the room. His headset was still hanging from the corner of his chair. He grabbed it, sank down into the seat, and slid it over his ears.
“Hey, I’m back,” he muttered into the mic.
There was a short pause. “Hold on,” came Sunghoon’s voice. “I’m in the middle of something.”
Jake reached for his mouse, nodding to himself. “Kay.”
And then he heard it.
A soft, unmistakable ding echoed faintly from the room across the way. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch you laughing again. Your fingers moved quickly over your phone screen.
“Okay, I’m back,” Sunghoon said a few seconds later. He sounded amused.
Jake narrowed his eyes.
Another burst of laughter from your room. Another ding from Sunghoon’s mic. Then more quiet typing from your end. Another ping. Another laugh from Sunghoon.
Jake blinked at the screen in front of him. His hand was still resting on his mouse, unmoving.
Then he looked back out the window.
You were biting your bottom lip now, trying to suppress another laugh as you stared at your phone. Your shoulders were trembling again. You kicked your feet once, as if you couldn’t contain the energy anymore.
Sunghoon chuckled again in Jake’s ear.
The realization settled in slowly.
You were texting.
And not just texting anyone.
You were texting Sunghoon.
Jake leaned back in his chair, headset still snug over his ears, eyes locked on the warm glow pouring from your bedroom window. A breeze moved through the gap, rustling your curtain just enough for him to see your face again. You were smiling at your phone, soft and lit up in a way that made something in his chest tighten.
His grip on the mouse went slack.
“Are you texting her?” he asked, voice flat, low.
There was a pause on the other end of the mic.
“What? Who?” Sunghoon replied, feigning clueless.
Jake narrowed his eyes, staring now, not at his screen, but out the window, straight at you as your fingers danced over your phone screen. Another muffled laugh echoed through your open window.
“I can hear the two of you giggling like idiots,” Jake said.
Sunghoon let out a short laugh, not bothering to deny it. “Dude, what’s the matter with you? I can’t text her now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Sunghoon replied. “You’ve been weird since the café. She looked cute today. I’m trying to shoot my shot.”
Jake sat up straighter, jaw tightening. “On my friend?”
There was a pause.
“Relax,” Sunghoon said, tone still light. “We’re just talking. Harmless flirting. Nothing disastrous. She knows me. She knows how I am.”
Jake didn’t answer.
His eyes drifted back to the window. You were still there, head bowed over your phone, smiling again at something that didn’t come from him.
“Whatever, man. I gotta go,” Jake muttered.
“What? We haven’t even played—”
“I forgot I had some homework to do.”
Before Sunghoon could reply, Jake clicked off. The headset hit the desk with a dull thud.
He stood quickly, crossed the room in a few long strides, yanked open his window, and grabbed the nearest thing on his desk…a ping pong ball. The very ping pong ball you threw at his head.
He tossed it with perfect aim.
It bounced cleanly off your forehead.
“OW—what the hell!” you yelped, looking up in disbelief, hand flying to your temple.
Jake leaned halfway out the window, one brow raised. “So now we know how that feels.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What was that for?”
“Stop texting Sunghoon.”
You sat up straighter. “What? Why? And how did you even know—”
“I could hear the gross, synchronized giggling. Cut it out.”
You crossed your arms, scowling. “You’re the one who told me I needed more confidence.”
“And you chose him?”
You rolled your eyes. “Come on. It’s not like he’d get hurt. I know how he is. He knows it’s just practice.”
Jake shook his head. “No. Not Sunghoon.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You were literally the one who told me to practice on him.”
“I take it back.”
“What?! We were finally getting into good banter and shit. Why are you—”
“You either stop texting him,” Jake said, voice dropping lower, “or I tell Jongseong your stupid secret.”
Your mouth fell open. “What?! Why would you—what does that even have to do with anything?!”
Jake didn’t answer.
But his grip on the windowsill had tightened, knuckles pale under the streetlight glow, and his eyes didn’t leave yours for even a second.
“JUST STOP TEXTING HIM!”
–
The next day at school, Jake dragged himself through the crowded hallway, feet scuffing against the linoleum. His eyes were heavy with sleep he never got. Every time he closed them the night before, his brain had decided to play out an imaginary scenario where you and Sunghoon were holding hands in the cafeteria or kissing in front of the gym lockers.
It was enough to make him gag. If that ever actually happened, he was pretty sure he’d launch himself off the nearest cliff without hesitation.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack and yawned, turning the corner...
A hand tugged on his arm.
He blinked, looked down, and there you were. Standing in front of him with your brows knit together, that expression you always wore when you were trying to pretend you weren’t nervous.
“Bun?” he mumbled, still half-asleep.
You let out a breath. “Look… I’m sorry for not telling you I texted Sunghoon yesterday.”
Jake shook his head. “I wasn’t mad because you didn’t tell me.”
“Then why were you—”
“It’s nothing,” he cut in, voice low. He glanced down at his shoes.
You tilted your head. “Didn’t seem like nothing. You were yelling, dry heaving, and threw a ping pong ball at my head.”
Jake gave a short scoff. “You threw one at me last week, so I don’t see why we’re keeping score.”
You smiled. “Touché.”
There was a moment of quiet between you, the hallway noise fading under the weight of whatever you were about to say. You rocked on your heels.
“So…” you started. “Promise you’re not gonna get mad at me?”
He looked at you suspiciously. “What?”
“Just—promise.”
Jake exhaled. “Fine. What?”
You hesitated for only a second. “Sunghoon asked me out.”
Jake stopped walking.
For a moment, it felt like the hallway went silent around him, like the crowd and noise and lockers all blurred into nothing. He couldn’t feel the weight of his bag anymore. Couldn’t hear the scrape of sneakers or the slam of doors down the corridor.
And then one very clear thought.
He was going to kill Park Sunghoon.
“I said no.”
His head snapped toward you. “Wait—what?”
You shrugged, casual, like you hadn’t just pulled him out of the depths of hell. “I said no.”
A slow smile crawled its way onto his face before he could stop it. Then another feeling hit, bright and stupid and way too much for a school hallway. He wanted to do a triple backflip. He wanted to grab your face and kiss you right there between rows of lockers. He wanted to sing something obnoxious and dramatic and completely out of character. Maybe dance in the rain.
“Why would I?” you said, nudging his arm, eyes still fixed ahead. “Jongseong’s the end game.”
And just like that, Jake wanted to go back to murdering.
“Of course, he is,” he said with a hollow laugh. He nodded, then mockingly clapped his hands together once, sharp and sarcastic. His smile dropped almost instantly, and he turned his face away before you could see the frown taking over.
He felt like biting his own arm off.
Then he looked back at you. “Right. I forgot this was all for that… Jay guy.”
You tilted your head, thinking. “Well… to be honest, I don’t really know him. But he seems sweet. From the times we’ve talked. And the group project. He’s… nice.”
Jake hated how gently you said it.
And the worst part? Jay was sweet. He was the kind of guy who held doors open without being weird about it. The kind who sent the group notes without being asked. He always smiled. Always remembered birthdays. He was, objectively, everything a girl like you deserved.
Jake knew that.
But he didn’t want to admit it.
Because you were his. At least in the world that existed in his head. You were his gamer buddy. His childhood friend. You weren’t supposed to look at other guys like that. God, he wanted you to look at him like that.
He clenched his fists inside his hoodie pocket.
He wanted to stomp his feet like a toddler and let out a big, ugly cry.
But unfortunately, that was not considered appropriate school behavior.
You didn’t notice the way he looked at you. Or maybe you did, and you just didn’t want to deal with it. Either way, you were still rambling.
“I dunno. I mean… I guess I just wanna see where it could go if he ever, like, noticed me or something.” You scratched your neck, glancing at the floor. “Not that he would. He’s… Jongseong.”
Jake didn’t say anything.
You sighed. “I’m probably just kidding myself. I’m not really the type guys go for, you know?”
“You ever think maybe it’s not you?” He looked at you. “Maybe they’re just dumb.”
Something about the way he said it stuck.
Jake glanced away before walking toward his locker.
You didn’t know what to say.
So you didn’t say anything.
But hours later, long after the hallway cleared out, after you were alone in your room, that sentence would come back again and again.
“Maybe they’re just dumb.”
And maybe Jake Sim wasn’t dumb.
But why would he ever see you that way?
You were the girl who screamed into her headset. Who wore the same hoodie three days in a row. Who got mistaken for a guy in Discord chats more often than not.
You shook your head and turned back to your phone, forcing yourself to scroll. Still, that voice stayed in the back of your mind.
And the way he looked at you when he said it.
–
It was time for lesson number two. You were back in the corner booth, your half-melted drink leaving a wet ring on the napkin beneath it. Jake sat across from you, lounging like he owned the place. One arm stretched over the back of the seat, his iced latte in the other, rings of condensation slipping down the sides of the cup.
He was watching you. That look again. The one that made it impossible to tell if he was amused or genuinely disappointed in you.
"This is the third guy that you’ve chickened out on. You’re not going to get better if you keep coming back after saying a simple hi," he said, nodding toward some guy seated near the counter. "Go talk to him. For real, this time."
You frowned. "I can’t. I freeze up and start to sweat."
Jake sighed and set his drink down. "Fine. Do it on me then."
You blinked. "What?"
"Practice. On me," he repeated, now leaning forward, his arms resting on the table. "Pretend I’m some guy you want to impress."
You stared at him. "You’re serious?"
"And you're stalling."
You turned your body toward him with a quiet sigh. "Okay. Fine."
"Go ahead," Jake said, his voice lower now, patient. He watched you with an unreadable look, the corner of his mouth still curved.
You tried. You really did.
Jake raised an eyebrow, pretending to be charmed. “Wow. Off to a strong start.”
You scowled. “Shut up, I’m trying.”
He smiled wider, amused. “No, no. Please. Continue. This is wildly entertaining.”
You gestured at his chest. “It looks… soft?”
Jake blinked, then burst into laughter. “Soft?”
“I meant—like. The material? It looks comfortable. On you.” You cringed. “Forget it.”
Jake leaned in, voice smooth like honey. “You want to touch it? That what you're trying to say, sweetheart?”
You made a strangled noise. “That’s not—”
He gently reached forward, fixing the way your fingers fidgeted with your sleeve.
You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake was already moving. He shifted closer on the bench, slow and smooth, until his knee touched yours under the table. One hand reached out and found your waist. His fingers slid just beneath the hem of your shirt, warm and steady.
"Also, a tip, if you will, from your ever so generous teacher, this," he said, "is the kind of touch that makes someone lean in."
His thumb brushed lightly against your side. His hand didn’t move much, but it didn’t need to. It rested there like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he was measuring your reaction.
And he was close now. Too close. You could see the way his lashes curled slightly at the tips. You could smell the quiet scent of his cologne, something clean and a little sharp, like cedar and mint. It wrapped around you in a way that made the entire café blur.
Your heartbeat quickened.
You hated that it did.
You laughed, a little too fast, wondering why your heart was feeling a certain way. "Okay. Great. Lesson learned. Thank you, Mr. Sim. I mean—Jae. Jake. Jaeyun. Jake."
Jake smirked and leaned back, finally letting his hand fall away. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, laughing.
It really did.
How devoid of men were you, seriously?
It had to be that. The fact that you’d been so completely off the radar of all male existence for the past… forever. That had to be the reason your heart skipped when he tucked your hair back. Or the reason your brain short-circuited when he looked at you a little too long.
It definitely wasn’t because you saw Jake that way.
Right?
—
Jake spotted the two of you from halfway across the hallway.
You were leaning against the row of lockers outside the atrium, one leg slightly bent, head tipped back as you laughed. Sunghoon stood in front of you, arms crossed but posture relaxed, that stupid smirk already creeping onto his face.
Jake knew that smile. It was the one Sunghoon always used when he was trying to be smooth. The kind of half-smile he used when he was talking to a girl he wanted to take out or maybe just get a reaction from. He looked confident.
You giggled again and nudged Sunghoon’s arm, your fingers brushing lightly against his jacket sleeve. Jake’s stomach turned. That move. The casual touch. The lean-in. All of it. You were doing exactly what he taught you. The timing, the tone, the touch.
He felt heat rising in his chest, tension winding up his spine like someone had pulled a cord tight. His hands curled into fists inside his hoodie pockets.
He walked straight up to them.
“Hey,” Jake said, voice low but even.
You turned to him immediately, eyes lighting up. “Hey,” you said, beaming like nothing was wrong. Like your heart hadn’t just flipped for someone else. You had no idea how you looked right then.
“Can I talk to Hoon alone for a second?”
You glanced between them and nodded. “Sure. I need to pee anyway,” you said, swinging your bag over your shoulder before heading off down the hallway.
Jake watched you disappear, then turned to Sunghoon.
“Walk.”
He grabbed his friend by the sleeve and pulled him along. Past the lockers. Past the noisy vending machines. Past the drama kids yelling in the corridor. He didn’t stop until they were behind the stairwell, tucked into the shadowy corner where the lights flickered overhead.
He looked at Sunghoon, really looked. “I need you to stop flirting with her.”
Sunghoon blinked like he didn’t hear him right. “What?”
Jake squared his shoulders. “I need you to stop. Whatever it is you’re doing. The flirting. The teasing. All of it.”
Jake’s jaw clenched. “She’s not just some girl to mess with. She’s not like the others. She’s my friend.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Didn’t you say last month she was like a pet chihuahua?”
Jake faltered for a second. “That was before,” he said quickly.
“I know you, Sunghoon. I know how you are with girls. You don’t mean to hurt them, but you do. You get bored. You move on. And I can’t watch that happen to her.”
Sunghoon gave a half-laugh, but it was dry. “Dude. Relax.”
“I won’t relax,” Jake snapped. His voice was sharp enough to echo faintly off the concrete. “Not about this. Not about her.”
Sunghoon finally went quiet. He studied Jake’s face, expression shifting from surprise to something slower. More serious.
“Why are you this worked up?” he asked.
“You’re my best friend,” Jake added, voice quieter now. “You know I love you, but I can’t do this if it means watching you screw around with someone who means this much to me.”
Then…something clicked.
Sunghoon’s eyes widened, just a little.
“Wait,” he said. “Do you actually like her?”
“Just. Please,” Jake said. “Don’t say it.”
—
You didn’t expect him to notice. Not really.
You’d just started wearing your hair a little differently. Put on some gloss.
So when Jongseong stopped you outside school, hand rubbing the back of his neck and his eyes holding that familiar mix of shyness and charm, your heart should’ve jumped.
But it didn’t.
“I was wondering if you wanted to maybe get coffee sometime? Just us?”
You blinked. And blinked again.
This was supposed to be it. The goal. The moment. The reason you spent hours flicking your hair over your shoulder like an idiot while Jake made fun of you.
But all you could think about was… Jake. Sim Fucking Jaeyun.
“I…” You looked up at Jongseong. Kind eyes. Good guy. Someone you used to swear you wanted. “I really appreciate it, Jongseong. I do. But… I think I’m going to pass.”
His smile faltered, just for a second. Then he nodded slowly. “No worries. Thanks for being honest.”
You gave him one more grateful smile and watched as he walked off, disappearing into the crowd.
And then you stood there.
Why the fuck am I thinking about Jake right now?
It was Wednesday. You’d just spent the last three hours at the academy doing absolutely nothing productive unless you counted emotionally spiralling in the corner seat while pretending to highlight your notes.
All you could think about was how it would’ve felt if Jake had been the one to ask you out.
Would you have said yes?
Would you have kissed him right there?
Would you have blacked out and screamed in his face?
You had fallen for Jake.
Oh fuck.
You groaned into your hands and started walking home, trying to mentally scrub the thoughts from your brain. But just as you passed under the flickering streetlamp by the park…
“BUN!”
You screamed.
Jake doubled over laughing behind you. “What the—?!”
You spun around, nearly flinging your textbook at him. “JAKE WHAT THE HELL!”
He was wheezing. “You scream like that for me? You’re dramatic as hell.”
You clutched your chest, heart going a million beats per second, not just from the scare.
Jake walked over casually, reaching for your textbook. “Give me that, your bag’s wide open—”
“DON’T TOUCH IT!”
You screamed again, stumbling back like he was radioactive.
Jake screamed back, instinctively jumping a full step away. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” you yelled, then immediately spun on your heel. “I HAVE—A LOT OF HOMEWORK!”
“What—?”
But you were already speed-walking away, hair flying behind you as you left Jake stunned in the middle of the path.
By the time you slammed your front door behind you and collapsed onto your bed, you were in full mid-life crisis mode. Rolling back and forth, groaning into your pillow, muttering, “It’s Jake. Oh my god it’s Jake. I like JAKE.”
You were still flailing when you heard a voice.
“You call this homework?”
You froze.
Your head shot toward your window.
There he was. Jake. Standing in his room, staring at you through your open window with a raised brow.
Fuck. You forgot to close it.
You cleared your throat and sat up like a malfunctioning robot. “Gotta… prep. For homework.”
Jake squinted. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting weird.”
You nodded a little too fast. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“…Okay.” He cleared his throat, clearly unconvinced. “Anyway. I was thinking for tomorrow’s lesson—”
“I don’t need them anymore.”
Jake paused. “Huh?”
You swallowed. “I don’t need the lessons. I’m good. I’m… fine. I don’t need to flirt. Or anything. Anymore.”
Jake stared at you from across the gap, mouth parting like he wanted to say something—but then it closed again.
“…You—”
“Jongseong asked me out today,” you blurted.
Jake went still, “Oh.”
It came out quiet. Just a hum. Then his eyes dropped to his feet. “So that’s why you don’t need the lessons anymore.”
“No!” you said quickly, maybe too quickly. “Not entirely.”
Silence fell between you, stretched across the space between your open windows. Both your hearts were racing, but for completely different reasons.
Yours…because it hit you again, hard and sharp: you had fallen for the guy who once smacked you in the face with a ping pong ball. The guy who threw pebbles at your window until you opened your window just to yell at him.
His…because you’d done it. You got Jongseong. The lessons worked. You didn’t need him anymore. You’d won.
So why did it feel like losing?
Thoughts ran rampant, words stuck in throats. The silence said too much.
“I—” you both said at once.
“You first.” Again, in unison.
“Okay, I’ll go,” you said, clearing your throat. “I said no.”
Jake blinked. “To Jay?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He looked at you, brows furrowed. “The lessons… the whole thing… I don’t get it. Why’d you say no?”
“He asked me out. And I didn’t feel the way I thought I would. It didn’t hit. I didn’t want him to ask me out anymore.”
Jake’s gaze lingered on your face, “Are you okay?”
God. Even now. Even like this. Stupid Jake. Always worried about you.
You nodded. “I’m fine. I just… figured I wanted something else.”
Jake looked down again. “Oh.”
“I wanted…someone else.” You said, softly, looking back up at him to see his reaction.
He gulped and then cleared his throat, “Oh. I see.”
You sighed, frustrated that he wasn’t budging or showing any other emotion other than a silent nervous puppy.
You looked at him, hair messy, probably from running his hands through it. A pair of fake glasses perched above his nose, the light from his lamp casting a shadow on his already perfect face.
There was slightly disbelief in his voice, from knowing you had said no to Jongseong. A boy who’d spent probably 10 years convincing himself that you’d only ever see him as a friend–scratch that, not even a friend. Someone you’d yell at or a human punching bag. Someone to drop guns for when she had no more in game credits. Someone to finish the bag of family sized cheetos with because “it’s too much”.
Your throat tightened, you weren’t sure why but you started talking: “I…uh…I didn’t really want it to be him. I kept picturing someone else.”
“Mhm.”
“Someone who…who notices I get cold without me ever saying anything. Someone who walks me home every night. Someone who leaves pebble marks on my freakin’ window.” You said, eyes fluttering to the two tiny hairline cracks caused by Jake.
You stopped, looked up to see Jake’s reaction once again. Your heart was pounding even louder this time. All Jake was doing was staring. At you.
Then suddenly realization sunk in, you idiot.
“Nevermind, I was just…saying stuff. Forget what I said.”
“No.” He said, firmer.
He was leaning forward against the windowsill, knuckles white, “Say it. Please?”
You looked at him, taking a deep breath, gulping for another breath of air because you couldn’t breathe, “I…I wanted it to be you.”
The words hung in the air for a moment or two and you’re unsure if you actually did essentially him that you liked him.
Jake didn’t move. Stunned. Stared at you with those pearly wide eyes and then you see him inching towards his window.
“Jake? Jaeyun? Yun, what are you–”
He inched closer, climbing through his damn window.
“JAEYUN!”
He was already halfway out, one leg swung over his windowsill and another at your window.
“Our windows are like three feet apart,” He huffed, voice strained from awkwardly balancing on the narrow ledge, “I’ll survive.”
“You can just yell!”
“I’m not yelling this!”
Then he crossed the gap and then Jake Sim was in your room.
You inched backwards, on your bed. Jake stood on your floor, scratching the back of his head. His hair a mess, him, slightly breathless.
“You’re insane.”
“You were saying…” He gasped for air. “You wanted it to be me.”
You nodded, mouth dry, “Yes.”
Jake took one step forward, then he was right in front of you. His hand found his way to your cheek, lifting you up to look at him.
“I wanted it to be me too,” He whispered. “For so fucking long.”
You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Because he was standing in your room now, three feet away but somehow close enough to knock the air out of your lungs.
Jake closed the rest of the gap in half a second, hands reaching for your face. His fingers brushed your jaw as he leaned in, eyes still locked on yours like he was checking, still checking, like he needed a thousand confirmations—
So you kissed him first.
You crashed your lips onto his in a heartbeat, short-circuiting whatever overthinking he was spiraling into.
And then, he melted. His hands slid to cradle your face fully, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you back.
You gripped the front of his hoodie, fisting the fabric to keep yourself steady. And when you finally pulled back, you whispered, “For the record, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Jake didn’t even hesitate. He leaned in again, his smile brushing your lips before he kissed you deeper this time.
“You’re doing,” he murmured between kisses, pressing another one to the corner of your mouth…
“Really,” one more, this time near your jaw…
“Good.”
Then he pulled back just enough to grin at you. “Then again, your boyfriend’s a teacher. I could always teach you how to kiss.”
You blinked. “Boyfriend?”
Jake tilted his head, still way too close, still grinning. “You’re telling me we’re not headed in that direction right now?”
“Not if you’re being smug about it.”
“I’ve been waiting ten years for this,” he said without missing a beat, “I’m gonna be as smug as I can be.”
“Ten years?!” you exclaimed, eyes wide.
He nodded seriously. “Remember when you wore that black dress to Sheldon’s funeral?”
You squinted. “Yeah?”
“I thought you looked really pretty.”
“At your turtle’s funeral?”
Jake shrugged. “Am I crazy?”
You stared at him. “Yeah. Kinda.”
He grinned wider. “Crazy about you, though.”
Your fingers tightened on the front of his hoodie, knuckles brushing against his chest as you pulled him closer. Your noses were barely apart, your lips curving as they brushed again—
Knock knock knock.
“Sweetheart? Everything okay there? I heard… noises.”
You froze mid-breath. Jake froze too, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“Shit—” you hissed, panic flaring in your chest. “Closet!”
You shoved him hard toward the wooden closet door by your bookshelf, nearly tripping over your math notes and discarded socks in the process. Jake stumbled, muttering a curse, then ducked into the closet just as you reached for the doorknob.
You plastered on your most innocent smile, heart pounding as you swung the door open.
“Hi, Mom!” you chirped, voice pitched up way too high.
She raised an eyebrow, eyes drifting over your slightly messy hair and suspiciously glowing cheeks. “You okay?”
“Yep! Just watching Netflix.”
Her gaze swept past you into the room. Your bed was unmade, your pillows tossed, one of your shoes lying sideways on the rug like it had been kicked off in a hurry.
“I heard a boy’s voice.”
“Using my new speaker!”
She didn’t look convinced. In fact, she leaned in slightly and lowered her voice. “Are you sure? Because if you are seeing someone…”
You tensed.
“I just hope it’s not someone else.”
Your smile faltered. “…What? What do you mean?”
“Y’know…” she said, shrugging. “If it’s not Sim’s son.”
You blinked. “Sim’s—”
“Jaeyun.”
“She told me he has a crush on you, y’know? Her boy.” Your mom gave you a look. “And to be honest, we’ve been rooting for you two since that turtle funeral.”
You groaned, dropping your forehead dramatically against the doorframe. “Oh my God.”
“It was just so cute! The way the two of you stood in the backyard, looking at each other.”
“Please stop talking.”
“We made a bet. She thinks you’ll get together right after graduation, and I said before.”
“Mum.”
“So who do you think will win? Do you need help speeding things up? I’ve got experience. Want me to tell you how I got your dad?”
“Mum. Stop.”
“Oh, fine. I’ll go,” she sighed. “Just keep the Netflix down, would you?”
As her footsteps retreated down the hall, you slammed the door shut and spun on your heel.
You yanked the closet door open.
Jake stood there, his hair was tousled, cheeks flushed, like he’d barely kept it together in there.
“Can’t believe my mom told yours,” he sighed, stepping out carefully. “It’s like secrets aren’t even secrets anymore.”
“Well, it’s a good thing she told me today,” you muttered. “Right after the whole… thing.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now.
“I still can’t believe our moms ship us.”
You sighed, already tugging on the front of his hoodie again. “Whatever. Just shut up and kiss me again.”
Jake grinned, stepping closer until your backs were to the door and your room was quiet again.
“Gladly,” he whispered, before leaning in once more.
—
ONE MONTH LATER
You were sprawled on the floor of your room, hoodie sleeves tugged over your palms, legs folded underneath you as you scribbled furiously into your notebook. Your knees were propped against the edge of the bed, an d your hair was half up, half giving up. Jake sat cross-legged behind you on the rug, elbows resting on his knees, watching you.
“You’re so cute when you’re concentrated,” he said, voice all soft and sing-song.
You didn’t even look up. “Yun.”
“Mmh?”
“Stop staring.”
“I can’t help it.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “My girlfriend’s too pretty.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled to yourself.
Without warning, Jake scooted closer until his knees touched your back. Then his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you gently into his lap like it was muscle memory. You let out a startled yelp as your notebook was abandoned somewhere across the carpet. Now you were seated between his thighs, his arms looped tightly around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck.
“I love this hoodie on you,” he murmured, brushing his nose against your skin. “You always smell like sunshine and detergent.”
“Baby, let me go. I was doing something—”
He kissed your shoulder, lips slow and warm. Then your jaw. Then the soft skin just beneath your ear. “Shhh. Let me love you for, like, five minutes.”
You squirmed. “You’re clingy.”
“I’m touch-starved.”
“You literally hugged me the entire walk back from the academy.”
Jake tightened his hold, hands splayed across your stomach now. “It’s not my fault you make me clingy.”
You finally turned to face him, arms loosely around his neck. He leaned in like gravity pulled him to you, brushing his nose against yours. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips.
“You’re so pretty,” Jake whispered, his fingers gently brushing along your cheekbone and down to your jaw. “I don’t think you even know what you do to me.”
You exhaled a laugh, “Jake, I was literally almost done.”
He pouted immediately. “Jake?” he repeated, like the word physically hurt him.
You looked up, confused. “What?”
“Did you just call me by my actual name?” His face twisted, mock-offended, as he clutched his chest dramatically. “No. Nope. Not allowed.”
You blinked. “Are you seriously mad because I called you Jake?”
He sat up slightly, brows furrowing. “Yeah. Yes, I am. That’s what teachers call me. You? You call me baby. Or sweetheart. Or love. Or beautiful boy. I’d even take Yun. Not Jake.”
You smirked. “Jake—”
“Lalalala—” He slapped his hands over his ears and turned his head away from you. “I’m not listening
“Jake.” You grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands down from his ears. “JAKE! Okay, fine! Baby?”
He immediately stopped, all sweet-eyed and smug. “Yes?” he replied, voice as soft as sugar.
“Oh my god. You’re insane.”
“Insane?” he scoffed, pulling you closer until your legs straddled his lap. His hands gripped your waist like they belonged there. “What’s insane is that you don’t fucking love me.”
You stared at him, jaw dropping. “Sim Jaeyun—”
He gasped, scandalised, throwing his head back like you’d physically wounded him. “And again with the full name. Gah! You hate me.”
You burst out laughing as he yanked you forward and buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning
“Okay, fine,” you said, playing along. “Oh, my dearest bundle of love, light of my life, tell me—how must I ever earn your forgiveness?”
He perked up instantly, lifting his head with a bright smile. “Ooh. This is fun.” He clapped once, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I want kisses.”
You snorted. “Kisses? That’s it?”
“I want one here,” he tapped his cheek.
You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to it.
“And here,” he tapped the other.
Then he tapped his lips. “And one here. Minimum a minute. No funny business. Though, I don’t mind if you slip in a little tongue.”
You narrowed your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous.”
Still, you leaned in, slowly, lips brushing against his. Jake’s hands slid up your back, holding you close as he kissed you back properly.
When you finally pulled away, breath mingling with his, he whispered against your mouth, “Forgiveness granted.”
You smiled, forehead pressed to his until your phone dinged.
You pulled back and glanced at the screen. “Why did Sunghoon just text me, ‘control your damn dog’?”
Jake tilted his head, expression too casual. “Oh. I think he’s referring to the text I just sent him.”
You squinted. “What text?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I don't know could be the one where I told him to eat shit and get diarrhoea.”
Your jaw dropped. “What?! Why?”
“He texted you for your chem notes.”
“Jake!”
He grinned, smug and unrepentant. “Name? Again? That’s strike two, baby. One more and you’re out.”
➜ summary: you just moved into a new building, right across from three loud guys. two said sorry and the third couldn’t care less.
pairing: pshx f!reader,wc: 14k words , genre: enemies to lovers ish, neighbor!au, fluff, romcom w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
The elevator doors swung open, and soon you stepped out into the third floor hallway. You looked like you were moving in, which in your defense…you were. The oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, arms hugging a stack of takeout containers and a cactus you had that had pricked you far too many times, but that didn’t matter. You were finally on your own.
Unit 3B. That was you now.
Your keys jingled in your palm as you found the door, nudged it open with one knee, and stepped into the apartment you’d stared at for months on rental listings. It wasn’t huge, but it had a little kitchen with enough space for your mum’s rice cooker, and a balcony that caught the sun in the morning. You spun around in the centre of the room, grinning, almost knocking the cactus you had just placed on the counter in the process.
And by nightfall, the place felt like yours. Your fairy lights were strung up across your living room. Your fridge held exactly a bottle of soda, some tuna you had eaten an hour ago and a bag of unwashed grapes. You lit a vanilla candle, the one your best friend, Jungwon, made you promise to use so you'd remember him… even while being so far apart. But Jungwon hated travelling, so in his mind, you'd basically moved to another continent.
Jungwon dramatically declared, “You’re practically moving to another country.”
“Jungwon, I’m literally a two-hour train ride away.”
“That’s basically Europe.”
You rolled your eyes at the memory, smiling to yourself.
Still, you were glad you’d made the decision to move. Three years ahead of you… of being on your own, of learning to be independent, part-time jobs, and what you hoped…a future incoming relationship. It should be easy. It should be peaceful. It should be—
“DUDE!!!”
A scream ripped through your wall.
It came from the wall to your right, a thin wall nudged between you and your neighbours. You could hear celebrations. A voice shouted, “THAT WAS INSANE!” followed by a loud thump like someone had jumped off the sofa.
You tried ignoring it at first, burying yourself under the blanket like it could block out noise. But 20 minutes in, another screamed “HE’S OFFSIDE, YOU DUMB—” loud enough to rattle the walls, you snapped.
You threw on your hoodie, jammed your feet into slippers, and marched out the front door like you were storming a battlefield. The hallway was dim and quiet, except for the muffled party behind door 3C. You knocked, hard, but polite.
The door creaked open mid-laughter, revealing three guys mid-snack, mid-game.
“Hi,” you said, tight smile. “Sorry to bother you, but… would you mind keeping it down a little? I’ve got a test tomorrow and it’s kinda hard to focus with all the screaming.”
The one with fluffy hair, cute little eyes, nodded immediately. “Shit. Sorry, sorry. Totally our bad.”
Another one, long lashes and a goofy smile, actually winced. “Didn’t realise it was that loud. We’ll keep it down, promise.”
“Are you new here?” the first one asked.
You nodded. “I just moved in today, actually.”
“Oh shit. Mrs Kim moved out?”
“Damn, we’re not getting her kimchi anymore, that’s for sure.”
“We gotta eat those store-bought ones that taste like ass.”
The second boy looked at you again, more focused this time. “Oh right! I’m Jake! It’s great to meet you! I’m sorry it happened under… unfortunate circumstances. But we’ll be quieter!”
“I’m Jay, by the way,” the first one added with a small grin, pushing his hair back.
You nodded, smiling slightly. At least they were nice about it. Well, two out of three, anyway.
You glanced past both of them, eyes landing on the third boy slouched on the couch, still holding the controller, gaze fixed on the paused screen like you weren’t even there. His jaw clenched once. No name. No hello. Just a subtle, annoyed glance in your direction before he looked away again.
Cool. So he hates you. That’s cool with you.
The third guy didn’t say anything. Just glanced at you once, then turned back toward the TV.
“Uh, thanks,” you said, lips tight, already backing away.
You returned to your apartment and for a blessed thirty minutes, it was quiet.
Then someone scored a goal and the wall shook again.
You blinked slowly at your ceiling, arms folded under your head like the weight of your patience was finally starting to crush your ribs. Okay. So that’s how it was going to be. You frowned.
And that was literally… how war started.
The next morning, fuelled by petty vengeance and two hours of sleep, you grabbed your pastel pink sticky notes and wrote:
“Dear 3C, I’ve played FIFA before. It is not that damn fun for you to be out here screaming. Please tone it down. Regards, the zombie in 3B.”
You slapped it on their door. Nothing changed.
And the next day:
“Dear 3C, I can’t sleep. Kindly shut up <3 With love, the girl one more sleepless night away from writing to the landlord. 3B.”
You half expected them to ignore it. Instead, you found your note missing by mid-afternoon. Gone.
For a moment, you felt powerful. Maybe they’d actually listened.
Then 8:43 p.m. hit and someone in 3C scored a goal so loud you swore the bass from their TV made your candle flicker.
Alright. So it was personal now.
You stormed over to their door again, hands on your hips.. It wasn’t that late. You weren’t unreasonable. You believed in joy. In freedom. But right now? Rage was the only thing pumping through your system.
You shuffled down the hall with your bunny slippers slapping against the floor, hair in a claw clip that was giving up. You looked deranged. And for the first time, you were fine with that. You banged on their door.
The door cracked open a second later, revealing Jake blinking like a deer in headlights. His hair was messy. He looked mildly afraid.
“Were… we being loud again?”
You stared at him, deadpan. “Ya think?”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’m so sorry. It’s Sunghoon. He keeps saying it’s not that loud and we were mid-tournament and—”
“Tell Sunghoon that his ego’s not the only thing echoing through these walls,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Some of us are trying to study.”
Behind Jake, you heard a familiar scoff followed by a smug voice yelling, “God, she’s so annoying. We were literally whispering.”
You leaned to the side, locking eyes with the third boy slouched on the couch, controller in hand, feet on the coffee table like the world owed him something. He didn’t even pause the game this time.
You didn’t know what it was about his stupidly symmetrical face but your blood boiled.
“Tell this Sunghoon guy…his whispering sounds like a screeching cat,” you said flatly, before spinning on your heel and marching back toward your door when you heard his aggravating voice.
“Tell her she’s overreacting over a couple of friends simply trying to have fun,” Sunghoon fired back from the couch, not even raising his voice.
You turned your head just enough to glare over your shoulder. “Well, tell him, his shirt doesn’t match his fucking pants.”
Jake looked helpless, standing between you both like a middle child caught in a divorce.
And then, with that same bored tone, Sunghoon called out again, “Well, tell her… those slippers are the best thing she’s worn all week.”
You stopped.
Jake sucked in a breath.
You slowly turned, eyes narrowing. “Tell him he wouldn’t know good fashion if it came with a user manual and punched him in his freaking face.”
Sunghoon finally glanced away from the TV, meeting your eyes for the first time that night. His lips curved into the most irritating half-smile you’d ever seen.
“Tell her–”
Jake stepped in between again, hands raised. “Okay! Okay. We’re gonna turn the volume down. Like, way down. Like you can’t even hear us tiptoe. Right, Sunghoon?”
Sunghoon leaned back against the couch and shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not the one annoying my neighbors at 9pm on a Friday night. Get some friends.”
You slammed your door shut.
War was back on.
-
The next morning, your plan was simple. A little petty, sure, but necessary.
You stood outside their door in your pyjamas, holding a fresh pack of neon yellow Post-its since your previous ones were used up by the ongoing Post-It war.The hallway was empty. Your bunny slippers made no sound as you padded up to 3C and stuck the first one of the week dead-centre on the door.
“Dear 3C, just a gentle reminder that FIFA will not feed you, clothe you, or give you money. Kindly shut up. PLEASE. Warmest regards, 3B.”
You smiled to yourself and floated back to your apartment.
That night? For the first time…? Silence. Beautiful, blissful silence. You actually managed to revise two chapters and fall asleep before midnight. You woke up in the morning feeling like a changed woman.
But then you opened your front door.
There, taped neatly to your door, was a blue sticky note with surprisingly neat handwriting.
“Dear 3B, you sound like you narrate your life out loud. – 3C.”
Your jaw dropped.
“Narrate your life out loud?” you muttered. “That’s literally called thinking.”
You marched back into your apartment, flung open your stationery drawer.
“Dear 3C, apologies if my internal monologue disrupted your daily FIFA championship. I only talk to myself because your volume settings make it impossible to hear my own thoughts. With all due respect (and ear damage), 3B."
That afternoon, Jay knocked on your door. You hesitated, then opened it a crack. He was holding a bag of convenience store pancakes in one hand.
“Peace offering,” he said. “Also, I think your notes are hilarious. Jake’s been collecting them. I think he’s making a scrapbook.”
You blinked. “Is this a joke or something?”
Jay shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No! Honestly, it’s kinda refreshing.”
Jake popped his head in from behind, grinning. “Also, your handwriting’s really neat.”
You opened the door a little wider, cautious then shrugged. “You want some… uh… spaghetti? I made it this morning.”
“Spaghetti?” Jay tilted his head.
You nodded. “Yeah. I usually experiment with food. I’m…uh…in culinary school.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you’re like… a chef?”
“Trying to be.,” you said with a shrug, suddenly a little self-conscious.
They exchanged a quick look before barging in like you'd personally handed them invites at the door.
“That’s so cool,” Jake said, practically bouncing as he flopped onto your beanbag. “I burnt instant noodles last week. Twice.”
Jay wandered deeper into your living room, his gaze landing on the dusty old guitar leaning against your bookshelf. “Dude, check it out! She plays the guitar.”
You rubbed the back of your neck, awkward. “It’s just for fun. I’m not that good.”
“I’m sure you’re great,” Jake said, already chewing through a mouthful of spaghetti he’d somehow found, and served himself in a bowl you didn’t remember offering.
You blinked at him. “Did you just—?”
“Plate was right there,” he said through a mouthful. “I took it as a sign.”
Jay nodded solemnly. “She feeds us and plays guitar. She’s better than Mrs. Kim already.”
You sighed and closed the door behind them. “I’m starting to think Mrs. Kim left because of the three of you.”
In between bites, Jake nodded without hesitation. “I think so too.”
“We can be loud,” Jay added, helping himself to another serving.
“Have you thought of… not being loud?”
“We do,” Jay said. “But then we get loud again.”
You rolled your eyes. “Guys, some of us have school and—”
“We have school too,” Jake chimed in, mouth full.
“Okay… some of us care about sleep.”
Jay perked up. “That’s why we got you this.”
He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny box, dropping it into your hands.
You squinted at it. “What’s this?”
“They’re sleep buds,” he said proudly. “They go in your ears and play white noise and, like… ocean sounds or something. Blocks everything out. Even us.”
You stared at the box, then at them.
“Instead of compromising, you got me gear?”
Jake grinned. “Yeah. We like you. We want you to be able to sleep… through us.”
Jay gave you a thumbs-up. “It’s called adaptation.”
You looked down at the sleep buds in your hands and then back up at the two of them absolutely inhaling your spaghetti like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
You didn’t know whether to kick them out or thank them.
So you just sighed, defeated. “You guys are the weirdest neighbours I’ve ever had.”
Jake beamed. “Aww. You’re the weirdest too.”
And somehow… the next day… they were back.
You opened the door mid-knock, confused, only to find Jay grinning at you.
“What’s for lunch today, boss?” he asked, already halfway through the doorway.
You blinked. “How’d you know I made something?”
“We could smell it,” Jake said, stepping in right behind him, holding up a comically large spoon. “Smells so good. Brought my big spoon today. Came prepared.”
“Uh… I made chowder?”
Jake’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, I love chowder.”
Jay had already plopped onto the floor cushion, flipping through your Spotify like he owned your iPad. “What kind? Clam? Corn? Pumpkin? Wait… do people put pumpkin in chowder?”
You stared at them, ladle in hand.
“Corn,” you muttered, shuffling back into the kitchen.
Then the day after that… they came again. At this point, it felt less like a surprise and more like a recurring appointment.
“No fucking way. Kimchi stew? This shit is so good!. Jay, you need to try the beef. It’s so soft. How— how’d you get it so soft? Is this like one of those expensive beef? Wakoo?”
“It’s Wagyu, Jake.” You corrected.
“Wagyu~” He sang.
Jay, already mid-bite, nodded with a full mouth. “Can I havefth thefth reshepee?”
You wiped your hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter with one brow raised. “Do you guys ever eat in your own apartment?”
Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Not when you cook like this.”
Jay pointed his chopsticks at you like he was making a closing argument in court. “This is technically your fault. You fed us once. That’s basically a binding contract. We’re best friends now. Aren’t we, Jake?”
Jake nodded, mouth full. “Mhmff. Whatever he said.”
You sighed, setting your elbow on the table and dropping your chin into your hand. “If you’re gonna keep doing this, at least wash the dishes after.”
Jake saluted you with his spoon like you were the captain of a very tiny, soup-based army. “Yes, chef.”
You looked at the two of them, one already on his third helping, the other stealing more beef straight from the pot, and shook your head.
This wasn’t how your independent, put-together, college life was supposed to go. You were meant to be focused. The mysterious girl on the third floor who only ever came out for groceries and exams.
But maybe… with the two of them barging in uninvited, eating like they hadn’t seen food in years, and treating your living room like it was theirs…
Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely after all.
-
It was 9 p.m. Strangely quiet.
Usually, by now, there’d be at least one goal celebration shaking the walls or someone shouting about a missed penalty. But tonight? Nothing. You didn’t let it bother you. You took it as a win.
The balcony door slid open with a soft scrape. You stepped out into the cool night, cradling your little scissors and spray bottle like sacred tools. Your succulents were arranged in a neat line. A few leaves had started to curl. You knelt down, snipping the dead ends carefully.
You should’ve felt peaceful.
But tonight, something tugged at your chest.
You missed Jungwon. You missed your mom’s mismatched cutlery and the way your dad always forgot he’d already asked about your grades. Maybe even your pet fish, the one that never did much except float around looking confused.
Jay and Jake were friendly, sure. But they weren’t yours. They weren’t part of your before. They didn’t know the town you came from or the versions of you that existed before now.
And even though you thought you’d settled in... even though you were coping...you were lonely.
Without meaning to, you started speaking out loud — just like you always did.
“It’s fine. You’ll do better tomorrow. Tomorrow you won’t feel as lonely,” you said softly as you misted the leaves. “You’ll be stronger. You’re gonna get used to this. You can do it.”
But the lie caught in your throat.
Because you were crying already.
You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, frustrated, betrayed by your own body. You reached for your phone without thinking and hit the contact you swore you wouldn’t keep calling every time you got overwhelmed.
Jungwon answered on the first ring.
“What’s up?” he asked, casual as ever.
“Won…” you breathed out.
There was a pause. Then: “Are you crying?”
“No?”
“I can hear you sniffling, you shit.”
“It’s just—” your voice cracked. “It’s hard. I’m alone all the time. I’ve got no friends. I’ve got no one to talk to. I’m alone, Won.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I know…”
There was a pause. You could hear him shifting in bed, his voice soft and serious now. “But think about it this way, okay? You’re barely in your first month. You’re gonna get used to it. You’re gonna find people. You’re gonna build something here. It just takes time.”
You bit your lip. “You’ll visit if you can, right?”
“I’ll visit,” he promised. “Even if it takes two bloody hours.”
“But you hate traveling.”
“For you, I’d suffer.”
You sniffled. “You’re just saying that so I’ll hang up.”
“You’re right because I’m exhausted from basketball. But also… I love you.”
“Fine,” you mumbled. “I love you too.”
“Chin up. You’re talented and you deserve to be there. You can do this. We’re all counting on you.”
“I know.” You exhaled slowly. “Goodnight, Wonnie.”
“Night.”
You ended the call and sat in silence for a moment, letting the cool night air settle on your skin. The tears had stopped. Your hands still smelled like mint and basil and the faint sweetness of the spray bottle. You stared at your succulents, wondering if they ever got lonely too.
Unbeknownst to you, just a few feet away, out on the connected balcony, hidden by the divider, someone had heard everything.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d stepped out earlier, just needing air, needing quiet, needing to be somewhere still for once. And then he’d heard your voice. The words that were not meant for anyone else.
And for the first time, Sunghoon didn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment.
He just stood there in the dark, one hand gripping the railing, heart a little heavier than before.
He understood more than you thought.
And somewhere between your tears and Jungwon’s voice, he changed his mind about you.
-
The next few days, there was absolute silence. Maybe the food had finally worked some psychological warfare on Jay and Jake. Maybe it was their way of returning the favour. Either way, you weren’t about to question it.
You were grateful, to say the least.
Because for the past week, you’d been moping around your apartment. Living alone and striking out as an “independent bachelorette” sounded empowering in theory, but in practice? Maybe you weren’t one of those girlies after all…y’know the ones on Instagram who made solitude look like a season of self-discovery instead of a series of breakdowns.
It was Saturday. You’d spent the entire morning in bed watching a Netflix documentary about some guy swindling people on Tinder, surrounded by crumpled tissue and scented candle smoke that had long turned suffocating. You were still in yesterday’s hoodie, blanket tangled around your legs.
Three knocks echoed at the door.
You lifted your head from the pillow with a groan, barely alive. The sound came again.
Dragging yourself across the living room, you cracked the door open just a sliver, just wide enough to peek through but not enough to reveal the disaster that was your face, your hair, or your pride.
“Uh.” The voice was hesitant. Familiar.
You squinted.
Sunghoon.
You blinked. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse from crying and a full night of narrating your own spiral.
“There was a mix-up with the mail,” he said, holding up a small stack of envelopes.
“Oh.” You extended your arm awkwardly through the tiny gap in the door and grabbed the letters. “Thanks.”
There was a pause, “I can see your puffy eyes through the gap.”
You scoffed, immediately pulling the door closer. “You just have to be a smartass about everything, don’t you?”
He shrugged, completely unbothered, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Still standing there.
“…Are Jake and Jay home?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
His expression twitched, almost amused. “Why? Trying to steal my best friends again or—”
“No,” you deadpanned. “I was just wondering. It’s been… quiet this whole week.”
“They went home to visit their families.”
Oh. Right. Come to think of it, maybe that explained why everything felt extra heavy lately. It was the time of year people usually went home. People surrounded themselves with comfort and familiarity. And here you were, stuck in the city because the train ticket home was just slightly out of budget.
“You didn’t go?” you asked softly.
“Can’t,” he shrugged.
“Oh.”
There was a beat of silence. Then he tilted his head.
“Well,” Sunghoon said slowly, “if you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”
The words came with the usual venom but the message behind them landed differently.
You stared at him through the gap in the door. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny, or… sincere, in his own weird, backhanded way. It was strange. You’d only had three full conversations with the guy. And every single one ended in a WWE tournament.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Are you… being nice to me?”
He clicked his tongue. “Don’t ruin it.”
And with that, he turned and walked back.
-
You finally got up.
There was no movie-worthy breakthrough moment. Just the dull ache in your head from crying too much and the feeling that if you shed one more tear, your eyeballs might actually eject themselves from their sockets. So you moved. You stripped your bed, tossed the mountain of tissues into a trash bag, sprayed half a bottle of disinfectant in the air, and opened every window.
Your apartment looked like it had survived an apocalypse, which, to be fair, was accurate. But you scrubbed it back to life.
By the time you were in the kitchen, your eyes were still a little swollen, but you’d pressed them with cool spoons and a sad little compress until you could see straight again. Kind of.
You pulled out ingredients from your fridge one by one, lining them up like you were preparing for war. Slicing, boiling, julienning, stir-frying. The sound of the pan crackling beneath the glass noodles filled the silence of your apartment. It smelled exactly like it did when your mom used to make it.
You plated it in a wide, shallow bowl. It was delicious. Of course it was. You took pride in it. You always had. Jungwon used to tease you, calling your hands “blessed by Gordon Ramsay” like everything you touched turned into comfort food. You’d swat his arm, trying not to smile as he reached for second helpings before you’d even sat down.
You missed him. You missed your family. You missed not having to eat alone on a day like this.
Your eyes drifted to the door.
Would it be stupid? To bring food to Sunghoon? You’d never really done anything kind for him. Most of your interactions were lined with sarcasm and insults. And yet… that one line of his kept replaying in your head, “If you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”
So maybe…maybe he meant it. Or maybe you were just desperate for company and your noodles were starting to get cold.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed the noodles into a clean container, wrapped a rubber band around it, and found yourself standing in front of 3C. Your feet had walked you here without permission. Your hand hovered in the air, ready to knock, but now… you hesitated. You weren’t here to complain. You weren’t here to yell. And that made it harder.
And just before your knuckles could land on the door, it swung open.
Sunghoon stood in front of you, coat already on, scarf looped lazily around his neck. There was a little shine to his hair like he’d styled it, and he looked surprised, mildly confused to find you on his doorstep without any anger evident in your eyes.
“What?” he said, voice dry.
You blinked, staring at him. You’d never really looked at him properly before. Not when he was this put-together. The gel in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scarf sat slightly off-center like he’d thrown it on in a rush. You knew he was attractive. You weren’t blind. But seeing him now?
Sunghoon was actually… pretty handsome.
“I—uh—” you stammered.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Spit it out.”
“I—uh—I made some… stir-fried glass noodles,” you said, stumbling over every syllable. “And I know how much it sucks being alone on a day like this, so I thought… maybe it’d bring you some kind of familiarity. From home, or something.”
You didn’t let yourself overthink it. You shoved the container into his hands, heart pounding.
“Bye,” you mumbled, before immediately turning around and marching back to your apartment like you’d just robbed a bank. The door clicked shut behind you.
You pressed your back to it, eyes wide.
Shit.
Was Sunghoon actually hot?
-
Sunghoon stood in the hallway, unmoving. The container in his hands was warm and he stared down at it for a couple of seconds longer than he probably should’ve.
Jake and Jay had been raving about your cooking for weeks. At first, he thought they were exaggerating. How good could someone’s food be that it made two of the loudest people he knew voluntarily whisper through a FIFA match?
But he’d seen it with his own eyes, Jake silently fist-pumping the air, mouthing “LET’S FUCKING GO” after a goal, and Jay barely reacting as he scored. They even created a rule: first one to speak puts a dollar in the Silence Jar. A literal jar. With money.
Sunghoon didn’t get it.
And he didn’t particularly care to. Not then.
But now, standing in the hallway in his coat and scarf, staring at the gift you shoved into his hands with flushed cheeks, something felt different.
He had been on his way out, actually. There was a bar nearby, nothing special, just a dim-lit spot with quiet music and decent food where no one bothered him. He usually went there whenever Jay and Jake went back home, like they did this time every year. It wasn’t that he didn’t have family—he did. It just wasn’t… warm. They were always busy. Always somewhere else, even when they were in the same room.
He peeled off his scarf, feet dragging a little as he headed back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. He set the container on the kitchen counter, grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer, and opened the lid.
Steam wafted up instantly, sesame oil, soy sauce, garlic, something subtly sweet he couldn’t name. The noodles glistened. They looked homemade. No, they felt homemade.
He picked up a strand and gave it a tentative taste.
His eyes widened before he could even help it.
It was good. Like stupid good. Like how the hell is this girl not running her own restaurant kind of good. Better than anything he would’ve paid for at that bar tonight.
He stood there in silence, chopsticks hovering mid-air, thinking back.
He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Three encounters, three arguments. He remembered each one too clearly. The snark in his voice. The way your expression hardened. The notes on the door.
But it wasn’t really about you.
He hated being called out. Hated being the problem. Maybe it was ego, or maybe it was the way he’d always felt like he had to be put-together or to say the least…controlled. Your presence threw him off. You were loud in a way that was sincere. You didn’t filter your emotions. You wore your annoyance on your sleeve and your feelings on your face.
It irritated him. It also… made him feel something.
And then there was that night on the balcony.
He hadn’t meant to listen. But when he heard your voice cracking through the divider, talking to someone…maybe it was your boyfriend? Your best friend? Whoever it was about how lonely you were, it hit him harder than it should’ve.
Because he got it.
He felt it too.
Being alone in a crowd. Having people around but never really with you. That weight in your chest that didn’t come from sadness exactly…just the absence of warmth.
Sunghoon felt it more often than he cared to admit. He loved Jake and Jay, loved them to pieces. They were the kind of people who filled a room with noise and an energy he couldn’t really place and who made him laugh even when he didn’t want to.
He wanted something more. Something real.
Someone who just… saw him.
He sat at his kitchen counter, staring at the container of glass noodles still warm with steam curling from the lid. He wasn’t usually impulsive. He didn’t do gestures. But maybe tonight called for something a little uncharacteristic.
He stood and reached up, opening the top cupboard where Jake and Jay kept what they called their “emergency date plates.”. The kind of plates you used to impress someone. They only ever brought them out when trying to convince girls they were not, in fact, living in a borderline condemned apartment flat.
He grabbed two.
And then, before he could second guess it, he walked out into the hallway and knocked.
Your door creaked open a few seconds later.
You blinked at him, confused. “What?”
It almost felt like deja vu. Except now, he was you…awkward at the door.
And then it hit him.
He looked at you…like, really looked at you, and for the first time, he realised he’d never actually seen you before.
You were wearing a soft pink sleeveless dress, the fabric loose and falling just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist. Your hair was tied into a side braid, fringe swept slightly to the side, with a few delicate strands left loose to frame your face. You looked like you belonged in a pastel painting.
Shit.
Were you actually—pretty?
Nope. Nope. Stop that. Sunghoon blinked hard, trying to erase the thought.
Damn it.
You probably had a boyfriend. Someone smart and warm and emotionally available who FaceTimed you every night and wrote you good morning texts. Someone who missed you from back home.
And besides…someone who could cook like you? You could probably bag Jake and Jay at the same time in under a minute if you wanted. Not that you would. But still.
He cleared his throat.
“I, uh…” He held up the plates slightly. “I thought maybe… you could join me?”
He wasn’t good at this. But his voice was steady.
“Only if you want to,” he added, quickly. “I just figured. Y’know. Glass noodles taste better on… plates that aren’t plastic.”
His eyes met yours.
He was trying.
And this time, it was your turn to blink in disbelief.
-
Sunghoon had returned with the container of glass noodles, now a little colder, a little stickier, but still giving off the faint aroma of sesame oil and soy sauce. You’d reheated it and plated it up, slightly embarrassed that the presentation wasn’t what it had been fresh off the stove, but he didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he did, but you couldn’t tell, because for the first five minutes, you didn’t look at each other.
The clink of chopsticks, the occasional scrape of ceramic, and your ceiling fan. It was awkward. You wondered why he even came. Why he asked in the first place, if he was just going to eat in silence.
“So,” you said.
“So,” he said.
You paused.
“You first.”
“No, you—”
“Okay, I’ll go first,” he said, cutting himself off. He cleared his throat and set his chopsticks down. “I—uh—I just wanted to say thanks. For the meal.”
You blinked. “Okay.” You nodded slowly. “You’re… shockingly formal when you’re not pissed.”
“I—” Sunghoon let out a breath and leaned back a little in the chair. “I was never pissed.”
“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”
“I was annoyed, sure. Who likes being called out?”
“I wasn’t trying to call you out,” you said, tilting your head. “But put yourself in my shoes. I have to wake up at stupid o’clock to learn how to make a soufflé or whatever, and meanwhile, I’m treated to surround sound yelling and the occasional ceiling vibration.”
He gave a small shrug. “Well, we haven’t done it in a while.”
“And I’m grateful,” you replied, lips twitching. “Truly.”
“We got a silence jar and everything,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t want to admit it.
Your eyebrows shot up. “A silence jar?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Jay implemented it. He said if we keep it up, we’ll have enough for extra toppings on our next pizza night.”
You burst into laughter, the sound surprising even yourself. It came out light and real, and you covered your mouth halfway through. “That’s… honestly? A decent plan.”
“It can be,” he said with a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Until everyone starts trying to play FIFA like it’s an ASMR video.”
“You guys actually whisper?” you asked, incredulous.
“Well, yeah. You told us to.”
“I didn’t think you would listen,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him.
Sunghoon shrugged again, his eyes dropping to the plate in front of him. “Well… they changed my mind, so.”
He didn’t say what he was really thinking.
That it wasn’t Jake or Jay who changed his mind. It was that night. The way your voice had carried through the gap in the balcony, fragile and cracking. The way you’d said I’m alone, Won like it was something that had been sitting inside you for too long, waiting to spill. He’d realised then maybe he wasn’t just an annoying neighbour to you. Maybe he was part of the problem. Maybe he’d been making things harder for someone who was already trying to hold it all together.
“So…” he said quietly, eyes on his plate, “why are you alone during the holidays anyway?”
“Couldn’t afford a train ticket,” you said eventually. “I mean—I could have, technically. But that’d mean I wouldn’t have enough money left to buy ingredients for my assignments the next few weeks.”
Sunghoon winced. “Oof. That’s rough. Must suck.”
You gave a little shrug. “Yeah. It’s fine though.”
He knew it wasn’t.
There was a pause. He glanced sideways at you.
“If you ever… feel like you need someone to talk to,” he started, voice casual, “you could just knock. I have FIFA.”
You snorted. “Oh, like I’d willingly join that mess.”
“It’s actually really fun.”
“How fun can flinging a ball across a screen with your thumbs be?”
“It is!” he defended, turning fully toward you.
You raised a brow. “I tried once with my friend and it was so boring.”
“That’s ‘cause you weren’t playing it right,” he insisted, already standing up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
“I’m not playing FIFA with you.”
“Come onnn,” he whined, grabbing your wrist and tugging you lightly toward his door.
“God, this is gonna be so stupid,” you muttered, dragging your feet even as you followed him out.
Inside his apartment, the lights were warm, the couch sunken in like it had been through a war. You sat reluctantly, tucking your knees up as he handed you the controller.
“Alright,” he said, sliding in beside you. “This is you—Team Two. All you have to do is use the left joystick to move, the right one to look around. This button to pass, this one to shoot.”
You blinked. “So many buttons.”
“It’s easy! Just follow what I say.”
“Okay… so now I just—?” You pressed a button and immediately kicked the ball out of bounds.
“No, no—move left. Left.”
“I am moving left!”
He glanced over. Your tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. He chuckled before he could stop himself, quickly looking away.
Then you screamed, “I DID IT! DID I DO IT?!”
He turned back just in time to see you score.
Sunghoon yelled, jumping up. “Yeah! That was it!”
You stared at the screen, jaw dropping. “Holy shit. I’m amazing.”
He looked at you again, this time longer. Your eyes were glowing, still locked on the TV. Your fingers tapped at the buttons like you already got it down. You bit your lip when you were focused, tongue sticking out just slightly when you were thinking.
And you were cute. So fucking cute.
The match picked up pace. Suddenly it was 2–2, and both of you were leaning in like your lives depended on it. You were yelling at the controller. He was shouting advice. At one point, your knees knocked, but neither of you noticed. The room was loud, just your voices and the music from the game and the way your laughter filled every corner of his flat.
Then it happened.
You scored.
You screamed, controller tossed onto the couch, and before Sunghoon could register what was happening, your arms were around his neck, squeezing him tight as you jumped slightly in place.
“I WON! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”
He froze. Your cheek brushed his jaw, your warmth right up against him. His hands hovered midair like he didn’t know whether to hold you back or not.
And then you let go, plopped back onto the couch, and grabbed the controller again like nothing had happened.
Sunghoon didn’t move.
For the first time in what felt like forever, his heartbeat stuttered. Sped up like it had been woken from a long, indifferent sleep.
He sat there, silent, staring at you as you shouted at your pixelated team.
And all he could think was well that…he hadn’t planned on crushing on the new girl based on one single positive interaction.
God, he was so screwed.
-
The next few days passed in a blur of almost-conversations.
You and Sunghoon didn’t talk much. Not like that night. Just a few polite waves across the hallway, a quiet “hey” if you caught the elevator at the same time. Respectful nods. The occasional awkward glance if your eyes met for too long.
And then Jake and Jay came back.
And of course, Jake being Jake, invited himself into your apartment before you could even say no.
“I missed your cooking while I was gone,” he sighed dramatically, sinking into the dining chair like he’d returned from war.
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” you said, flipping through your assignment folder and squinting at the week’s task. “Because for today’s assignment, I’m supposed to…” you paused. “Make a really mean chicken pot pie.”
Jake’s eyes lit up. He clapped his hands, nearly tipping his chair over. “CHICKEN POT PIE?!”
Before you could even blink, he leapt up, yanked your door open, and sprinted into the hallway.
“JAY! IT’S CHICKEN POT PIE!” he yelled like it was a fire drill.
From across the hall, Jay’s voice rang out. “WHAT?! NO WAY!”
And then—another voice joined them.
A quieter one.
“Chicken pot pie?”
You didn’t even have time to react before you were suddenly hosting three grown men in your kitchen, all leaning over your counter.
“Guys,” you said, elbow-deep in flour. “I can’t focus if you’re all staring at me like that.”
“We’re just excited,” Jake grinned, chin in his hands.
“Well don’t be. I’ve never made this before. It might taste like ass.”
“Your hands are basically blessed by Gordon Ramsay,” Jay declared, grabbing a slice of carrot from the cutting board. “It’s impossible for it to taste like ass.”
You laughed, the sound soft and unexpected even to yourself. “Jungwon used to tell me that all the time.”
“Oh he did?” Jay echoed, voice teasing.
Sunghoon stood a few steps back from the others, arms crossed loosely, leaning against your fridge. He hadn’t said much since stepping into your place, but now he watched the three of you.
The way you smiled when Jay made a joke. The way Jake knew where you kept your mixing bowls. The way your eyes sparkled, just slightly, when you laughed about something from home. The way they got it. The way they knew you.
And the way he didn’t.
Sunghoon couldn’t explain it but it made his stomach twist. Tight and strange and uncomfortable.
And then he heard it again.
Jungwon.
Who the hell was Jungwon?
His name sounded too casual. Too affectionate. The kind of name you didn’t just drop without meaning.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just looked down at your countertop, at the flour dusting your hands and the delicate way your fingers shaped the crust, and all he could think was—
Why the fuck did he care so much?
You moved around your kitchen with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to watch. Sunghoon’s eyes were locked on you, the way your hair swayed behind your back as you leaned forward to stir something in the pot, the way your sleeves were pushed up.
His heart pounded harder than it should’ve. He tried to brush it off. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe it was just the smell of garlic and butter making him lightheaded. That had to be it, right?
Except no.
He hadn’t planned on feeling like this today. Not when he woke up. Not when he brushed his teeth and went on his phone and told himself he’d stay in his apartment. He hadn’t even planned on coming over. And that night the two of you shared noodles? He’d chalked it up to vulnerability. Nighttime feelings. Nothing serious.
But now it was noon. He was awake. Sober. And you were still somehow making his chest tighten just by existing within ten feet of him.
God. He hated having a crush.
He didn’t even realise how lost he looked until Jake spoke up from the side, breaking the spell.
“So, is Jungwon finally coming?”
This guy again.
Sunghoon’s head whipped toward Jake so fast it might’ve snapped his neck.
You perked up at the mention, a smile blooming across your face without even trying. “Yeah! He’s coming in two weeks! I actually told him about you guys. He’s kinda excited to meet you.”
That smile. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t forced. You looked like someone who meant it. Someone who missed this guy. Someone who talked to him often.
Sunghoon clenched his jaw and looked away, grabbing a water bottle off your counter just to do something with his hands. He twisted the cap a little too hard.
He didn’t know who the hell Jungwon was.
But he already didn’t like him.
“He’s coming over?” Jay asked, his mouth still half-full of pie filling.
“Yeah,” you said casually, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you peeked into the oven. “He’s staying at my place for the week he’s here.”
Staying at your place?
Sunghoon blinked.
He looked around your apartment, eyes scanning every corner like they were going to magically reveal a hidden guest room. But there wasn’t one. You lived in a studio. Everything was in one space. Your bed, your desk, your kitchen, your couch. Except… there wasn’t even a real couch. Just a throw-covered loveseat that barely seated two.
No air mattress in sight. No hidden folding cot. No suspicious lumpy bags that might hold a spare futon.
Just one bed.
His chest tightened.
Where the hell was Jungwon gonna sleep? With you?
He picked at the label on his water bottle, teeth grinding quietly as he stared down at the floor, like it held answers. It didn’t.
He wasn’t even involved with you. This shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t bother him.
But it did. In the most uncomfortable, teeth-clenching, mind-racing kind of way.
-
You stood in front of the three boys, arms crossed, heart racing slightly under your apron. The chicken pot pie sat on the table…golden brown crust, just the right amount of bubbling over on the sides, the smell of thyme and butter and garlic filling your apartment.
Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon each took a spoonful at the same time like they’d rehearsed it. You watched them, nervous, scanning their faces.
One by one, their expressions lit up. Jake’s eyes widened, Jay let out a satisfied groan. Well… except Sunghoon. Of course.
He stayed still. Always unreadable. But you caught it. The tiny pause, the way his brows lifted just a fraction. He liked it. He just didn’t show it like the others.
“So—” Jake started.
“Good,” Jay finished, already reaching for more.
Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon. Somehow, his opinion was the one you were waiting on. The one you needed.
“So?” you asked, staring at him.
He blinked. “What?”
“How is it?”
“It’s good,” he said, nodding once, tone flat as ever.
Your smile dropped. You frowned. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
“What? I just said it’s good.”
“No, you said ‘good’ and then frowned and put your spoon down. Usually it’s ‘It’s good,’ then a second bite. Right, boys?”
Jake nodded enthusiastically, chicken still in his mouth. “She’s right.”
“Totally right,” Jay added, already helping himself to more.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. “You’re all being dramatic.”
You scoffed, insulted. “I guess you don’t want seconds then. Tch.”
You clicked your tongue and turned on your heel, storming off toward the kitchen, grumbling under your breath. Your apron fluttered behind you as you moved, and you didn’t look back.
Sunghoon watched your little pout, the way your shoulders stiffened, how you exaggerated every step. He didn’t know why, but he liked your reaction. No, he loved it. He found it ridiculously cute. Too cute, actually. That slight wrinkle in your forehead. The way your voice got higher when you were mad. The tiny stomp in your step.
The moment your back turned, his lips twitched upward.
When lunch ended and the three of them stood by your front door, Jake and Jay turned to hug you dramatically.
“Never move out,” Jake said into your shoulder.
You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that because you get free food.”
“And precisely why we don’t want you to move out,” Jay replied, squeezing you once more before the two of them shuffled out, bickering as they made their way into their apartment across the hall.
Sunghoon lingered. Just behind you.
You turned, raising a brow. “Aren’t you leaving?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He stepped back slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking to the floor before settling back on you. Then he paused. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say.
“The chicken pot pie was good. I think…” he exhaled, voice quieter, “I think it was one of the best things I’ve ever had.”
You blinked, caught off guard.
“It reminded me of home,” he added, eyes still on you now, a little softer than usual. “Not in the way where it’s about the taste or anything… it’s just… you cook like home. If that makes any sense.”
You hadn’t expected that.
Your cheeks flushed immediately. You turned away before he could see it, pretending to fiddle with a dish on the counter, fingers uselessly adjusting an already-clean plate.
“Thank you,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy.
He lingered for a second longer like he wanted to say more. Then he gave a quiet nod and walked out the door.
-
It was raining.
It was only 4 p.m., but the sky had turned an eerie charcoal grey, clouds rolling thick above the city. Thunder cracked so loud you felt it in your chest, and the wind howled between the buildings, slamming against your windows.
You hated this.
You hated how much you still feared storms even at your age. How useless independence felt when you were stuffing tissues in your ears and jamming earmuffs over your head like you were five again. You turned on every single light in your apartment, lamps, fairy lights, even your microwave light and cocooned yourself under your thickest blanket, barely breathing, eyes wide.
Then the whole building shuddered.
The lights flickered.
And then everything went dark.
You screamed.
Your apartment disappeared into a blanket of pitch black, shadows curling up the walls like ink. Your heart pounded. You scrambled up from the couch, tearing off your earmuffs and patting the walls with shaky hands, trying to find a light switch like that would fix anything.
“Shit,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Shit shit shit.”
You fumbled for your phone. A message popped up from your landlord.
“The building is experiencing a temporary blackout due to the storm. Electricity should resume in an hour. Thank you for your patience.”
An hour? Alone? In this? In the dark? Absolutely fucking not.
You jumped at another violent crack of thunder and instantly rushed out into the hallway. Your blanket trailed behind you like a cape. You beelined for the only door you knew.
You knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.
“No time to explain but I’m shitting bricks here,” you said all at once.
It wasn’t Jake or Jay.
It was Sunghoon.
His brows raised. “The thunderstorm?”
You nodded frantically. “Are Jake or Jay here?”
“They’re asleep.” He glanced behind him, then back at you. “But I could… stay with you. If you want. Until it passes.”
You hesitated.
Then thunder cracked again, louder this time, right above your building.
You flinched. “Okay,” you breathed, defeated.
The two of you sat cross-legged on your couch, sharing a single candle as your only source of light. It flickered between you, casting long, warm shadows on the walls.
“Seems like you’re scared of the thunder,” he said gently.
“Well,” you sighed, voice tight. “I’ve been scared of it since I was younger. It just… gets to me.”
He nodded. “It’s okay.”
You noticed it then…the subtle tremble in his shoulders. He was shivering. From the cold, probably. Your heater wasn’t working without electricity, and the apartment was steadily turning into a fridge. You were wrapped up like a burrito, but he’d come in without anything but a hoodie.
Feeling guilty, you shifted toward him and lifted one side of your blanket.
“Uh…” he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was being pranked.
“Relax. I can see you shivering like a dog,” you muttered.
“Oh.” He blinked, then grabbed the other end of the blanket and scooted in beside you.
Now under the same blanket, his body heat pressed faintly against yours. You sat side by side, knees pulled to your chests.
And then, in a whisper, he said, “You know…”
You looked over at him, startled by the sudden softness in his voice.
“I know I’m not as close to you as Jay and Jake are,” he said, eyes trained on the candle, “but… you don’t always have to find them for help.”
You blinked. “Huh?”
“I’m saying…” he sighed, eyes flicking up toward you, and then away again. “Never mind.”
“No, what? Just spit it out.”
He exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to get the words out. “I’m just saying… you could ask me for help too.”
You stared at him, your eyes adjusting to the candlelight flickering between you.
“Oh,” you said softly.
There was a beat of silence. You weren’t really sure what to do with that. But you didn’t want to leave it hanging either.
“I’ll be sure to think of you the next time,” you mumbled, barely louder than the rain still pelting the windows outside.
You felt him nod beside you.
You turned your head slowly, resting your cheek against your knees, eyes drifting toward him. His face was tilted down, lashes long and dark as they blinked now and then, just slow enough for you to notice. His jaw had softened a little. He looked calm, in a way you weren’t used to seeing him.
“Would you rather have a million dollars,” you said suddenly, “or have no problems in the world?”
He blinked, confused for a second, then turned his head toward you. His chin was on his knees now too, and with the two of you curled up in the same blanket, inches apart, it felt almost like whispering under covers at a sleepover.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A good one,” you replied, lips twitching. “So answer it.”
He scoffed a little under his breath. “Uh… maybe no problems in the world?”
“Smart answer. Why?”
He paused, “I think people ruin themselves trying to solve problems that shouldn’t be theirs. If I had no problems, maybe I wouldn’t waste time worrying about all the stuff that doesn’t matter.”
You blinked at him. That was… not the answer you were expecting. It was a good one. Way too good, actually.
“Right,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.
He looked at you for a second longer before his eyes flicked down. “Your turn. Would you rather go back in time or go into the future?”
You puffed your cheeks out, thinking. “Hmm… that’s a toughie.”
Then your eyes widened, the way they always did when you had a lightbulb moment. “Go back in time!”
“Why’s that?”
“So maybe I’d really weigh the pros and cons of moving to a city where I know no one,” you said with a grin, but it faded slightly at the end.
Sunghoon stayed quiet.
“You must really feel alone,” he said.
You blinked, startled. “What?”
“I hear you talking about it sometimes. On your balcony. When you think no one’s listening. You talk about how moving here feels like a mistake.”
You looked away, embarrassed. “It’s not a mistake. I just… miss everything back home.”
“I get it,” he said after a second. “I was like you. Back when I was home, I wanted to leave so badly. Thought being somewhere else would fix everything. But now that I’m here… yeah, I have Jay and Jake, and they’re great, but sometimes I come back to the apartment and everything’s fine and normal and still—I just feel… empty. And I don’t even know why.”
You didn’t say anything for a long time.
You just watched him. His face had turned thoughtful, distant. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere past the flickering candle, past your walls, like he was staring right through the quiet that lived in his chest.
You mumbled, “Well, yeah. But… I also don’t regret it. Not one bit.”
“Really?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I mean—I’m here doing what I love. Not many people get to do that. And I made friends with three incredibly annoying people in this building.”
He turned toward you again, eyes narrowing playfully. “So we’re friends now?”
Your cheeks heated up instantly. You glanced away, pretending to roll your eyes. “Are we not?”
He let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled softly at the back of his throat. “I’m glad you think we are.”
“So,” you said, tilting your head, “does this mean you’ll finally be nice to me now? Or is that too much character development for one night?”
Sunghoon smirked, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint. “You want nice? From me?”
“Yeah. Like a full sentence without sarcasm. I feel like that’s a reward I’ve earned by now.”
“You earned a participation medal at best.”
You laughed, nudging him with your knee. “Unbelievable.”
He was already looking at you again—closer this time.
“Hold on,” he said softly, “you have an eyelash on your cheek.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
Before you could move, he leaned in.
His face hovered inches from yours as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch soft but sure. The pads of his fingers were warm. His eyes, now impossibly close, scanned your face with a kind of quiet focus you hadn’t felt from him before. You swallowed.
Neither of you moved.
Your gaze locked, and the space between you slowly disappeared…inch by inch, breath by breath. It wasn’t planned. It just… happened.
Then suddenly, his lips were on yours.
Then it deepened. His other hand pushed the blanket off his head, dropping behind your neck to pull you in, and your hands found their way to his thighs, then to the curve of his jaw. His lips parted just enough, and your pulse jumped as he moved against you.
His hands slid to your waist. He lifted you slightly and shifted you into his lap in one smooth motion. You were now straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he didn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second.
The kiss grew stronger. He tilted his head, hand moving to your chin to pull you even closer, his mouth parting yours with a low inhale as his tongue brushed against yours.
Your hands moved back down, gripping at the soft cotton of his hoodie, when—
Click.
The lights flickered on.
You both froze.
Your faces were still inches apart.
You slowly pulled back, still on his lap. He blinked, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure what just happened. Like part of him wanted to keep going, and the other part… couldn’t believe you just kissed him like that.
You stared at each other, the silence heavy now.
His hands were still resting lightly on your waist. Yours were still fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Both of you breathless.
“I need to go back home,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but rushed. His eyes darted everywhere except at you.
You blinked. “Right. Of course!” you said quickly, nodding way too fast. “Yeah. No—totally.”
He shifted awkwardly underneath you, face flushing as he cleared his throat and muttered, “Probably… need a pillow or something.”
It took you a second.
Then you saw the way he was subtly covering his lap with the edge of the blanket.
“Oh.” Your voice came out small. You quickly scrambled off his lap, cheeks burning so hot they could’ve powered your apartment during the blackout.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, already halfway to your door.
And then, Sunghoon stormed out of your apartment.
-
It had been a couple of days since you last properly spoke to Sunghoon. Not for lack of trying. You had…more than once. But each time, he’d give you a quick nod, maybe a polite smile if you were lucky, before promptly power-walking away.
Maybe he just wasn’t feeling what you were feeling. Maybe that kiss was a fluke, something in the heat of the moment. Maybe your little new crush was painfully one-sided.
But you pushed it aside. You had bigger things to focus on.
Jungwon was coming today.
You’d spent the entire morning rearranging your apartment, cleaning it from top to bottom, fluffing cushions and spraying perfume not just on yourself but into the air like it could somehow mask how nervous you were. You even did your hair the way he liked it, soft curls and a side part.
And then, there he was.
The door swung open and your best friend stood in the hallway, suitcase in hand and a grin already on his face.
“WON!” you squealed, running up to him and leaping into his arms.
“Hello, idiot,” he said, his voice fond as he hugged you back, lifting you off the ground with ease.
The shout must’ve startled the boys in 3C, because right on cue, the door across the hall creaked open and out came Jake and Jay, both peeking out.
They spotted you clinging to Jungwon like a koala.
You beamed. “Guys! It’s him!”
“The famous Jungwon,” Jay said, nodding in approval as he stepped out.
“And you must be Jake and Jay,” Jungwon said smoothly, setting you down.
Then came the third.
Sunghoon.
He didn’t move from the doorway. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Jungwon turned to him, a friendly smile still on his lips, chuckling. “You must be Sunghoon, then.”
Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What’s so funny?”
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “She just… told me you were like this.”
“Like what?” Sunghoon asked sharply, the scoff nearly audible in his tone.
Jungwon scratched the back of his neck. “Nothing. She just said you were cool,” he said with a shrug, throwing you a teasing look.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes.
You stood there, suddenly awkward, unsure what the hell had crawled up Sunghoon’s ass. The hostility was as thick as the tension in the air and you hadn’t done anything. Not really.
At least you didn’t think you had.
Just stood there, arms crossed, a stiff expression on his face while Jake and Jay welcomed Jungwon like he was already part of the group. Jungwon, ever the social butterfly, fit in easily, throwing a few jokes around, complimenting the apartment despite its questionable decor, and even teasing Jake about the ugly dinosaur pyjamas he was wearing in broad daylight.
But Sunghoon?
He was frowning the entire time.
You couldn’t figure it out. His jaw was tight, his responses were clipped, and every time Jungwon so much as glanced your way, you saw Sunghoon’s eye twitch.
You walked back to your apartment with Jungwon beside you, chatting excitedly about dinner plans and all the places he wanted to visit during his stay. But when you turned back, just for a second, you caught Sunghoon still watching. Still standing in the hallway.
His arms were still crossed.
And he didn’t look away.
-
Sunghoon stood there, arms folded across his chest like they were the only things keeping him together. He stared ahead blankly, jaw tight, doing everything in his power not to glare a hole through the wall. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling.
Sure, he knew he had a crush on you. He’d known since the chicken pot pie, probably. Or maybe since you wrapped that blanket around his shoulders. Or maybe long before that. But what he didn’t know was who the fuck Jungwon was, and why he was walking into your apartment.
“Dude,” Jake muttered, throwing him a sideways look. “You could’ve at least smiled.”
“I did,” Sunghoon growled, not bothering to hide his scowl.
Jay snorted. “That was barely a smile. You looked like you were in the middle of passing a kidney stone.”
“Why do I even have to be nice?” Sunghoon snapped. “I don’t know him.”
“Because your crush’s boyfriend just came into town,” Jake replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sunghoon's head snapped to him so fast you’d think he got whiplash. “Boyfriend?”
Jay raised a brow. “Not denying the crush though.”
Sunghoon ignored him. “Let me ask you again. Boyfriend?”
Jake shrugged. “I mean… yeah, I guess?”
“What the fuck do you mean you guess?” Sunghoon hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “He can’t be her boyfriend.”
“But he is,” Jay said with a shrug and an infuriatingly smug smile.
“No, he’s not. He can’t be. Because she and I…” he paused, realising too late what was about to fall out of his mouth. “…kissed. Three nights ago.”
Jake’s mouth dropped open. Jay blinked.
“I’m sorry, what?” Jake finally blurted.
“Nothing,” Sunghoon muttered quickly, suddenly desperate to eat his words.
“You can’t say nothing when you just said everything!” Jake shouted, grabbing Sunghoon’s shoulders and shaking him.
“Tell us right now!” Jay begged dramatically, gripping his own hair.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, flustered. “I—we—kissed. That’s it.”
Jay blinked. “You know we were kidding about the boyfriend thing, right?”
Jake grinned. “Jungwon’s just her best friend.”
“We just wanted to see if you’d admit you liked her,” Jay added, eyes sparkling with way too much joy. “Which you did.”
“No, I didn’t,” Sunghoon argued weakly. “I just said we kissed.”
“Okay, Mr Visceral Reaction every time we mention Jungwon,” Jake teased.
Jay smirked. “Say it. Say you like her.”
Sunghoon groaned, eyes shut tight as if the ceiling could swallow him whole. Then, finally—quietly, begrudgingly—
“Okay. So what if I like her?”
Jay and Jake immediately turned to each other with identical gasps, smacking each other’s arms excitedly.
“Oh my god, he admitted it,” Jay whispered dramatically.
Jake clutched his chest. “It’s happening.”
“You guys are disgusting,” Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And if you keep acting like this, I’m never telling you anything again.”
“Okay, okay.” Jake raised both hands, trying to suppress a grin. “We’ll behave.”
“BUT I’M SO EXCITED,” Jay squealed.
Jake smacked him on the shoulder. “Starting now.”
Jay nodded solemnly, rubbing his arm. “Sorry. That one slipped.”
Sunghoon sighed and leaned against the counter, arms crossed again. “I started liking her last month… when you guys went back home for the week. She cooked me stir-fried noodles, and we ate together. Played FIFA. I don’t know. I just… developed a crush on her.”
“That’s so cute,” Jay and Jake said in unison, stars in their eyes.
“Seriously, can the two of you act normal for like three minutes?”
Jake shrugged, still smiling. “I just didn’t expect you to have a girlfriend before me.”
Jay patted his shoulder. “You’ll get there, buddy.”
Jake tilted his head. “You think?”
“Yeah, you have nice eyes. Great personality.”
Jake beamed. “That’s so kind.”
“Can we please get back to my problem for like a minute?” Sunghoon cut in, glaring at both of them.
“Oh. Right.”
Jay cleared his throat and finally looked serious. “Look. We like her. She’s hilarious, and she makes good fucking food. And let’s be real, you’ve never liked anyone. We’ve been trying to get you to double date with us for years and you just stare at your phone all the time. But with her? You’re like... a guy with actual feelings.”
“But now I’m losing to Jung… whatever his name is.” Sunghoon sighed.
“Jungwon,” Jake said. “And no, you’re not.”
“How do you know she doesn’t like him?” Sunghoon muttered, staring down at the floor.
“Because,” Jay said, “if she did, she wouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Unless she’s indecisive or confused or something. I don’t know.” Sunghoon exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I was just… a moment. And he’s her person.”
Jake shook his head. “I’m telling you—just talk to her.”
“Yeah,” Jay added. “Before you spiral even harder and start writing love songs about her. But if you do, I haved like a couple of guitars you could borrow.”
Sunghoon rolled his eyes. But somewhere, deep down… a part of him hoped they were right.
-
You were pacing back and forth on your cheap IKEA rug, while Jungwon was laid out dramatically on your bed, arms folded behind his head, thoroughly enjoying the show.
“I’m telling you, he’s avoiding me,” you snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at no one in particular. “We kissed—KISSED, Jungwon—and now he won’t even look at me! I wave, he nods. I say hi, he nods. I breathe in his direction, he—guess what—nods!”
Jungwon hummed, annoyingly calm. “Maybe he’s nervous. Or maybe he wants you to go to him.”
“I do go to him! And then he speed-walks away like I’m the plague!” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I’m gonna lose it.”
“Maybe…” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “you’re just a shit kisser.”
You whipped around and chucked a throw pillow directly at his smug face.
“Asshole.”
He caught it with a grin, clutching it to his chest dramatically. “I’m just saying. Maybe you scared him off.”
“You’re lucky I haven’t strangled you with this blanket,” you muttered, grabbing another pillow just in case.
Jungwon sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You know, sometimes I forget we grew up together because you’re so unpredictable now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He snorted. “You used to be fearless. Remember that Heeseung guy you had a crush on in middle school?”
You blinked. “What about him?”
“You were six, and you walked up to him at recess, said ‘I like your lunchbox,’ then kissed his cheek and ran off.”
“Ah,” you said flatly, “the good old days. That girl’s dead now.”
“She’s not dead,” Jungwon argued, grabbing your wrists and tugging you to sit beside him on the bed. “She’s just… overthinking everything. Look, if Sunghoon doesn’t like you—whatever. But if he does? You’re missing out just because you’re too chicken to tell him.”
You glared. “I hate it when you make sense.”
“I know.” He grinned. “It’s my worst trait.”
“I just—” you exhaled, flopping back beside him. “What if it ruins everything? We literally just got closer. What if I say something and it all goes to shit?”
“Okay, counter-offer.” He sat up straighter. “You tell him, or I will. I will walk down the hallway, knock on his door, and go ‘Hi, my best friend has feelings for you, she also has performance anxiety but can cook a great bowl of chicken noodle soup.’”
“You wouldn’t,” you hissed, swatting at his arm.
“Then do it yourself!” he laughed, dodging your attacks. “Before I start printing flyers and pasting them in the apartment lobby.”
God. Why did he always have to be right?
“Fine.”
Your hand was already on the doorknob, breath caught in your throat, just about to leave when the door across from yours had swung open at the exact same time.
And there he was.
Sunghoon.
You both froze, hands still gripping the doorknobs, blinking.
You cleared your throat first. “Sunghoon.”
He blinked like he hadn’t already been staring. “What?”
You squinted. “Is that the only word you know how to say when I call your name?”
He paused. “Sorry.”
You opened your mouth to say something else but were rudely interrupted by muffled snorts from behind Sunghoon. Jay and Jake’s heads popped out from their doorway like nosy meerkats.
“Hoon,” Jay said in a loud, exaggerated voice, “we need more eggs.”
“Desperately,” Jake added, nodding like this was a national emergency. “Go to the store.”
Then Jungwon peeked out from behind you with an equally suspicious grin. “Oh, and while you’re there, can you grab some ice cream too?”
You and Sunghoon looked at each other.
“What is happening right now,” you said flatly.
Before either of you could respond, four hands shoved the both of you toward the elevator. You stumbled in, the doors sliding shut just as Jay yelled out, “Don’t come back without snacks!”
The elevator stopped at your floor.
Your shoulders brushed as you stood side by side, awkwardly watching the floor numbers light up.
Then, finally, you broke it. “About that day—”
Sunghoon shook his head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell Jungwon.”
You blinked. “What do you mean you won’t tell Jungwon?”
He looked away. “Well, aren’t you like… crushing on him? I wouldn’t want what we did to, you know… ruin your chances or something.”
Your entire face scrunched up. “Won and I? What? Ew. God, no. We’re friends. We grew up together. Thinking about him that way would be like incest or something.”
And just like that, Sunghoon felt like he’d been hit by a shooting star and given a second chance at life. His heart did a full backflip. You were single. You were available.
He couldn’t help it. He smiled.
“Why do you suddenly look so happy?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I’m not.”
“You’re literally smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“We’ve hung out a couple of times and if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen you smile this—”
“Cut it out.” He tried to brush it off, biting back the grin. “I’m just glad.”
“Glad about?”
“Glad that I didn’t ruin your chances,” he said nonchalantly, looking up like he hadn’t just panicked thirty seconds ago.
“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, the golden-orange glow of the sunset casting warmth across his cheekbones. He was handsome. Frustratingly so. “Well… because I actually like this other guy.”
Sunghoon’s smile faltered.
“I haven’t known him that long,” you continued casually, “but he seems cool. I don’t really know much about him yet.”
“That’s… nice.” Sunghoon turned away quickly, jaw tight. He was definitely grimacing. Please don’t let her see that I’m grimacing, he begged internally.
“Yeah, he’s really tall. Really handsome, too.”
“That’s just…” he exhaled. “Great.”
“He doesn’t seem super friendly but he has a big heart. Even if he tries really hard not to show it.”
“Seems like a swell fuckin’ guy,” he muttered bitterly.
“It’s a pity though,” you sighed dramatically, still watching him. “I wish I could get to know him better.”
“Well… anyone’s lucky to get to know you.” He tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I know I am.”
You tilted your head. “Not to mention… he lives really close to me.”
Sunghoon’s eyes darted to you. “He does?”
“Mhm.” You nodded, heartbeat accelerating.
“Like how close?”
You took a slow step toward him. “Like… just across the hall close.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “That close.”
Silence settled in the small elevator. You both just stood there, not looking at each other, tension hanging in the air like humidity.
Then, out of nowhere—
“I’m just saying,” Sunghoon said, dead serious, “but Jake sleeps with the lights on and Jay doesn’t wash his hair as often as you think he does.”
You blinked. “Huh?”
“I sleep normal,” he added quickly. “I wash my hair. I do proper haircare—shampoo, conditioner, mask, mist. I could do your routine too. For you. If you want.”
You stared.
“I can’t cook, but I’ll try. I can figure skate. I can spin twice in the air. Jay and Jake? Not even one spin. Jay can play guitar, Jake can sing but I can spin, okay? Without getting dizzy too.”
“Sunghoon.”
“And those idiots never clean up after eating your food. Jay doesn’t use coasters. Jake never makes his bed.”
“SUNGHOON!”
He looked at you, breathless. “What?”
You stepped forward. Slowly. Then, you mumbled, “It’s you.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I like you.”
And for once, Park Sunghoon had absolutely nothing to say.
“Okay,” he said. “Cool. Okay. I—wow. Okay.”
You raised a brow. “That’s it?”
He nodded dumbly. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just—holy shit. You like me.”
You smirked, the smile slowly stretching across your face. “Yes. I like you.”
The elevator dinged. Neither of you moved.
He looked at you again, still dazed. “Hold on, I kinda need a minute.”
You both stepped out into the empty lobby. The sun outside had just dipped below the skyline, casting a pinkish-orange glow through the glass doors. The streetlights flickered on. But you waited.
“It’s been a minute,” you said.
“I know,” he exhaled, hand raking through his hair. “But you like me back, so I kinda need, like… a long minute.”
“Back?” You grinned, the corners of your mouth lifting all the way to your eyes. “So you like me too?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I thought it was obvious from the, uh… word vomit.”
“Well yeah,” you shrugged. “But I didn’t want to assume. Didn’t wanna be narcissistic.”
“I think even if you were,” he muttered, “I’d still think you were pretty cute.”
You blinked. “Did you just—”
“Gross, I know,” he said quickly, face flushing. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
You laughed. “Yeah. But you kinda can’t take it back now.”
“Fine,” he said, pretending to groan. “You’re cute. Ugh. I said it again.”
-
A MONTH LATER
Jay and Jake found it fundamentally unfair. They were the ones who got close to you first. They were the ones who complimented you, made you laugh, showed up when you needed help. They loved you first or at least, that’s what they told themselves. But here you were, doors locked for the first time in three months, cooking a full-course meal for Sunghoon to celebrate your one-month anniversary.
“You’re not allowed to come,” Sunghoon told them flatly before slamming the door shut.
“But—!” they shouted in unison, already mourning the steak they wouldn’t get to taste.
Word on the hallway was that you were cooking the perfect medium-rare T-bone steak, paired with your signature brown sauce and a vegetable medley so crunchy and flavourful. Meanwhile, Jay and Jake sat hunched on the couch, scrolling through a food delivery app.
“Isn’t it funny,” Jake said, arms folded, “how we were the ones who befriended her first, and now we’re stuck with Burger King?”
“Life’s unfair, bud.”
Back in your apartment, things were a little more romantic. You’d decorated with fairy lights and candles, the room dimly lit. You were still being frugal, splitting every cost you could. But you’d managed to steal two T-bone steaks from the diner you part-timed at.
Sunghoon showed up in a black and white tuxedo, looking like he’d taken the prom theme you had placed as a joke a little too seriously.
“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.
“And you look absolutely handsome,” you grinned.
He walked over to the table and took in the spread. “Okay, what do we have?”
“I made the steaks, obviously, and then there’s the vegetable medley… and your favourite—mashed potatoes,” you giggled.
Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile. “How did I get so lucky?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know either.”
He laughed. “The guys are pissed, by the way. You made me all this, and they’re over there with cold fries.”
“What?” you said, surprised. “I made them something too! Don’t worry.”
“You did?” he raised a brow.
“I had a feeling they’d be hungry if you were over here.”
“Babe, you didn’t have to do that. They’re grown men.”
“Yeah, but technically my assignment this week was pasta and I have too many leftovers.”
“They’re spoiled by you.”
“And so are you.”
“True, but I’m your boyfriend. They’re just two annoying shitheads constantly trying to butt in.”
“I’ll be quick. I’ll just drop the dish off and come back.”
“No,” he said, standing. “I’ll do it. You stay here.”
He kissed your forehead, grabbing the lasagna you’d tucked into the fridge. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”
“He walked across the hall and opened the door to Unit 3C.
Inside, Jay was mid-rant. “I just don’t get it. Sunghoon isn’t even that hot.”
“I mean, he is,” Jake added, “but she deserves better, you know?”
Sunghoon cleared his throat. “I can hear you two idiots.”
They both froze, turning around sheepishly. “We were just joking. We love you, man.”
He held up the dish. “And to think I came here bearing gifts from my girlfriend.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait—is that lasagna?”
“She felt bad we were eating good without you, so she made you dinner.”
“Oh my god,” Jay gasped. “Sunghoon, I don’t mean to be pushy, but please marry her.”
“I can’t,” Sunghoon muttered. “Not when you two are constantly inserting yourselves into my relationship.”
“Okay, okay, we’ll back off. Just—can we have the lasagna?”
“And can you tell her we love her?”
“I am not telling my girlfriend you love her,” Sunghoon snapped. “I’ve barely worked up the nerve to tell her that myself.”
“Wait,” Jake said suddenly, “you haven’t told her you love her yet?”
“It’s only been a month.”
“So… you don’t love her?”
“I do,” Sunghoon replied, almost too quickly. “I just don’t want to come on too strong if she’s not ready.”
Jay and Jake shared a glance before shrugging.
“What?” Sunghoon asked, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Jake cleared his throat. “It’s just… she already said it.”
Sunghoon looked up. “What?”
“Yeah,” Jake replied casually. “You texted her about picking up those heat packs for her cramps, and she went all soft and whispered, ‘God, I love him so much.’ Her words. Not mine.”
Sunghoon stood frozen in the doorway, the dish in his hands suddenly weightless.
You loved him.
“So… you’re saying I should tell her?” he asked, voice quiet, almost unsure.
Jay and Jake both nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Especially if it makes her our sister-in-law,” Jay added, grinning.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “God, the two of you can be so annoying.”
“But you still love us,” Jay shrugged. “So what’s the point of complaining?”
He hated that Jay was right.
Back in your apartment, Sunghoon sat across from you, completely transfixed. You were dressed in a soft pink satin dress that shimmered every time you moved. It hugged your shoulders delicately, the neckline simple, elegant. Your hair was curled softly, pinned loosely on one side with a vintage clip, and your lips were glossed just enough to make him stare longer than he should’ve.
And God, you looked so beautiful.
He tried to pay attention. He really did. But his heart was too loud, his thoughts too full. How was he supposed to say it?
Sunghoon had never told anyone he loved them before. Not seriously. Maybe to his mom years ago, right before he left for the city. But this? This felt entirely new.
Because sitting in front of him was someone who made every quiet part of his life feel loud again. You filled in the spaces he didn’t even know were missing. You made his apartment feel less cold, his world a little less grey. And the way he loved you—God, it wasn’t something small. It wasn’t a flicker or a passing crush. It was all-consuming and terrifying and the best damn thing he’d ever felt.
He loved you like it was muscle memory. Like even if he forgot everything else, his hands would still reach for yours and only yours.
“Hoonie,” you interrupted gently, frowning. “You’re not listening.”
He blinked back into focus. “Sorry,” he murmured, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was just thinking about something.”
“What?” you looked up at him, ur big eyes shining.
Sunghoon unknowingly smiled, his eyes dripping with honey, god he loved you. He wanted to say that. So badly.
“I…I just–uh–feel…that,” His voice trailed off. “You look really beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do. But especially tonight.” He hesitated, the words stuck behind his teeth.
You smiled. “Thank you. You look very handsome too.”
-
Later that night, the two of you were in Sunghoon’s apartment along with Jay and Jake for the usual game night.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your prom-night dress bunched awkwardly around your knees, mascara slightly smudged from earlier laughter, hair pinned half-up. Sunghoon sat slouched in the beanbag beside you, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration. Jake was lying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air, and Jay had somehow made himself horizontal on the couch.
You and Jake were a team. Sunghoon and Jay were not handling that well.
“Revive me!” Sunghoon yelled.
Jay shouted back, “I’m busy trying not to die, dumbass!”
Button mashing intensified. Trash talk flew across the room.
“VICTORY!” Jake screamed, leaping up like a madman.
You followed suit, springing to your feet and clambering up onto the coffee table in your dress. “GET WRECKED, LOSERS!” you yelled, pointing dramatically at Sunghoon. “THAT’S RIGHT, LOSERS!”
Jake joined you on the table, doing a badly timed robot dance. The two of you jumped in sync, yelling in triumph, while Jay groaned into a throw pillow and Sunghoon watched with a hand covering his mouth, half to hide his smile, half to suppress a laugh.
“You’re all bark, no bite!” you called, face flushed, hair falling loose. “Your character died fourteen times, Hoonie.”
“I let you win!” he shot back, grinning as he sat up straighter. “I was being a gentleman.”
“Sure,” you scoffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “Real chivalrous of you, sir died-14-fucking-times.”
He chuckled under his breath, eyes lingering on you for a second longer than usual. Then, without a word, he stood and walked out of the room.
You blinked. That was...odd.
You gave Jake a gentle shove off the table and followed Sunghoon into the hallway. He was pacing outside, one hand in his hair, the other fiddling with the watch on his wrist.
“Hoon?” you asked, stepping out and gently closing the door behind you.
He jumped slightly, turning toward you. “You scared me.”
“You okay? You just left so sudden…”
“I—uh—yeah. I was just trying to figure out how to say something.”
You tilted your head, arms crossing over your chest. “Say what?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled with a shrug.
Your expression softened. “Are you mad at me?” You sighed. Maybe your little victory dance had been a bit much. “Hoonie?”
“No, baby, I could never be mad at you,” he said quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just…”
You stepped closer, teasing lightly, “Do you want me to redo my victory dance? I could. You just have to beatbox, and I’ll take it from there.”
That made him laugh.
“Come on,” you grinned, starting to move your body in the most ridiculous way. “I’m pretty sure I should’ve been a dancer instead of a chef.”
He laughed again, this time louder and then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.
“Oh my god, I love you.”
You blinked. Your smile faded. Your brain, for one impossible second, completely short-circuited.
“Did you just say you love me?” you asked, heart hammering.
His eyes widened in sheer panic. “No?”
“I heard it.”
“You misheard.”
“Oh my god,” you gasped, practically vibrating. “You love me. You love me!”
“Fine!” he burst out, throwing his hands up like he was under arrest. “I do! I love you, okay?”
You smiled, “You do?”
“Of course! I love the way you talk too fast when you’re excited. I love how you make my idiot friends feel like they matter. I love that you make me feel whole. That when I’m with you, I don’t feel hollow anymore. You… you make me feel like I’m not empty.”
You grinned so wide it hurt. “That’s because you’re not.”
“I used to be,” he said helplessly, gesturing vaguely like he was mourning his past self. “I was mysterious. Brooding. Sexy, even. And now? Now I smile at cat videos you send me on TikTok. Look what you’ve done to me. This is all your fault.”
You scoffed, “My fault?”
“Yes! Who else could it be?” he said, breathless, like the truth had been waiting at the edge of his tongue for too long. “You walk into my life with that stupidly perfect smile, that laugh that makes everything feel lighter, those eyes that somehow hold the whole damn sky and now I’ve got feelings. Big ones.”
He took a shaky breath, pausing for a minute.
“I used to think I was fine on my own. But now? I get out of bed just because I know I might see you. I hear your knock and my whole day lights up. For the first time, I feel like I know what living really means. It’s you. Loving you. That’s it.”
You leaned in and kissed him right in the middle of his rant.
He blinked, dazed.
“You sure talk a lot for someone who usually says nothing,” you murmured, forehead resting against his.
“I do it when I’m nervous,” Sunghoon whispered, and then kissed you again.
“I find it cute,” you mumbled between kisses.
Sunghoon grinned into the next kiss, backing you up step by step toward your apartment door, his hands finding your waist. “God,” kiss “I love you,” another kiss “so much.”
You let out a breathless laugh. “You’re very handsy for someone who claimed to be brooding and mysteriou.”
“I told you,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw as he reached behind you, fumbling for the door handle, “you ruined me.”
Your back hit the door with a thud. He fumbled with the knob like he was drunk on you, eventually pushing it open and guiding you inside.
He kicked the door shut with the back of his foot.
You were still laughing into his kiss. He walked you backward until your knees hit the bed and you dropped onto it with a squeak.
He climbed over you, hands on either side of your waist, face flushed, heart in his throat.
“I fucking love you,” he said again, like it wasn’t real until he repeated it.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes sparkling. “I love you too.”
➜ summary: you're certain heeseung sees you as a little sister but tonight that was going to change
pairing: heeseung x f!reader, wc: 6.2k words , genre: romcom, slice of life w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
a/n: hi friends! not my usual long very plot filled story...but here's a short little fic as an apology for all the wait!
Heeseung was only two years older than you, but somehow those two years felt like a lifetime. Probably a whole age gap he invented in his head. Enough that the only way he ever looked at you was like you were a little child who needed to be spoon-fed.
But you didn’t want that. What you wanted was for him to look at you like a woman.
“Hee,” you whispered, tapping his shoulder to get his attention.
He was typing away on his laptop, completely absorbed in whatever assignment he was finishing. You sat behind him because, of course, all the paired seats in the library were taken, and the only space left was this cramped single desk.
He didn’t fully turn around, just leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its hind legs so you could barely see his side profile, his cheek poking out just a little, the corner rounding when he finally glanced back at you.
“Yes, cutie?”
God. That nickname.
In any other universe, maybe it would’ve been heart-fluttering. But not here. Not when all you wanted was for him to find you attractive. Appealing. Someone he couldn’t just pat on the head and send home before dinner.
You wanted him to see you as grown.
You sighed softly. “I’m stuck on question three.”
Which, unfortunately, only strengthened his entire argument that you were ‘young’ and ‘naive.’ The truth was humiliating: you were falling behind in the Year 1 accounting module every business major seemed to breeze through, and in a moment of desperation, you had shamefully begged Heeseung to tutor you.
Heeseung turned his chair fully this time, and your heart tripped over itself. He slipped his headphones down from his ears to his neck, eyes dropping to your worksheet with that annoyingly calm focus of his.
“What’s question three?” he asked, leaning closer.
You angled the paper toward him.
“Calculate the depreciation expense for Year 1 and prepare the journal entry for BeLift Enterprise,” he read, nodding slowly. He bit the end of his pencil, a habit that really shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was, before circling a few key words and launching into the explanation. His voice dropped into that calm, patient tone he only used when tutoring you, and he sketched out the steps neatly on your worksheet.
At one point, he looked up and there it was again. That soft, too-gentle look. Like you were a tiny baby bird he had to protect.
“So, do you get it?” he asked.
Your eyes widened. Oh right. You were supposed to be listening to his explanation, not stare his plump lips wondering how it’d feel on yours–
You shook your head, groaning. “Uh…”
“You weren’t listening, weren’t you?” he said, knocking your forehead with the pencil before laughing, that warm, quiet laugh he only ever seemed to give you.
You glared, rubbing your forehead, but your cheeks had already betrayed you, heating up under his teasing. You wished he’d stop treating you like all you were was cute…
Time passed, and soon the third question was done. Before you could even pack up, Heeseung had already slung your backpack over his shoulder, walking beside you down the campus pathway.
“I told you I can carry it myself,” you grumbled.
“You have like three accounting books in here. Shit’s heavy,” he said, effortlessly adjusting the strap. “Consider yourself lucky. I wish I had this—an attractive guy carrying my books for me.”
“You had Jongseong,” you giggled.
“He only carried my books that one month because the dumbass lost a bet.” Heeseung laughed, shaking his head.
You scoffed and were about to say something else when two older girls from Heeseung’s year stepped right in front of him.
“Hey, Heeseung,” one of them said, flipping her hair. Both of them looked nothing like you. Sure, they were only two years older, but somehow they felt like actual adults. A thousand miles ahead of your tiny first-year existence.
You swallowed without meaning to.
“Is this your little sister?” one of them asked, glancing at you briefly.
Heeseung shook his head. “A friend,” he replied simply.
“Cute,” they said in unison, giggling at each other before turning their attention back to him. “You going to the party tonight?”
“Jake’s?” Heeseung scratched the back of his head.
They nodded eagerly. “Heard Beomgyu’s gonna be there. We figured you’d be too.”
He glanced at you. Something unreadable flickered across his face before he turned back. “Don’t really feel like a party today.”
Your stomach twisted.
Tonight was movie night: silly pajamas, popcorn, and the movie you’d been begging him to watch for months. Just the two of you. It was supposed to feel fun.
Now it just felt like you had trapped him at home with you.
“Oh, boo you, Hee,” one of them pouted.
He laughed lightly. “I’ll catch you guys tomorrow in class.”
“Bye, handsome,” they giggled as they walked away.
The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable just… confusing. You walked along the curb, arms stretched out to balance while Heeseung held your left forearm so you wouldn’t fall off.
“You know you could’ve just gone to the party,” you said under your breath, almost tripping.
“And miss out on Mark Ruffalo as a heartthrob? No thank you,” he laughed, gripping onto your arms tighter.
“You clearly wanted to go.”
He looked over at you. “Who said I did?”
“Those two girls were pretty. Going to a party like that—wouldn’t it be fun?” You shrugged. “I don’t know. For seniors like you.”
Heeseung stopped walking.
You turned to face him, heart suddenly thumping too loud.
He sighed. “What’s this about?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly. You couldn’t tell him the truth, that seeing him with girls who seemed older, braver, more… womanly than you made your chest burn. That you were jealous. That you hated feeling small next to them.
“Just… I’d feel bad if you were missing out on a party because I forced you to watch an iconic movie. That’s all,” you added, weakly.
“Trust me,” he said, adjusting your backpack higher on his shoulder. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Booze. Girls. Dudes. Grinding. I’m better off at home under a blanket with you, watching a good movie, eating popcorn, and maybe—”
You stopped listening after that.
Your mind, traitorous as always, replayed everything, the girls, their confidence, how young you sounded saying begging Heeseung to watch a dumb movie with you, how Heeseung probably saw you as something soft and harmless. A child.
A little sister.
The thought made your stomach flip.
“What if I wanted to go to the party?” you blurted out.
Heesesung raised a brow. “You are not going to a senior party.”
You frowned. “Why not? My friends go all the time.”
“Your friends? Sure. You? No.” He said, deadpan.
“What? Why not?”
He sighed. “Because you’re not going to a senior party. Especially not one hosted by that idiot maniac Jake Sim. It gets crazy. And I know you. You’d hate it the moment you walked in.”
“I’m not a child, Hee.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You don’t have to.” You crossed your arms. “You treat me like one.”
Heeseung opened his mouth but nothing came out. His jaw worked, his eyes softened, and suddenly he looked like he was fighting himself.
“I’m not gonna stop you. I don’t have the right to,” he finally said, voice low. “But it just seems like a bad idea.”
That made your chest sting in a weird, unwelcome way.
“Fine then, glad you know that you aren’t the boss of me.” you snapped, “I’ll go get ready right now.”
You stormed off before he could say another word.
Your room looked like a tornado had passed through.
Every outfit you usually wore, comfy sweaters, oversized tees, soft colours, were thrown across your bed in a rejected pile. You stood in front of the mirror, pulling at the hem of the tight black dress you’d dug out of the back of your closet. You barely recognized yourself.
You did your makeup differently, not the usual dainty look but something a little darker, sharper, a little messy but intentionally messy. You curled your hair in a style you’d never actually tried outside your bedroom. Each step felt like trying on a costume.
You wanted to look grown.
Preferably someone Heeseung couldn’t brush off with a forehead knock and a “dumbo.”
But staring at yourself now, your chest tightened. You didn’t know if you looked mature… or if you looked like a kid trying way too hard.
Still, you forced a smile. Tonight, you were going to have fun. You were going to dance, drink something fruity and disgusting, talk to strangers, pretend you weren’t thinking about Heeseung.
You lifted your phone.
“Won?” you called out.
“What?” Jungwon muttered, mouth clearly full of something. You could practically hear cheese stretching across his molars.
“You have to go to Jake’s party with me.”
“Gross,” Jungwon groaned immediately. “A senior party? Hosted by Jake? Those go insane. I am not going to waste my night on a hellish experience.”
“Come on, please? I made this big thing about being old enough to go to the party with Heeseung—”
“Heeseung?” Jungwon choked. “God, you’re even stupider than Jay.”
“What the he–” you shouted.
“Look, I don’t wanna go to a stupid party,” he complained. “I have, like, a whole pizza here and I’m on season two of—”
“PLEASE?” you practically wailed. “I’LL DO YOUR ACCOUNTING HOMEWORK FOR A WEEK.”
Silence.
Then Jungwon exhaled the most defeated sigh you’d ever heard.
“Fine. I’ll see you there.”
–
Heeseung shouldn’t be this worried. He kept telling himself that, but it didn’t bring him any comfort. He never meant to make you feel like a child. He never meant to make you feel small. The truth was embarrassingly simple. He liked you so much that he got protective without thinking, and sometimes it came out in ways you misunderstood. He hated that he’d upset you. He hated even more that he didn’t know how to fix it without revealing too much.
His heart thudded faster as he imagined everything that could be happening at Jake’s party. Everyone knew what those parties were like. He’d been to enough of them to know that nothing good ever happened after midnight, and even less good happened once the alcohol started flowing. You didn’t belong in that kind of environment. You weren’t built for it in the way other people were. You were soft and earnest and easily flustered. The thought of you surrounded by drunk seniors made something inside him tighten with frustration and fear.
But maybe you were.
Back home, still wearing the matching pyjamas you’d bought for both of you, Heeseung felt a strange weight sink into his stomach. He was supposed to be angry. He was supposed to be sitting on the couch with you, under a blanket, watching 13 Going on 30 like you’d planned. Maybe you’d lean against him halfway through. Maybe he’d find the courage to hold your hand. It was supposed to be simple and warm and comforting.
But none of that was happening.
Because instead of walking into the living room wearing your silly heart-pattern pyjamas, you’d stormed off and posted an Instagram story with Jungwon. In the tiniest black dress he’d ever seen you wear. It wasn’t even a dress he knew you owned. And the worst part was the way you looked in it. He hated admitting it, even to himself, but you looked incredible. And it felt like you were doing it to spite him. Like you wanted to prove how grown you were. Like you were pushing him to react.
If he thought you looked good, he couldn't imagine how many men were trying to hit on you right now. The jealousy almost made him lightheaded. This wasn’t about protecting you anymore. This was pure, unfiltered anger and jealousy, and he could feel it pulsing under his skin.
He began pacing the length of his room, running a hand through his hair over and over again. Should he go to the party? Would it be too obvious if he showed up? Would everyone know exactly how he felt about you the moment he set foot inside?
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. Jungwon.
He answered quickly. “Won?”
“Get to the party already,” Jungwon said, sounding bored and slightly annoyed.
“What?”
“I don’t need to be there to know your dumbass is pacing back and forth wondering if you should save her. Which, by the way, you should.”
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
“Yes. But I’m not. God, she’s dancing the robot at a senior party.”
“The robot?” Heeseung felt a laugh escape before he could stop it.
“Yes, the robot. She’s basically male repellent right now.”
“How’s no one finding that adorable?” Heeseung asked without thinking.
“Because they’re normal? Also, I don’t get why the two of you can’t just tell each other you like one another. It’s pissing me off.”
Heeseung let out a slow sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, uncomplicate it and bring her home. She’s ruining my reputation as the cool, nonchalant first year. She’s literally destroying it.”
“What’s she doing now?”
“She’s moved on to the shuffle. Please get here. People are staring. I can’t be associated with this.”
Heeseung was already grabbing his jacket and keys. “On my way.”
–
You were doing the robot in the middle of Jake’s overcrowded living room. The music was loud, the lights were dim, and half the people around you were too drunk to care that you were dancing like a malfunctioning microwave.
You were so deep into your little performance that you didn’t notice the tall guy watching you from across the room until he was suddenly right in front of you. Sunghoon, a senior you had only heard about in whispers, stood there. You were pretty sure he was friends with Heeseung but if you were being honest, you only ever talked to Jongseong since he seemed harmless.
“Hey,” he said, “you’re Heeseung’s little sister, right?”
You froze. Little sister. Was that what everyone thought you were now? His adorable background character?
“No,” you said, frowning. “We’re not related. Not even close. Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“It’s just that you’re cute, and the way he is with you kind of screams protective big brother. It’s nothing offensive.”
“Well it’s offensive to me,” you muttered, blowing your bangs out of your face dramatically. “I’m in college. Not kindergarten.”
Sunghoon chuckled. “It’s part of your charm, isn’t it?”
“Tell me something, Mister… uh…”
“Sunghoon,” he supplied.
Maybe it was your third shot of vodka, or maybe it was simply the exhaustion of pretending you were fine, but your honesty was starting to slip out. Before you knew it, you were spilling practically everything to Sunghoon, a man you had met ten minutes ago.
“Mr. Sunghoon,” you repeated, pointing at him like you were about to present a PowerPoint in front of the class. “Would you like it if the one person you wanted to see you as a woman—”
“I’m a dude,” he interrupted gently.
“Not the point,” you snapped, waving him off. “Would you like it if the person you liked saw you as a child? Imagine you had the fattest crush on some older lady, and she kept patting your head like, ‘aww, you’re a little bit young for me, Sunghoon.’”
“Well—”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t even answer—”
“I know. I just know I’m right.” You nodded to yourself like you were closing arguments in a courtroom and had already convinced the jury. “That’s what Heeseung is to me.”
Sunghoon stared at you for a moment before letting out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough. So you’re saying I have no shot then?”
“What?” You blinked at him, caught completely off guard.
Sunghoon shrugged in the most casual, attractive way possible. “I’m flirting. Bantering. I’m into whatever this is.” He waved his hand vaguely at you, like you were an energy he was trying to describe.
You narrowed your eyes at him, taking your time to look him up and down. “How romantic,” you said flatly, rolling your eyes for emphasis.
He laughed under his breath. “Look, you’re cute and pretty.”
“Okay,” you said, unsure where this was going. “And then what?”
“Jesus, I didn’t realize you’d be…Would… you… like… to… go… out… with… me?” he asked, and he said it slowly. Too slowly.
You stared at him. “Did you just slow-talk me like I’m a preschooler?”
Sunghoon smiled, clearly amused by your reaction. “No. I’m slow-talking because you keep arguing with me instead of answering.”
“I argue with everyone,” you said.
“Pretty hot,” Sunghoon replied instantly.
You almost choked on your own breath. You stared at him, blinking rapidly.
“Look, Mr. Sunghoon, you seem very nice,” you said, trying to regain composure.
“But?” he prompted, already smiling.
“I’m just…”
“Really into Heeseung?” he finished for you.
You let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yes.”
Sunghoon’s expression softened. “You know, we might not be friends, but I do want to help you out.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What? Why?”
“Well, first, I’m interested in seeing what happens,” he said, casually glancing over your shoulder. His eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Second, I’m always rooting for the underdog. You know, superhero stuff. Just call me Cupid Man.”
You gasped dramatically. “That’s a stupid fucking name.”
“Cut me some slack. I thought of it in under a minute,” Sunghoon said without hesitation. Then his eyes flicked over your shoulder, amused. “Also, Heeseung just arrived, and he’s clearly looking for someone. I’m assuming that someone is you.”
“He’s here?” You jolted. “He said he wasn’t going to come.”
“Oh, I wonder why…” Sunghoon said, giving you a very pointed, very knowing look.
“It’s not because of me, is it?” you asked, starting to turn around to check, but Sunghoon’s fingers were suddenly at your chin again, gently guiding your face back toward him.
“Don’t look,” he whispered. “Pretend you’re preoccupied with me.”
“What?”
“Just pretend I said something funny.”
You blinked at him in disbelief. “Funny like… what? What am I laughing at?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Laugh like I told you the world’s funniest joke.”
You stared deadpan at him. “Sunghoon, I can’t fake laugh on command.”
Sunghoon stifled a laugh. “Fine, then just smile at me. Something that says you are having a wonderful, captivating, life-changing conversation with a very handsome man.”
“Sunghoon, you’re not that handsome,” you said, clearly lying. Sunghoon was fine. Like fiiiine. Extremely fine. You knew that, he knew that, and unfortunately Heeseung definitely knew that.
“You know what, it won’t even matter when he sees us standing this close,” Sunghoon replied, stepping forward deliberately. “You could be with a total four like Jongseong and he’d still be pissed.”
“I’ll have you know Jongseong is an eight to me.”
“What happened to the two points?”
“He spat in my food while ranting about cars once. Changed my view of him in under a minute.”
Sunghoon laughed, before his expression shifted into something more serious.
“Okay,” he murmured, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Now put your hands on my shoulders and sway to the music.”
“I…” You hesitated, already feeling your pulse racing.
“Just do it,” he said, still watching something behind you with a knowing smirk.
“Fine,” you muttered, placing your hands on his shoulders as instructed. Sunghoon’s hands settled lightly at your waist, guiding you into a slow sway that felt far too intimate for two people who had met ten minutes ago.
“Good,” Sunghoon said. “Now, what I’m about to do is just fake, okay? Because he’s walking over and this is our only chance to make him crack.”
“What are you talking abou—”
But Sunghoon didn’t give you time.
He leaned down slowly, deliberately, and your eyes widened as his lips came closer. You could feel his breath brush your cheek, and the moment stretched like the universe was holding it up for inspection.
You weren’t sure if he was actually going to kiss you, or if he was simply committed to the bit.
Either way, the room suddenly felt warm. Before you could decide whether Sunghoon was actually going to kiss you, you heard a sharp throat clear behind you. A split second later, someone grabbed your arm and tugged you so hard that you stumbled forward and fell face first into a very familiar chest.
You looked up, already knowing who it was.
“Hee?” you whispered.
Heeseung stood over you, jaw clenched, eyes blazing in a way you had never seen before. His hand was still tight around your arm.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I was just… dancing with my new friend.” You gestured weakly toward him. “Sunghoon.”
Heeseung turned his head slowly, like he needed a full moment to keep himself from exploding. “Jesus, Sunghoon. I told you she’s off limits.”
“Off limits? What?” You blinked, incredulous.
Sunghoon raised both hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. Sorry. Must’ve slipped my mind.”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Off limits? Who did Heeseung think he was? The two of you weren’t even together. He had no right to claim you. No right to act like you belonged to him. And yet he said it so easily, like he meant it.
He turned back to you. “Where’s Jungwon?”
“I don’t know,” you said, trying to keep your voice level. “Why are you even here?”
“I asked him to keep an eye on you.”
A spark lit in your chest. “I’m not a child, Hee.” You folded your arms tightly.
He took a breath, but it came out sharp and frustrated. “Then why do you keep acting like one?”
Your anger rose instantly. “I don’t belong to you. You don’t own me.”
“I know I don’t,” he shot back. His jaw clenched. “It just makes me mad that you don’t even see—”
“See what?” you demanded. “See that you treat me like a goddamn child? Because you do. Whether you realise it or not, you do.”
He looked stunned for a moment, thrown off by the force of your words. The silence between you thickened, heavy and hot, and for a second neither of you spoke.
The hurt in your chest pulsed again, stronger. He frustrated you. He confused you. He made you feel small and then important and then invisible all at the same time. And now he was standing here in the cold night air acting like you had no right to be upset.
Your voice softened but cracked at the edges. “You talk like you get to decide who I dance with. Who I talk to. What I do. And you don’t.”
Heeseung opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked angry, yes, but underneath it was something else. Something you could not quite name. Something that made your heart twist painfully.
He finally said, quieter, “You have no idea why it makes me mad.”
“Then tell me,” you whispered. “Because all I see is someone who doesn’t think I can make my own choices.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything.
You just turned on your heel and stormed off, disappearing into the crowd before he could say another word.
You walked out of the house and into the cold night air, wanting as much distance as possible from the music, the lights and the embarrassment tightening in your chest. The noise behind you faded into a blur. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you moved farther and farther away from the party.
But you could still hear him.
Heeseung’s footsteps pounded against the pavement behind you. His voice carried through the cold night air as he called your name again and again. The more you ignored him, the louder he said it, until your patience snapped.
You spun around, arms crossed tightly, eyes burning. “What?”
He came to a stop right in front of you, breath rising in the cold, frustration etched across every line of his face. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m acting weird.”
“Glad to see that you’re self-fucking-aware,” you snapped.
“God, you don’t get it.”
“Then so help me, make me get it,” you said, exhaling sharply as you tried to keep your voice controlled.
Heeseung opened his mouth, then closed it again. He raked a hand through his hair, pacing a small step before facing you.
“This is making me crazy. I swear.”
He frowned. “What is?”
He hesitated just long enough to irritate you. Long enough to make the frustration in your chest spike.
Your voice finally broke through the tension. “You. You are.”
“Me? What did I even do?” His brows knitted together helplessly.
“You never get it,” you said, your voice rising despite your best effort to keep it steady. “You never listen when it comes to this.”
He stepped closer, stubborn and confused and maddeningly intense. “Listen to what?”
“And I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t bother me,” you said, your voice dropping into something smaller, something raw. “I’m tired of acting like it doesn’t get to me when it does.”
Heeseung opened his mouth, desperate to respond, but the words inside you were already tumbling out faster than you could control.
“Just tell me–”
“Why can’t you just look at me as a woman instead of a child?” You cut him off.
Silence snapped over the two of you. Heavy. Immediate.
Your eyes widened as soon as the sentence left your lips. You clapped a hand over your mouth, mortified. “Wait. I didn’t mean… I mean I did but also I didn’t but—oh my god.”
“Wait,” Heeseung said quietly, stepping closer. “Say that again.”
You shook your head furiously, mortified. “No. Forget it. I’m going home. Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. I’m an idiot.”
He studied your face like he was seeing you for the first time tonight. “You want me to see you as a woman.”
You wanted the pavement to crack open so you could crawl inside. “Hee, please stop talking.”
He didn’t.
He closed the space between you slowly, almost cautiously, as if approaching something fragile he had been afraid to touch for too long. When he finally spoke, his voice dropped into something low and careful.
“You really think I see you as a child?”
“Well, you treat me like one,” you muttered, though your voice shook slightly.
He let out a tense breath and shook his head. “Sure, you’re cute. Sure, I find you adorable.” His eyes didn’t leave yours for a second. “But you have no idea how unraveled I feel when I see you. When I see you in that dress. When I see you in a hoodie. When I see you in my hoodie with no shorts on.”
Your breath caught. Everything in your chest went still. “What?”
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looking like he was seconds away from combusting. “You make me go insane. And I have to fight every part of myself not to think about you in that way because you are so much more than that. Do you get me?”
You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe.
He took another step forward, and suddenly his warmth was right there, brushing against your skin. When he lowered his voice again, it felt heavier, truer, like the words were pulled directly from his ribs.
“It’s only you,” he said. “I look at you and I want to be careful. I want to be gentle. I want to protect you. Not because I think you’re small. But because you matter to me.”
Your heart thudded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching to reach for him.
He wasn’t finished.
“You matter to me in a way that scares me,” he said quietly. “That’s why I act like this. Not because I don’t see you as a woman. But because I see you as one so much it terrifies me.”
Your throat tightened. “But why do you always act like I’m someone you need to babysit.”
“That’s not it,” he said quickly. “You don’t understand. I’m terrified of hurting you, or saying too much, or crossing a line you didn’t want me to cross.”
You blinked. “Why would you think that?”
His jaw clenched. He took a soft breath.
“Because,” he said quietly, “I like you in a way that makes me stupid.”
Your stomach flipped. The world felt too still.
He studied your face, searching for any sign that he had made a mistake. “When I saw you with Sunghoon,” he continued, voice shaking slightly, “I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
Your heart fluttered painfully.
“I wasn’t angry because you were dancing,” he said. “I was angry because he had his hands on you. And I wished they were mine.”
Your breath stilled.
Heeseung swallowed hard, eyes flicking briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.
“So no,” he said softly. “I don’t see you as a child. I don’t think I ever have.”
“Oh.”
It was small and breathy and embarrassingly weak.
“That’s all you can say?” Heeseung raised an eyebrow.
“Well what else can I say…” You looked away, cheeks burning. You suddenly couldn’t hold eye contact with him at all. Not when you knew he liked you back. Not when his words were replaying in your head like a broken record.
“You could say that you like me back,” he teased lightly, laughing under his breath.
“But you already said it for the both of us,” you replied softly.
Heeseung actually laughed at that. Before you could react, he reached out, ruffled your hair affectionately, and pulled you into his chest.
His arms wrapped around you easily. One around your back, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something precious. You leaned into him, your body melting without permission.
“You don’t get how crazy you make me feel. Do you?” he murmured into your hair.
You felt yourself shake your head.
“It’s like I’m losing my mind just thinking about you,” he said, exhaling. “You never leave my mind.”
There it was again. That quiet, overwhelmed “Oh.”
Heeseung laughed softly, brushing his cheek against the top of your head. “Never did I think I’d stump the biggest yapper I know.”
You pulled back just enough to gape at him. “You’re calling me a yapper?”
“Yes,” he said simply, grinning. “You.”
“Fine, I just won’t talk then.”
“Great,” Heeseung replied.
“What? Why would you—”
“Because then,” he said, lifting your chin gently with his fingers, “we’ll have more time to do this.”
He leaned down and kissed you.
His lips warm against yours. Your hands instinctively gripped onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he smiled against your mouth as if you’d just confirmed everything he’d ever hoped for.
His thumb brushed your jaw, his other arm tightening around your waist until you felt every steady beat of his heart against your chest.
The moment your lips parted, the world felt quiet for a little while.
Then you heard it.
Slow clapping.
Very slow clapping.
Both of you turned.
Out from the bushes emerged Jungwon and Sunghoon. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, arms raised dramatically, clapping.
“Finally,” Jungwon said, dragging out the word with full dramatic effect.
You stared at them, mortified. “Were… were you hiding in the bushes?”
“Yes,” Sunghoon answered proudly.
“We were observing,” Jungwon added.
“Strategising,” Sunghoon said, nodding.
“Plotting,” Jungwon concluded.
You pressed your hands to your face. “Oh my god.”
“Did you guys–” you and Heeseung both started at the same time before stopping to glare at each other, then turning back toward the bushes.
Jungwon and Sunghoon stood side by side like two idiots presenting a science project.
Heeseung pointed at them, eyes narrowing. “So, the whole Sunghoon flirting thing… was this shit planned?”
Sunghoon nodded immediately. “Yes.”
Jungwon smirked. “My plan entirely.”
Your jaw dropped. “Wait. So him flirting with me was a lie?”
Sunghoon shrugged, leaning casually against a tree like he owned the night. “Not really. I always thought you were cute and when Jungwon asked for help…how could I say no to flirting with–”
Heeseung immediately reached back and pulled you behind him, shielding you with his body.
“Do not finish that sentence,” he warned.
Sunghoon lifted both hands in surrender. “Relax. I’m not trying to steal her. I was doing my civic duty. Helping two idiots get together.”
“Idiots?” you repeated, offended.
“Yes,” Jungwon said bluntly. “You two made me suffer. For months. I deserve an award for this.”
“I’ll drop kick the both of you,” Heeseung said, pointing at them like a disappointed father.
Sunghoon nodded immediately. “Jungwon begged me to do this.”
Jungwon scoffed so loudly it echoed. “Begged? I invited you. You practically sprinted at the chance to piss Hee off by flirting with a girl he’s been crushing on for years.”
You froze. “Years?”
Heeseung’s jaw tensed so hard you thought it might actually crack. His ears turned a shade of red you had never seen before. “Dude, just… shut the hell up. Also, I didn’t need help.”
“Oh, you absolutely needed help,” Jungwon said. “That weird vein on your forehead was about to bust from seeing her an inch from Sunghoon. I practically saved your life.”
“You mean Lucinda?” Sunghoon added casually.
Jungwon whipped his head toward him. “You named his vein?”
Sunghoon nodded like this was perfectly normal. “It looks cute.”
You stared at both of them, arms crossed, absolutely done. “God, you two share the same brain cell.”
“Thank you,” they said in perfect unison.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Jungwon shrugged. “Still taking it.”
“Anyway,” you said, dragging the word out as your patience thinned, “so Sunghoon showing up and flirting with me was all your idea?”
Jungwon raised his hand proudly, like he expected applause. “Yes. I was the mastermind. And he was kind of a scapegoat. I could’ve done it myself, but flirting with you felt borderline incestuous, so I outsourced.”
Sunghoon chimed in cheerfully. “I assisted.”
“Assisted?” Heeseung repeated, his voice dropping dangerously low.
Sunghoon pointed at your face with total confidence. “I mean, look at her. Pretty girl. Tight dress. She looked hot today. You’re lucky I didn’t fall in love on the spot.”
Jungwon nudged him with his elbow. “You’re on thin ice, my dude.”
Heeseung took one slow, threatening step toward him.
Sunghoon immediately ducked behind Jungwon, hands raised like a man facing execution. “I take it back. I don’t love anyone. Except myself. Please don’t hit me.”
Jungwon sighed. “This is exhausting. Can we just focus on the main point?”
You glared at him harder. “Which is that you orchestrated all of this.”
Jungwon lifted his chin with zero shame. “Yes. And look at the results. Beautiful romance. Emotional breakthroughs. Character arcs. You’re welcome.”
You pressed your fingers to your temples. “I hate all of you.”
Heeseung wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Same.”
Jungwon gasped. “Kinda rude with all things considered.”
Sunghoon placed a hand on his chest. “Our contributions are unappreciated.”
“Leave,” Heeseung said.
They stood there.
Heeseung pointed aggressively toward the street. “Now.”
Jungwon rolled his eyes and started walking. Sunghoon followed, muttering, “I hope Lucinda pops.”
You watched them disappear around the corner, their bickering fading until everything finally went quiet. No annoying comments, no unnecessary backhanded complaints, just… silence.
Heeseung shifted beside you, clearing his throat lightly. “So… you ready to go home?”
You tilted your head, confused. “To do what?”
He laughed softly, the tension easing from his shoulders. Then he opened the front of his coat a little, revealing the soft, heart shaped pajamas you had bought for him. He was wearing them under his jacket.
Your heart squeezed.
“I was kinda hoping we’d continue our little movie night,” he said, smiling in that gentle way that made your knees weak. “If it’s okay with you.”
“It’s more than okay,” you said quietly, smiling back at him.
Heeseung lifted the tote bag he had been carrying the whole night and pulled out something familiar. Your matching pajamas. Folded neatly.
“Had a feeling you were gonna join me,” he said. “So… we can match.”
You took the pajamas from his hands, warmth blooming so fast in your chest you felt a little dizzy. “Hee, you’re such a loser.”
He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah. Thank God my girlfriend’s not.”
You stared at him. “Your girlfriend just went on a whole rampage dressing up and going to a god-awful party to make a point. Your girlfriend’s just as much of a loser as you.”
“Well, I’m just grateful you didn’t punch me when I called you my girlfriend. You are though, right?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
➜ summary: what happens when your ex-best friend lawyers you into marrying him? exhibit a: the marriage contract you both wrote and signed when you were twelve.
pairing: lhs x f!reader, wc: 18k words , genre: work romance, fluff, slight angst (not really) w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing, implied sex
12 YEARS AGO
Twelve was a ridiculous age.
At twelve, you knew just enough to survive. Water was good. Hunger sucked. Sleep was non-negotiable. You understood that cereal could be dinner if no one stopped you, and that bruises from falling off your bike hurt less than the sting when Park Jongseong, your first middle school crush, told you your pigtails were uneven. For some reason, that hurt.
But love? Love was still the kind of thing you learnt from watching episodes of Phineas and Ferb when you were bored or whatever drama your mum had playing on the TV in the background. You didn’t really understand what it was.
All you knew was that it probably had the same colour and scent as Lee Heeseung.
It was the summer of 2014, and you were lying flat on your stomach across Heeseung’s bedroom carpet, the pattern of the rug imprinting little diamonds into your knees. The fan overhead creaked in slow, lazy circles. Outside, someone’s dog wouldn’t stop barking. Inside, Heeseung was twisting around with a new fidget toy he got from the dollar store.
“Do you think I’ll have a boyfriend twelve years from now?” you asked, chewing the end of your pencil.
He didn’t even look up. “Beats me.”
“Hee, I’m serious,” you pressed.
With a groan as dramatic as his limbs were long, Heeseung finally glanced up. “What do you even want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” You shrugged, pencil now balanced horizontally between your upper lip and nose like a moustache. “I’m just thinking.”
Heeseung leaned back against the side of his bed, gaze flicking to the ceiling like the answer might be hidden in the fan’s creaky rotations. “Twelve years from now… we’d be—” He held up a hand, counting quietly. “Twenty-four.”
“That’s the age my parents got married,” you said, as if that somehow doomed you to a ticking clock.
Heeseung made a face. “Gross.”
You frowned, dramatic in the way only preteens could be. “I wanna get married.”
He clicked the fidget toy shut with a snap. “What is it with you and boyfriends lately?”
“I mean… twenty-four is old, Heeseung. Way old.”
“Barely,” he replied, then paused, his brow quirking slightly. “Besides, someone’ll like you.”
You cradled your face in both hands. “What if they don’t?”
He reached out and poked your cheek with the back of his knuckle. “You’re pretty. I’d like you.”
You blinked at him. “You would?”
“Sure.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “But not now. You’re weird.”
You cracked a smile. “Hm, so you think I’m pretty… that’s not what Park Jongseong said last week when I beat him at basketball. He said I looked like a ‘sweaty worm.’”
“Oh yeah.” Heeseung snorted, eyes crinkling. “That was funny.”
You launched a cushion at his face in retaliation. He caught it with one hand, barely blinking.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, tone casual as he dropped the cushion to the floor. “When we’re twenty-four… we’ll get married.”
You blinked. “What? Why?”
“Just in case,” he replied with a shrug. “If you don’t have a boyfriend and I don’t have a girlfriend. Then we’ll get married.”
You stared at him, unsure if he was joking. Heeseung always said ridiculous things—like how he was going to invent a chocolate that never melted, or become the first person to skateboard across the ocean. But this? This was different.
“Really?” This time, you sat up properly, legs crossed beneath you, your heart doing something weird and fluttery in your chest.
“Yeah.” He nodded like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
“Are you just saying that?”
Heeseung shook his head. “We can pinky swear on it.”
“A pinky swear?” you scoffed, arms folding. “That’s, like, so elementary school. We need something more binding.”
“Like what?”
You rummaged through your pencil case, digging out a crumpled sheet from your favorite Hello Kitty notebook, half-covered in doodles of stars and lopsided flowers. “A contract.”
Heeseung leaned closer, peering over your shoulder as you smoothed the page flat on the carpet. “You’re seriously writing this down?”
“Absolutely.” You grabbed a glitter gel pen and scribbled across the top in loopy, uneven letters: Marriage Pact – Do Not Ignore (Even If You’re Famous or Rich)
Heeseung burst into laughter. “What kind of title is that?”
“A legal one,” you replied seriously, already underlining it twice. “Sign here, please.”
Heeseung took the pen from your hand, tongue sticking out slightly as he wrote his name in slow, deliberate strokes. Then he passed it back.
You signed yours underneath, dotting the “i” in your name with a tiny heart.
And just like that, two twelve-year-olds, were legally bound by glitter ink.
-
12 YEARS LATER
You slammed your apartment mailbox shut with your foot, flipping through the envelopes as you climbed the stairs.
You sighed. “Electric. Insurance. Internet. Phone. Rent. Water,” you muttered, voice rising with each envelope. “Can’t believe we live in a world where they charge us for clean water.”
You shoved the stack under your arm and nudged the apartment door open with your hip, stepping inside and closing it behind you with the heel of your foot.
Jake looked up from the couch. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You held up the bills with a deadpan stare. “If ghosts came in white envelopes and demanded a fuck ton of money, then yeah. Paranormal as hell.”
Jake looked up from the couch, controller still in hand. “Again?”
“Yes, Jaeyun. Bills happen every month. That’s what we signed up for when we became roommates.”
You tossed the stack onto his lap. He sighed and paused his game, the TV screen freezing on a very intense moment in Mario Kart.
He flipped through the envelopes, brows furrowing as he read each one aloud. “Electric. Insurance. Internet. Phone. Rent. Water.”
He looked up at you with disbelief, “Can’t believe we live in a world where they charge us for clean water.”
“That’s what I said!” you replied, dropping your bag by the side of the couch and kicking off your shoes.
Jake was about to make another sarcastic comment, but then he paused.
He squinted at one of the envelopes, holding it up by its edge like it might bite. “What’s a Lee Heeseung?”
You stilled. “…What do you mean?”
Jake held it up with two fingers like it was radioactive. “Someone named Lee Heeseung addressed a letter to you. Wait…Lee Heeseung… sounds familiar. Isn’t this the guy who–”
You lunged forward, snatching the envelope out of his hands so fast the paper rustled.
He started to stand. “Wait—”
But you were already on your feet, clutching the envelope to your chest like it held state secrets.
“I’m going to my room,” you said quickly, already halfway down the hall.
Jake called after you, “You can’t just run away!”
But you were gone.
You dropped the envelope onto your desk and began pacing, feet dragging slightly over the worn hardwood floor. Back and forth. Hands on your hips, then rubbing the back of your neck, then up through your hair like you could physically scrape the panic out of your scalp.
Lee Heeseung.
You hadn’t heard that name in six years. Not since you were 18. What the hell was he doing sending you letters after 6 years of ghosting you? Letters, of all things. Not a text. Not an email. A letter.
You rubbed your face with both palms, fingers pressing into your temples. Your entire body felt tight with confusion.
You stared at the envelope for a long second.
Should I open it? you asked yourself.
Your fingers twitched.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were already tearing into the envelope, clumsily slicing the top open with your nail. The paper ripped slightly at the corner from how fast your hands moved. The letter slid out, crisp and neatly folded.
You read it, then stood in silence, blinking. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Brain empty. You were confused. Stunned. A little stoned but from shock. Absolutely floored. Like someone had drop-kicked your frontal lobe.
This letter is to formally present the enclosed documentation for legal execution of a prior agreement, namely a childhood contract between yourself and one Mr. Lee Heeseung. The aforementioned contract, signed voluntarily at age twelve, contained a clause regarding marital union at the age of twenty-four should both parties remain unwed.
Pursuant to this clause, Mr. Lee Heeseung has submitted the original document, legally notarized, and formally requests your signature on the attached marriage certificate to fulfil the terms of said agreement.
Please review the enclosed documents at your earliest convenience. For any clarifications, feel free to contact our office or Mr. Lee directly.
Your mouth moved but to be honest, all you could manage was:
“What the fuck is wrong with him.”
-
You were late.
You weren’t usually late. In fact, you were one of those annoying people who showed up fifteen minutes ahead of time and still apologised for making others wait. But today? Today was the one day you really didn’t want to be late.
Your first day at your big girl job and here you were, sprinting toward the building that held your future career by its palm.
Your shoulder bag bounced wildly against your side as you dodged a man holding a suspiciously large iced coffee, barely avoiding a full-blown caffeine collision. The turnstile doors loomed ahead sleek and metallic. You jabbed your access card against the reader. You slipped through and finally looked up.
And then you saw Jake.
“Hurry up!” he called, gesturing frantically as the elevator chimed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into getting the bus without you.”
You jogged over, breathless. “Well you’d be late and you know I get the nervous poops.”
He glanced at his watch. “Yeah but couldn’t you have held it in? You know how they say the first impression counts.”
You rolled your eyes as you stepped in beside him. “They also say to surround yourself with supportive friends, but look how that turned out.”
Jake grinned, holding the door for you. “Touché.”
The elevator doors slid shut with a polished ding, sealing you and Jake into a box of brushed metal and awkward first-day jitters.
“I still can’t believe we got the last two spots at Aureum,” You said, “The Aureum.”
“Well,” Jake said, trying to catch his breath, “we fought our way here and beat out that no-good Park Eunmi and her bratty—”
“Jake.” You shot him a warning look. “We’re adults now. We don’t go around talking shit about people we won’t even be seeing anymore.”
He blinked. “Weren’t you the same person who called her, and I quote, a ‘two-faced conniving bitch’ yesterday?”
“Like I said,” you replied, smoothing your blouse, “I’m an adult now.”
As two of the newest Junior Marketing Associates, you and Jake had beat out over a hundred applicants. A hundred other applicants who probably practiced their interview answers in the mirror a million times before. And somehow, two under-slept twenty-somethings from a shared apartment with a broken microwave made it through.
Your eyes flicked around the office, trying to drink it all in, endless cubicles with glowing monitors, people tapping away at keyboards like they were born doing it, voices murmuring through headsets, and behind closed doors, offices that belonged to people with email signatures way fancier than yours.
You clutched your lanyard a little tighter.
“Come on in, guys. Sit down, sit down.” A man in a blazer and slacks stood by the doorway, gesturing everyone inside with brisk efficiency. His voice was clear, professional, and used to being listened to.
You followed Jake into the room, quietly settling into one of the twelve chairs arranged in a half-circle around a low conference table. The space was bright, glass walls on one side, soft overhead lighting, and a large flat-screen monitor mounted neatly in front. A clicker and laptop sat idle on the table. The chairs were surprisingly comfortable.
“I’m Park Jongseong,” the man announced once everyone had filtered in. “We’ll be starting orientation in about five minutes. We’re just waiting for the head of department to arrive, and then we’ll get going.”
The name hit you oddly. A little familiar. Park Jongseong. It tugged at the back of your memory, but you brushed it off. Probably a coincidence. Jongseong wasn’t exactly rare.
He continued, tone practised. “Before that, let’s take attendance. Please scan the QR code on the screen, log in using your company ID, and mark yourself as ‘present.’”
The screen flickered to display the code. A few people reached for their phones immediately.
“If you have any questions, feel free to ask,” he added, hands clasped in front of him, his expression neutral but approachable. The lanyard hanging around his neck read Human Resources – Manager. That explained the ease, the polished tone. He’d clearly done this many times before.
You unlocked your phone and scanned the code, fingers moving over the login screen. Jake leaned over slightly to peek at your screen, making sure he was doing the same thing right.
You tried to focus, but the name still lingered somewhere in your mind. Park Jongseong.
You shook your head, returning your attention to the task at hand.
It couldn’t be. Not that Jongseong. Right?
“Okay, he’s here,” Jongseong said, glancing toward the glass wall. He gave a quick nod to someone just out of sight. “Please use my company email if you have any HR-related issues. Thank you, and I’ll see all of you after this session.”
He stepped aside, and a man entered the room.
“Good morning everyone, I’m the head of department,” the newcomer said, tone cool and efficient. “For anything related to your job, your submissions, deadlines, or team responsibilities, they will come through me. Understood?”
A quiet chorus of nods followed. You nodded too, still focused on your phone screen. It was taking forever to load. You squinted, trying to figure out why, until you realised you’d typed your employee ID wrong. You had tapped 7 instead of 6.
You tapped back, correcting it, only half-hearing the voice that came next.
“Right,” came a quiet chuckle. The voice was warmer this time, slightly amused. Familiar. “Sorry—I forgot the intro bit. I’m Lee Heeseung. You can call me whatever feels comfortable."
Your finger froze on the screen.
The pen you had been holding slipped from your hand and hit the floor with a small clack. You stood up so quickly your chair scraped the polished floor, every eye in the room swivelling toward you.
Heeseung paused mid-sentence, glancing in your direction. His gaze landed on you and stayed.
Your breath caught. Your brain refused to supply anything useful, like words.
Heeseung blinked, the faintest trace of recognition crossing his face but he said nothing.
“Is there an issue?” Jongseong looked up from his tablet, glancing around before his eyes landed on you. His brow furrowed slightly. “Hey, aren’t you—”
“No.” You shook your head a little too quickly, a little too firmly. “Nope.”
“But you’re—”
“Not her.”
Jongseong paused. “You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I’m not who you think I am,” you replied, already feeling the heat rise to your face.
“But how do you know who I’m thinking about?” he countered, eyes narrowing slightly.
There was a long, loaded beat of silence. You could feel Jake watching your exchange, an eyebrow raised.
You exhaled.
“Okay,” you muttered, shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m her.”
“I knew it,” Jongseong said with a grin, nudging Heeseung with his elbow. “I told you she looked familiar. Didn’t you just send her that stupid lawyer–”
Heeseung cut in, his voice even. “That’s enough.”
The room was silent.
You cleared your throat, brushing your hair behind your ear and reaching for your pen like none of that had just happened. “Anyway. Please continue, Mr. Lee.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, stepping to the front of the room. “Where were we?”
And just like that, orientation resumed.
You sat stiffly in your seat, eyes glued to the screen at the front, pretending to take notes on the company’s mission statement while internally drafting your resignation letter in all caps.
You could feel it.
That unmistakable weight of a stare, burning, pointed, patient. Heeseung’s gaze practically drilled through the crown of your head. And you couldn’t bring yourself to look up. Not once. Not even when Jake elbowed you under the table, trying to stifle a grin.
Unbelievable. Out of all the possible outcomes in this capitalist hellscape, this was what you got?
As if that wasn’t enough to emotionally flatten you, you'd also just received a letter from his lawyers three days ago.
Because apparently, a glitter-gel-penned contract you made when you were twelve still counted.
-
“What the fuck was that?” Jake hissed, yanking you halfway out of your new ergonomic chair before you could even take a seat.
You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”
He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “The whole thing with Mr. Lee and Park Jong… something.”
“Seong. It’s Park Jongseong,” you corrected, brushing down the front of your blouse as you stood properly this time.
“Yeah, that. What was that about?”
You glanced around quickly. The office floor was open-concept, dotted with neatly arranged cubicles, each one separated by low partitions and decorated with cheerful onboarding folders and branded pens. Too many ears. Too much glass.
“Could you not ask me about it when his office is right there?” you muttered, trying not to move your lips too much.
As if summoned, the two of you instinctively turned your heads.
Heeseung’s office sat just a few feet away. And through the transparent wall, you saw him.
Already looking. Directly at you.
You and Jake immediately snapped your heads back around like guilty children caught cheating on a test.
You could feel the heat rush to your face. Jake ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “He definitely saw that.”
“Of course he did,” you whispered.
“Okay. Lunch,” Jake said, already tugging on your sleeve. “You’re telling me everything.”
-
“Do you remember that guy I told you about… when we first met?” you began cautiously, already regretting this entire conversation.
Jake didn’t even blink. “The almost ex who broke your heart? The one who vanished without a word, no texts, no emails, just poof? The guy you cried over every night for the first two months we shared a dorm? That guy? The one who had you in sweatpants for so long our professor personally pulled you aside after our first group presentation to suggest dressing like you hadn’t just escaped a deadly house fire?”
You gritted your teeth. “You could’ve just said yes.”
“I like my answer better,” Jake replied, flashing that annoyingly smug grin of his.
You rolled your eyes, arms folding over your chest. “Fine. Yes. It’s… that guy.”
Jake’s eyes widened so fast. “Holy fuck. Wasn’t he the one who, correct me if I’m wrong, lawyered you into marrying him like 3 days ago?”
You nodded slowly. “I doubt it’s even legal, but… yes.”
Jake leaned back in his chair, the disbelief painted across his face shifting into something almost amused. “This is highly coincidental,” he said, voice rich with sarcasm. “Almost like…it's fate.”
You stared at him for a beat, then stabbed your spoon into your bowl and shoved a mouthful of meat in before mumbling through it, “If this is what fate is, then fate’s a fucking bitch.”
-
“Do you think they’re dating?” Heeseung asked, eyes fixed on the other side of the company cafeteria.
Jongseong followed his line of sight.
Across the room, you and Jake were seated at a small corner table, trays pushed aside, both of you laughing, loud and unbothered.. You were leaned in close, practically in tears from whatever Jake had just said.
“Looks friendly to me,” Jongseong shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re still in love with her. Thought you hated her.”
“I do,” Heeseung said quickly. “It’s just—I don’t know. I mean… she was right in some sense.”
Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “Dude, she didn’t even show up at the airport. You waited there like an idiot until the last minute. You almost missed your flight.”
Heeseung gave a tight laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe she was busy…”
Jongseong raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, I don’t blame her,” Heeseung said quickly. “She was scared. She thought long distance would ruin us. That we’d fall apart, stop being friends, stop meaning something to each other.”
Jongseong turned his head, slow and deliberate, fixing him with that look, the one he always gave before saying something brutally true.
“Well,” he said, voice calm, “are you friends now?”
Heeseung said nothing.
“Didn’t think so,” Jongseong muttered, then grinned as he picked up a piece of kimchi. “Are you also forgetting who you video called the first hundred times you cried in Canada?”
“Why do you love bringing that up?” Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
Jongseong took a long, smug sip of his drink, barely suppressing a grin. He turned back to his tray of cafeteria food before pointing his chopsticks at Heeseung like they were an accusation. “Because it’s funny.”
Heeseung didn’t respond, just glared at his soup.
Jongseong raised an eyebrow. “So by the looks of it, I’m guessing you really got Beomgyu to send that lawyer letter to scare her?”
“To be fair,” Heeseung muttered, “I didn’t know she’d end up under me.”
“You’re an idiot,” Jongseong said through a mouthful of rice, chuckling as he shook his head. “But if you wanna get all weirdly poetic about it, I guess this is kinda like destiny, isn’t it?”
Heeseung stared down at his tray, “Well,” he muttered, “if this is destiny then destiny’s a fucking bitch.”
-
Listen…Heeseung was smart.
He climbed Aureum’s corporate ladder in less than two years, thanks to an impressive portfolio born out of his time in Canada. Moving there had been a blessing in disguise. Academically, professionally, it launched him. He made the most of it. Graduated top of his class, turned internships into job offers, turned job offers into power.
But for all of Heeseung’s intelligence, his work ethic, and his calculated rise, if there was one thing he was consistently stupid about, it was you. He didn’t understand it. In fact, he couldn’t even explain it. You were the one area of his life that turned logic into mush and rationality into dust.
It started as a joke. A stupid, drunken mistake that should’ve stayed buried under the dim lights of some bar on a Thursday night.
It was happy hour. He and Jongseong were at their usual spot, a watering hole they swore they were too old for but kept returning to anyway. One tequila turned into four. Somewhere between rounds, Heeseung started rambling, slurred sentences about you, the past, and that dumb glitter-pen marriage pact you’d made when you were kids.
Jongseong, drunk and equally dumb, grinned and said, “Dude. You should actually send her something. Like get lawyers involved. Just to freak her out.”
Heeseung, handsome as ever and dumb as a fork, blinked. His eyes widened. “Wait. That’s… actually kind of funny.”
“No it’s not,” Jongseong had said, already laughing. “That’s what makes it brilliant.”
Which is how, somewhere around midnight, Heeseung scrolled through his contacts, called the first legal name he recognised, Choi Beomgyu, law school graduate, part-time legal consultant and said:
“Hey, can you help me draft a marriage contract?”
-
It had been two days since you started working at Aureum.
Coincidentally, it had also been two days since Heeseung had done any actual work.
Each morning, like clockwork, he walked in, tailored suit, briefcase in hand, and Prada shoes. He placed his bag neatly on the desk, powered on his computer, clicked into his emails… and then lost all sense of purpose. The first thing he did every morning was type a message to Jongseong.
Subject: emergency
i madonna die i mgona die shes lookihng voer pretty pretty u think shell love me back ohne day? Actually im jk i hate her but if hate why prtty? omg shes lookg voer...pretend teim oding work im doing many work work is fun work is cool Work . im work
Best Regards
Lee Heeseung
Head of Marketing | Aureum & Co.
📞 +82-10-XXXX-XXXX
✉️ [email protected]
🌐 www.aureumcorp.kr
“We don’t do average.”
He’d hit send. Then he'd type a second variation and send that too. On the first day, Jongseong had replied with “You good?” On the second, he didn’t respond at all. By day three, Heeseung didn’t even expect a reply. He was just venting into the void.
Heeseung told himself he just wanted a moment. A single conversation. A little closure. Maybe an opportunity to push your buttons, mess with you, throw you off your game. Because as far as he was concerned, you still owed him that. And now, here you were.
Still stupidly, infuriatingly pretty.
-
He sat behind his desk, legs crossed under the polished oak surface, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, eyes fixed on the list of new hires.
But all Heeseung cared about was one thing: getting you alone.
He had crafted a plan that was equal parts desperate and genius, hosting a Getting to Know You session for each new employee. No one could question it.
Nishimura Riki—Ni-ki. A boy with his hoodie still half-zipped, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks like he was allergic to authority. He entered without knocking, took the seat opposite Heeseung with zero urgency, and stared blankly at the offered glass of water. Said maybe six words in ten minutes. Heeseung didn’t mind. He respected the quiet ones. Good for him.
Next came Kim Sunoo.
He bounced into the room like the sunlight had a personality and sat with both palms flat on the table like he was bracing for takeoff. Heeseung barely finished the question—“How’s working here so far?”—before Sunoo launched into a detailed narrative about his family, his dead turtle, and the emotional trauma of overwatering a succulent. At one point, he teared up. Heeseung slid the tissue box across the table silently. You know what, good for him too.
Then came Yang Jungwon.
Jungwon knocked twice, entered with a clipboard, and sat like a model intern. His back straight, pen ready, shoes perfectly aligned under the chair. He answered every question clearly, thoughtfully, and didn’t overshare once. Heeseung liked him. He even made a note in the corner of his notepad: Promotion material.
And then Jake Sim.
Jake entered all smiles and sunshine, like he was walking into a brunch spot instead of a corporate office. His tie was off-centre. Shirt sleeves rolled too high. Hair a little too perfect. He slid into the chair across from Heeseung, crossed one ankle over his knee like he owned the place, and grinned.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
The office suddenly felt hotter. Like the air conditioning had given up. Heeseung straightened the papers on his desk even though they were already perfectly aligned, mostly just to stop himself from flipping the table.
“So,” he started, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward with faux interest, “do you see yourself working here long?”
Jake nodded, no hesitation. “Yeah, working at Aureum is honestly a dream. It’s been on my list of dream companies since uni.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “One of your dream companies?”
Jake blinked. “Uh—well, yeah. I mean, I had a few, but Aureum was definitely—”
“So what you mean to say,” Heeseung said, leaning back slowly in his chair with a smile that was definitely not a smile, “is that you’re disloyal.”
Jake froze. “What? No! That’s not—”
Heeseung picked up his pen and made a note on the paper in front of him. It had nothing to do with Jake. He just wrote ‘boring. lame. has uglier hair than me.”
He didn’t hate Jake Sim.
He despised him.
No real reason, of course. Except that Jake seemed to be exactly the kind of person you were comfortable around. The kind you laughed too easily with. The kind you sat next to at lunch and leaned into like it was natural. Didn't help that Jake was incredibly suave and handsome. Damn it.
It wasn’t personal.
Except it completely was.
Heeseung exhaled as soon as Jake left the room, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the final name on the list.
Your name.
He cleared his throat, stood up, and walked to the small mirror near the bookshelf to fix his hair, like that would somehow fix everything else.
And for the first time all day, Heeseung felt nervous.
You cleared your throat, then knocked. Heeseung looked up instantly.
His smile appeared before he could stop it, quick and unguarded, warm enough to light the whole damn office. Then, as if remembering himself, it vanished just as fast. His expression flattened into something more controlled. Nonchalance, he reminded himself. Be cool.
But it was hard to be anything close to composed with you standing there. Your head poked through the doorway, eyes bright and curious. That little hairclip still holding your bangs to the side, the same way you used to wear it when you were younger. Your hair fell in soft waves over your shoulder, reaching just past your waist. It swayed slightly as you tilted your head.
“Can I come in?” you asked, voice soft.
“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter, shoving a file to the side like he hadn’t just been zoning out for ten full minutes. “Of course.”
Heeseung gestured to the chair across from him, and you made your way over, smoothing the front of your blouse before sitting down. The cushion dipped beneath you, and for a moment, you didn’t speak. Neither did he.
Heeseung cleared his throat. “Well… I already know you.”
You looked up.
A small pause.
“Do you want me to go?” you asked, half-standing.
“No!” he blurted, way too fast. He cleared his throat again, more controlled this time.
Heeseung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, fingers tapping once against the wood before stilling. He glanced down at the paper in front of him, your employee profile probably and cleared his throat.
“So,” he began, voice measured, “you’ve been placed in the campaign strategy team.”
You nodded. “Yeah. That’s what the onboarding email said.”
He hummed, eyes scanning the paper like he didn’t already know what it said. “You’ll be working on the upcoming brand relaunch. A lot of external collaboration, internal pressure, long hours.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“You sure?” He looked up now, eyes sharp. “Because I need people who follow through. Who don’t just start strong and then bail when things get inconvenient.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
Heeseung shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I’m asking if you’re the kind of person who sticks around when things get hard. Or if you’re more of a… run-and-disappear type.”
There was a pause.
You stared at him, jaw tightening. “Is this about Aureum, or about us?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
And that was answer enough.
Something in your chest twisted. “Because if you want to drag the past into this, you better say it plainly. Don’t wrap it up in company protocol and pretend it’s part of my fucking job description.”
And then, quieter, more bitter, he added, “It’s just… I thought you were serious about things. But apparently, you were only serious when it was easy.”
The room felt colder.
You inhaled slowly, the words slipping out before your brain could catch up. “You left. Not me.”
Heeseung flinched but you caught it. That flicker of something raw behind his eyes. But then, just as quickly, his expression closed over, sharp and unreadable again.
“No,” he said flatly. “You left first.”
Your breath hitched. “How did I—?”
“I needed you,” he cut in, his voice low, rough, brimming with a bitterness that stung more than you were ready for. “I could’ve used support. A friend. Anything. But the girl I loved the most—” his jaw tightened, “—she left me first.”
“I—”
“So before you paint me out to be the villain,” he said, his eyes dark, voice thick with something between anger and heartbreak, “think about how you ignored me after I told you I loved you.”
Your mouth opened, then closed, your chest rising and falling too quickly. “I didn’t ignore you because of that—I…” The words caught in your throat like they were afraid to come out. “How was I supposed to react? We finally—finally—got together and then right after, you told me you were leaving.”
“It wasn’t my choice!” he shouted, the words shattering between you like glass.
There was silence after that. Not the passive kind, but the kind that stung, like a slap in the middle of a quiet room.
“Mr. Lee,” you said, tone cool, professional, clipped. “I would like to leave now, since this meeting has had nothing to do with my job and everything to do with some attempt to lower my pride or exert some kind of personal power play that I don’t want any part of.”
You reached for the doorknob. And that’s when he panicked.
His mind raced, grasping at anything, everything, until one sentence tumbled out of his mouth like the world’s worst reflex.
“You’re supposed to be marrying me.”
The words dropped heavy into the room like a weight you hadn’t seen coming. You froze, hand still on the doorknob, back turned, breath caught somewhere in your chest.
“Did you think that lawyer letter was a joke?” His voice was quieter now, but there was something about the way he said it—like he was testing the air between you, like he wasn’t sure if you’d laugh or scream.
Slowly, you turned around, brows drawn together, the confusion and disbelief etched across your face. “Heeseung, that was a contract from when we were kids. Do you really think I’m some kind of idiot?”
He didn’t flinch. “It still stands actually… unless you want to get sued.”
You blinked. “Are you fucking with me?”
Heeseung held your gaze, mouth twitching into a slow, lopsided smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”
And then, he started walking toward you. Steady, unhurried steps that somehow made the air feel thinner with every inch he closed between you. Your heart began to pound erratically in your chest, loud enough you were almost certain he could hear it. Damn him for looking like that—like a fucking model in fitted slacks and a shirt that clung just right to his frame.
He stopped in front of you, close enough for you to catch the faintest scent of his cologne, clean and a little woodsy. God, he was hot.
“Because I’m not.”
“You are insane!” you hissed, voice rising.
“I’m not the one yelling in a see-through office,” he replied, gesturing lazily to the glass walls.
You paused, suddenly aware of the four to five people from accounting who were staring directly at the scene. You cleared your throat and lowered your voice only slightly. “I am not marrying you, Heeseung.”
He clicked his tongue and placed his tea down. “Did you read the bottom? The fine print?”
“I’m not reading anything that came from you and your fuckass lawyer,” you snapped.
Heeseung sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his temples like you were the one being unreasonable. “If you bothered to read a very legal document, you’d know that... it’s either marriage,” he paused to take another sip, “or you pay $20,000.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“$20,000,” he repeated, a little too casually. “As outlined clearly in the exit clause.”
Your jaw dropped. “And where is a girl who JUST started working supposed to get that kind of money?”
Heeseung shrugged, stepping closer. His footsteps were slow, annoyingly calm. He stopped right in front of you and gently lifted your chin with two fingers, like he was mocking you. “Well,” he said, voice low and irritatingly smug, “that’s up to you.”
You swatted his hand away, hard. “I am not marrying you,” you repeated, practically growling.
“So you’re giving me the $20,000 then?” he offered again, tilting his head, lips forming a mock pout.
You narrowed your eyes, then without thinking, leaned in and bit his fingers.
“OW—what the f—” He jerked his hand back with a laugh.
“I should’ve bit your face,” you muttered.
Heeseung grinned through the sting, shaking his hand. “Or... and I’m just spitballing here,” he said, stepping back with an exaggerated stretch, “I let you go—no marriage, no payment—if you do everything I say for one year.”
You stared at him like he’d grown three heads. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Come on,” he said, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Just a year of doing whatever I say.”
You crossed your arms. “Three months.”
“Eight,” he shot back, without missing a beat.
“Four.”
“Six.”
You squinted at him. “Five and I don’t get you coffee.”
“Nope. Six, and you do exactly what I say.”
The air between you crackled, neither of you willing to back down. You stepped closer, closing the space between you with slow, deliberate steps until you were standing toe-to-toe in front of his desk. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned in, eyes dark with challenge, the corners of his mouth curling like he was already claiming victory.
Your nose nearly brushed his. “Fine,” you hissed. “Six months. But if you so much as make me iron your stupid ass fancy Prada suit, I’m out.”
“Okay,” Heeseung said smoothly, his voice low and maddeningly smug. His breath fanned your face. “But you should know, I don’t wear wrinkled suits.”
-
And thus began the worst month of your life.
Day 1: He made you sort his alphabetised collection of business cards… in cursive. Handwritten. On new cards. With a quill. “It builds character,” he said..
Day 5: He scheduled a client meeting at 7am. You arrived. There was no client. He strolled in at 10 with a latte and said, “Wow. You’re early. How driven.”
Day 6: Assigned you to shadow a client. You followed a random man around a bookstore for 45 minutes before he texted: “Wrong guy btw.”
Day 9: Email subject line: “URGENT – FOOT EMERGENCY.” The body? “Buy me socks.” No context. Follow-up email: “With little cartoon frogs. The happier the better.”
Day 11: He asked you to water the plants in his office. None were real. One was a coat rack. You watered it anyway. He thanked you with a straight face.
Day 13: He demanded lunch delivered to his apartment. On your break. You found him mid-couch, watching Shrek 2 with subtitles and a face mask on. “Wanna join me?”
Day 16: Made you create a 23-slide presentation titled: “Why Lee Heeseung Is the Greatest Asset to This Company and Mankind.” You had to present it. To two confused interns and Park Jongseong, who heckled the whole time.
Day 18: Sent you to buy exactly 50 blueberries. “Not 49. Not 51. 50. Count them.” You did. The cashier thought you were insane.
Day 23: Assigned you to “reorganise the supply cabinet.” Inside was a single banana, a picture of himself and Jongseong’s car keys.
God. you hated Lee Heeseung.
-
The soft clink of chopsticks against a lunch container echoed across the sleek, minimal office. Jongseong sat casually on Heeseung’s guest couch, feet kicked up, poking at his lunch.
“You know,” Jongseong began between bites, “this little revenge you’ve got going on? Don’t you think it’s starting to get a little...much?”
Heeseung didn’t look up. “What’s much?”
“You made her pretend to be a floor tile last week.”
Heeseung barely blinked, expression flat.
“And to be fair, she was very convincing,” he muttered, like it was a genuine compliment.
Jongseong set his chopsticks down, suddenly serious. “Hee. Be honest. Are you trying to punish her, or are you just scared to talk to her like a normal human being?”
Heeseung’s lips parted, but no words came out. His jaw flexed. The silence stretched, and for the first time in weeks, he hesitated.
“I don’t know,” he finally said, voice lower than usual.
Just then, the door swung open. You strode in without knocking, your eyes on fire and your movements sharper than necessary. You slammed a paper bag on his desk, the contents shifting loudly inside.
“Here’s your goddamn lunch,” you snapped, not sparing him a glance.
And before he could even process the noise, you turned on your heel and stormed out, leaving the door wide open in your wake.
A beat of stunned silence passed.
Jongseong blinked. “You sure she’s not poisoning that?”
Heeseung finally looked down at the crumpled paper bag, then at the door you’d stormed out through. He didn’t move for a moment, fingers hovering near the bag, like it might explode.
Then, with a low sigh, he leaned back in his chair, swivelling slightly toward Jongseong. “Can you check if she’s had lunch?”
Jongseong narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“I’m just saying, she’s been running around all morning like a lunatic. Maybe she skipped lunch.”
“Why don’t you check yourself?” Jongseong smirked, already enjoying this. “Or better yet, pack it for her next time. Maybe write a little note with hearts on it.”
Heeseung groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. “Jesus. I’m not in love with her.”
“I never said love,” Jongseong sang. “You did.”
Heeseung glared at him. “I’m just doing what a responsible boss would do. Basic leadership. Workforce efficiency. You know, keeping employees from fainting.”
“By micromanaging her blood sugar?”
Heeseung pointed at him, still scowling. “Shut up and just go check.”
Jongseong stood, grabbing his soda and grinning. “Whatever you say, boss.”
As he walked out, he muttered just loud enough for Heeseung to hear, “Bet if she skipped lunch, you’d hand-feed her a five-course meal.”
Heeseung didn’t respond. He just turned back to the lunch bag and quietly moved it a little closer to his side of the desk.
-
You were done. You hated Lee Heeseung with every fibre of your being.
You had been mid-task, setting up a fragile product display for a major investor walkthrough—when the shelf gave way beneath your hand. One of the glass panels slipped, and in your rush to keep it from shattering, your palm dragged hard against the sharp metal edge of the support frame. You hissed, sucking in a breath as pain bloomed across your skin, followed by a streak of red pooling fast..
It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was definitely more than a paper cut. You stood frozen for a second, blood dripping onto the glossy marble floor, the scent of antiseptic and showroom polish mixing unpleasantly in the air.
Heeseung was across the room but moved in an instant, almost stupidly concerned. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice sharp with something that sounded a lot like panic.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, clenching your hand as if squeezing the pain away.
“Let me see.” He was already digging in the drawer for the office first aid kit, grabbing a pack of antiseptic wipes and a bandage like it was muscle memory.
You pulled your hand away before he could touch you. “Can I go now?”
He froze. “I’m just trying to help. Stop being so stubborn.”
You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one who sent me to fix a million-dollar display alone. Don’t act like you suddenly care.”
Then you walked off without another word, your wound throbbing in time with the storm brewing behind your ribs.
Heeseung stood there, staring at the streak of blood you left behind on the polished floor. The silence in the showroom echoed louder than it should’ve. The first aid kit was still in his hands, unopened. For once, he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
Had he been too harsh?
The thought circled, bitter and biting. He meant to keep things light, or at least ridiculous. Make you squirm a little. Maybe even get back at you for leaving him all those years ago. But this? Watching you walk away, shoulders tense, hand bleeding—this didn’t feel like winning.
It felt like being the asshole.
He set the first aid kit down a little too hard on the nearest counter and exhaled slowly. Damn it. He hadn’t wanted to actually hurt you.
Maybe Jongseong was right. Maybe this whole thing was going too far.
And maybe, just maybe, he needed to stop acting like he wasn’t still in love with you.
But god, you made it so damn hard.
-
You hadn’t spoken to him. Not once. Not since that night.
You hated what he’d turned into, this cold, distant version of the boy who once knew you like the back of his hand. He was still familiar, his face carved a little finer now, his jaw set a little firmer, but everything else? Foreign. A stranger wrapped in the skin of someone you used to love.
He used to be yours.
The boy who’d race across districts just to find that one ridiculous snack you were obsessed with because the local mart ran out. The one who never let you cry alone, whose hoodie always smelled like laundry powder and peanuts, who sat silently beside you, his arm around your shoulder, steady as a heartbeat.
He wasn’t that boy anymore. He wasn’t the one who once turned to you, eyes soft and sure, and said, I love you.
Not anymore.
But somehow, even through the pounding in your chest and the sting behind your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel it, that awful, twisting weight in your stomach. Guilt.
Because he was right.
You had left him first. You had pulled away. When he needed you the most, you had shut down, locked the door, and disappeared behind your own fear.
He was scared. Of course he was. Scared of leaving everything behind. Scared of starting over in a place where no one knew his name or the way he liked his coffee or how he bit his lip when he was nervous. Scared of being alone in a country halfway across the world. And the only person he had counted on to be his constant, you, had walked away.
-
6 YEARS AGO
Heeseung’s palms were sweating. His grip on the bouquet tightened, the white petals of the daisies trembling ever so slightly, your favourite flower. He glanced at his watch, then at his shoes, then back again, heart pounding louder with each passing second. It was noon. You’d be here any moment.
And he felt like he might be sick.
Just yesterday, everything had changed. His parents had sat him down with carefully measured smiles and voices too gentle to be comforting, ‘We’re moving to Canada. It’s a good opportunity. It’s what’s best for the family.’
But what about him? What about you?
His throat turned dry, mouth full of words he didn’t know how to say.
Today was supposed to be your first date. The start of something new, something real. Just two days ago, he’d stood under the willow tree with shaking hands and a confession written at the back of his hand. Then, he’d told you he liked you. And you had kissed him for the first time.
This day was meant to be perfect. But now, all he could feel was the weight of goodbye on his shoulders and it stunk.
And then there you were.
Pretty as ever, like he hadn't just found out his universe was crashing just the day before. You waltzed into view with a skip in your step, a loose, ribboned blouse tucked into jeans, your hair tied up in a ponytail that swayed with every bounce. Your eyes were wide, full of light, full of him, and everything in you screamed excitement for the day ahead.
“Flowers?” you grinned, raising a brow. “Didn’t think you were the type.”
Heeseung’s lips curved before he could stop them. “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.”
And just like that, the knot in his chest loosened. Just like that, he remembered how you always made him feel. Like everything was okay even when nothing was.
Then you smiled. And he was wrecked all over again.
You reached out, fingers finding his, lacing them together. “So…” you murmured as your hands swung between you, “where we going today?”
“I’m not one to spill secrets.”
“Oh? And is it a crime to wonder what my best friend has planned for our very first date?”
Heeseung winced playfully, biting his lip. “God, the word friend is starting to drive me insane.”
You laughed, soft and teasing. “Well, you haven’t actually asked, so I can’t just go around calling myself your girlfriend. That’d be… desperate.”
“You could reek of desperation,” he said, gaze steady, “and I think I’d still be in love with you.”
You let out a low whistle, raising a brow. “Damn. Dropping the L bomb already?” You leaned in with a crooked grin. “Didn’t peg you as a simp, Lee.”
“And I didn’t peg you as a hater,” Heeseung shot back, his smile matching yours.
Heeseung led you down a winding trail, hand in hand, until the trees parted to reveal a quiet creek. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves. A few couples lounged on checkered blankets, laughter drifting through the breeze. It was peaceful, idyllic.
“Ta-da,” he said, stepping aside with a grin so wide it made your heart stutter.
Before you was his surprise: a small picnic set up just for the two of you. A rattan mat stretched across the grass, a modest basket nestled in the middle. Inside were some store-bought sandwiches, your favourite yoghurt drinks, and tucked beside it all, two small square canvases with a neat set of watercolours.
“We’re painting,” he announced proudly.
You stared at him, then burst into laughter. “So we’re being secretive and artsy now? Who are you and what have you done with Lee Heeseung?”
He nudged your shoulder, feigning offense. “Hey, I can be romantic.”
“Oh please, you totally stole this off Pinterest.”
“Guilty,” he admitted shamelessly. “Honestly, it’s a miracle I even got Jongseong to help set this up while I distracted you.”
As if summoned by name, Jongseong emerged from behind a tree with a dramatic sigh.
“I swear, I do the darndest things for you,” he muttered, stepping into view, brushing off invisible dirt. “Now enjoy, lovebirds. Just remember, if the ravens start circling and steal your food, don’t come crying to me.”
The two of you had spent hours painting and teasing, talking over each other, laughing so hard it echoed off the trees.
“That’s supposed to be me?” you scoffed, squinting at his canvas. “Why are my eyes two completely different sizes?”
“It’s a work in progress,” Heeseung said, scandalised, snatching the canvas back. “Stop looking at mine!”
“I can’t help it! It’s like watching a train wreck happen in slow motion.”
“Oh, like yours is any better?” he shot back, rolling his eyes. “Why are my eyes so far apart?”
“They’re not!”
“They’re a mile away from each other,” he groaned, holding his face dramatically.
You gasped. “I think they look nice!”
“You made me look like E.T.!”
“They look nice, you’re just picky!” you snapped, pointing at the eyes you’d painted. “They’ve got that same sparkle your eyes have! See? Both pretty.”
He blinked. Then his cheeks turned pink. “So you do think my eyes are pretty.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You just said that.”
“No, I said my painting was pretty.”
“Oh, so now we’re pretending?” he drawled, a slow smile curving on his lips. “We kissed two days ago, and you’re back to acting like calling me pretty is a scandalous revelation? Pretending we’re just best friends again?”
His arm brushed behind you, anchoring against the mat, his body leaning a little closer, warm and steady beside yours.
You swallowed hard. “Well… you are my best friend.”
“Am I?” His voice was softer now, like velvet.
You nodded, a breath catching in your throat. “Y-Yes.”
He hummed, tilting his head. “That’s a pity. I really liked kissing you.”
Then he leaned in. His eyes flicked to your lips and you froze. You waited, heart pounding, lips parted slightly, breath shallow. Eyes fluttering closed.
And then…
Nothing.
You opened your eyes to find him gone, leaned back with a smug grin and the audacity to be laughing.
“You fucking asshole,” you hissed, shoving him with a pout, arms crossed tight across your chest.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Heeseung wheezed, still laughing as he reached for your wrist, trying to pull you back.
You turned away, refusing. “You just love embarrassing me.”
“Aww, come on, I was joking.” He bumped his shoulder gently into yours, trying to peek at your face. “You looked so cute.”
“You just want to humiliate me for your own selfish amusement.”
“Aw, baby, please—I was kidding—”
You both froze.
Baby.
Your head turned slowly. “What did you just call me?”
“Nothing.”
“You called me the b word.”
“I’d never call you a bitch,” he said quickly.
“No, not that b word.”
“Best friend?”
“Heeseung.”
“Okay, okay,” Heeseung said, hands raised in surrender, the corners of his lips still twitching with that smug, boyish grin of his. “Fine.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, stretched tight between you like a string neither of you wanted to pull too hard in case it snapped. The leaves rustled above, a soft hush from the wind, but you couldn’t hear any of it over the way your heart was pounding.
You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual but your voice still came out sharper than planned. “If you’re not gonna ask me to be your girlfriend, then fuck it.”
He blinked, startled. “Huh?”
You turned your body fully to face him now, cheeks hot, but your eyes steady. “Heeseung?”
He straightened a little, eyes narrowing in confusion, like he wasn’t sure if he was being messed with. “What?”
Your lips curled upward, small but sure. “Will you be my boyfriend?”
Heeseung stared.
And for a moment, there was nothing. No cheeky remark or flirty deflection. Just silence.
You hadn’t expected silence. You were bracing yourself for a grin, for the way he’d pull you into a hug and say yes like it was the easiest thing in the world. But he didn’t.
“Hee?” you said softly, your voice faltering, a knot of dread starting to twist in your chest. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I… can’t,” he whispered, barely audible.
You blinked. “What?”
Heeseung’s gaze dropped to the rattan mat between you. His fingers curled into the fabric like he could steady himself with something solid, something real, but the words still caught in his throat. How was he supposed to say it? How could he tell you now after everything? After the daisies. After telling you he loved you. After you asked him that question.
“I’m leaving,” he said, suddenly. The words spilled out like they’d been choking him.
You laughed, but it was hollow, disbelieving. “Leaving?"
“My dad,” he murmured, eyes still downcast. “He got a job offer. In Canada. We’re moving. I’m going with him.”
You sat there for a second, like the wind had been knocked out of you. And then you swallowed hard.
-
You hated reliving that memory.
It haunted you in quiet moments, when the house was too still, when a familiar song played, when someone said his name by accident and the air shifted. That gnawing, hollow ache of losing your best friend. The ache of watching someone who once felt like home turn into a goodbye you never got to say properly.
You’d stopped talking to him not out of cruelty, but because every word felt like watching him slip further away. Because you were scared. Because it hurt. Because loving him and losing him at the same time felt unbearable. You were selfish, and you understood that now. But he was leaving. And what did a couple of teenagers really know about long distance? About staying in love through time zones and silence?
You told him that. You stood there crying and told him it wouldn't work. That it was better to end it before it hurt more. He shook his head. He believed that if you loved each other enough, you could survive anything.
But what could you have given him that would make him stay?
You were no one special. Just a girl. And deep down, you’d convinced yourself he deserved better, someone who could give him everything he was reaching for.
Your own insecurities… they were the cracks that broke everything apart. And by the time you realised that, by the time the fog of fear cleared and you understood what you’d done, he was already gone.
Instead of blaming yourself, you clung to bitterness. You told yourself he was the one who left without saying goodbye. You told yourself he should’ve told you the date, that he should’ve made it clearer. You told yourself that if you had known, you would’ve run to him. That you would’ve fought harder.
But he didn’t tell you.
And you didn’t ask.
And that was the end of it.
You sent message after message after he left. DMs, texts, half-drafted emails, all swallowed by silence. No reply. No closure. You watched his life unfold through your screen. New friends. New places. A girlfriend.
He looked happy.
And in some twisted, aching way, you knew you had done the right thing. You had let him go. And maybe he was never yours to keep.
-
PRESENT
“Did you eat the last cronut in the pantry?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you kicked Jake’s shin under the table.
He flinched and gave you an innocent look that was anything but. “Nope. I think that Ni-ki kid did.”
“Aw, man,” you groaned, sinking further into your chair.
The two of you were slouched in the company conference room, half-heartedly going over the slides for a pitch that your project manager, Park Sunghoon, had asked you to prepare. The room was quiet except for the tapping of your laptop keys and Jake’s occasional groan of disapproval whenever a client email annoyed him.
Then your elbow nudged into his side. “Hey, do you think Park Sunghoon’s hot?”
Jake barely glanced up. “He’s alright.”
“Alright?” You stared at him like he had personally offended you. “Dude, look at him. Jawline? Chiseled. Eyes? Big and brooding. And those muscles—my God, I can see them through his shirt.”
You pointed through the glass wall of the conference room where Park Sunghoon stood in conversation with another colleague, Jungwon, looking far too polished for a Thursday.
Then a throat cleared behind you.
You froze. Jake froze.
The two of you slowly turned around to find Heeseung standing at the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face and a very prominent vein pulsing in his jaw.
Your squeal was high-pitched and unmistakably guilty.
“Mr Lee! We were just working,” Jake said quickly, voice smooth but eyes flickering with panic.
You didn’t say a word. Still not speaking to Heeseung. Not after what he had essentially made you do.
Heeseung shifted awkwardly in the doorway, scratching the back of his neck like he wished he’d knocked first. “I—uh—I need one of you to be my assistant for tomorrow’s meeting in Busan.”
“Busan?” Jake blinked, his brows lifting. “I can’t. I’ve got that strategy consult with Sunoo.”
Then Heeseung turned to you. His voice gentled, just slightly. “You?”
You nodded, keeping your eyes fixed on your laptop screen, fingers still tapping random nonsense into the spreadsheet just to look busy.
“I’ll get a car to pick you up at eight,” he said, hesitating like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t.
You nodded again. Still didn’t look at him. And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, but his presence still hung heavy in the air like the scent of cologne he always wore.
Jake let out a long, low whistle. “You guys are so dead.”
-
Heeseung had told you to pack light. Light, as if you weren’t being dragged into a two-day conference in Busan with the human equivalent of the devil. Unfortunately, there was no suitcase small enough to prepare you for the storm of spending that much uninterrupted time with Lee Heeseung.
It was 6 in the morning, and the sky was still the kind of grey that made everything look sleepy and slightly unreal. You stood outside your apartment building, rubbing your eyes, a hat over your messy hair.
Jake stood beside you like a 1960’s housewife sending off her husband. Dressed in a hoodie tossed over his pyjamas, yawning every three minutes, he looked one gust of wind away from collapsing back into bed.
“You can go back inside and sleep, Jake.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “but I need to see you get into the car safely or I’ll assume someone kidnapped you and I can’t pay rent alone.”
“You could just say you care about me.”
“And where’s the fun in that?” Jake grinned. “God, you’re shivering,” he muttered, before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders without another word.
Just then, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Right as Jake tucked the jacket around you, the window rolled down, revealing Heeseung behind the wheel.
You blinked. “I thought you were sending over a car.”
“He couldn’t make it,” Heeseung said coolly. “So I’m driving us there.”
Your jaw dropped. “You want me to sit in a rolling asylum with you for five hours?”
“Just get in,” he said with an eye roll, already unlocking the doors.
You turned to Jake dramatically. “If I don’t make it back, it means Heeseung has killed me and buried my body in the woods.”
Jake snorted. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said, before softening. “But seriously, text me every hour just so I know you’re alive.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“Bye! Be safe!” he called out, watching as you reluctantly opened the passenger door and slid in, still wrapped in his jacket.
And just like that, the trip began.
-
The first hour passed in heavy silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle of your legs adjusting uncomfortably or the low hum of the road beneath the tyres. You stared out the window, arms folded, trying to pretend you weren’t painfully aware of Heeseung sitting just inches away.
Then, out of nowhere, he cleared his throat. “So… are you and Jake together?”
You choked on your own saliva, coughing into your elbow as you glared at him. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Heeseung nodded, unbothered, eyes fixed on the road.
Another three minutes of silence wrapped around the car. You sighed, leaning your head against the window.
“But if you must know,” you muttered, “no. We’re not.”
“Oh,” he replied, nonchalant. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You turned to him, brow raised. “Never had a female friend before?”
His lips quirked. “Had one. Just like you. In fact, I think it was you.”
That shut you up.
-
You trailed behind Heeseung, dragging both your suitcase and his, the wheels rattling against the tiled floor. Somewhere along the line, you'd just… assumed this was your role for the trip. His assistant. His shadow. His indentured servant, thanks to that ridiculous contract or what would’ve been a $20,000 debt hanging over your head if you refused.
You didn’t complain. Not out loud, at least. But inside, you were already cursing every single decision that led you here.
But before you could even reach the hotel lobby, Heeseung turned around and without a word, took both suitcases straight out of your hands.
“I can do—” you started, blinking.
“Shh,” he said, not even looking at you as he cut you off with a single syllable, raising one hand dismissively.
You stared at him, stunned, as he coolly rolled the two bags into the hotel. Like you hadn’t spent the last hour building him up in your head as the undefeated king of petty power plays.
And now he was carrying your luggage.
You hated that your heart skipped a little.
“I have a reservation Under Lee?” Heeseung said to the hotel receptionist, casually placing both suitcases beside the counter.
You stood just behind him, twiddling your thumbs and trying not to look like someone being dragged into a hostage situation.
“Oh!” the receptionist squeaked, her eyes lighting up. “Lee Taehyun, right? This must be your beautiful new bride! You two look so good together!” She beamed, completely unaware of your soul leaving your body. “And for newlyweds, we actually have a special promotion going on, rose petal turndown service, champagne on ice, and, of course, a complimentary aphrodisiac dessert to spark the honeymoon magic.” She winked.
You sputtered. “No. No, no. Absolutely not. We’re not Lee Taehyun or Lee whatever-he-is. We are Lee Heeseung. Could you please check that instead? Thank you.”
Heeseung scoffed beside you. “Calm down.”
“Calm down?” you hissed, turning toward him with wide eyes. “She was about to sell us off to the forest spirits and feed us magical truffles so we could get pregnant and return here every anniversary for the rest of our cursed lives.”
Heeseung sighed, rubbing his temples like he’d heard this exact flavour of overthinking from you a hundred times before. “Still as dramatic as ever.”
You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away. Okay. Maybe you had gone a little off the rails with the cursed honeymoon fantasy, but still. Aphrodisiacs? Really?
“…Whatever.”
“Oh, right!” the receptionist chirped, tapping away at her keyboard. “Here we have it—a suite reserved for Mr Lee and his girlfriend.”
Heeseung blinked. “Suite?”
She nodded, all smiles. “Yes, sir. One king bed, ocean view, complimentary couple’s spa vouchers. Booked by a Mr Park Jongseong.”
Heeseung’s eye twitched. “No, that can’t be right. I got Jongseong to reserve two single rooms.”
She frowned, double-checking the screen. “I’m afraid this is all we have under your name. Mr Park Jongseong booked you a suite.”
Heeseung let out a slow exhale, the kind that clearly said I’m going to murder someone when this is over.
Fucking no-good Park Jongseong, he thought, gripping the edge of the counter. Ruining my life once again.
“Well, can you change it to two single rooms?” Heeseung asked, voice strained but still clinging to the last threads of patience.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said with an apologetic smile. “That suite is the only room available tonight.”
“No, but—”
“It’ll be fine. Thank you!” you cut in brightly, grabbing the room key from the counter before he could dig himself deeper. You turned and started walking toward the elevators without looking back.
Heeseung followed, flabbergasted. “How is this fine?”
“Oh, relax,” you said, pressing the elevator button. “We’re just sharing a room.”
“Ten minutes ago, you looked horrified at the idea of someone thinking we were a couple, and now you’re suddenly fine with us sharing a bed?”
You turned to him with a sweet smile. “Oh, we’re not sharing a bed. You’re sleeping on the couch.”
He scoffed. “No, I’m not.”
“Oh yes, you are. I’m a woman.”
“And you also owe me $20,000.”
You turned your head sharply toward him, narrowing your eyes.
Heeseung smirked. The elevator doors slid open. This was going to be a very long trip.
-
This was one of the rare times you’d seen Heeseung serious and you hated to admit it, but it was kind of… annoyingly attractive. The way he stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, voice steady and low as he discussed strategy and projections like he actually cared. His posture, his tone, the faint crease between his brows, it all screamed quiet authority.
“I heard you’re quite the hopeless romantic, Mr Kim,” Heeseung joked mid-discussion, flashing a polite smile.
Mr Kim, a big-shot client who’d made waves in the industry, chuckled. He was currently planning to invest in a luxury jewellery company as a surprise anniversary gift for his wife. Conveniently, Aureum had just acquired one of the most prestigious jewellery lines in the country. Heeseung saw it as a win-win.
Heeseung had heard stories from others who’d worked with Mr Kim, he valued authenticity, sentiment, sincerity. The only reason the man was even entertaining a partnership with Aureum was because Heeseung had, against every corporate bone in his body, lied and said they were alike. That he too was deeply in love, devoted to his long-term partner.
Meanwhile, you were perfectly content by the buffet table, happily snacking on hors d’oeuvres. Free food, no responsibilities? You were thriving.
“I’d love to meet her,” Mr Kim said suddenly, sipping his drink. “You said you brought her here today?”
Heeseung hesitated for only a beat before nodding. “Uh, I did.”
Mr Kim looked around. “Where is she?”
There was a long, tense pause. Heeseung glanced around the room, praying for a miracle. Then his eyes landed on you, halfway through chewing a mini tart, looking entirely unbothered and, in his opinion, far too cute for your own good.
“There,” he said, pointing. “She’s right over there.”
Mr Kim followed his gaze and smiled. “She’s beautiful. Seems just like what your type would be.”
Heeseung forced a smile, hand loosening slightly around his glass.
God, you were gonna kill him.
Then you wandered over, completely unaware of everything, happily licking tart crumbs off your thumb. “Have you tried the tarts?” you said cheerfully. “They’re so good.”
Heeseung turned to you. “There you are,” he said, voice dripping with sudden warmth. It was…weird. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, but he was already putting on his best smile. “I was just talking about you to Mr Kim.”
You blinked, gaze shifting to the man in front of you. Oh. Mr Kim. You knew who he was. Big client. Even bigger deal.
You quickly bowed. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Ah,” Mr Kim said, smiling warmly. “Heeseung tells me about you all the time.”
Your head snapped toward Heeseung. “He has?”
“He told me you were beautiful,” Mr Kim continued, chuckling. “And I see now he didn’t lie.”
Your eyes narrowed just a fraction, head tilting. “He did?”
“You seem surprised,” Mr Kim said, raising a brow, clearly confused by the disconnect.
Then you felt a light poke on your back. Heeseung leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper against your ear. “Play along and I’ll let go of the $20,000.”
You straightened immediately, laughing a little too quickly. “Oh! I’m just surprised he talks about me, that’s all.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Mr Kim said warmly. “You’re beautiful. The two of you look beautiful together.”
And then you froze.
Beautiful together?
You gulped, lips twitching into a forced smile.
Back in the hotel room, you slammed the door behind you, nearly tripping over your own suitcase.
“You’re insane,” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Heeseung.
“Look,” he said calmly, shrugging off his blazer and tossing it onto the couch, “just do this for two days, and I let go of the twenty grand. Seems like a win-win, doesn’t it?”
You stared at him, jaw dropped. “I can’t even stand being in the same room as you for two days, and you want me to pretend I’m your fiancée? You are actually, clinically insane.”
Heeseung gave you a lazy smile, then leaned against the table. “The deal’s already done. Once these two days are over, you’re free. Mr Kim’s contract is worth a million dollars to the company. So either you suck it up and act like you're in love with me… or you pay me one million—plus the existing twenty thousand you already owe.”
You stared at him. Then blinked. Then stared some more.
Your brain scrambled for a response, but all it managed was a silent scream and a thousand curse words you couldn’t legally say out loud.
You gulped, glaring at him through gritted teeth. “…Fine.”
-
It was the night of the conference. The hotel ballroom was already packed, sleek suits, designer gowns, the clinking of wine glasses, and enough perfume to drown in. Just the thought of having to smile and lie to at least a hundred people about being Heeseung’s loving, devoted fiancée made your stomach twist.
Earlier, Heeseung had sent you to a nearby salon, muttering something about how he refused to walk in with someone who “looked like they just rolled out of a laundry pile.” You’d wanted to punch him. But now, walking out of the room, you… almost didn’t recognise yourself.
Your hair was done in a half-up ponytail, the rest curled into soft, elegant ringlets. The makeup was natural but glowing, and the pink dress they sent up fit so well, hugging the right places, flowing gracefully just at your knees. Pink ballet heels, delicate dangling earrings brushing your collarbones. You looked like you belonged here.
But you didn’t feel like it.
Heeseung had already left for the conference earlier, texting only once to tell you where to meet him and, of course, to not embarrass him.
Charming.
You stepped into the corridor, a bit dazed, and decided to take the longer route through the golf course. There was a lake just beyond the path. The air was crisp, the sky painted with fading pinks and purples. You’d never stayed anywhere this fancy before. It felt like walking through someone else’s life.
Then you spotted it.
A lady in a chef’s hat, sprinting awkwardly across the green grass, arms outstretched, chasing something. A blur of white darted ahead of her.
A rabbit.
Your eyes widened. Were they going to cook it? Serve it at dinner for the hotel guests? You knew people ate rabbit. You weren’t someone to judge—“let people eat what they want” was practically your moral code—but the way the rabbit bounced in terror, its tiny legs scrambling to escape?
No. Nope. Couldn’t do it.
Without hesitation, you lifted the hem of your dress and ran. Full sprint. Across the grass, heels sinking slightly into the dirt, heart thudding as you caught up. With an ungraceful lunge, you scooped the bunny into your arms.
“Please don’t kill him!” you cried, standing defensively in front of the chef.
The chef skidded to a stop, looking at you like you were the crazy one. “What?”
“I know he’s probably delicious, but please! Don’t do it!” You clutched the rabbit tighter. “He’s scared! Look at him!”
The woman blinked… then chuckled. “Miss.”
“I’ll give you money,” you blurted. “I don’t have much but I’ll transfer to you some, just please, let him go!”
She laughed harder now, motioning to the other side of the lawn. “Miss… the rabbit’s a family pet. We’re just trying to get her back into the hotel suite. You see?”
You followed her finger and saw another staff member standing sheepishly beside an open rabbit cage.
“Oh.”
The chef blinked at you for a second, startled, before her features slowly softened into a smile, wide, warm, the kind only older women could pull off.
You were still clutching the rabbit like it was a child in danger.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman said, chuckling as she approached you gently, palms raised like she didn’t want to startle you this time. “We’re not gonna cook the bunny.”
You blinked, still catching your breath. “So… you’re really not going to cook him?”
She laughed, her whole frame shaking. “No, darling. This naughty girl escaped from our suite when the door was left open. We’ve been trying to catch her for the last twenty minutes. But thank you for your… enthusiasm.”
You looked down at the rabbit, who blinked lazily in your arms.
The chef stepped closer and gently took the bunny from your arms. But before she stepped away, she paused, looking at you with a fond smile.
“You’re too cute,” she said softly, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. “Such a kind heart, and so pretty too.”
And then the chef walked off, humming to herself, rabbit nestled contently in her arms like none of the chaos had just happened.
You glanced down at your watch—and froze.
“Crap!” you hissed, eyes widening. You were 10 minutes late. You were supposed to meet Heeseung 10 minutes ago, and knowing him, he probably already assumed you'd either bailed or spontaneously combusted. You lifted the hem of your dress and took off running, again, heels clicking wildly against the marble floor as you made a mad dash through the hotel.
-
Heeseung stood at the entrance of the ballroom, posture stiff, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored suit. His tie was perfect, his expression… not. He had done the early rounds, greeted the important names, planted the seeds for tonight’s main pitch, and now all he needed was his fake fiancée.
He looked down at his watch for the fourth time. Then toward the entrance. Then back at his watch. He groaned under his breath, jaw tightening.
Of course you were late. Of course you’d leave him hanging, tonight of all nights. He was already imagining himself pulling out his phone to text you a series of snarky messages when the ballroom doors opened.
And then you stepped in.
Heeseung's breath caught mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-everything. Time didn’t slow down; it stopped. He swore the music dimmed just to make space for the sound of his heartbeat. There you were, framed by the golden light of the chandeliers, hair curled into soft, glimmering ringlets that fell perfectly over your shoulders. Your heels clicked gently against the floor, matching your earrings that caught the light with every step, brushing your collarbones like a secret. You looked perfect.
And Heeseung? Heeseung forgot what air was. Forgot that this was a business event. Forgot that this was pretend. All he could think was that no one else in the room existed but you.
You made your way toward him, a little breathless, cheeks warm, your eyes meeting his with that familiar glint of mischief and irritation and something softer underneath. He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting his collar like it was suddenly suffocating him.
“You’re… late,” he muttered, voice low, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably—because all he could think was how the hell do you look this pretty and expect me to act normal?
“I was trying to save a bunny,” you said, completely serious. Your brows were drawn together in the most sincere little frown, concern written all over your face like you were still thinking about the damn rabbit.
Heeseung blinked.
You had that look in your eyes, the one where they went all wide and sparkly and impossibly earnest.
He was this close to melting. Just folding into your arms right then and there, because what the hell. Who gave you the right to be this pretty and this adorable? He wanted to squeal. He wanted to throw a chair. He wanted to tuck you under his coat and never let you do anything dangerous or heartbreaking or normal ever again.
But instead, he cleared his throat, forced his lips into a flat line, and muttered, “Yeah, well… you were still late.”
Pathetic. Even his pretend-annoyed voice sounded whipped.
-
Heeseung found himself standing beside Mr Kim near the open bar, both nursing glasses of champagne. The conversation had drifted from projections and sales to something lighter, more personal but Heeseung’s shoulders were still stiff, his eyes constantly flicking toward the far side of the ballroom to you.
You were talking to people. Merging into a circle of clients and industry professionals as if you belonged there. He watched as you laughed politely at something someone said, nodding attentively, gesturing animatedly when it was your turn to speak. He caught the way someone leaned in closer when you talked, how another man offered you a drink with a too-eager smile.
He clenched his jaw and looked away.
“She’s quite charming,” Mr Kim said, following Heeseung’s gaze with a subtle smirk. “Looks like she’s handling herself just fine.”
Heeseung chuckled stiffly. “Yeah, she tends to make a good impression.”
Mr Kim smiled knowingly, taking another sip of his drink. “My wife was talking about someone like her earlier. Said she saw a girl in a pink dress out on the golf course and thought she was watching a Disney princess chase after a rabbit.”
Heeseung nearly choked on his drink.
“Begged the chef not to cook it,” Mr Kim added, clearly amused. “Turns out it was our family pet. Apparently your fiancée offered money to save it.”
Heeseung groaned under his breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth to hide the grin trying to creep up. “That sounds… exactly like her.”
“She’s adorable,” Mr Kim said warmly, his tone turning unexpectedly sincere. “Rare to see someone so real in a room full of people wearing masks.”
He paused for a beat, then added, “To be honest, I wasn’t sold on the jewellery deal at first. Didn’t see the heart in it. But my wife couldn’t stop talking about that girl—your fiancée. Said any company that attracts someone like her must be doing something right.”
Heeseung’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass. His eyes found yours across the ballroom, animated and smiling as you spoke to a small group. For a second, something soft bloomed in his chest, something he hadn’t meant to feel.
He nodded once. "She's perfect."
-
The conference had gone better than expected, and the energy in the room had shifted to celebration,champagne flutes half-filled, smiles looser, jackets coming off shoulders.
“If I may,” Mr Kim said, standing tall at the front of the ballroom, his voice warm but commanding enough to draw the attention of everyone in the room, “I’d like to invite someone very special to say a few words.”
The chatter died down instantly.
“Him and his fiancée are the reason I’ve decided to move forward with our partnership with Aureum,” Mr Kim continued, smiling. “It wasn’t just the impressive numbers, or the sleek portfolio, or even the pitch, which, I’ll admit, was still excellent. It was the authenticity. The human touch. In a world full of polished presentations and rehearsed lines, it’s rare to meet someone who speaks like they still believe in what they do and that’s why I’m here.”
Then Mr Kim’s eyes flicked toward him, his smile widening just a little. “Mr Lee. Would you join us for a quick toast? Perhaps say something about your lovely fiancée as well?”
Heeseung froze.
You almost choked on the crabcakes you were devouring.
Heeseung’s hand froze mid-air, fingers curled slightly around the stem of his glass. His eyes widened just a fraction, enough for you to see the panic ripple beneath the surface of his carefully maintained expression.
He stood slowly, giving you one last glance like he was walking straight into a firing squad, and made his way to the front of the room.
Mr Kim clapped him on the back. “I’ve always admired honesty, Mr Lee. Let’s hear what love sounds like from someone living it.”
Heeseung stepped up to the mic.
The room quieted. The seconds stretched. You watched his throat bob, watched the slight tremble in his fingers where they gripped the edge of the podium. He was freezing.
And Mr Kim noticed.
The man tilted his head, expression beginning to shift, curiosity folding into doubt.
You stood.
Heeseung’s eyes found yours immediately. And you didn’t think. You just walked.
You made your way up to the stage, your heels clicking softly against the ballroom floor, your heart pounding. You reached him, gently touched his arm, and turned to the mic. Heeseung stepped aside without a word, his jaw still tight.
“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice light but clear. “My fiancé’s not really used to a big crowd. He’s the kind of guy who can negotiate million-dollar deals without blinking, but ask him to express a single human emotion in public and he acts like he’s being held hostage.”
A soft laugh rippled through the room.
You turned slightly, your gaze catching Heeseung’s from the corner of your eye.
“Well...uh...Heeseung and I… we’ve been friends for as long as I can remember,” you began, “Then at the age of 18 left me for Canada. Canada. Can you imagine? Leaving this—” you gestured to yourself with mock offense, “—for Canada?”
The crowd laughed, a ripple of amusement breaking through the room.
You smiled, softer this time, your voice dipping gently. “We drifted after that—stopped talking, stopped being us. And then… he came back. Somehow, we reconnected, and, as fate would have it, he was actually even more insufferably annoying than I remembered.”
Another laugh bubbled from the audience, gentler this time.
“He knew exactly how to push my buttons. He was cocky, arrogant… God, I hated him. Made me do the dumbest things. Made me run the craziest errands. Like, have you ever seen someone counting exactly 50 blueberries in the middle of a supermarket? If you have, that was probably me.”
The room stilled, the laughter fading like it had never been there. The shift was subtle—just the way attention turned sharper, the way even the background music felt like it had lowered itself into a hush.
“But somehow…” you continued, your voice softer now, almost hesitant. You turned your head fully, locking eyes with Heeseung, and the noise of the room blurred around the edges.
“After all those years, after all the silence… I realised something.”
You drew in a breath, one that trembled slightly on the way out. “I blamed him for so much time lost. I blamed him for leaving, for not telling me when, for not trying harder. But I forgot…”
You paused. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, but it needed to be said.
“I forgot to blame myself,” you whispered. “And I never apologized.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the mic. The words felt raw, too honest, and somehow… exactly why you had hated him back then. Because loving him hurt, and you didn’t know how to carry that without turning it into anger.
Heeseung’s expression shattered—composure gone, his eyes soft and stunned, like you’d touched a place inside him he thought you’d never reach again. There was something breaking open in his gaze. Something unspoken but unmistakable.
“Till now,” you finished, voice barely above a whisper.
And then, with the ache growing full in your chest, your eyes still locked on his, you breathed into the mic.
“I’m sorry.”
The word hung in the air louder than you intended. You wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek, hoping no one noticed. But then it hit you, you were still on stage. Still holding the mic. Still standing under a literal spotlight in front of dozens of clients and colleagues.
You cleared your throat and plastered on a small, tight smile. “And of course,” you said lightly, forcing the laugh into your voice, “none of this would have happened if we weren’t madly in love and getting married in exactly” ,you glanced at your imaginary watch, “three months and four days. But who’s counting? Apparently, bridezilla herself!”
The crowd laughed. A few people even let out soft awws, and someone near the front clapped.
You gave a stiff little bow, muttered a quick “thank you,” and then got off the stage.
And ran.
You had somehow found your way back to the golf course. You walked faster, heart pounding, heels sinking slightly into the grass. You didn’t want him to find you. Not like this. Not when your walls were crumbling and your heart was screaming things you weren’t ready to say out loud.
But then, a hand gripped your wrist, gentle and firm, stopping you in your tracks. You spun around, startled, only to find Heeseung behind you.
“What you said back there,” he said, voice low, shaking slightly, “did you mean it?”
“What?” you blinked. “I was just lying to get him off our backs. You know. I was doing my job as your fake fiancée, remember?” You tried to laugh it off, but it came out hollow.
Heeseung didn’t even flinch. “It didn’t seem like a lie.”
You scoffed, looking away. “I was just tryna get the $20,000 off my back, Heeseung.”
“You still love me,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was raw now.
You froze. “No, I don’t—”
“Stop lying to yourself!” Heeseung shouted, the words cutting through the quiet night, raw and ragged, like something inside him had finally broken loose. “Stop lying to me! I can’t take this anymore!”
His voice echoed across the empty golf course, full of something desperate and real, something that made your chest tighten and your breath catch.
“That girl…” he said, voice cracking, “that girl I was in love with… who I still am in love with—she’s in there somewhere. I refuse to believe she didn’t show up at the airport.”
“Heeseung,” you breathed, eyes wide, frozen in place.
“Why?” His voice wavered. “Why didn’t you come? Why didn’t you show up? Why did you just… shut me out after I told you I was leaving—”
“Because!” you snapped, your voice breaking as you finally let it spill. “Because I’m selfish!”
Heeseung paused, taken aback. His brows pulled together.
“I didn’t want to get hurt,” you whispered.
“That’s not the truth,” he said quietly.
“It is,” you insisted, but your voice wavered.
Heeseung shook his head, stepping closer, eyes locked on yours. “You’re lying.”
You ran a trembling hand through your hair, your voice cracking as you looked away. “Fine! You want the truth? You really want to hear it?”
Your chest rose with a sharp breath, the words clawing their way up. “It’s because I thought… I thought if you stayed, I’d ruin you.”
You turned, eyes burning as they met his. “You were 18, Heeseung. 18. You were so smart. You had this whole brilliant, blinding life ahead of you. A future so much bigger than anything I could give you. And me?” Your voice broke. “I was scared I’d be the reason you didn’t shine. That you’d look back one day and realise you settled.”
You swallowed hard, “So I let you go. Because it felt easier to lose you than to stay and watch you wake up one day and realise you made a mistake by choosing me.”
Heeseung’s breath caught, his entire body tensing. “Why?” he asked, voice cracking, his voice growing louder each with each second passing by. “Why would you think I’d ever regret choosing you?”
You turned your face away, “Because I was scared, okay? I was 18. I was still trying to figure out who I was, let alone what I meant to you. And then suddenly I had to make a decision that felt like it would shape the rest of your life.”
You faced him again, voice rising with the ache in your chest. “You were leaving for this big, shiny life. New country, new people, new everything. And I—” You choked. “I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed and resented it.”
He stared at you like he didn’t even know how to speak. “What was good for me?” he echoed quietly, like the words were something sacred. Then louder, sharper—“You! You were! I fucking loved you so much, how could you not see that?”
“Then why didn’t you tell me when you were leaving!” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of years unsaid. “I would’ve come. I would’ve come, Heeseung. If I’d known—if you had just told me when—”
“Yes I did!” Heeseung’s voice cracked again. “I wrote it. In the letter.”
You froze. “What letter?”
“The letter I gave your mom,” he said, breathless. “The one I—God, I gave your mom a letter. I told her to give it to you.”
You stared at him, stunned.
“What fucking letter?” you whispered.
“I gave your mom a letter,” he said again, quieter this time. “It had everything. The date. The time. Everything. I thought you didn’t come because you chose not to.”
“My mom… never gave me a letter,” you said softly, the words tumbling out like a secret you hadn’t known you were holding.
Heeseung’s eyes widened. “What?”
“If I did know, I would’ve shown up,” you continued, your voice cracking at the edges. “I would’ve told you not to go. I would’ve begged you to stay.” Your throat burned.
“I didn’t mean to leave,” Heeseung said quickly, shaking his head, his voice full of urgency. “God, I didn’t just leave. I waited. I waited until the last possible second. I looked for you until they started calling my name for final boarding.”
Your eyes brimmed with tears, heart pounding. “Now I know you didn’t.”
Heeseung took a shaky step forward. “And now I know you didn’t ignore me. You didn’t walk away.”
You nodded slowly, unable to speak as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Before you could hide, before you could even wipe them away, Heeseung stepped forward and gently tugged you into him, his arms wrapping around you like they were made to.
He pressed your head to his chest, where his heart was beating fast and loud, just like yours. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other brushed against your cheek, wiping your tears.
Then, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for the shit I put you through.”
And this time, you didn’t hold back.
“I should've asked. I'm sorry.” you whispered back.
You tilted your face up to him, eyes still wet but softer now, like the storm inside you had finally started to settle. Heeseung looked down, gaze flicking between your tear-streaked cheeks and the curve of your lips, his thumb still gently resting beneath your chin.
And then you leaned in.
The both of you were hesitant at first. But the second your lips met, everything else slipped away. His hands in your hair, your fingers gripping his tie.
The kiss deepened. His fingers curled around your waist. Then, without warning, he tapped your thigh twice.
You understood immediately, jumping up as he caught you with ease. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, and he held you there, effortlessly.
Your lips never parted, not even as he turned and started walking, steady and sure. The golf course faded behind you, quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind.
He pulled back just enough to grin against your cheek. “As much as I like the idea of christening the 9th hole… I think we should take this somewhere less… open.”
-
The door clicked open behind you, but you barely registered it.
In one breath, Heeseung had you in his arms again, his hands firm at your waist, his lips crashing onto yours. There was nothing hesitant about it. Just years of built-up longing released in one desperate, searing kiss.
He guided you backwards gently, lips never parting from yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You stumbled slightly, gasping into his mouth, and he caught you with a quiet laugh, pressing you down with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
“Jongseong’s gonna have a field day with this one,” he whispered, grinning against your skin.
You let out a soft laugh. “Well, Jake too.”
He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow at you. “Did you really have to mention Jake when I’m trying to put some moves on you?”
“You mentioned Jongseong first.”
“Yeah, but… Jake’s gross.”
“You’re just jealous.”
He scoffed. “What if I am?”
“Then you’re stupid, because Jake’s like a brother to me.”
“I wanna fire him.”
You snorted. “You can’t fire him without an actual reason, dumbass.”
Heeseung groaned, flopping onto the bed like the world had betrayed him personally.
“This is so unfair. I fall for a girl and her emotional support dog comes in the same package.”
You rolled your eyes, hovering just above him with a smirk tugging at your lips. “Now are we making out, or are we gonna keep talking about our friends?”
“I definitely prefer the first option,” he muttered.
And then his hand slid to the back of your neck, and he pulled you down into him again, his lips meeting yours, firmer this time, no hesitation. Just heat and honesty and a kiss that felt like it had been years in the making.
-
Morning light spilled in through the hotel curtains, soft and golden, casting gentle shadows across the sheets tangled around your legs. You blinked slowly, the haze of sleep clinging to your lashes, the warmth beside you anchoring you to a reality that felt too perfect to be true.
Heeseung was still asleep, bare-chested, one arm slung lazily over your waist, hair a complete mess, lips parted slightly like he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence. His face, usually so composed and sharp, looked peaceful like this.
You smiled, fingers brushing lightly over the curve of his shoulder.
Then you sat up. And screamed.
“Heeseung!”
He jolted awake like someone had lit a fire under him. “What? What—what’s wrong?”
“We’re late! The breakfast meeting!”
For a second, you both just stared at each other, completely frozen in chaos. The clock read 8:43. The meeting started at 9.
“Shit.”
You scrambled to untangle yourselves from the sheets, clothes flying across the room as you grabbed the first items in reach, your skirt halfway zipped, his shirt buttoned all wrong.
Heeseung stumbled while trying to put on his socks, nearly falling face-first into the carpet. “Why didn’t we set an alarm?!”
“Because someone was too busy whispering sweet shit in my ear and kissing my shoulder for an hour.”
“Well excuse me for being emotionally available for once!”
You both raced around the room like it was on fire, bumping into each other, yanking open suitcases, swearing under your breaths, and then suddenly, just as you were jamming a shoe onto your foot, Heeseung grabbed your wrist and spun you toward him.
“Wait,” he said, breathless. “Just one. Please.”
You blinked. “Hee, we don’t have time.”
“Just one,” he whispered, already leaning in. “One kiss.”
You sighed. Let your hands wrap around his collar as he kissed you, messy, rushed, and full of everything you’d both been too stubborn to say for years.
When you finally pulled away, both of you slightly dazed, Heeseung grinned. “Totally worth it.”
You smacked his arm. “Let’s go, idiot.”
And hand in hand, grinning like fools, you bolted for the elevator.
-
It’d been a few days since everything had changed. Since the night on the golf course. Since the hotel room. And since well, you and Heeseung had…done stuff. Multiple times.
You weren’t official but you were… together. Always orbiting each other like you were tethered by something invisible. No one knew. Not Jake. Not your team. And definitely not HR, which, unfortunately, was Park Jongseong himself, a man with a love for company policies and a suspicious sixth sense for office romance.
And so, here you were. In the office pantry with Jake, who was minding his coffee.
Jake nudged your elbow as he poured milk into his mug. “So, how was the trip with the devil himself?”
You sipped your coffee. “It was fine.”
“Fine? Really?” Jake squinted at you. “Damn, I thought you were coming back with at least three things I could use to file an anonymous complaint.”
You shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Y’know… actually, he’s not that bad.”
Jake slowly turned to face you. “Not that bad? He made you pretend to be a floor tile.”
You winced. “Okay, yeah, but—look, we were both kind of crazy. I spat in his coffee once, so like… we’re even.”
Jake nearly dropped his mug. “Even?” He stared at you like you’d just told him you’d taken up sword-swallowing as a hobby. “Who are you right now—wait.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait, wait—oh no.”
You froze.
Jake’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. The two of you hooked up, didn’t you?”
You opened your mouth then closed it.
Jake looked personally betrayed, “I knew it. I knew you were all weird this week! Who the hell goes to the janitor closet for breaks?”
You froze mid-sip, eyes darting away.
Jake’s jaw dropped. “Heeseung was in there, wasn’t he?”
You blinked.
“Oh my god—you two did it in the janitor cl—EW!” Jake staggered back like the mental image physically harmed him. “I eat lunch near that hallway!”
You held up a hand. “First of all, we did not—”
“You hesitated! That was a hesitation!”
“Jake, if you don’t shut up, I swear I’m going to tell Jongseong you said his HR memo font choice was ugly.”
Jake rolled his eyes, lowering his voice only slightly. “Fine but just so you know, this doesn’t mean I like him. He’s still an asshole.”
You shrugged, sipping your coffee like this wasn’t the most ridiculous conversation you’ve had in weeks. “Good. Because he hates you too.”
Jake blinked. “What the fuck did I do?”
You shrugged, “Exist.”
-
Heeseung sat at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he finalised the proposal for Mr Kim. It was clean, sharp, every slide perfectly aligned to close the deal he’d been working for almost half a year. A deal that, according to the company group chat, had already been deemed one of the most high-profit wins in Aureum’s history.
He should’ve been riding the high of corporate glory.
But none of it really mattered. Not compared to the fact that he’d come back with you.
He tried to stay focused but every few minutes his eyes drifted upward, toward your little cubicle across the hall. You were hunched slightly over your desk, tongue peeking out the corner of your mouth in concentration.
He rested his cheek on his palm, watching you like an idiot. You were so pretty.
And then you looked up.
Your eyes met his, and instead of pretending he hadn’t just been caught openly simping, Heeseung grinned because ever since the two of you were unofficially official, he didn’t even bother to hide it anymore.
You tilted your head, smirking. Then sent him a flying kiss.
Heeseung squealed. Audibly. And sent one right back with two hands like a dramatic fool.
And that was when the office door swung open.
“What the fuck are you doing?” came Park Jongseong’s voice, disgusted and traumatised all at once.
Heeseung sat up straight, clearing his throat. “I was… practicing.”
Jongseong blinked. “Practicing what, exactly?”
“…Nevermind."
Jongseong sighed and muttered "You're so weird,” before walking out.
Then the door opened again.
“Wait...I smell something,” Jongseong declared.
Heeseung didn’t even look up. “What?”
“A HR violation,” Jongseong said with a sniff, eyes narrowing.
As much as Heeseung loved Jongseong, god, the man could be such a self-righteous pain when it came to company policies.
“I don’t smell anything,” Heeseung said, typing without looking.
“No, no. I smell it. There’s a strong odor of office romance in the air and it reeks in here.”
“You must be sniffing yourself.”
“Oh please. This company only hires uglies.”
“You’re not the catch you think you are, Jongseong.”
“Yes I am,” he said with absolute confidence, “and I will find out who is reeking of romance. It’s horrendous.” Then, dramatically, he turned to Heeseung. “Is it you?”
Heeseung gulped, eyes twitching. “Couldn’t be me.”
Jongseong stared harder. “You’re right. You reek too much of a man who hasn’t gotten laid in three years because he’s been secretly in love with his subordinate.”
Heeseung blinked. Deeply offended, but smart enough not to give in. “Yeah sure. Whatever you say.”
Then, without warning, Jongseong spun and pointed directly at Jake, who had just walked in with his smoothie.
“It’s him!” Jongseong gasped. “He has the cheekbones for it. Look at him—he looks gorgeous. No way this man isn’t pulling chicks.”
“Cheekbones?” Heeseung scoffed. “They’re more like rotten apples. Don’t you think?”
“No. This man looks like he was carved by God himself.”
“Or the devil, actually.”
“No. Look at him,” Jongseong insisted, grabbing Heeseung’s shoulders and spinning him toward Jake. “He looks like a piece of Renaissance art with a gym membership.”
“He looks like three-day-old underwear.”
“You’re just jealous… because… oh my god.” Jongseong’s eyes widened, turning to face Heeseung fully. “He’s dating her, isn’t he?”
“What?” Heeseung looked at Jongseong like he’d just suggested he was secretly a lizard.
“That’s why you’re extra moody today,” Jongseong gasped. “Because Jake and her are together. And that leaves you all alone.”
Heeseung’s stomach flipped violently. He hated the image of you and Jake together. He hated the way Jongseong even said it like it made sense.
“They’re not together,” he snapped.
“Well, if they are, we could always just fire Jake,” Jongseong offered casually, sipping his coffee.
“We are not—” Heeseung paused. “Hold on. That’s a good idea.”
“Well, then she’d have to go too. Because, y’know, also dating Jake.”
“Oh. Right.” Heeseung grimaced.
Jongseong raised a brow. “Not like you care though? You fucking hate her.”
“Actually, people change,” Heeseung muttered. “She apologized. She’s… not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Jongseong repeated slowly, squinting.
He looked at you through the glass. Then at Heeseung. Then at you again. Then back at Heeseung.
His mouth dropped open.
“It’s you,” Jongseong gasped, pointing between the two of you like he’d just cracked a government conspiracy. “It's you two!”
Before another word could escape his mouth, Heeseung shot up from his chair and launched himself at him.
Jongseong barely had time to react before Heeseung had tackled him into a makeshift headlock, one hand slapped over his mouth as the two of them stumbled into the corner of the office.
“Let go of me!” Jongseong struggled, flailing under Heeseung’s grip. “I have rights!”
“Not until you promise you won’t say a word!” Heeseung hissed, tugging on Jongseong’s shoulders and trying to wrestle him into silence while Jongseong kicked wildly at the air.
Outside the office, you and Jake stood with your coffees, watching everything unfold behind the glass.
Jake blinked. “What the hell do you think is happening in there?”
You shrugged, casually sipping from your mug. “No clue. Glass walls don’t help if they built the place like a soundproof aquarium.”
Back inside, Jongseong finally managed to pull Heeseung’s hand from his mouth long enough to shout, “I am a man of the people! I have to report this monstrosity!”
“Calm the fuck down,” Heeseung gritted through his teeth, still trying to keep him pinned. “You’re a HR manager, not Captain America.”
Jongseong wheezed, flailing. “The people must know!”
“The people can suck it!” Heeseung growled, still halfway wrestling Jongseong into the carpet.
“Jongseong, I swear to God, if you’re the next obstacle to us getting back together, I’m never forgiving you.”
“I—I—” Jongseong wheezed, still pinned beneath Heeseung’s arm. “When the hell did you get—so—strong?”
Heeseung didn’t even flinch. “Pilates, bitch.”
Outside, you took another slow sip of your coffee, eyebrows raised. “Five bucks says Heeseung bribes him with cake to shut up.”
Jake nodded. “Ten if it’s that strawberry shortcake from the café downstairs.”
“Deal.”
Jongseong finally shoved him off, crawling backward until he could breathe. “Okay, fine!” he huffed, adjusting his rumpled blazer. “You seem pretty serious about her.”
Heeseung straightened, flicked his collar, and gave the smuggest little smirk. “I am.”
There was a pause.
Then, softer this time, “So please?” Heeseung added, meeting Jongseong’s eyes. “Could you just… keep it down?”
Jongseong looked at him. Then at you through the glass. Then back at Heeseung.
He sighed deeply, like he was about to betray his entire code of ethics. “Fine.”
Heeseung grinned. “Thank you.”
“But the second you start getting gross in meetings, I’m reporting both of you to HR which is me.”
“Deal,” Heeseung said, already pulling out his wallet. “Strawberry shortcake?”
Jongseong paused. “Extra whipped cream.”
Heeseung nodded. “Done.”
-
You knew it was a risk.
The moment Heeseung had grabbed your wrist in the hallway and tugged you into the janitor’s closet with that familiar look in his eyes, the one that always made your knees weak and better judgment nonexistent, you knew.
And yet here you were.
Pressed against the wall between a mop and a bucket, lips tangled with yours. His hands roamed your waist with urgency, and your fingers were tugging at his tie.
“This is your fault,” you whispered against his mouth.
“You kissed me first,” he murmured back, breathless, grinning.
“Because you looked hot during the finance meeting!”
“You said profit margin like it was a dirty word!”
You were about to argue when—
The door opened.
“Oh my GOD,” Jake’s voice rang out, horrified.
“What the hell—” Jongseong's words trailed off as he stepped in behind Jake, immediately shielding his eyes with a clipboard. “I knew it. I knew it! I’m reporting the two of you to HR.”
You scrambled to fix your blouse, cheeks burning. “Jake, shut the door!”
“You’ve scarred me. I need therapy.”
“Technically,” Heeseung said, calm as ever, “we’re on our ten-minute break.”
“That’s it,” Jongseong snapped. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught you two doing something borderline illegal in the fucking mop closet. I’m reporting you. I’ve been way too tolerant.”
“How about a hundred bucks and we pretend this never happened?” Heeseung offered smoothly.
Jongseong paused. Then grinned. “Damn. Didn’t know I could go blind for ten minutes, but apparently, I can. Nice doing business with you.”
Jake blinked. “Wait, how about me? I can still report this to HR too!”
“You’re lucky I don’t fire your ugly ass on the spot.”
Jake scoffed. “I told you two months ago—I don’t want your ratty-ass girlfriend. You can stop being weird about it.”
“Ratty?” you gasped, hand to your chest like you’d just been stabbed.
Jake rolled his eyes. “You know I’m exaggerating. You’re the prettiest princess in the entire damn kingdom.”
You giggled. “Hee, apologise to him.”
“Absolutely not. He just called you pretty right in front of me.”
“Am I not pretty?” you asked, feigning offence.
Heeseung groaned. “You’re very beautiful. Which is exactly why we’re in this situation in the first place!”
“Well, then, could you please apologise to Jake?”
Heeseung sighed, dramatically pained. “Fine. I’m sorry, and I don’t hate you.”
Jake blinked. “…Thanks?”
“Now,” Heeseung said, already tugging the door shut again, “can we have five more minutes?”
“NO!” they both shouted in unison.
The door slammed shut anyway.
Jake stared at it, traumatised. “I’m never opening a janitor’s closet again.”
Jongseong nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen things. I need bleach.”
➜ summary: jay’s always had everything. you were just the girl who followed him around until you became the one thing he couldn’t let go.
pairing: pjs x f!reader, wc: 16k words , genre: best friends to lovers, rich!jay, fluff, a wee lil angst w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
When you were eight, your pet fish died. Jay, being the perfect friend, snuck out of his house, hoodie zipped up to his nose, and stood outside your door with a juice box and a Pokémon sticker. He didn’t say anything, just left them there with a note that read: “U ken yoos the stikr four yur dairi.”
He wasn’t the best speller, but he was the best friend you could ever ask for.
When you were thirteen, you stayed up until 3 a.m. on the phone, ranting about how some snotty new transfer from Australia, Sim Jaeyun said your feet looked “weirdly shaped.” Jay spent an hour trying to convince you that Jaeyun had a thumb that looked like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and couldn’t tell a mermaid from a fish so he didn’t deserve to have opinions.
When you turned seventeen, Jay gave you his favourite hoodie before flying to Seattle for a month to visit his relatives. You wore it religiously while he was gone, just to feel a little closer to him.
And till now somehow, Jay still orbited your everyday life.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up, eyes fixed on some game playing on the TV.
“I wasn’t even supposed to come today.”
“But you did,” he replied, finally turning to glance at you. His grin was lazy, a little smug. “Couldn’t stay away from The Jonginator 3000.”
“Gross,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Please never call yourself ever that again.”
You crossed the room and dropped onto the other end of the couch, knees curling up beside you as your shoulder brushed his. Jay made space for you without saying anything.
“Here,” you muttered, digging through your tote bag and tossing a bag of chips his way.
He caught it one-handed. “Oh, how you spoil me.”
“Well, that’s because you’re unbearable when you’re hungry.”
“And equally as charming when I’m full,” he added with a wink.
You bit back a smile, tilting your head with mock thoughtfulness. “Hm… I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” you said.
You liked to believe your friendship with Jay could weather even the strongest storms but lately, you weren’t so sure.
It wasn’t that anything had gone terribly wrong.
It was quieter than that. Slightly more subtle? Things had just… started to change. Not in ways you could clearly name, but in the little things.
You and Jay were friends. Best of friends, even.
Your mum had worked for his family for almost a decade, taking care of his grandmother, the same woman you’d come to call Grandma, too. Jay never minded. His grandmother never corrected you. If anything, she loved it. Jay was an only child, and without a granddaughter of her own, she’d folded you into her life without hesitation.
His family had always been kind. They treated your mum with respect, and you never felt looked down on.
But lately, something had started to shift. Nothing harsh or particularly cruel. Just… small things, little things you were starting to piece together.
Maybe it was the way people talked about the future now about colleges, cities, careers. Plans that didn’t involve waking up in your childhood bedroom. Plans that didn’t include walking into Jay’s room, knocking once before flopping onto his bed to rant about terrible Netflix documentaries you’d force him to watch.
But most of all, they were plans that didn’t include both of you.
Maybe it was the realisation that Jay was heading somewhere you couldn’t afford to follow.
And maybe Jay was starting to realise that too.
You loved him. Almost too much. You didn’t like putting a label on it. Romantic, platonic, it didn’t matter. All you knew was that he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, and he made you smile when you were knee-deep in anger.
And losing that? Losing him? Somehow, that scared you more than anything.
You’d left for the bathroom a little over five minutes ago, but it took nearly three just to get back to Jay’s room.
You were about to push open the door, fully prepared to return and absolutely obliterate him in the game you’d been playing, when you heard a voice.
“Baby,” his mum said gently.
You froze. Your hand hovered just above the doorknob. Something about her tone stopped you. It sounded serious… a little too serious for you to barge in like nothing.
So you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, just outside his door, waiting for the right moment to step in.
“Mom, I’m not going,” Jay said. You could hear the sound of him ruffling his hair, followed by a long sigh.
His mum exhaled softly. “Jong, it’s a tradition. The family went there. I went there. You—”
“I’m not going,” he repeated, firmer this time.
There was a pause.
“If this is about…” she began before letting out a deep breath. “Look, I love her. You know I do. I treat her like a daughter too, but baby, this is a big deal. You have one foot in the door and you’re throwing it all away?”
“Mom—”
“No, listen to me.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You can always come back to her, but this… this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
A long stretch of silence followed, thick and heavy, before she spoke again, softer now but still thick with tension.
“I’m not saying she isn’t good for you. She is. She’s smart, she’s pretty. She’s… kind. But do you really think the two of you have anything in common besides growing up together?”
Oh. Oh. Oh…
So this was how they saw you: not bad, not unworthy…just not enough. Not for him.
“Baby,” she said, “the two of you are on different paths and…well, Jong, you were meant for greater things. Big things.”
Through the small crack in the doorframe, you caught a glimpse of Jay, sitting on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed, elbows resting on his knees. He wasn’t answering. He looked like he was thinking about it.
That hurt more than anything.
You backed away quietly, each step careful, like even your breath might give away that you had been listening. When you reached the top of the stairs, you glanced down at your feet, your socks, mismatched and worn. They had never felt like such a statement before. And now, in this house, with its icy cold Italian marble floors, they felt impossibly…prominent.
You were rushing toward the door when something made you pause. The second living room, the one you’d always walked past, never into. You turned, just a little, just enough to see it.
The walls were lined with frames. Studio portraits of Jay and his parents, always dressed to the nines, always looking like they belonged on the cover of some high-society magazine. There were formal family shots with his extended relatives, his cousins in their prep school uniforms, their parents with Rolexes and pearl earrings, champagne glasses in hand at some gala that probably changed the world without you knowing.
Then your eyes landed on the final frame tucked in the corner.
Jay, standing beside the minister at a government scholarship ceremony. A navy suit that fit him too well. His parents beaming on either side of him. The plaque in his hand gleaming. You remembered that day vaguely, he had texted you something self-deprecating about tripping on stage. You had laughed then.
You weren’t laughing now.
Because all of it somehow was starting to feel like a mockery of just how different your worlds really were. There was a bitter sting in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was jealousy over a life you’d never live, or the ache of knowing someone you liked so much came from a place you could never quite reach.
While Jay had birthday dinners at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, yours were made of takeout leftovers and cakes baked in a neighbor’s oven. Jay had a whole wall of proof that he belonged. And all the while, you didn’t even have matching socks.
—
Jay: Did you just leave? Without saying goodbye? 🙁
You didn’t reply.
You were too deep in your own spiral…spinning, crashing, drowning in thoughts you didn’t ask to think. His mom had been right. About everything.
She hadn’t been cruel. She hadn’t even sounded angry. Just… honest. Like a mother trying to protect her son from making a mistake. And maybe you were the mistake. You knew she liked you. You knew the whole family did. But that didn’t change the fact that you’d always been her daughter, the caregiver’s daughter. Not one of them. Not really.
And for the first time in your life, you felt it, not just the distance, but the pity. Ten years of your mom’s hard work, all the quiet pride she carried, all the long nights and it suddenly felt like none of it mattered. You were just the tagalong. A nice girl with nowhere better to be.
You were never someone in that house. You were just... there.
Your phone lit up again.
Jay: I’m coming over.
Your eyes flew open. “Damn it–” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.
You: Don’t.
Jay: Huh?
You: I’m fine.
Jay: But you left so soon?
You: I had to take a shit so I left.
There was a pause.
Jay: I have a bathroom, you idiot.
You: It’s too fancy. I like mine better.
Jay: LOL well at least say goodbye next time. I went around the house like an idiot looking for you for 10 whole minutes.
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You wanted to say more.
But you didn’t want him to pity you too.
—
Jungwon stood beside you, rhythmically tapping two fingers against your back, drumming out a song only he could hear. You hunched forward at the front desk, shoulders tense, chin propped against your palm as you glared at the dusty computer monitor displaying your completely empty Tuesday schedule.
You part timed at Goober Galaxy, an indoor playground targeted for kids ages 3 and up. Today was quiet. It was the perfect shift for a breakdown. Unfortunately, Jungwon hadn’t gotten the memo.
You swatted his hand away without even turning around. “Cut it out.”
He laughed, and leaned over the counter so that his chin now rested on his folded arms beside yours. “I’m bored,” he declared, eyes scanning your blank expression.
“Then go find something to do.”
“I like bothering you,” he said with a smile.
You turned to glare at him, grabbing the nearest pencil and holding it up like a weapon. “I’ll stab you with this.”
“Ooh, how scary,” he said, grinning wider.
“Shut up.”
You didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did. Jungwon blinked, his smile faltering just a little but only for a second. You dropped the pencil back onto the desk and folded your arms, slumping deeper into your chair. You’d been like this all day: distracted, fogged over, stuck in your own head with thoughts of you and Jay.
It’d been two days since you left Jay’s house without saying goodbye. Two days since you’d heard his mother’s voice echoing in the hallway, reminding him that people like you didn’t belong in their world.
He’d been texting you ever since. But every time your phone lit up with his name, your heart clenched so hard it made you nauseous. You couldn’t answer. Not when you didn’t know how to exist next to him without feeling small.
You didn’t realize Jungwon had moved until he dropped onto the beanbag beside your stool with a dramatic huff, his legs splayed out in front of him, head tilted toward you.
“Okay,” he said, “seriously. Who is it?”
You didn’t answer.
“Come on,” he continued, tapping his foot against your shoe. “Tell the master of Women who has you acting up like this.”
“I highly doubt you even know what a woman is.”
You let out a breath through your nose and glanced at him. Jungwon’s dark hair tousled from where he’d been running his hand through it, polo shirt wrinkled, name tag barely hanging on. He was annoying and loud. But he was also one of the only people who understood what it meant to want more than you were allowed to have. You both had jobs instead of highly paid tutors, worn-out sneakers instead of new ones, savings goals that felt like they’d never be reached.
He didn’t know what was wrong. Not exactly. But he knew enough to ask.
Still, your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud: I overheard Jay’s mom say I don’t belong in his world and I think she’s right and now I can’t even look at him without wanting to cry.
So instead, you mumbled, “It’s nothing.”
Jungwon didn’t push. He just leaned back with a sigh and said, “You know I’ll keep annoying you until you tell me, right?”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “I know.”
He grinned. “Cool. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
You sighed then tilted your head toward him, your voice quiet. “D’you ever think we’ll be bigger than we are right now?”
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… I heard Mr. Kim say we stop growing after we turn 18, but I’m not too sure.” He tilted his head dramatically, thinking hard. “Though… I have been drinking more milk lately so all fingers crossed!”
You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant! I meant... just us. Will we ever be bigger than this? Than who we are now?”
He looked at you, his smile fading into something gentler. You didn’t usually say things like this. “Like... spiritually? Emotionally? Or like tax bracket-wise?”
You stared at him flatly.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising both hands in surrender. “I get it. You mean like, in the world.”
You nodded slowly, your voice tightening. “I mean…look at us….We’re just... two kids. Two random people in this giant fuckin’ world. And there are people out there who are so much bigger than us. So much more important. Doing things that matter. And we’re just here. Doing this.”
Jungwon leaned his head back against the beanbag, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I like where I am.”
You glanced at him, brows furrowed. “You like working for scraps?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Well... it’s a Tuesday afternoon, and I’m hanging out with the prettiest girl I know. So yeah. Not bad.”
You shoved his shoulder, trying not to smile. “Be serious, Won.”
His expression softened then, all teasing drained out of it. He shifted to face you more fully, his voice quieter. “Okay. You’re upset. And since it’s you, and you don’t get like this unless it’s something big, I’m guessing this is about Jay.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.
Jungwon reached out and gently poked your forehead. “Then let me say this clearly: you need to stop letting that big, overthinking brain of yours spiral.”
You exhaled shakily.
“I know Jay. Not like you do, obviously,” he added with a small grin, “but well enough. And I know, for a fact, that Jay doesn’t give a single fuck that we’re working at...” He looked around and grimaced. “Goober Fuckin’ Galaxy.”
You laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said, nudging your knee with his. “That guy looks at you like you invented…I don’t know…the freaking internet? It clearly doesn’t matter what job you have, or where you come from. You’re not small to him. Not to me. Not to Hee. Not to any of us.”
You didn’t reply, but something in your chest eased…just a little.
The bell above the entrance gave its usual pathetic worn out ding, but you didn’t look up…no one came to Goober Galaxy on a Tuesday. That was the whole point of working Tuesdays.
“Uh oh,” he muttered beside you, sitting up from his beanbag.
“What?” you asked, barely glancing over.
“Lover boy incoming.”
Your brows knit together as you turned and froze.
Jay was standing in the entrance, chest rising like he’d sprinted from the subway (which he’s probably never taken), hair tousled in that way that looked both accidental and annoyingly perfect. In one hand, he held a bouquet of white daisies wrapped in soft brown paper. In the other, a box of chocolates with a ribbon tied so tight it was starting to crumple the corner.
And then you noticed it, the faint red splotches blooming across his knuckles, creeping up his wrist. His grip didn’t falter. Jay was allergic to flowers. You’d known that since forever, since the day he sneezed through an entire spring picnic and blamed the pollen for his watery eyes.
Your heart twisted.
Suddenly, you felt awful. And soft. And maybe a little bit in love all over again.
He walked straight toward you, eyes never leaving your face, and you hated the way your breath caught.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’m sorry.”
You blinked, completely thrown. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, pushing the flowers into your hands like they might prove his sincerity. “I don’t know what I did. But whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t even realize something was wrong until you stopped replying and then I thought maybe it was something I said or maybe I looked at you weird and—”
“Jay—”
“I was going to come yesterday, but I didn’t want to be pushy. And then I tried calling again this morning but I figured maybe you were busy—”
“Jay.”
He finally paused, breath short, his eyes scanning your face with desperation. And just like that, your chest ached in another way.
He didn’t know. He thought he did something wrong. And he came all the way here just to apologize for a mistake he didn’t even understand.
You looked down at the daisies, hands curling around the brown paper. The stems were still wet. Fresh, which means he got the flowers that day.
God, he was sweet. Stupidly, painfully sweet.
Before you could say anything, Jungwon cleared his throat loudly from behind the counter. “Sooooo,” he drawled. “You got her flowers and chocolates? What do I get?”
Jay turned to look at him with the flattest, most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen. Without a word, he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a single crumpled bill, and tossed it onto the counter.
“A dollar,” he said.
Jungwon stared at it. “That’s it?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t give you lint from my pocket.”
“Then…I’ll just have the dollar.” Jungwon muttered, pocketing the dollar.
Jay turned back to you, lips parted like he wanted to say more but the words didn’t come.
Jungwon hadn’t moved.
He was still standing there, hovering way too close, arms crossed, eyes bouncing between you and Jay like he was watching the tension build. His eyes crossing between you and Jay’s a silly grin on his stupid face.
You shot him a look. “Can you get lost?”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “It’s Tuesday. I’m bored. I wanna see how this plays out.”
“You want entertainment?”
“Desperately.”
You sighed through your nose, then shoved the box of chocolates into his chest without looking. “Here. Take this. Go sit in the ball pit and eat this.”
He stared at the box, then back at you. “These are from him, though.”
“I don’t care. Just go.”
A smug smile bloomed on his face as he clutched the box. “You know what? Say less.”
And with that, he strolled off, climbing into the nearest corner of a giant ball pit, where he immediately sprawled across the plastic balls.
You turned back to Jay, your eyes flicking upward to meet his.
He was still watching you, brows drawn just slightly. His arms were at his sides now, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or give you space. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he knew something had changed. And it was killing him.
You looked at the flowers still in your hands. You looked back at him. You weren’t sure which one made your chest hurt more.
So you said it.
“I heard what your mom said that day.”
His entire expression shifted subtly. His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak.
“I didn’t mean to,” you added, softer now. “I was coming back to the room and I just… I overheard the entire conversation.”
Jay’s shoulders tensed. He looked down for a second, then up again, jaw clenched, eyes searching your face.
You swallowed. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I was mad. I just… I don’t know...I didn’t know how to act.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, like the words were still settling into place.
“Look,” Jay said finally, his voice low but firm, “you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not going anywhere—”
“Jay,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you meant, “I’m not worried about that.”
You looked down, fingers tightening around the bouquet of daisies in your hands. The stems crinkled slightly in your grip.
“I’m not mad about what she said,” you said quietly. “I’m just... she’s right.”.
His mouth opened slightly, brows drawing together like he didn’t understand how those words could’ve come from you. His chest rose as if to argue, but he didn’t speak yet. He couldn’t.
You lifted your gaze slowly, and your throat burned. “She’s right, Jay. We don’t have anything in common besides growing up together.”
He shook his head immediately, stepping closer. “You’re more than what she said—”
“Jay,” you said again, this time with a bitter laugh laced into it, “who are we kidding?”
He sighed when you cut him off.
“I work in a stupid kids’ playground called Goober Galaxy. You’re in every high-end after school academy, tutoring centre, test prep institute money can buy. You’re made to get straight A’s, made to end up at some fancy university. Made to do something big. I’m not.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice cracking just barely at the edges. “Do you think I ever looked at you and saw anything less?”
Jay exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I’ve liked you since the day you showed up behind your mom in that stupid little yellow dress you hated. You were hiding behind her, and God—” he let out a soft laugh, almost breathless, “The moment you sat beside me, you punched me in the shoulder and said I had a dumb name. I’ve liked you since then.”
Your eyes fluttered up to glance at him, but only for a second, before dropping back to your shoes. He reached out gently, fingers brushing under your chin, and tilted your face toward his.
“I loved that version of you,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “I love this version of you. I’ve never thought you were less than me. Not even once. It’s always been you.”
The silence that followed clung to the air, thick and trembling.
You stared at him, barely breathing, barely able to believe this was real.
“Jay–”
“UH GUYS, CAN I COME OUT NOW?” Jungwon’s voice rang out, followed by a hacking cough. “I THINK I SWALLOWED THE RIBBON.”
You almost burst into laughter. Almost.
But instead, you did the one thing you’d been aching to do for far too long.
You leaned forward over the counter and kissed him.
Jay froze for just a split second, stunned. His hand hovered uncertainly beside you, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you. But his eyes fluttered shut, and when you pulled away, his lips chased yours like he didn’t want it to end.
His cheeks flushed immediately. He laughed softly, a little dazed. “I didn’t think today would end up like this.”
You smirked. “Do you want me to take it back?”
He shook his head quickly, still smiling. “No. I just... I wish it wasn’t in front of—”
The both of you turned.
Jungwon was now sitting fully upright in the ball pit, legs criss-crossed, waving at you. A half-eaten piece of chocolate dangled from his fingers.
“I think I’m the first person to ever witness a love confession in Goober Galaxy,” he said. “A sentence that has never, ever been said before in the history of mankind.”
Jay groaned and dropped his head onto the counter with a thud. “Why are you like this?”
He tilted his head, beaming like he’d just officiated a wedding. “So… can I come out now?”
You and Jay both answered without missing a beat.
“No.”
—
The two of you had been dating for a whole month now and sneaking around had become a normal occurrence for the two of you.
A month of stolen glances, hushed giggles, and kisses behind closed doors. You came over under the same old pretense, “I’m just hanging out at Jay’s while waiting for Mom to finish work”. It was familiar. There was nothing to question.
Except now, every time you stepped into his room, the door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.
You’d start out pretending to study. Laptops open, notebooks flipped to blank pages, a pencil stuck behind your ear. Jay would sit beside you, his knee pressed against yours, trying really hard for maybe ten minutes. And then he’d look over.
You’d barely meet his eyes before his lips were on yours.
Usually, soft first then it goes deeper, slower, the kind of kissing that made you forget what time it was. It’d be 4:30 one moment and 6:00 the next. He’d push your hair behind your ear, you’d tug lightly on his hoodie, and the math textbook between you would be quietly shoved to the floor by someone’s feet.
It always ended the same way. A knock at the door. Your mom’s voice floating in, “Come on, time to head home!”
You’d jolt apart, breathless, cheeks burning, smoothing out your hair and reaching blindly for a notebook. “Okay!” you’d call out, voice a little too high. Jay would flop back onto his bed, dramatic and pouty.
Your mom would open the door, glance in, see the two of you surrounded by notes and open textbooks, and nod. “I’ll wait downstairs.”
“Just five more minutes,” you’d reply automatically.
She’d leave. And before you could even stand, Jay would hook a finger through your sleeve and pull you gently back down.
One last kiss. And then another. And then five more, because he always said one wasn’t enough. He’d press them to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, grinning like an idiot.
“Do you really have to go?” he’d mumble, arms still around you.
“She’s literally my ride home.”
“I could give you a ride.”
You snorted and leaned back just enough to look at him. “You got your license like... five minutes ago.”
“Exactly. I’m freshly certified. I’m a responsible driver.”
“Jay,” you said flatly, “I heard what grandma said about you hitting the curb”
Jay groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “What a snitch.”
You laughed, pulling away gently as you stood up. “That’s a no, by the way. You’re not driving me home.”
Jay pouted, tugging lightly on your hand. “You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you. I just wanna go home in one piece tonight.”
Still pouting, he leaned up and kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “One day you’ll be begging me for a ride.”
“Sure. The day you stop kissing the curb.”
—
It was another ordinary day, or at least it had started that way. You were in Jay’s room, lying beside him with your head propped on your hand, half-listening to him ramble about something stupid Heeseung had texted. His hand was resting on your knee, your fingers loosely interlocked until the knock came.
The door creaked open a second later.
“Oh,” his mother said, her smile soft but surprised. “You’re here.”
You sat up immediately, your hand slipping out of his. You nodded politely, reaching for your bag even though you weren’t meant to leave for another hour. What used to feel like home now made your shoulders tense. Jay noticed. Of course he did.
“Are you staying for dinner?” his mother asked, stepping inside like she always had.
You shook your head quickly. “No. I was actually just about to leave.”
“So soon?” she pouted slightly. “You haven’t eaten dinner with us in a while.”
“I just have a lot of homework to get through,” you replied with a rehearsed smile, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You turned to Jay, silently asking if he’d stop you, if he’d ask you to stay. But he saw it. The unease in your body, the way your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you back down and kiss the worry out of your forehead. But he didn’t.
He just nodded. Smiled like it didn’t hurt.
“Go,” he said gently.
And so you did.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Jay stood there for a beat, staring at the closed space you’d just filled. Then he turned back, meeting his mother’s gaze across the room.
She crossed her arms. “Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning now. “She hasn’t stayed for dinner in almost two months.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”
“I think there is.”
Jay exhaled, his jaw tight. And he hated it…hated how something that was once easy had turned into this sharp-edged discomfort. How your laughter had grown quieter. How he had to love you in secret all because the life carved out for him didn’t have room for anything outside of perfect.
Over the past two months, Jay had started to feel something sour curling inside him. A quiet resentment. Not towards you. Never you. But toward everything else. Toward the silent expectation to carry generations of ambition on his back. He loved his mother, God, he really did. But that love didn’t soften the frustration. It didn’t erase how badly things had shifted between you both since that night.
He had so many things to be grateful for. But all he’d ever really wanted was you. Just to be by your side. And somehow, even that felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.
“Mom, drop it,” he said, voice flat.
She frowned, stepping further into the room. “Jongseong, you’ve been acting different since the day—”
“That’s because I’ve been talking, and you haven’t been listening,” he snapped.
Her expression faltered. “What do you want me to do, Jong? Your dad and I have worked tirelessly for this opportunity—”
“That I didn’t ask for!” His voice cracked, hands clenched at his sides.
“You are going to that university. It’s in your blood. It’s good for you. And deep down, you know it too. If I told her how important this is, how good it is for you, I’m pretty sure she’d be supportive.”
“Don’t tell her.”
She froze.
“Baby—”
“Don’t. Tell. Her.” he repeated, each word heavier than the last.
His mother blinked, visibly thrown by his tone. And Jay just stood there, chest heaving, trying to hold back the rest of the words rising in his throat. Because if he said more, he wasn’t sure what would come out.
He just knew this: She wasn’t allowed to take you from him, too.
—
The two of you had wandered into a small alleyway market off the main district, less glossy, more charm. Little stalls lined both sides, selling handmade accessories, mismatched shoes, thrifted bags with peeling zippers, and the kind of bracelets that cost just enough to mean something, but not enough to break a wallet.
You stopped in front of a table full of them, rows of braided cords, beaded charms, faded ribbons wrapped around thin, bendy wire. You held up one with small star-shaped beads, smiling a little to yourself.
Jay hovered beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the stall. “You sure you want one of these?” he asked, not unkindly, just confused. “There’s a place down the street that does custom silver bands. We can go there. I’ll pay.”
You shook your head immediately, the smile slipping off your face. “I don’t want anything too expensive,” you said quietly. “I just want something pretty.”
Jay frowned. “Yeah, but we could get something prettier. Something that’ll last. I just—why not get something better?”
You didn’t say anything at first, just lowered your hand. Something in your chest twisted. He didn’t mean anything by it. You knew that. But it still hit the wrong nerve.
You turned to him, jaw tightening. “Just because I’m buying cheaper things doesn’t mean they’re ass, Jay.”
He blinked, startled. “I didn’t even mean it that way,” he said, voice low but tense. “I just meant—if there’s something you want, I’ll get it for you. That’s all. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t want anything,” you cut in, too fast, too sharp. “Not with your money.”
The silence that followed was instant.
Jay’s brows lifted slightly. He’d been reaching for your hand without even realizing it, but at that, he pulled back. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your heart drop. His expression didn’t shift much, just the tiniest flicker of hurt. But that was worse. You could tell when he was trying not to show it.
You reached for him quickly, fingers wrapping around his hand before he could pull away further. Your grip tightened, desperate.
“I’m sorry,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t mean it. I just—sometimes I feel weird. I don’t know.”
Jay looked at you for a long moment. And then, wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms.
Your face pressed against his chest, your fists gripped onto the fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t say anything.
“I just want to give you everything,” he whispered after a long silence.
And even though your throat burned, you didn’t cry. You just nodded, clinging to him.
—
Jay stared long and hard at the framed certificates on the wall of his father’s office.
He’d been sitting there ever since he got back from your little date.
You’d cried for almost 30 minutes before finally falling asleep on his shoulder. He’d felt every quiet sob, the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Like being with him hurt.
He knew you loved him. God, he loved you just as much, probably more. But seeing you in that much pain simply because the two of you came from different worlds made his chest ache.
He didn’t care about any of it. Not the money. Not the future his parents had mapped out. Not the name on the wall in front of him.
But you did.
He didn’t know how to fix it. How to make you believe you were never less than him. That you’d always been the best part of his world.
“Jong?”
Jay’s head snapped up. His mother stood at the door, peeking through. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped away a single tear he hadn’t realised had fallen.
“Mom,” he said, nodding stiffly.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the last time she tried to push him into going.
Jay had already made peace with attending a good university in Korea. One that meant a thirty-minute drive from you. One that didn’t require a time zone between your hands. He didn’t care about prestige. He didn’t need legacy. He just needed you.
Because no place could feel like home unless you were there.
He wanted a small, lived-in apartment where the walls were filled with pictures of the two of you, some crooked, some blurry, all perfect. He wanted late mornings and lazy nights, strumming his guitar while you sat on his lap, flipping through TV channels.
He didn’t want boardrooms. He wanted breakfast in bed. He wanted you in his hoodie, laughing at something stupid, your legs tangled with his on the couch. He wanted to choose that life.
He just didn’t know how because his life wasn’t his.
His parents were successful, respectable, powerful, intimidating in every room they walked into. And Jay? He was their only child. The heir. The one meant to carry it all.
He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He knew he was lucky. But sometimes…he wished he was at Goober Galaxy right next to you. Sweeping floors, handing out stickers, chasing after toddlers. Living the kind of life he got to choose.
He wished he could trade places with Jungwon, just for a moment. To know what it felt like to live freely, to love without strings.
But he wasn’t Jungwon.
He was stuck. Caged by expectations that didn’t belong to him. And no one had asked if he wanted them.
“Your dad wants to see you.”
Jay blinked. His mother was still standing in the doorway, phone in hand, the screen already lit up with a call. He swallowed. She passed it to him without another word.
Jay sat up straighter, the back of his neck already tensing as he accepted the phone. His father's face filled the screen, sharp suit, crisp tie, backdrop of a sleek conference room somewhere in Hong Kong. The time zone difference didn't matter. His father always made time when it came to lectures.
“Jongseong,” his father began without pleasantries, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to attend Oxford?”
Jay opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He glanced at the wall, at the same framed degree he’d been staring at moments earlier, and felt the familiar weight return to his chest.
With his mother, he always knew what to say. How to deflect, how to counter her logic with his own. But with his father… it was different.
With his father, Jay always felt like a little boy again.
Like he wasn’t the man of the house, but a kid sitting at the edge of a chair too big for him, trying not to swing his legs.
With his father gone so often, Jay had stepped into the role by default…holding things down, keeping things quiet, managing expectations. But every time his dad reappeared, even just through a screen, it was like the years peeled off and left him exposed.
He felt his mouth go dry. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the phone.
“I’ve… decided not to go,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady.
There was a pause. A beat of silence that buzzed louder than any scolding.
“Decided?” his father repeated, eyes narrowing. “Jong, we don’t just decide things. You know that.”
His voice rose, firm and cold.
“We’re not like anyone else. Do you understand that? You don’t get to just throw away opportunities people would kill for.”
Jay swallowed again, throat tight. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say I don’t want it. I never did. But the words sat heavy in his chest, unmoving.
He didn’t want any of it. But how could he say that to a man who had spent his entire life building it?
“I—”
“Son,” his father’s voice dropped, deeper now, tinged with concern. “I didn’t… we didn’t build this by making decisions that went against our family. We built this by honouring tradition. By upholding it.”
“Dad—”
“We’re not just… anyone, Jongseong. You have to remember that. Even when it comes to the people we keep close.”
Jay’s eyes flicked to his mother, still standing in the doorway. Her gaze faltered just slightly.
So she told him. About you.
Of course she did.
And now it wasn’t just about the university anymore. It was about you. About everything he’d kept safe and sacred. Everything he thought he could keep separate.
—
You barged into his room with your bag slung over your right shoulder, hair slightly windblown..
“School was so boring!” you groaned, flopping straight onto his sofa. Without warning, you dropped your head onto his lap, staring up at the ceiling.
“But you wouldn’t guess what happened though,” you continued, grin creeping onto your face. “I got an A for Biology and Hee got an F, so now he has to retake the test. He looked like he was about to cry—”
You stopped mid-sentence.
Jay wasn’t laughing.
He wasn’t smiling.
His eyes were somewhere else, fixed on a spot just past you, like he wasn’t really here at all.
Your smile faltered.
You sat up slowly, shifting your weight until you were straddling his lap. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, but his gaze was still lost. So you reached for his face. Your hands cradled his jaw, thumbs pressing gently into the softness of his cheeks as you squished them together.
“Jay?” you said softly, brows furrowed. “Where’d you go?”
That finally pulled his eyes back to you.
He blinked, like surfacing from deep water, lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to speak.
“Jay?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, more cautious.
Jay shook his head quickly, almost like he was trying to shake something off. Then his hands tightened around your waist, grounding himself.
“Baby,” he murmured.
“You okay?” you asked, eyes searching his face.
He nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
But he wasn’t. Not even close.
Ever since the call with his father, the decision had been made for him…he would be going to Oxford. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a discussion. It was a statement, sharp and final. There was no room to disagree, no room to even think.
Not that he had a choice. He never really did.
Jay had spent the entire night buried under the covers of his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the hours ticked by. His phone had lit up over and over again, messages from his mom, soft knocks at the door but he hadn’t moved.
He didn’t want to read what she had to say. He didn’t want to hear reassurances...not anymore. Because the truth was, nothing anyone said would make it feel any better.
And now here you were, sitting in his lap, smiling like the sun, laughing about your day, trusting that the world hadn’t just changed for him entirely.
He didn’t know how to tell you.
Didn’t know how to say he was leaving.
Didn’t know how to break your heart when you had only just handed it to him.
But he had to.
Because he was leaving.
At this point, it wasn’t about academics. It wasn’t about prestige. It was about control.
His father thought this was the cleanest way to fix things.
Remove the distraction.
Remove the attachment.
Remove you.
Jay felt it in his chest, this sick, sinking sense of being packaged up and delivered to a life he never chose. Like this would be better. Like this would make things easier. Not for him. But for them.
—
You were worried.
Jay wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t snarky, or smug, or sarcastic in the way you’d come to love. He wasn’t cracking jokes or teasing you every time you said something dumb. He was quiet and distracted.
Jay was usually good at hiding things. But today… today, whatever it was had cracked through.
So naturally, you turned to the two most emotionally stunted people you knew.
“I think he’s broken,” you declared, arms folded on the table in front of you. “Like, actually broken.”
Jungwon blinked. “Did you try turning him off and back on again?”
“I’m serious, Won,” you said, glaring at Jungwon, “He hasn’t texted me all day. And yesterday, he...was so different? I don’t know what’s wrong but it’s not nothing.”
“Have you considered…” Jungwon began, “that he’s just constipated?”
“Jungwon, I swear to God—”
“I’m just saying, emotional constipation and actual constipation are cousins.”
“Please shut up,” you muttered, face in your hands.
Across from you, Heeseung was flipping through his notebook like he wasn’t listening. But then he spoke, casually, without even looking up.
“Why don’t you plan something lowkey for him?” he said. “Like, something you guys used to do. Remind him what home feels like. He clearly needs it.”
You and Jungwon both froze.
Then slowly, you turned to look at him.
Heeseung glanced up, blinking at your silence. “What?”
Jungwon pointed at him dramatically. “Holy shit, that’s the first good idea you’ve ever had.”
You side-eyed Jungwon. “You haven’t had a good idea today either, Won.”
“Yeah, but I usually do,” he shrugged, sipping his drink. “So this makes up for it.”
Still, you leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you let the idea settle.
Something simple. Something that would pull Jay out of whatever fog he was in and back into the version of himself he only ever seemed to be around you.
Maybe Heeseung was right. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing anything. Maybe it was about reminding him that he was loved.
–
You sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on your knees, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. Jay was upstairs grabbing something, his keys maybe, or a jacket, or just taking forever like he always did. You’d planned everything with Jungwon and Heeseung down to the detail. A quiet dinner at your place. His favourite food, his favourite people, and a homemade banner Jungwon insisted on duct-taping across your kitchen ceiling.
You tapped your feet against the floor, eyes flicking between the staircase and the coffee table in front of you.
“Oh—hey!”
You hadn’t expected to run into his mom.
She came out from the hallway with a small stack of neatly folded towels, pausing slightly when she saw you there. Then her face relaxed into a smile, almost like the kind you couldn’t quite read.
“Oh, you’re here early,” she said lightly, crossing into the living room. “Jong’s still upstairs?”
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Said he’d just be a minute.”
She set the towels down on the armchair, smoothing one absent-mindedly. “How have you been? It feels like I haven’t seen you properly in ages.”
You stiffened slightly. Not out of rudeness. Just… because you never knew how to be around her anymore. Not since that night.
Still, you tried to keep your voice even. “I’ve been okay. School’s been a little hectic.”
“Mmm, I remember those days,” she said fondly. “So much pressure to figure everything out. Especially now.”
She gave you a knowing look, and you tried to return it, even though your stomach twisted.
A moment of silence passed. You glanced down at your hands.
“I really haven’t seen you around much,” she added gently, “Not even for dinner.”
You gave a small shrug. “I’ve just been… busy.”
Her gaze flicked to the corner of the room, almost like she wanted to say more. But then she smiled again, too quickly.
“I’m actually waiting for a delivery,” she said, as if to fill the quiet. “Should be arriving soon.”
“Oh?” you said, seizing the normalcy in her tone. “Something exciting?”
She waved a hand. “Just a new luggage set.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ooh, another vacation, Mrs. Park?”
She laughed softly. “Oh, no, not for me. It’s for Jay, we’re giving it to him before he goes to Oxford.”
And just like that, the world stopped.
The words didn’t even sound dramatic. Just a casual statement, something said mid-sentence, in passing.
But your brain latched onto it like it was the only thing that mattered.
Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
Oxford…
Oxford?
Jay was going to Oxford.
Your chest constricted. “Oxford?” you repeated, and you hated how your voice sounded small and uncertain.
Mrs. Park blinked, like she was only just realizing what she said. “Oh… oh, didn’t he tell you?”
Your heart dropped.
Your ears started to ring.
“He’s been accepted for early enrolment,” she continued, her smile faltering just slightly. “We’ve been sorting everything out this week. He’ll finish his last semester online and leave by the end of next month.”
End of next month.
That was four weeks.
Four weeks.
Four weeks left with Jay, and he hadn’t said a word.
“I thought you knew,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry, I assumed—”
But you didn’t hear the rest.
You could barely hear anything past the blood rushing in your ears. Your throat tightened. The lump rising felt sharp, like glass.
You nodded. Or at least you think you did. Some vague, stiff movement that looked enough like understanding to make her stop talking.
Upstairs, you heard Jay’s door creak open. His voice called out, cheerful and completely unaware.
“You ready?”
You stood up too fast, your legs unsteady. The smile you threw on felt like someone else’s.
Because right now, your heart was already cracking.
And he didn’t even know yet.
–
Jay was finally driving you. In his new car.
It was sleek, glossy black, still smelling faintly of showroom leather. The dashboard glowed with lights, the music system softly playing an instrumental track you barely registered. You’d never ridden in a car with him driving before. A month ago, that would’ve made you tease him endlessly, maybe fake a scream when he made a sharp turn, joke that your life was in his hands now. He would’ve laughed, reached over to pinch your knee, and said something stupid like, "Relax, I got my license in one try."
But now, you just sat there… quiet.
Your hands stayed clamped in your lap, fingers twisting into each other until you found the skin along your thumb and picked. You pulled. Peeled the hangnail until a thin trail of red welled up against your nail bed. You rubbed it away quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie.
Jay’s eyes flicked over from the road. Then back. Then again.
“You okay?” he asked carefully, hands still gripping the wheel. “You haven’t said a word since we left.”
You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Because how could you?
How could you turn to him and ask ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ How could you ask ‘Was I supposed to find out from your mom? Like a stranger?’
You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry and beat your fists against the dashboard and shake the truth out of him.
“Baby?”
His voice pulled you out of your spiral. Your head snapped up.
“Huh?”
Jay glanced over again. “Something’s clearly going on.”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too tight to be convincing.
He didn’t buy it. “Is this because I’ve been acting weird? I swear it’s all good now. I’m good.”
You shook your head and tried to laugh, but the sound came out cracked and hollow. “No, no. I just—”
Jay gave you a look. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re not about to pass that off as your real laugh.”
“I guess I’m just… worried, that’s all,” you said, brushing a loose thread off your jeans.
Jay’s brows knit. “Worried about what?”
You stared out the window, watching the blur of trees and apartment buildings pass. Your voice dropped. “The future.”
He didn’t press.
He turned onto your street, easing the car to a slow stop right outside your house. The engine purred into silence, but the tension between you roared. Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t speak.
He waited, hoping, maybe, that you’d open up. That you’d say something. But you didn’t. You just shrugged, gave him a vague “I guess,” and unbuckled your seatbelt like the conversation had ended.
The car locks clicked open.
You were already halfway out the door.
Jay cursed softly under his breath and slammed his door shut a second later, jogging after you. You’d unlocked your front door with shaky fingers and were about to step in when he caught up.
“You’re mad,” he said from behind you.
“I’m not mad.”
“Yes, you are.” His voice was tense now. “Baby, c’mon, did… did I do something? I’m sorry. I really am.”
You stopped in the hallway. Still didn’t turn.
Your heart thudded in your chest, hard and loud. You didn’t want to look at him because you knew that if you did, you knew everything would fall apart. You’d been holding it together and he was tugging on the last thread without even knowing it.
But it was the way he apologised, when he didn’t even know what for, that did it.
You turned.
Your eyes were red. Not just teary, bloodshot, swollen, like you hadn’t slept in days. You weren’t crying yet, but your expression… it was wrecked. Like someone trying to hold back a flood that had already started leaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.
Jay froze. He looked at you like you’d just split him open.
“Tell you what?” he asked softly, though the dread was already sinking into his eyes.
“That you were going.”
Jay’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
And then the pain hit again, your words echoing off the hallway walls, hanging between you like smoke.
“I…” He tried. God, he tried.
But the words didn’t come.
Because how could he explain it? How could he say, ‘I didn’t want to see this look on your face?’ How could he say, ‘I tried fighting for us but it wasn’t enough?’
You shook your head slowly. “You were going to leave without telling me.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it?”
Jay stepped closer, voice trembling now. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… I kept waiting for the right time. But every time I saw you, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to see you look at me like I was already gone.”
“But you are,” you choked out. “Aren’t you?”
His face crumpled.
“I didn’t choose this.”
“Not telling me was a choice. Your choice.”
Jay dragged a hand down his face, chest rising with shallow breaths. He looked older in that moment.
“I tried to stay. I told my dad I didn’t want to go. I told him this—” he gestured between the two of you, eyes glassy, “you — this is what matters to me. But he didn’t care. He never does.”
Your lip trembled, but you held it. “Then you should’ve told me.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
He took another step. Close enough to touch now, but he didn’t. Not yet.
“I was scared you’d hate me.”
You looked up at him then and for the first time, he saw it all: the betrayal, the grief, the love.
“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice breaking. “I just didn’t want to be the last to know you were leaving.”
Jay’s breath hitched. His shoulders dropped.
“I’m not trying to leave you,” he said, so quietly it almost sounded like a plea. “They’re just making me go. Please.”
You didn’t answer. Your throat was too tight.
He stepped forward, slowly, gently cupping your face with both hands.
“You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind.”
And this time, when the tears came, you didn’t stop them.
Your face crumpled as you collapsed into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. Jay held you immediately, his hands splaying across your back, his cheek resting against the top of your head. .
“I’m not leaving,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out in a single breath.
You blinked up at him through wet lashes. “What?”
“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, more firmly now. “I never wanted to go. I’m not going. I’m staying.”
You pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. “Jongseong… you can’t just up and ignore your parents—”
“I’m not ignoring them,” he cut in, “I’m just finally standing up for myself. Look. I don’t even want to go. If I’m not allowed to make my own choices about my own future, then what am I? A puppet?”
“Jong…”
“God, I love them,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated but honest. “I love my parents so much. But if they truly give a shit then they’ll just have to respect me enough to let me make my own decisions. They can’t keep deciding my life for me and call it parenting because it’s not.”
You hesitated. “Jong, you’re not doing this solely for me, are you?”
Jay sighed.
“I’ll admit that a huge part of me wants to stay because of you,” he said, not flinching. “Of course I do. But it’s not just that.”
He stepped back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “I don’t want to be living somewhere where I don't know anyone. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to wake up in a city that doesn’t have you, Hee, or Won. And c’mon, there are good schools here — great ones, even. I can still make something of myself without crossing an ocean for a name, all while being here…with you.”
You searched his face, your chest tight.
“But your dad—”
“Can live with my decision,” Jay said, quiet but certain. “I’ve been pretending I could live with this, but I can’t. Not anymore.”
He took your hands, thumbs brushing over your still-shaking fingers.
“I’m happier when I’m with you,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “When I’m here. With you guys. Near the people who make me feel like I’m already enough.”
You swallowed hard. His grip tightened.
“I’m not giving that up for a future that doesn’t even feel like mine. So please…don’t make me go.”
You breathed, like you’d been holding it in, “Okay.”
He sighed like the weight pressing on his chest had finally loosened.
And then he kissed you.
There was no hesitation, no inch of space left between you. It wasn’t delicate or careful, it was immediate, all heat.
His hands slipped from yours and rose to cradle your face, palms warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth like he needed to feel you. His lips crashed into yours.
Your breath hitched in your throat. You leaned into him instinctively, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting against your bottom lip, tasting the salt of your tears.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, and rushed, and aching. His mouth trembled just a little when he kissed you. Jay’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent, while his other hand slid behind your neck.
Your knees felt weak. Your lungs burned. But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you.
“So… like, uh… do we come out now or…?”
You and Jay froze.
From behind the sofa, Jungwon slowly popped his head out, holding a cake with “Stop Being Sad!” scrawled messily across the top in blue icing. Heeseung followed a beat later, scratching the back of his neck.
“We could, like… pretend we aren’t here,” Heeseung muttered, glancing down at the cake as if he suddenly regretted every life choice that led him to this moment.
You and Jay instinctively pulled apart, both of you flushed and teary-eyed, your breaths still uneven. It wasn’t exactly how you wanted to be seen.
Jungwon winced at the sight of you two. “Uh. Sorry? We were gonna jump out and yell surprise, but like… then you guys were fighting then the next thing we knew you were kissing so–”
Jay dragged a hand down his face with a low groan. “Oh my god. What are you guys even doing here?”
“We were going to throw a surprise feel-better party,” Heeseung said flatly, lifting a plastic bag of takeout containers, “but if I’m being honest, I think we're the ones more surprised.”
Heeseung sighed before continuing, “We even brought your favorite food. Well… kinda. I think Jungwon ate half the fries while we were waiting.”
Jay didn’t say anything. Just let out a slow breath and sank into the sofa, his body folding inward like something was caving in. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His thumbs rubbed together, a nervous habit. One you’d seen since you were kids.
But Jay didn’t look at anyone.
His eyes were fixed on the floor, staring through it.
You watched him from across the room, your own shoulders still tense, fingers curled around the frayed edge of your hoodie sleeve. He hadn’t said much since the kiss. Since the apology. Since he told you he was staying. And now, sitting there in your living room, he looked smaller somehow.
He was staying. But that decision came with consequences and Jay knew exactly who he had to face next.
The thought of confronting his father made his chest tighten. Not just in fear but in something closer to shame. Not because he regretted his choice. But because he knew what that choice would cost him. What it had always cost him.
The memory came back before he could stop it. A flicker of a younger version of himself, standing in the marble foyer of his family’s house, backpack still on, heart pounding after sneaking back in too late. His father’s voice slicing through the silence. “You skipped prep school?” His tone wasn’t surprised. It was more like disappointment. And then the yelling came and it didn’t stop. Not till three hours later.
But all Jay could remember was the way your face had looked earlier that day, eyes wide and glowing under a canopy of fairy lights at the amusement park. The way your hand had never let go of his. How you’d smiled like the whole world had finally opened up for you. And how, just for that one afternoon, he didn’t care about anything. He just wanted you to feel like someone had chosen you.
And now, he was choosing you again.
Except this time, he had no idea how to explain that to the man who had spent his whole life choosing everything for him.
The room had gone quiet, heavy with the things no one wanted to say aloud.
Jungwon, seated cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, glanced up and studied Jay’s profile for a moment. Then, gently, he asked, “Thinking about how you wanna talk to your dad?”
Jay’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, not looking up. “Yep.” The word left his mouth flat, clipped, like he didn’t trust himself to say anything more.
He leaned in further, pressing his hands together, elbows braced against his thighs. His voice dropped to a murmur. “I don’t even know how to start. It’s like… the moment I stand in front of him, I’m twelve again.”
You moved before you could stop yourself.
Quietly, you crossed the room and eased down beside him on the sofa. The cushion dipped beneath your weight, your knee brushing his. His shoulders didn’t flinch, but they didn’t relax either.
You slipped your hand into his.
Jay blinked. Looked down at your fingers curled around his.
And when you spoke, your voice was soft. “Do you want me to be there?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stared at your joined hands, breathing slowly through his nose like he was trying to think. But you could see the shift. The hesitation that made your stomach turn.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Your brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
Jay let go of your hand slowly. He rubbed his palm against his jeans and sat back slightly, like creating space might help him form the words he was scared to say.
“I just… I think it might be easier if I go alone,” he said. “He’ll be less... intense. If it’s just me.”
You frowned. “Jay.”
He didn’t look at you.
“That’s not the real reason, is it?”
Jay shut his eyes, jaw clenched. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “No. It’s not.”
“Then what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. Again. And when he finally spoke, it was carefull.
“He just… doesn’t understand,” Jay said slowly. “Why I want to stay. Why that matters more than prestige or legacy or whatever. And bringing you into that conversation might just… complicate things. He’s upset. It’ll pass.”
But you heard it.
The way he didn’t say it.
You sat back slightly, looking at him now, “Complicate things,” you repeated.
Jay nodded faintly.
You stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. And then your voice came out flat. “You mean to say... they don’t think I belong in your world.”
Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No. Those aren’t my words. I’d never—”
“But they’re his,” you said softly. Not accusatory. Just… hurt.
Jay’s voice broke as he reached for you again. “I…I don’t agree with anything they’re saying.”
But the words, even as warm and trembling and full of love as they were, couldn’t take back what you already knew.
You blinked hard.
“It’s funny…I really thought they liked me,” you said, more to yourself than him. “I really did. I thought I was like family.”
“You are. To me, you always have been.”
But that wasn’t the same.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell to his sides. His voice cracked. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you whispered. “That’s exactly what it is.”
He didn’t argue. Because he knew. And you knew he knew.
You looked down at your lap, your fingers now curled in on themselves. “So all this time… they just smiled at me and still thought I wasn’t enough.”
Jay’s hands fell uselessly to his sides. His voice cracked, almost a whisper. “It’s not about you—”
“It is, though,” you said, quieter now. “That’s exactly what it is.”
No one spoke.
Not you, not Jay and not Jungwon or Heeseung, who had been silently sitting off to the side, exchanging hesitant glances as if trying to gauge whether they should stay or disappear. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.
Then, slowly, you stood up.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” you said, your voice strained but steady. “I just… I think I need some time alone.”
Jungwon blinked, rising immediately without protest. “Of course,” he said gently, grabbing his jacket.
“Take all the time you need,” Heeseung added, pulling Jungwon by the arm, guiding him out of the room.
And just like that, it was only you and Jay.
He hadn’t moved. But his eyes never left you, still wide, still searching, like he was waiting for some version of you to reach back out and say this wasn’t real. That you didn’t mean it.
You exhaled sharply, hugging your arms across your chest. “Jong, I need time. Alone.”
He rose to his feet, almost stumbling forward. “I can’t possibly leave you alone with all these thoughts—”
“With what thoughts?” you snapped, voice wobbling. “That your parents think I’m not good enough for you?”
Your throat tightened as tears welled up again, threatening to fall. “For the record, Jay, I’m precious to other people too.”
And that cracked something in him.
Jay’s breath caught in his chest as he watched you fall apart in front of him.
He couldn’t speak. He should’ve swallowed his fear. Should’ve protected you better. But instead, here you were, crumbling under the weight of his parents’ ignorance and all he could do was watch it happen.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
You were already shaking your head. “Jay, they’re right,” you said, your voice cracking as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I’m crying because they’re right.”
“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer.
“They’re not—”
“Look at us!” you cut in. “From the moment we got together till now, we’ve been fighting over the same thing. Me and you. We don’t belong in the same world. And you know it.”
Jay flinched.
You took a breath but it came out in pieces. “What’s gonna happen in the future, huh? When you’re out there doing all these big world things and I’m just… I’m just stuck. Working at a stupid kids’ playground, scraping money together just so I can go out with my friends like a normal person?”
You couldn’t breathe between sentences now. It was all tumbling out, everything you’d been burying deep inside.
“No,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, “Enough.”
You startled at the sharpness in his voice.
“That’s enough,” he said again, stepping forward in two long strides before pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so tightly. “Stop. Please,” he whispered against your hair. “Just stop.”
You didn’t fight it. You were too tired. Too worn. You just stood there, pressed against him, your hands balled.
“I love you,” Jay said suddenly, voice rough. “I fucking love you. How can you even say that? That you’re not enough?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face now, his forehead pressed to yours.
“I don’t care about status. I don’t care what my parents built. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing I care about is you.”
His chest rose and fell too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“I spend day and night thinking only about you. I always think about you. Dreaming that someday, I’ll get to wake up next to you and not have to keep it a secret. That I can walk out into the world and tell everyone that you’re mine. That I chose you. Over everything.”
You didn’t speak, didn’t move. Your heart felt like it was breaking and being stitched back together at the same time.
“I don’t care where we live,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s some shabby motel room or a one-room apartment over a laundromat. I just care that you’re there. Right beside me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His voice softened, cracked down the middle.
“If my mom and dad can’t see that? Then fine. Whatever. Let them be blind. Because… the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is this.”
He gripped your face tighter, thumbs brushing your tear-streaked cheeks. “Us. Our relationship. You.”
Your chest shook with the sob you hadn’t meant to let out.
And this time, when you collapsed into him, it wasn’t from sadness.
It was from the unbearable weight of being unconditionally loved.
–
Jay’s house had always been intimidating in a quiet, understated way not because it was large or lavish (although it was), but because of the tension that wafted it in the air. A kind of coldness that never really went away, even when his mom was smiling or his dad was out of town. You felt it now more than ever as you stood in the hallway outside his father’s office, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoing louder than you wanted it to.
You were in a pretty little dress, nothing flashy, just enough to look presentable. Your hair was done in a half ponytail, neat and soft, something you’d fixed just before you came even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. Jay had decided to bring you with him. After everything, the two of you had spent the night talking, curled up together on your couch, deciding that no matter what happened in that room, you would walk out together.
Even if that meant Jay leaving with three suitcases and no home to return to.
When the heavy double doors to the office opened, thunder cracked outside, almost like the sky itself was warning you. Jay flinched. So did you. But still, he stepped in first, fingers tightly curled around yours, and you followed behind him into the room.
His father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, posture straight, glasses perched low on his nose, the blue light from his laptop casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked like any other wealthy middle-aged man, if you were being honest, if you didn’t know better, you’d never guess how much power his voice held over Jay. How that man could reduce him to something so small with a few words.
“Close the door,” his father said without looking up.
Jay obeyed wordlessly. The soft click of the door shutting made your heart pound louder in your ears.
The silence was unbearable. The only sounds in the room were the quiet clack of his father’s typing, the occasional pop from the crackling fire in the fireplace, and the rush of blood in your ears. You could feel Jay’s hand trembling in yours as he led you closer toward the desk.
His mother sat just to the side in one of the leather armchairs, perfectly composed. She looked at your joined hands, then up at you both. Her expression was unreadable, but when she exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of defeat in it.
Jay stopped just a step short of the desk. You could feel the tension in his body, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other like he was grounding himself.
He cleared his throat.
“I’m not going.”
The typing stopped.
The silence that followed was louder than anything else that had come before it. His father slowly closed the laptop, fingers steepled over it as he raised his head. And then, he smiled.
Not a kind smile. Not even a confused one.
It was the kind of smile you gave when you thought someone was playing a prank on you. Condescending. Amused, but in that way that made you feel small.
“Not going?” he repeated, voice low but laced with ice. He leaned back in his chair. “And who exactly made that decision?”
Jay’s grip on your hand tightened.
“I did,” he said, voice steady but strained. “Because it’s my life.”
There was a moment where the room stood still.
Then came the slam.
THWACK.
His father’s palm hit the desk with a force that made you flinch and Jay instinctively step a little in front of you.
His dad’s face darkened, his voice rising now. “You did?” he echoed. “You decided to throw away Oxford. Throw away everything we’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed for this family. For what? Her?”
Jay didn’t respond.
His father’s eyes flicked to you, cold and sharp. You tried not to shrink under it, but it was hard, your chest felt like it was caving in on itself. He continued, now addressing his son with pointed disgust. “I always knew you were impulsive, but I didn’t think you were stupid. Do you understand what you’re giving up?”
Jay stayed still. Then slowly, he nodded.
“I do,” he said softly. “And I’m still not going.”
His dad scoffed, jaw tightening. “This isn’t just about you. This is about our name. Our reputation. Do you think you can waltz out of this house and pretend like your choices don’t affect the rest of us? Do you think—”
Jay stepped forward then.
“I’m not pretending. I know they affect you. But this—” he motioned between you and him, “this affects me too. And for once, I’m choosing the life I want to live.”
You could feel your lungs struggle for air.
Jay’s mom shifted in her seat, something soft flickering across her face. Her eyes moved back to the two of you, and this time, it lingered.
His dad rose to his feet.
“Then you can pack your things,” he said coldly. “And leave.”
Jay didn’t say a word. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office like the walls themselves were going to swallow him whole if he didn’t move fast enough. The last glimpse you caught before the door shut was his father, still standing, his expression unreadable save for the sharp stare he gave you and his mother, her eyes lingering on you.
Then you were in his room. The room you’d spent so many years in. The room where you studied on the floor for hours, where you once fell asleep watching movies with your legs tangled together. But now, it felt different. Felt almost unfamiliar despite the million times you’ve been in there.
Jay was moving fast, throwing open his wardrobe doors, yanking shirts and jackets off hangers, pulling drawers open and emptying clothes into an open suitcase. It was all happening so fast you could barely process it. You stood there, frozen by the door, the click of the doorknob behind you still echoing in your ears.
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your limbs were locked in place like your body had gone into shock. Guilt rose steadily in your chest, thick and choking.
“Baby…” your voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think… shouldn’t we talk? Shouldn’t there be more to it than just this?”
Jay didn’t stop packing. He only glanced at you briefly, his eyes hard, lips set. “Talk about what?” he said sharply. “They’re never going to listen.”
You walked over to him slowly, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding yourself. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you stop talking to your family. This is heavy, Jay. This burden—it’s heavy as hell.” Your voice cracked near the end, and you hated it. Hated how weak you sounded. Hated how helpless this all felt.
Jay finally paused, his shoulders still heaving with frustration. He turned to you, placed both hands gently on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your skin as if that alone could reassure you. His voice dropped, low and tender, full of a kind of pain that was older than this moment.
“Baby, this isn’t about them right now. It’s about me. About trying to live my own life. I’m so tired of living a version of me that only exists to please them. I’ve been the perfect son for years, and now…” His hands tightened, eyes boring into yours. “Now I’m just trying to take my life back.”
You looked up at him for a long second, your breath caught in your chest, and then you slowly nodded. Wordlessly, you stepped beside him and knelt, beginning to fold the wrinkled clothes he had shoved into his suitcase. You couldn’t fix anything, not really, but you could help him pack.
He watched you for a moment. The way your eyes were lowered, expression unreadable. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew you were hurting not because of something you did, but simply because of who you were. And how his family had decided that was somehow… not enough.
Then he felt it.
Eyes on him.
Jay turned toward the door.
His mother stood there, a hand still clutched lightly against the frame, her face soft and wet with tears. Her gaze flickered from him to you, back again. “Jong…” she said, her voice cracking. “Don’t go.”
His heart squeezed. God, he’d always had a soft spot for her. For the way she brushed the hair from his eyes when he was sick, for the quiet way she defended him during family dinners. She loved him and he knew that. But when it came to standing up to his father, she never stood a chance.
“Mom…” he said, his voice breaking.
“Jong, please,” she whispered again.
He looked down. Then at you. You stood slowly now, standing behind him, your hands twisted tightly together, fingers fidgeting in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.
Jay swallowed hard. “I’m not going,” he said, barely more than a breath. “And if it’s too much for you or Dad to handle, then I’ll leave.”
His mother stepped into the room, shaking her head, eyes red. “I tried talking to your father—”
“He’s not going to change his mind, Mom.”
“He can. We can try.”
Jay let out a bitter laugh, short and sharp. “I’ve been trying. For years. And nothing’s ever budged.”
She stepped closer, voice pleading now. “What if you went? Just for now? You could visit every few months—”
“Because I don’t want to!” Jay’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over, his fists clenched at his sides. “The love of my life is here. I want to be here. My friends are here. You’re here. I don’t want to go somewhere where I don’t know anyone, where I have to pretend like I’m someone I’m not.”
He was crying now. A mess of breathless anger and heartbreak. He looked at his mom, desperate for her to see him. To see you.
“You used to tell me stories, remember?” he said, voice trembling. “How Dad courted you for three years. How you didn’t even like him at first, but he waited. You told me about your love story growing up. And now what? I don’t get to have one?”
His voice broke completely.
“I’m in love with her, Mom,” he whispered, his hand reaching behind to find yours again. “And I can’t let you or Dad take her away from me.”
The door slammed open with a violent crack, bouncing off the wall behind it. You jumped, your breath caught in your throat as Jay instinctively turned, stepping back to shield you behind him.
His father stood in the doorway, tall and unmoving. His expression was unreadable.
Jay stiffened in front of you, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides as he positioned himself like a barrier. He didn’t say anything. Neither did you. It was like the two of you were back in school, caught sneaking out past curfew, facing down a teacher.
“You’re comparing whatever you have with her to the story of your mother and me,” his father said, his voice calm but sharp, every syllable slicing through the room like glass. “So tell me, Jongseong. What makes you so sure she’s the one?”
Jay blinked. “What?”
The question caught him off guard. Of all the things his father could’ve said… that wasn’t it.
His father took a slow step forward, hands still tucked neatly into his pockets. “You’re willing to give up your education. Your future. Everything your mother and I worked for. You’re willing to throw it all away for her.” He didn’t look at you when he said it, only at Jay. “So explain to me. What makes you think the two of you are so special? What makes you believe this is real? That it’s not just some immature, irresponsible decision for a—” his voice dipped, “—a passing fling.”
You felt the breath leave your lungs.
Jay’s shoulders tightened in front of you, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscles twitch. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there.
You swallowed hard, your eyes locked on the back of Jay’s hoodie, your fingers trembling at your sides.
Jay turned slowly, just enough to glance back at you. His eyes met yours for the briefest second.
He looked back at his father, drawing a breath.
“I know,” Jay said, voice steady, though it cracked faintly at the edges. “I know because I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I’ve never fought this hard for anything before. And it’s not a fling. It’s her. It’s always been her.”
His father raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And that’s supposed to be enough? A feeling?”
“No,” Jay replied, firmer now. “It’s not just a feeling. It’s the fact that I see my entire life with her. Not just today. Not just tomorrow. All of it. I don’t care if we’re rich or broke or living in a shoebox apartment. I want her there with me. I want to wake up next to her, argue with her over dumb things, bring her coffee when she’s tired, learn how to braid our daughter’s hair if we ever have one…that’s how sure I am.”
You blinked, your heart thudding so hard it hurt.
Jay stepped forward, his voice rising slightly. “You want to know what makes this real? It’s that when I think about what makes me feel safe, what makes me feel like I have a home, it’s her. Not a country, not a job, not a title. It’s her.”
He turned and reached for your hand again, threading your fingers through his, holding you tightly like he was afraid the world might tear you away at any moment.
“And if you can’t see that,” Jay said, looking directly into his father’s eyes now, “then maybe it’s not me who’s being reckless. Maybe it’s you for thinking love has to come with a some sort of societal hierarchy.”
The room fell silent again.
Jay’s father didn’t move. His face didn’t change.
“Then so be it,” he said.
Jay stiffened, not expecting him to fold, at least not like this.
“I expect three schools you’re planning to apply to. On my desk. Monday morning.” His gaze flicked between the two of you, briefly, unreadable. “Top three in the country. Or you’re going to Oxford. That’s the deal.”
And just like that, he turned and left.
The sound of his shoes against the hardwood echoed down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.
You turned slowly to Jay, still gripping his hand, still trying to find your footing.
His eyes were locked on the door his father had disappeared behind. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move.
You gently brushed your thumb against the back of his hand. “Jong?”
He blinked, once. Then again. And finally turned to look at you.
“He didn’t say no,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “He didn’t… shut the door.”
“No,” you said softly, stepping closer. “He didn’t.”
Jay nodded slowly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. Not completely.
Because this wasn’t a win.
But it wasn’t a loss either.
–
Things at home were still tense. No one had said much since the confrontation. His dad mostly kept to himself. His mom cooked in silence. Meals were eaten quickly and apart. It felt like everyone was walking on glass, afraid one wrong step would crack it all open again.
You were at Jay’s place, waiting for your mom to finish work so she could swing by and pick you up. The rain had just stopped outside, leaving the windows streaked with droplets, a quiet stillness hanging in the air like the whole world was holding its breath.
You were both sitting cross-legged on his bed, half under the covers, half sprawled out with glossy brochures scattered between the pillows and across the floor. Jay was holding one upside down, dramatically squinting at it.
“Do you think they give scholarships for people who have a traumatic past?” you asked, grinning.
He scoffed. “Please. I deserve a full ride just for surviving my father.”
You laughed, nudging his arm. He retaliated by leaning in, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple, then one to your nose, and then your lips, just a light brush, slow and sweet.
“You’re distracting me,” you mumbled against his mouth.
“Mm,” he hummed, grinning. “Good.”
You rolled your eyes, about to swat his shoulder again when the door creaked open.
Both of you froze.
Jay’s mom stood at the doorway, a brochure in her hand, her expression unreadable. She cleared her throat gently. “How about this one?” she asked, her voice even.
You blinked. Jay sat up straighter. “Huh?”
She walked in and handed the brochure over, and as you took it, your fingers grazed hers. It was another local university, one that hadn’t been on either of your lists but was known and reputable. A place his father wouldn’t hate.
And then you understood.
She was helping. In her own way.
Your lips parted slightly.
Jay’s mom sat down beside you on the bed, smoothing her skirt down as she exhaled.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes flickering to yours. “For everything you’ve gone through these past few months. I wish you told me the truth. I wish you told me you and Jongseong were together. I would’ve fought harder for the both of you.”
Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard.
“But then again,” she continued, her voice lowering, “I was wrong. You heard what I said that day… about you not being in our world. And I was wrong for thinking that.”
She turned toward you more fully, her tone warm but earnest. “What Jong said was right. At the end of the day, we’re all just people. Status, names, connections… they shouldn’t matter. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like they did.”
You nodded slowly, blinking through the sting in your eyes. You weren’t sure what to say, maybe because there was too much to say.
–
The sun was merciless, high above the stadium, baking the crowd in waves of heat and happiness. You were squinting into your mom’s phone camera, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jay, both of you dressed in identical deep navy cap and gowns.
Your mortarboard was already slightly crooked. Jay’s tassel kept swaying into his mouth.
“Mom,” you groaned, “that’s like the hundredth picture you’ve taken just today.”
Your mother didn’t even look up from her camera. “And?”
Mrs. Park, standing right beside her, chuckled warmly, nudging your mom like they were old best friends now which, frankly, they kind of always had been. “The two of you look so cute in your cap and gown,” she cooed. “We have to document this. For memory sake, c’mon!”
Jay groaned under his breath but smiled anyway. You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“A little kiss for the camera?” your mom added with a wink.
“Gross, Mom,” you muttered, already turning your head away.
Too late.
Jay took your chin gently and turned your face back toward him, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I won’t say no to a free kiss,” he murmured, smug.
You shoved his chest lightly, but the laughter broke through before you could even pretend to be mad. “Ugh. You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Behind you, a familiar voice cut through. “Okay, lovebirds, let’s not forget who the actual valedictorian is.”
You turned just in time to see Jungwon walking up, cap perfectly straight, robe pressed to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.
And then, Heeseung who was trailing behind him, in a gown that looked like it had been stuffed into a bag.
The sleeves were slightly too short, the zipper was half-stuck, and it hung off one shoulder.
“I can’t believe my parents didn’t spring for a second gown,” Heeseung said, exasperated, lifting a loose sleeve. “I’m stuck wearing my brother’s ratty one from two years ago. I found a mint in the pocket. Unwrapped, by the way. I swear to God, he’s the filthiest creature on Earth.”
Jungwon didn’t even pause. “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked back at Jungwon, completely deadpan. “Thank you, Jungwon. As always, a pillar of encouragement.”
Jay snorted into his sleeve. You were already wheezing, clutching your side as the two of them launched into another round of sarcastic bickering that made you question how either of them made it to graduation.
“Oh…hold on,” Heeseung suddenly perked up, biting his lip and raising a brow. “Some girls from the junior classes just showed up to congratulate me.”
You rolled your eyes. Jay muttered, “Here we go…”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Heeseung said, already straightening his sad excuse of a gown, “Won, you’re coming with.”
Jungwon blinked. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“I need a wingman. Jay’s taken, and I need someone to distract the extras while I move in on the main event.”
“Stop talking,” Jungwon said immediately.
“C’mon, please?”
“Just stop talking and I’ll go.”
“Sweet. Let’s go,” Heeseung grinned, already dragging him away.
You and Jay watched them go.
“Are we… sure he graduated?” you asked.
“Honestly?” Jay shrugged. “A miracle.”
But then, a throat cleared.
You turned, laughter freezing in your throat.
Jay’s father stood a few feet away in a crisp suit, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He didn’t say a word right away. Just looked at the two of you, at Jay in his cap and gown, hand intertwined with yours.
Jay’s hand stiffened slightly in yours. You looked at him and caught the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
To be fair, since the Monday Jay had placed the list of his top university applications on his father’s desk and then got into those schools, no less, there hadn’t been much conversation. Just the occasional grunt, nod, or one-word answer. It wasn’t new. Jay never expected his father to be warm. He could live without it. Had done so for most of his life.
But right now, Jay held his breath.
His father stepped forward, slow but sure, gaze unreadable. You tightened your grip on Jay’s hand without realizing it.
He stopped in front of Jay. His eyes scanned him once then paused on the crumpled gown, the slightly crooked cap, and then your intertwined hands.
“Well,” he said, voice low. “You wore the cap properly.”
Jay blinked, unsure if that was a jab or a compliment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
And then, Jay’s father reached out.
To you.
He adjusted the tassel on your cap, gently sweeping it from the left to the right side.
“You’ve graduated too,” he said, not looking at you directly, but something in his tone softer than before. “Should wear it properly.”
You didn’t move.
Then his father stepped back. He looked at Jay for a long beat, something tight in his jaw, but his voice steadier this time.
“You did good,” he said. “Better than expected.”
That was it.
Jay’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Because those few short words, that deadpan delivery, that subtle nod was his father’s way. And Jay knew, as frustrating and emotionally constipated as it was, that was as close as he’d ever get to hearing “I’m proud of you” out loud.
Before either of you could say anything, Mr. Park had already turned away, his footsteps slow and composed as he made his way through the crowd. He nodded at your mother and Mrs. Park in passing, the gesture polite.
Then, weaving through the field, he crossed paths with Heeseung who, at that moment, was mid–peace sign, tongue out, and clearly trying to impress a group of younger girls.
Mr. Park came to a halt. Looked him up. Then down.
“Fix your collar, boy,” he said in the most unimpressed tone known to man, “You look stupid.”
Heeseung blinked. He turned to Jungwon, stunned. You and Jay were already doubled over trying not to laugh.
A minute later, Heeseung made his way back to the two of you.
“Guys,” he said, eyes wide, “who was that and why was he mean?”
Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s… my dad.”
“Oh,” Heeseung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, he seems lovely.”
“That’s because you’re an asshole,” Heeseung snapped.
You turned toward Jay, stifling your laugh behind your hand as Heeseung and Jungwon continued to bicker beside you.
Jay slipped his hand into yours giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, and when you glanced up, his gaze was already on you.
“Hard to believe we made it here,” he murmured.
You smiled, stepping closer until your forehead touched his. “Well… I kinda had a feeling we’d make it.”
“Weren’t you the same person who cried for two hours because you thought I was leaving?”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“Still… I would’ve chosen you,” he said quietly, just for you. “Even if it meant packing up and leaving with nothing but you.”
You leaned in, kissed him gently, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Lucky for you,” you said, your smile matching his, “I came with everything we need.”
“Okay, kids! Group photo!” Mrs. Park called out, already motioning for you, Jay, Heeseung, and Jungwon to squeeze together.
You groaned playfully, but there was no use resisting. Jay laced his fingers with yours and tugged you forward, Heeseung fixed his borrowed gown while Jungwon rolled his eyes and tried to smooth his already-perfect one.
“Closer!” your mom called, squinting at the screen. “Act like you like each other!”
Heeseung threw an arm over Jay’s shoulder. “That’s a big ask.”
“Oh, as if you’re any better.” Jungwon scoffed, flicking Heeseung’s forehead.
“Smile!” Mrs. Park added, then laughed. “Okay, last one and then we’ll go for dinner!”
The four of you leaned in, grinning wide for the camera. Jay’s hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, close and quick, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the shutter clicked.
You squeaked in surprise, eyes wide, but the warmth on your face gave you away instantly.
“Now that’s burned into our graduation photo. Great,” Jungwon groaned.
“Unless… you want all of us to kiss you too?” Heeseung suggested, wiggling his brows.
Jungwon blinked. “No. I don’t really… I don’t want that.”
“Oh, come on,” you teased, already leaning in.
“Let’s do it,” Jay said, grinning.
Before Jungwon could escape, the three of you planted a kiss on his cheeks all at once.
content warnings angst / no comfort, mentions of death, grieving, major charector death, ni-ki addressed as riki, non idol!ni-ki, oneshot, bad writing, pet names, mention of terminal illness
word count 1,755
Riki had lost count for how long it has been since he last got out of his bed. It has probably been days now, but he couldn't care.
It wasn't that he was mad at you, god, no. He was mad at the fact that you hid it. How long had it been that you kept it to yourself.
Was everything between you guys built on a lie? That is how it felt like to him. Every single day that you met him with that smile- oh that smile of yours- was all of it fake.
The rational part of him knew it wasn't. How could what you guys have been faked. But that part of him has long been buried. And what remained now was this raw, ugly, feeling spreading deep inside Riki, making him question every word, every glance, every breath you guys had shared.
Riki hated the thoughts consuming his head right now. He hated them and he hated himself for having them. He hated himself for thinking that you were selfish to keep that to yourself.
Because he knew that you didn't keep it to yourself to be selfish, no, quite the opposite really. He knew you didn't tell him because you knew Riki, and you knew this is how he'd react.
And he hated himself to proving to you that your doubts were correct.
His phone, which was constantly buzzing a few hours ago with your messages, calls and voicemails had stopped buzzing a few hours ago. Not because you had stopped trying, but because he had. His negligence had caught up even to the phone, draining out it's battery.
Riki's chest was flooded with guilt. How could he act like this when it wasn't him who was suffering. How could he be the one ignoring you when it isn't your fault.
Riki knew you, and he knew that your head was probably reeling right now. He knew that you'd be thinking that you probably ruined everything, blaming yourself when he's the one who's in the wrong. And even after knowing all this, Riki was a coward. He was cowardly enough to not be able to face you, not stand beside you when you probably needed him the most.
But how could he face you when the moment he found out kept replaying in his head like a broken record.
flashback
Riki was at your house. Again.
At this point, he stayed at your house more than he did at his. But can you blame a guy when he's in love. He didn't even need you guys to be doing anything. Just being in your presence was enough to give Riki the energy to get through the day.
Which is why Riki was currently stationed at your bed, laying down flat with his head propped up by the pillows as he was mindlessly watching a movie on your laptop while you were seated at your table, revising for a test coming up.
"Baby" Riki's voice rang out through the small murmurs of the characters from the movie playing out in the background.
You had just hummed in response, waiting for him to continue, your attention half on him as your head was already preoccupied with the equation in front of you which was currently making you question your live choices.
"My lips feel chapped, can I borrow your balm?"
"Sure, it's in the drawer in my closet" You had simply shrugged, returning back to the equation. It wasn't until Riki's hand was hovering near the closet door had you realised what else was kept inside your closet.
"Wait!" Your voice came out too late, as the closet door was open, and Riki's shoulder which were relaxed before were now tensed. The room was engulfed in a type of silence that couldn't be simply described in words. Because the silence surrounding the room was loud. Screaming at you to answer every question lingering in the air.
"What's this?" His voice cut through the room like a knife, holding up the paper you dreaded him to see. You hadn't responded, not because you didn't know the answer, but because you didn't know how to respond.
"Riki..." That was the only word that came out of your mouth.
"What is this?" He repeated, his voice louder than before, his voice thicker with emotion he was trying so hard to suppress. He didn't wait for your response, partly because he knew you wouldn't give one before he resumed.
"You have Pulmonary Hypertension?" His voice came out so soft as if speaking it would make it all true. As if he couldn't bear to hear your answer to this question. But one look into your teary eyes confirmed what words couldn't
"These papers aren't yours, right? This must be a mistake" Riki looked at you, hoping for you to say something, anything.
"ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!" He finally yelled, a choked, broken sound accompanying him after that as he broke down, walking backwards with trembling legs until his back hit the wall, rubbing a hand over his face trying to desperately stop the tears that weren't willing to stop.
"I'm sorry... I wanted to tell you, I swear I did! But I was scared, Riki. I didn't know what to do-"
"NOT HIDE IT FROM ME IS WHAT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DO!" Riki cut your words off. You swallowed down the lump forming in your throat, deliberately trying to control your feeling. You knew you had no right to feel hurt right now when you were the one causing him pain, but go was it hard to not cry.
"I know, Riki!" You tried to reason with him, your voice coming out shaky, your eyes burning with the tears forming behind them, some of them betraying you as they slipped down your face
"Then why!? Why did you hide it from me if you knew? Did you not trust me?" He asked, all the anger leaving his voice as it came out drained and betrayed.
"Riki, you know I trust you with my life! It's not that. I just... I was a coward"
Riki didn't respond to that, letting out a shaky sigh as he looked up at the ceiling, silent tears still streaming down his face. Each tear that slipped out of his eyes broke your heart even more.
"How long?" Those two words were the only words Riki could mutter now, his voice hollowed out by pain.
"Riki-"
"How long?" He cut you off again, his eyes meeting yours as he begged for the truth
"I've had it since birth" You admitted, your voice coming out choked and cracking at the end as you finally lost your composure, a stream of tears cascading down your face.
You could see all the colour drain out of Riki's face as he suddenly paled, his breath hitching as if he couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth.
"Since birth?" He stuttered
"We've been together 4 years and you've kept it from me all along? Were you even planning to tell me ever?"
You brought your hand to your mouth to muffle a sob that was escaping your mouth.
"It was never this serious-"
"It's serious?" He looked at you stunned, as he slowly stood up from the bed
Everything after that was a blur of even neither of you could remember. All that you could remember was the betrayal in Riki's glossy eyes, your words begging him to understand, and him walking out that door.
That was the last time he talked to you.
Ever.
The last conversation between you and Riki had been full of tears, full of hurt.
Riki stood in front of you with yellow tulips in his hand, your favourites flowers every. A small smile adorned his lips, not a smile of joy, but rather one of acceptance.
He slowly sank down to his knees, laying the flowers down on you, or on what is you know. Once the flowers were set, he ran his fingers over your name on the tombstone, the smile not faltering from his face as tears started to run down his face.
"Hi, my love." He managed to whisper, his voice cracking.
"God" He choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as he looked at your beaming face forever frozen in time by the picture kept on top of your tombstone.
"I'm trying to be strong... for you- for us. But I regret it" He admitted.
"I don't regret being with you" He clarified
"How could I ever? You were- are more important than oxygen to me" He breathed out a laugh as he said those words
"But I regret being childish. I keep thinking that maybe if I picked up one of your calls, that maybe if I replied to one of your messages, would the guilt still be eating me alive?"
Riki's hand moved from his side to smooth out the grass surrounding your grave, running his fingers through the grass strands as if they were your hair.
"You know," He continued, clearing his throat as he wiped at his eyes.
"I read somewhere that the first thing a person forgets about someone is their voice. But I can still clearly remember your voice. I don't think I could ever forget anything about you. Even if I tried to, not that I ever will" He breathed out a small chuckle.
"It's been 6 years since you've left me. I would've said it was mean of you to leave without a phone call, but then again I can't blame you because it was me who didn't pick up" Riki tried to say these words in a humorous way, but the crack and thickening of the voice revealed all the grief he still carried with him.
"Will I ever overcome this?" He finally broke down, and it felt like he was in your bedroom all over again 6 years ago.
"How can I let go of this guilt consuming me?" He asked to no one in particular.
He talked to you after that about everything and anything. He caught you up with his life as if you were still there, and for him, you were. After god knows how long, he finally stood up from the spot he was sitting in, brushing the grass and dirt off his pants.
"Until next time, baby" He muttered, looking at your picture, his lips twitching up from the corners as he remembered how you used to smile at him
life in the 2000s means flip phones, low rise jeans, a chaotic friendgroup, and a cocky skater boyfriend who climbs your window when he needs to apologize.
pairing: bf!riki x fem!reader ⭑ ft. friendgroup Enhypen
🗯️ vaeh’s notes: the fic is finally here! you already KNOW i had to be cliche and make him climb through your window muhahah. I also wasn’t sure whether this was the right time to post this with everything going on atm, still posted it, hoping it helps cheer you guys up a little! Take care xx #enhypenis7
⊹
There were seven of them.
Seven loud, annoying ass, inseparable boys who took up too much space at every party, every hallway, and every parking lot. They were always together, skateboards under their arms, half-finished coca-cola cans in their hands, laughter echoing too loudly through college apartments that definitely couldn’t fit all of them.
You really weren’t supposed to be part of them. Even thought they we’re weird at first.
The first time they saw you, you were standing alone at some shady off-campus house party.
You were leaning against the kitchen counter in low rise jeans and a baby tee, flipping your pink bedazzled Motorola shut and open again because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands.
It was Sunghoon who noticed first. “Why is she by herself? She looks nice.” And then all seven of them ended up standing in front of you like a mildly intimidating boyband.
You don’t remember how, but that night you were adopted into their friendgroup.
You’d been with them ever since.
Especially Riki.
—
You and Riki were never stable.
You were either disgustingly in love or dramatically broken up. There was no in-between.
You’d ‘break up’ over anything:
Because he didn’t call you back fast enough. You helped another guy with his homework. He didn’t let you borrow his clothes. You told him smoking was unattractive.
And once because spilled an entire cup of Sprite on your Juicy Couture bag, which you spent your entire salary on.
You cried like a baby. He’d rolled his eyes and said, “It’s just a bag. Get a new one.”
You didn’t speak to him for a week.
The friend group suffered… Riki got quieter. You got meaner. The air felt heavy every time you were in the same room.
Until Jungwon snapped.
“I can’t do this,” he’d said, rubbing his temples. “You two are exhausting. Apologize. Now.”
You tried to act careless but you both folded in under five minutes and ended up in your bedroom.
—
You hated being called popular, but you weren’t invisible.
People knew you.
You had that early-2000s glow. Glossy lips, hoop earrings, low-rise everything. Professors remembered your name. Girls whispered about you. Boys stared a little too long.
Riki? He had baggy jeans sagged so low you could always see which brand of underwear he was wearing, Calvin Klein most days, sometimes something knockoff that you’d tease him about constantly.
“Pull them up,” you’d hiss in the middle of the mall, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and yanking it higher. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He’d just grin, completely unbothered.
“Why? You don’t like my boxers?”
“I don’t like that everyone else can see them.”
He’d lean closer, smoke still lingering faintly on his breath. “I don’t care.”
And then he’d glance down at your hips.
Low rise jeans. A tiny strip of pink lace peeking out when you moved. Belly piercing glinting under the mall lights.
“Oh,” he’d mock, tugging lightly at the strip of your thong on your hip, making it snap back. “And that’s modest?”
You’d swat his hand away. “That’s fashion.”
“Mine is too.”
“You look homeless.”
“You look like a hooker.”
“I do not. You asshole.”
You’d both be smiling by the end of it.
—
It’s one of those perfect late mid-August afternoons.
The sun is low and orange. Everything smells like hot pavement, sunscreen, and cigarettes. The entire city feels outside, kids with scraped knees, girls in denim skirts, boys shirtless with skateboards tucked under their arms.
The skatepark is loud.
Wheels scraping. Laughter echoing. Music playing from someone’s brand new portable speaker.
The whole friend group is there and Riki insisted you’d come too.
His white tank top clinging slightly to his back from sweat. Wired headphones dangling out of the pocket from his jeans. A cigarette tucked behind his ear, which you hate.
Heeseung is beside him, attempting something reckless off a skating ramp.
They take turns.
They hype each other up.
They shove each other when one of them almost eats concrete.
You’re sitting on top of the half-pipe, legs dangling over the edge, flip-flops hanging loosely off your toes. The smallest top imaginable clings to your torso more lace than fabric, blue jeans sit dangerously on your hips, held in place by a big bedazzled belt.
Riki had absolutely hated the top.
“That’s not a shirt,” he said earlier.
“It is.”
“It looks like a bra.”
“It’s hot outside.”
“It’s hot for me too.”
“Then take your shirt off.”
He gave you a glare, you walked ahead anyway.
Now you’re bored.
Bored and slightly irritate because you’ve already watched him light up two cigarettes.
Two.
And you hate when he smokes. Hate the smell. Hate the way it makes his voice raspier. Hate how casual he is about it.
And he knows that, but he does it anyway. Which makes it worse.
He skates toward you suddenly, rolling to a stop between your knees. One hand presses to the ramp beside your thigh, the other still holding his board.
“You look grumpy,” he says, squinting up at you against the sun.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He leans forward and kisses your forehead anyway.
Then he pushes off again before you can respond.
You sigh.
You’re melting. You’re bored. And you’re watching your boyfriend risk concussions for fun.
Amazing.
Then Heeseung has an even more amazing idea.
“Teach her something,” he says, nodding toward you.
Riki looks up immediately.
You narrow your eyes.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He’s already skating toward you again.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand. “It’s easy.”
“It’s not easy.”
“It is.”
“I’m wearing slippers.”
“Then take them off.”
You gasp like he’s insane.
He grins.
“Baby, I’ll hold you.”
Everyone’s watching now.
Jay whistles from somewhere near the fence. Sunghoon pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. Sunoo is already smiling like something crazy embarrassing is about to happen.
“If I fall and ruin my outfit,” you warn, pointing a manicured finger at him, “I’ll kill you.”
He laughs. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
You step onto the skateboard and it wobbles instantly.
You grab his hands.
“Why is it moving?”
“Because it has wheels.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
He positions himself in front of you, holding both your hands firmly.
“Okay,” he says, focused now. “Just bend your knees a little. Then pop the tail and slide your foot up.”
“Pop what?”
“The back.”
“I don’t know what that means Riki.”
He laughs softly.
“It’s fine. I’ve got you.”
You glare. “You better.”
He counts you down.
“One. Two—”
You jump.
The board flips sideways instead of up.
Your foot lands wrong.
His grip slips and suddenly you’re falling. You hit the concrete with a very embarrassing thud.
There’s a split second of silence, then there’s Laughter.
Sunoo’s laugh is the worst. High and dramatic and absolutely unnecessary.
You sit up slowly, hair in your face, pride completely shattered.
Riki is crouching immediately. “Are you okay?”
You stare at him.
“Did you catch me?”
“I tried—”
“You did not.”
He bites back a smile.
You gasp.
“Don’t you dare laugh.”
He fails. Just a little chuckle, but that’s it for you.
You stand up, brushing off your jeans dramatically.
“I’m done.”
“Baby—”
“No.”
You grab your slippers and stomp back toward the half-pipe.
Sunoo is still giggling when you sit down beside him.
“I’d like to see you try next time,” you snap.
Sunoo chuckles. “I would never fall like that.”
“You absolutely would.”
“I have natural balance.”
“You have natural dramatics.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”
You both dissolve into a stupid little argument about who would survive longer on a skateboard.
It almost distracts you from Riki.
Almost.
Until you glance over and see some random guy offering Riki a joint.
And Riki… takes it?
Your stomach drops.
He laughs at something the stranger says. Throws his head back slightly. That boxy grin that made you like him in the first place.
Your jaw tightens.
Sunoo is still talking beside you.
“…and then I’d definitely land it because— helloo? Are you even listening?”
You aren’t. Your eyes are locked on Riki.
Then a girl loses control of her board and swerves straight into him.
She stumbles forward and Riki catches her.
One hand at her waist on instinct.
You feel it before you even think, that little sting in your chest.
He lets her go immediately.
“You good?” he asks casually.
She laughs. “Yeah, thanks.”
She lingers half a second too long.
That’s it. That’s your last straw. You’re already on your feet. Sunoo reaches for your wrist. “Wait—”
Too late. You walk fast, hips swaying, chin lifted, eyes low and dangerous.
Riki doesn’t even notice until you’re right in front of him.
You grab his arm and tug him away from the small group of strangers.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He blinks. “What?”
“I said what do you think you’re doing.” you repeat, quieter but sharper.
He genuinely looks confused. “Nothing?”
You look at the joint still between his fingers.
Without breaking eye contact, you reach up, snatch it from him, drop it to the ground and grind it into the concrete with your heel.
“Are you serious right now?” he mutters.
“Oh, I’m serious.” you snap.
He runs a hand through his hair. “What is your problem?”
“My problem?” Your voice rises. “You’ve smoked, like, five cigarettes today. And now this? Oh and you’re just touching girls?”
His head jerks back. “Touching girls?”
“You literally had your hands all over her waist.”
“She ran into me.”
“And you had to grab her like that?”
“She was falling.”
You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
“Keep it down,” he says under his breath. “Not everyone needs to know you’re mad at me again.”
That does it.
“Oh, I’m embarrassing you?!” you fire back. “You weren’t embarrassed five seconds ago.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re making a scene.”
“You’re smoking in front of me after I told you I hate it.”
He exhales hard. “It’s my choice.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s called free will,” he adds, clearly irritated now.
You stare at him.
“Right,” you say flatly. “So you just do whatever you want.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were all up on her.”
“She bumped into me.”
“You didn’t have to hold her like that.”
He scoffs. “Like what?”
“Like—” You stop yourself before you say something dramatic.
He shakes his head. “You’re overreacting.”
You feel your chest tighten.
“Am I?” you ask quietly.
“Yes.”
Silence hangs between you. Then he makes the mistake.
He gestures vaguely at you.
“And don’t act like you’re not out here in that top all day.”
Your eyes widen.
“What about my top?”
“It’s too revealing.”
You laugh once. Sharp. Disbelieving.
“So now this is my fault?”
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re just saying what?” you cut him off. “That I deserve it?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But you thought it.”
He looks frustrated now. “You can’t tell me what I thought.”
“You can’t tell me I’m overreacting.”
“You are tho.”
Your face goes cold.
“Okay.”
You step back.
“Okay,” you repeat.
He frowns slightly. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
He grabs your wrist once.
“Don’t leave.”
“Whatever.” You say and you turn and walk away.
You expect footsteps. You expect him to call your name. You expect him to follow you like he always does.
You walk past the fence, the group of boys, past Sunoo’s wide eyes. And still nothing.
You finally glance back and your stomach drops.
He’s back on his board like nothing happened.
Like he isn’t supposed to chase you.
And that hurts more than the cigarette, more than the girl, more than the argument. Because in your head, he’s supposed to follow you and beg you to stay. But instead he just skates.’
—
By nine o’clock it’s almost completely dark, the last bit of orange fading out of the sky. Your room is lit by the glow of your TV, candles and the small lamp on your nightstand. You’re curled up in bed in soft pajamas, a plate of brownies balanced on your stomach while Clueless plays for what might be the hundredth time.
Your flip phone has been buzzing the last half hour.
Four missed calls.
Ten texts.
You’ve read none of them, you refuse to.
Then you hear A small tick against your window.
You pause mid-chew.
Another one.
And then a third.
You sit up slowly, pushing the plate aside and sliding out of bed. The floor is cool under your feet as you walk toward the window and pull the blinds apart.
Riki is standing in the street below, hands filled with tiny rocks to throw, looking up at your room like he’s been waiting for you to appear. When he sees your face, he waves casually, like this is completely normal behavior.
You stare at him for two seconds.
Then you shut the blinds and walk straight back to your bed.
Your phone buzzes again immediately.
You don’t check it.
A few seconds pass.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
You exhale sharply and shuffle back to the window, throwing the blinds open this time and sliding the window up.
“What?” you hiss down at him.
“You need to let me in,” he says like it’s obvious.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“But I want to talk to you.”
“Too bad.”
He steps closer to the house, lowering his voice even though no one is outside. “Please, baby. I wanna make it up to you.”
You cross your arms against the windowsill. “Make what up? You didn’t do anything, remember?”
“Come on,” he tries again. “Are you really gonna let me stand out here looking like a fool?”
“Yes,” you say immediately.
He stares up at you, half offended, half impressed.
You hold his gaze for another second, then slide the window shut and drop the blinds again before he can argue. You get back into bed, pull the covers up, grab your brownie plate, and press play like nothing happened.
For a few minutes, it’s quiet.
Then you hear something strange. Not rocks this time, but a scraping sound. A shuffle. Something brushing against the side of the house.
You freeze.
The sound gets closer.
Your heart jumps as you sit up again just in time to see two hands grab onto your windowsill from the outside.
And then Riki’s stupid face appears.
You let out a sharp gasp and scramble out of bed as he hoists himself up, creased sneakers braced against the brick. He looks mildly proud of himself, slightly out of breath, hair falling into his eyes.
You slide the window open with a dramatic sigh.
“Seriously, Riki?”
He doesn’t answer. He just swings one leg over the sill and climbs into your room like he’s done it a hundred times before, landing lightly on your floor.
“You’re insane,” you whisper-yell, shoving the window shut behind him. “My dad is literally going to kill the both of us if he finds out you climbed through my window.”
“He won’t,” Riki says easily.
“And you smell like smoke,” you add, wrinkling your nose. “If he comes in here—”
“He won’t,” he repeats, completely unbothered.
You stand there with your arms crossed, trying to stay angry while he casually looks around your room like he’s on a tour.
He glances at you slowly, eyes dragging from your messy hair to your pajama shorts. A lazy grin spreads across his face.
“Those make your ass look good.”
Your mouth drops open. “That’s what you have to say right now?”
“I’m just being honest.”
“You’re fucking unbelievable.”
He walks past you toward your bed, picking up one of your pillows and tossing it aside before noticing the plate of brownies. Without asking, he takes one and bites into it.
“You made these yourself?” he asks through a mouthful.
“Yes.”
“They’re good.”
“They’re mine.”
He shrugs and flops down onto your bed like he belongs there, one arm behind his head, chewing lazily while Clueless continues playing in the background.
Your eye twitches.
“I’m still mad at you, Riki” you remind him.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m here.”
You stay standing by the window like you’re guarding it, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Riki, meanwhile, looks entirely too comfortable sprawled across your bed, one hand behind his head, the other reaching lazily for another brownie.
He watches you for a moment, amused.
“Are you gonna stand there all night?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He snorts softly. “Come sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
“You weren’t nervous climbing up my house like a creep.”
He pats the mattress beside him anyway. “Baby.”
You hesitate, but you do it. Of course you do. You walk over and sit cross-legged on your bed, leaving a noticeable gap between you. You grab a pink heart-shaped pillow and hold it against your chest like armor, arms wrapped around it as a clear barrier.
Riki doesn’t look intimidated.
He slowly looks you up and down instead, gaze dragging over your shorts, your bare legs, your messy hair. He takes another bite of brownie, chews thoughtfully, then winks at you.
“Can I get a kiss?”
Your jaw drops.
“You’re unbelievable.”
You lean forward and snatch the plate of brownies out of his hands before he can grab another one. “Start talking,” you demand. “Or I swear I’m throwing you back out that window.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re not strong enough for that.”
“I’ll get my dad to do it.”
He actually laughs at that, like the idea is ridiculous.
You glare harder.
He sighs dramatically and sits up, closing the space between you. The mattress dips as he moves closer.
He reaches out, resting his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The touch is warm and familiar, annoyingly gentle.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
You narrow your eyes. “For what?”
He pauses half a second too long.
“For… making you mad.”
That’s it.
That’s the apology.
He doesn’t even fully know what he’s apologizing for, the smoking, the girl, the comment about your top, he just knows you’re upset and that saying sorry usually fixes it.
You try to hold your glare, but your grip on the pillow loosens.
This is how it always goes. One of you gets mad. The other gives a weak apology. And somehow it’s enough.
He watches your expression soften, just slightly, and that tiny shift is all he needs.
“Come here,” he says quietly, patting his lap.
You roll your eyes like you’re still annoyed, but you put the pillow aside and shift forward, settling onto his lap anyway. His hands come to your waist automatically.
He leans in and kisses you.
It starts slow, almost careful, like he’s testing if you’ll pull away. You kiss him back, fingers curling lightly into his black hair. For a few seconds, everything feels lke the argument never happened.
Then you wrinkle your nose and pull back slightly.
“Take your jacket off.”
He blinks. “What?”
“It smells like smoke.”
He smirks immediately. “If you wanted to undress me you could just say that.”
You don’t even entertain it. You grab his shirt and kiss him again just to shut him up.
He laughs against your mouth, hands tightening at your waist, and for now, at least, the fight is over.
Until he chuckles, he pulls back just slightly, still close enough that his lips brush yours when he talks.
“You know,” he mumbles, half smiling, “Sunoo told me to apologize.”
You don’t really listen, just give him another peck on his lips. “Hm?”
He shrugs, leaning back in to kiss you again like it doesn’t matter. “He said I should just say sorry and you’d stop being mad.”
Your lips press together instead of moving with his.
“And?” you ask slowly.
“And it worked,” he says lightly. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”
You freeze.
He tries to kiss you again, but you pull your head back this time.
“Are you kidding me right now?,” you say.
He frowns, confused at the sudden shift. “What?”
“You don’t know what you did wrong?”
He laughs a little, like this is harmless. “You were just in a mood.”
You slap his arm.
Not hard. But sharp enough.
“Ow— what was that for?”
You’re already climbing off his lap. “I actually can’t stand you.”
“What?” he repeats, genuinely lost.
“You didn’t apologize because you meant it,” you snap. “You just didn’t want me to be mad.”
“That’s the same thing y/n.”
“It’s not the same thing!”
He sits there, staring at you like you’ve switched languages mid-conversation.
You grab his arm and yank him off the bed. “Come here.”
“Why are you dragging me?”
“Because you’re leaving.”
He stumbles after you as you pull him toward the window again. “I just said sorry!”
“No, you didn’t!” you fire back, pushing the window open. “You said sorry because Sunoo told you to and because you wanted me to shut up.”
“That’s not—”
“That is exactly what it was.”
He steps closer, trying to catch your wrist, trying to pull you back in like he did before. “You’re overthinking it.”
You shove his chest lightly. “Go.”
“Can you calm down for two seconds?”
“No.”
He leans in again like kissing you will solve it, like it always does. You put your hand flat against his chest and push him back.
“Get out.”
“Baby—”
“Go!”
He exhales sharply, clearly frustrated now. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
“And you’re not making it a deal at all!” you shoot back. “Come back when you can take accountability!”
You don’t care how loud you are. You don’t care if a porch light flicks on somewhere down the street. You’re too irritated to think about neighbors.
He glares at you for a second longer before finally swinging one leg over the sill again.
“This is so stupid,” he mutters as he climbs out.
“You’re stupid!” you yell back.
“You love me though.”
“Bye Riki!”
He drops down to the ground below with a dull thud and looks back up at you. “Throw my jacket!”
You grab it off your floor and hesitate for a second.
“It smells like smoke! Wash it out!” you shout.
“Just throw it y/n, Jeez!”
You toss it out the window a little harder than necessary. It hits him in the face before falling to his arms.
“And pull your up your goddamn pants, you loser!” you yell one last time before slamming the window shut.
He stands there for a second in the dim streetlight, running a hand through his hair and muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking hell.”
He pulls up his pants anyway, then he turns and starts walking.
Riki walks home with his jacket slung over his shoulder. His jaw is tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kicks at small rocks along the sidewalk. He replays the entire thing in his head.
He apologized.
Didn’t he?
He showed up. Climbed yout house. Said sorry. What else was he supposed to do?
He mutters under his breath, calling the whole situation dumb, ridiculous. Calling you dramatic.
You just crawl back into bed and press play on your movie again, rather relieved than angry.
Cher’s voice fills the room.
You reach for a brownie.
Your fingers hit an empty plate.
You stare at it.
“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes.
—
The next day feels like nothing happened, it’s a Saturday and you’re at the mall with your friends, like usual
The mall in the center of the city is loud. Every store window is screaming SALE in red letters. Somewhere above them, a movie trailer echoes from the cinema entrance. The air smells like hotdogs, sugar, perfume samples, and fryer oil all blending into one.
Every time you guys go there to “just walk around”, someone somehow leaves with an empty wallet.
The vibe between you and Riki, though? Ice cold.
You walk slightly ahead when he’s near. Conversations split awkwardly around you two. You guys barely acknowledge each others presence. Everyone notices. No one says it yet.
You split up near the giant directory map in the middle of the mall.
Heeseung, Sunoo and you walk towards the arcade, immediately distracted by blinking machines and the sound of digital coins clinking. Jungwon and Jay walk off with one mission only, to eat every free sample the mall has to offer.
Jake, Riki and Sunghoon head towards the skate shop onsecond floor.
“Bro, I’m telling you, softer wheels are better for street,” Jake insists.
“Yeah, if you like going slow,” Sunghoon shoots back.
Riki barely speaks. He flips a board over, studies it, doesn’t see it.
He sees you in his head instead, standing at your window, yelling at him to come back when he can take accountability.
They check every board. Compare prices. Debate colors. In the end, none of them buy anything.
When they walk out into the mall hallway again, the crown hits them full force. Sunghoon stretches his arms above his head.
“So,” Jay says casually. “You and her gonna keep pretending you don’t know each other?”
Riki clicks his tongue immediately. “She’s mad at me.”
“Yes,” Riki insists. “I climbed her window. I could’ve fallen and died bro. I said sorry.”
Jake squints at him. “For what?”
Riki opens his mouth.
Closes it.
“…For making her mad?”
Sunghoon actually laughs. “That’s not an apology, idiot.”
Riki runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “She was yelling about the joint, and the cigs, and that girl at the skate park. But I didn’t even do anything with that girl. I just caught her because she bumped into me.”
Jake raises a brow. “By her waist?”
Riki hesitates. “…On instinct.”
“Mm,” Sunghoon hums. “And then?”
“And then she dragged me to the window and kicked me out ‘cause I said Sunoo told me to apologize,” Riki mutters.
Both boys stare at him.
“You told her…” Jake says slowly, “that someone else told you to apologize.”
“I was joking. “And at least I apologized? I don’t see the problem.”
Jake lets out a sigh. “I don’t know how you ever got her to like you, man.”
Riki scowls. “I literally climbed into her room. What more does she want?”
Jake grins. “Maybe don’t touch random girls in front of her.”
“She ran into me.”
“And you caught her,” Sunghoon says dryly. “You couldn’t even catch your own girl when she fell.”
Riki groans. “It’s not like that.”
Jake smirks. “Then go tell her that.”
“She’ll just get mad again.”
Sunghoon shrugs. “Get better at apologizing.”
Meanwhile the boys are discussing how to apologize to girlfriends, you’re at the arcade, trying to win a stuffed animal.
The arcade is chaos, neon lights flickering, pixelated sound effects, the constant clink-clink of coins dropping somewhere. A racing game to your left, a dance machine behind you, and right in front of you—
The claw machine.
Inside it sits the biggest stuffed cat you’ve ever seen. Grey and white, oversized head, cute smile. It’s ridiculous. You want it immediately.
You shove another coin in.
Heeseung leans casually against the machine beside you. “You’ve been trying for like ten minutes.”
“I almost had it,” you mumble, eyes locked on the claw.
Sunoo crouches dramatically beside the glass. “Manifest it. Tell it you love it.”
“I do love it,” you whisper.
The claw drops.
Grabs the cat.
Lifts it.
For one beautiful second it hangs there.
“YES!”
Then slips.
The cat falls back into the pile.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you curse under your breath, stepping back in disbelief.
Heeseung laughs softly. “Y/n, did something happen between you and Riki?”
You don’t even look at him. “He was being a dick.”
Sunoo nods immediately. “Newsflash.”
Heeseung hums in agreement. “Fair.”
No further questions.
You shove another coin in aggressively. The claw misses completely this time and you kick the machine.
Heeseung gently nudges you aside. “Let me.”
You cross your arms, pretending you don’t care. “You’re gonna lose.”
The claw lowers.
It grips the stuffed cat around its head.
Lifts it.
Carries it over to the hole.
Drops.
The cat tumbles into the prize slot.
You and Sunoo scream like he just won an Olympic medal.
“NO WAY—” you laugh. It’s bigger than you expected, soft and and perfect.
Heeseung smiles, brushing his hands off. “All skill.”
He takes the cat from the slot and hands it to you with a small grin. “For your suffering.”
You hug it immediately. “You’re my favorite person.”
He just laughs.
ou three walk out of the arcade a few minutes later, the mall lights feeling calmer after all the flashing machines. You hold the stuffed cat in your arms like it’s something precious, its giant head resting against your shoulder.
Riki notices you.
From halfway down the hall, he spots you walking toward them, oversized plush cat in your arms, laughing at something Sunoo just said.
And unfortunately for his pride, you look cute. And pretty. And happy.
It does something uncomfortable to his chest.
The groups meet in the middle of the walkway.
Sunghoon claps his hands once. “We’re gonna go find Jungwon and Jay before they eat themselves sick.”
“Too late,” Heeseung says dryly.
They all start walking, Sunghoon and Jake up front debating something again, Sunoo walking slightly behind them.
Heeseung slows just enough to walk beside Riki for half a second.
He gives him a small nod toward you.
Go.
Riki exhales through his nose.
Fine.
He steps up, walking beside you.
You don’t look at him.
He notices that immediately.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to sound casual. “Where’d you get that?”
Your eyes stay forward. “Arcade.”
“Obviously.”
“Heeseung won it for me.”
There’s something about the way you say it, so simple, that hits him wrong.
He glances at the stuffed cat.
Heeseung won it… not him.
“Oh,” Riki mutters. “Cool.”
You finally lift it slightly, showing him the cat’s stupid stitched smile. “It’s my new boyfriend.” You say it teasingly.
But Riki doesn’t smile.
Something annoyed flickers across his face before he masks it.
“Yeah?” he says, voice calm but a little tight. “He looks like he’d treat you better.”
You glance at him briefly, catching that tone.
“It doesn’t climb through windows uninvited,” you reply.
He huffs softly. “Yeah. It also doesn’t have legs.”
You shrug. “Less likely to run around with random girls then.”
He goes quiet for half a second.
Then he nudges the cat’s head lightly with his fingers. “He looks dumb.”
Your eyes narrow. “Don’t talk about him like that.”
“You really replacing me with a stuffed animal?”
You keep walking straight ahead.
“Depends. Can he apologize properly?” You say, then you step up your pace to nonchalantly walk away from Riki.
You eventually find Jungwon and Jay exactly where everyone expected them to be, around a food stand with tiny paper cups in their hands.
Jay is mid-sentence when the group walks up. “I’m telling you, if you circle back in ten minutes they forget your face.”
Jake nods seriously, holding up another sample. “This one’s teriyaki chicken. Third time.”
Heeseung sighs like a tired parent.
“Are we leaving?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon says.
Everyone slowly makes their way toward the mall exit.
Riki walks quietly behind everyone.
You do too.
By the time the glass doors slide open, the air outside is thick and warm, with the hum of traffic and laughs from somewhere down the street.
Sunghoon and Jake walk ahead, arguing about the best type of flipphone. Jay tries to convince Jungwon to stop at a convenience store on the way. Sunoo keeps poking Heeseung about the stuffed cat like it’s some kind of trophy.
You and Riki walk a few steps behind them again.
For a minute, neither of you says anything.
Your arms are wrapped around the giant plush cat, its soft head resting against your shoulder. Riki glances at it once, then looks ahead at the group, then down at the pavement like he’s building up the courage to say something.
Finally, he exhales and speaks.
“Y/n...”
You glance at him.
“I was being an asshole yesterday.”
You blink slightly.
He keeps walking beside you, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on the ground instead of on you.
“And… I’m sorry,” he adds. “For the cigarettes. And the joint. And that girl at the skatepark.”
You don’t interrupt.
He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“And I’m sorry for not knowing how to say sorry,” he admits. “I know I kinda… suck at that.”
For a moment you just look at him.
Then a small giggle slips out before you can stop it.
He looks over immediately. “What?”
“Nothing,” you say, smiling a little. “I just like hearing you apologise”.
He shakes his head with a quiet laugh.
“I maybe shouldn’t have kicked you out the window.” You say hesitantly.
He snorts. “Maybe?”
“Okay, I shouldn’t have done that.”
He slides his hand out of his pocket and slowly, almost carefully, he lets it brush against yours. When you don’t pull away, his fingers curl around your hand.
The group ahead of you turns a corner toward the quieter streets leading back to your neighborhood.
You glance at Riki. “Do you wanna come to my house?”
His eyebrows lift. “You gonna let me in trough the door this time?”
You roll your eyes. “If you behave.”
“I always behave, baby.”
You scoff softly. “Mhm… just pull your pants up before my parents see you.”
⊹
extra note: I rlly hate the ending, I had writers block…
content warnings angst / no comfort, mentions of death, grieving, major charector death, ni-ki addressed as riki, non idol!ni-ki, oneshot, bad writing, pet names, mention of terminal illness
word count 1,755
Riki had lost count for how long it has been since he last got out of his bed. It has probably been days now, but he couldn't care.
It wasn't that he was mad at you, god, no. He was mad at the fact that you hid it. How long had it been that you kept it to yourself.
Was everything between you guys built on a lie? That is how it felt like to him. Every single day that you met him with that smile- oh that smile of yours- was all of it fake.
The rational part of him knew it wasn't. How could what you guys have been faked. But that part of him has long been buried. And what remained now was this raw, ugly, feeling spreading deep inside Riki, making him question every word, every glance, every breath you guys had shared.
Riki hated the thoughts consuming his head right now. He hated them and he hated himself for having them. He hated himself for thinking that you were selfish to keep that to yourself.
Because he knew that you didn't keep it to yourself to be selfish, no, quite the opposite really. He knew you didn't tell him because you knew Riki, and you knew this is how he'd react.
And he hated himself to proving to you that your doubts were correct.
His phone, which was constantly buzzing a few hours ago with your messages, calls and voicemails had stopped buzzing a few hours ago. Not because you had stopped trying, but because he had. His negligence had caught up even to the phone, draining out it's battery.
Riki's chest was flooded with guilt. How could he act like this when it wasn't him who was suffering. How could he be the one ignoring you when it isn't your fault.
Riki knew you, and he knew that your head was probably reeling right now. He knew that you'd be thinking that you probably ruined everything, blaming yourself when he's the one who's in the wrong. And even after knowing all this, Riki was a coward. He was cowardly enough to not be able to face you, not stand beside you when you probably needed him the most.
But how could he face you when the moment he found out kept replaying in his head like a broken record.
flashback
Riki was at your house. Again.
At this point, he stayed at your house more than he did at his. But can you blame a guy when he's in love. He didn't even need you guys to be doing anything. Just being in your presence was enough to give Riki the energy to get through the day.
Which is why Riki was currently stationed at your bed, laying down flat with his head propped up by the pillows as he was mindlessly watching a movie on your laptop while you were seated at your table, revising for a test coming up.
"Baby" Riki's voice rang out through the small murmurs of the characters from the movie playing out in the background.
You had just hummed in response, waiting for him to continue, your attention half on him as your head was already preoccupied with the equation in front of you which was currently making you question your live choices.
"My lips feel chapped, can I borrow your balm?"
"Sure, it's in the drawer in my closet" You had simply shrugged, returning back to the equation. It wasn't until Riki's hand was hovering near the closet door had you realised what else was kept inside your closet.
"Wait!" Your voice came out too late, as the closet door was open, and Riki's shoulder which were relaxed before were now tensed. The room was engulfed in a type of silence that couldn't be simply described in words. Because the silence surrounding the room was loud. Screaming at you to answer every question lingering in the air.
"What's this?" His voice cut through the room like a knife, holding up the paper you dreaded him to see. You hadn't responded, not because you didn't know the answer, but because you didn't know how to respond.
"Riki..." That was the only word that came out of your mouth.
"What is this?" He repeated, his voice louder than before, his voice thicker with emotion he was trying so hard to suppress. He didn't wait for your response, partly because he knew you wouldn't give one before he resumed.
"You have Pulmonary Hypertension?" His voice came out so soft as if speaking it would make it all true. As if he couldn't bear to hear your answer to this question. But one look into your teary eyes confirmed what words couldn't
"These papers aren't yours, right? This must be a mistake" Riki looked at you, hoping for you to say something, anything.
"ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!" He finally yelled, a choked, broken sound accompanying him after that as he broke down, walking backwards with trembling legs until his back hit the wall, rubbing a hand over his face trying to desperately stop the tears that weren't willing to stop.
"I'm sorry... I wanted to tell you, I swear I did! But I was scared, Riki. I didn't know what to do-"
"NOT HIDE IT FROM ME IS WHAT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DO!" Riki cut your words off. You swallowed down the lump forming in your throat, deliberately trying to control your feeling. You knew you had no right to feel hurt right now when you were the one causing him pain, but go was it hard to not cry.
"I know, Riki!" You tried to reason with him, your voice coming out shaky, your eyes burning with the tears forming behind them, some of them betraying you as they slipped down your face
"Then why!? Why did you hide it from me if you knew? Did you not trust me?" He asked, all the anger leaving his voice as it came out drained and betrayed.
"Riki, you know I trust you with my life! It's not that. I just... I was a coward"
Riki didn't respond to that, letting out a shaky sigh as he looked up at the ceiling, silent tears still streaming down his face. Each tear that slipped out of his eyes broke your heart even more.
"How long?" Those two words were the only words Riki could mutter now, his voice hollowed out by pain.
"Riki-"
"How long?" He cut you off again, his eyes meeting yours as he begged for the truth
"I've had it since birth" You admitted, your voice coming out choked and cracking at the end as you finally lost your composure, a stream of tears cascading down your face.
You could see all the colour drain out of Riki's face as he suddenly paled, his breath hitching as if he couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth.
"Since birth?" He stuttered
"We've been together 4 years and you've kept it from me all along? Were you even planning to tell me ever?"
You brought your hand to your mouth to muffle a sob that was escaping your mouth.
"It was never this serious-"
"It's serious?" He looked at you stunned, as he slowly stood up from the bed
Everything after that was a blur of even neither of you could remember. All that you could remember was the betrayal in Riki's glossy eyes, your words begging him to understand, and him walking out that door.
That was the last time he talked to you.
Ever.
The last conversation between you and Riki had been full of tears, full of hurt.
Riki stood in front of you with yellow tulips in his hand, your favourites flowers every. A small smile adorned his lips, not a smile of joy, but rather one of acceptance.
He slowly sank down to his knees, laying the flowers down on you, or on what is you know. Once the flowers were set, he ran his fingers over your name on the tombstone, the smile not faltering from his face as tears started to run down his face.
"Hi, my love." He managed to whisper, his voice cracking.
"God" He choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as he looked at your beaming face forever frozen in time by the picture kept on top of your tombstone.
"I'm trying to be strong... for you- for us. But I regret it" He admitted.
"I don't regret being with you" He clarified
"How could I ever? You were- are more important than oxygen to me" He breathed out a laugh as he said those words
"But I regret being childish. I keep thinking that maybe if I picked up one of your calls, that maybe if I replied to one of your messages, would the guilt still be eating me alive?"
Riki's hand moved from his side to smooth out the grass surrounding your grave, running his fingers through the grass strands as if they were your hair.
"You know," He continued, clearing his throat as he wiped at his eyes.
"I read somewhere that the first thing a person forgets about someone is their voice. But I can still clearly remember your voice. I don't think I could ever forget anything about you. Even if I tried to, not that I ever will" He breathed out a small chuckle.
"It's been 6 years since you've left me. I would've said it was mean of you to leave without a phone call, but then again I can't blame you because it was me who didn't pick up" Riki tried to say these words in a humorous way, but the crack and thickening of the voice revealed all the grief he still carried with him.
"Will I ever overcome this?" He finally broke down, and it felt like he was in your bedroom all over again 6 years ago.
"How can I let go of this guilt consuming me?" He asked to no one in particular.
He talked to you after that about everything and anything. He caught you up with his life as if you were still there, and for him, you were. After god knows how long, he finally stood up from the spot he was sitting in, brushing the grass and dirt off his pants.
"Until next time, baby" He muttered, looking at your picture, his lips twitching up from the corners as he remembered how you used to smile at him
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
it's the things left behind // never let go (demo vers.)
—zhao yufan
⛓️ idol!james x f!reader, second chances, misunderstandings, emotional neglect, angst, fluff, written+imgs, never let go org version that i did indeed delete oops!
w.c: 3.1k~
syn: sorry love, got practice. love you tho.
playlist: let down by radiohead / dark red by steve lacy
Dating James wasn’t normal—it wasn’t meant to be. He’s an idol. And well, you are…a student. That should’ve been your first warning. You should’ve understood that, but you didn’t. Of course you didn’t.
You and James started dating long before he became James from CORTIS. You knew him as James from Trainee A, James post Trainee A. To you, he was just…James. Now the world knows him differently. With stacked schedules, comeback showcases, and intercontinental interviews, he was busy. Obviously.
It hadn’t always been like this. Back then, everything felt simpler. His world didn’t stretch as far, didn’t demand as much of him, and somehow, you fit into it without having to try so hard. You didn’t have to think about timing, or schedules, or whether he’d be free. You just… were. And so was he. It never crossed your mind that one day, being with him would start to feel like something you had to work around instead of something that just existed. But things change. Slowly, quietly—until you don’t really notice it happening at all.
Nights where you both could ramble endlessly—about anything. Whether it was the absolutely rigorous schedule James had, or your worries about university. Nights like that? Long gone.
You wish you’d cherished them more.
Fuck, you really do.
Because now that he’s actually achieving his dreams, you’re almost sidelined. Back then, you ran parallel to them—but now it feels like you’ve been left at a pit stop.
“James, stop that!” your voice—accompanied by giggles, echoed through the living room of your apartment as he tickled you.
“Give me the remote,” he whined, grabbing your wrists and trapping you, making it easier to steal it from you.
“It was my chance to pick a show.” You muttered, trying to push him off.
He only laughed, the sound soft and close, before leaning down and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“Let’s not watch anything today,” he murmured instead, arms wrapping around you—warm and grounding, like he had nowhere else to be.
“Jami, you good?” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair.
He only hummed in response, tightening his grip around you—like you might slip away if he didn’t hold on. As if leaving him had ever been that easy.
You used to wake up tangled in him. Used to fuck up making pancakes together at 2 a.m. because neither of you could cook and neither of you cared enough about the pancakes. But now? Now you’re lucky to even receive a text. You shouldn’t be mad, it’s his job. You knew that before you started dating. But something about getting replaced by his job hurts.
It started simple, a simple ‘Sorry love, won’t be able to make it tonight.’That was fine. He was busy—he had dreams. Gradually it got worse. Missed anniversaries, missed birthdays. All with the same excuse—’Sorry love, got practice. Love you tho.’
One thing you hated was when people said things just for the sake of saying them. ‘Love you’ but you don't feel it anymore. Now, you're staring at a 2 tier cake with one dimly lit candle that says, ‘happy 6 year anniversary’. Sounds wrong, 6 years out of which you don't remember the last 3. Yet again, he’s not here. Sometimes, it feels like you’re dating whatever pieces of him his career leaves behind.It sounds egoistical—you know that. How hypocritical of you to support him and then conclude that the only reason you’ve been sidelined is because of something you supported him in.
The wax from the candle had almost melted onto the frosting by the time a notification snapped you back into reality
Waiting 2 hours for an explanation was bad, but waiting for an explanation on your anniversary? That's insanity. You put your phone down, a heavy sigh slipping past your lips. Your mind is flooded with thoughts—maybe he doesn’t need me anymore, maybe I'm just a burden.
But for some reason, James didn’t try to fix it either. Who just leaves it at being busy? It’s your anniversary. You know better than reaching out to him.
A day doubled to two, two to four and from four days, it's suddenly been a week. James has been quiet.
And honestly? You’ve stopped waiting.
On the other hand, James has been trying everything to keep you out of his mind. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. But how was he supposed to keep you out of sight when you were everywhere? James opens his phone? A picture of you two. He opens his wallet to pay for something? A polaroid of you. He opens his laptop to produce music? A picture of you again. Fuck that, he even found a polaroid of you both in his pocket.
Martin slides his chair closer, “What’s with you?”
Keonho chirps in from the couches, “You’ve been very lowkey with mentioning Yn, what’s mom up to?”
Juhoon chuckles beside him, “Ask her yourself, she loves you anyway.”
James doesn’t look up from his screen. He stays quiet for a while before finally mumbling,
‘Don’t.
His words catch everyone's attention. Seonghyeon slides his chair closer too, leaning forward. “What do you mean don’t?”
James murmurs, “We broke up, I think…”
Everyone erupts with questions—
“How?”
“What?? WHEN?”
“‘We’re fighting.’”
Juhoon rolls his eyes. “‘What did you do?’”
James finally looks up from his laptop, brows furrowing. “‘What do you mean what did I do? It could be her fault too.’”
Seonghyeon snorts, pushing James’ chair back with his foot. “‘Sure, man.’”
James lets out an annoyed sigh before launching into the story—missing your anniversary because of schedules, not showing up for your anniversary because of the live, the argument that followed. How you asked why Keonho could skip the live for his sister’s birthday while he couldn’t do the same for you.
Keonho immediately sits up straighter. “Wait, you told her that?”
“I mean… yeah?”
“Well that makes you look horrible.”
Martin blinks. “No, because hold on—you missed your anniversary bro?”
“‘I said I was busy, I got her cake for it too.”
Juhoon stares at him for a second before laughing in disbelief. “No way you actually think cake is a valid excuse.”
“We had schedules—”
“You always have schedules,” Seonghyeon cuts in. “That’s literally her point.”
James presses his lips together, jaw tightening. Keonho tilts his head. “And you seriously didn’t see why she got upset when I skipped for my sister?”
“I couldn’t just leave.”
“You could’ve, I did too.” Keonho says carefully. “You just didn’t think you needed to.”
Juhoon frowns. “Okay, but you guys talked after that, right?”
James goes quiet. “…Right?” Martin repeats slower this time.
James rubs a hand over his face. “Not really.”
“What does ‘not’ really mean?”
“We haven’t talked in a week.”
Then all at once, he’s bombarded again—
“A WEEK?!”
“ARE YOU INSANE?”
“JAMES????”
Juhoon asks again, “‘And you said you think you broke up?’”
James finally looks irritated, defensive more than anything. “I don’t know, okay? She stopped replying and I figured she needed space.”
Seonghyeon just stares at him. “James,” he says slowly, “I genuinely think your girlfriend hates you right now.”
James groans, shoving his face in his palms. He lets out a muffled, “Fuck, what did I do.”
Martin lets out a deep sigh, “God you’re so dumb for your age, go talk to her.” He pauses, staring at James still sitting there like an idiot. Seonghyeon and Martin both kick the legs of his chair hard. ‘I said go!”
For some reason James doesn’t move. He looks at martin and says
James thinks the worst part about all of this should’ve been the fighting. It’s a fight, it happens. You move on. That’s what usually happens. Disagreement, argument, apologising and moving on. That’s how you both rolled, but this time—this time it was different. There wasn’t any apologising or even attempts to talk it out. Just, silence.
This week for James was full of reminders and pieces of you he carried everywhere. You mattered a lot to him. It hit him how much he actually relied on you. Being the oldest, he carried responsibilities and sometimes he just needed someone like you to talk to. Someone who didn’t expect anything from him. Someone who just wanted him. Not any idolised version, no expectations, no nothing. You just wanted him for him.
James didn’t realise how much of you existed in his life until suddenly, there was nothing. No texts asking if he’d eaten yet. No random instagram reels or tiktoks at weird hours into the night. No missed calls from you because you “just wanted to hear his voice for a second.”
Nothing.
That terrified him more than the fighting ever could. Because arguments meant you still cared enough to be upset. Silence didn’t. Silence felt like a verdict. The worst part was that James knew this wasn’t sudden. Looking back now, the signs were painfully obvious. The shorter replies. The way you stopped complaining when he cancelled plans. The way you started saying “it’s okay” too quickly.
God.
How did he not notice it sooner?
Or maybe he did notice. Maybe he just thought you’d always stay anyway. That thought alone made guilt twist violently in his stomach. James had gotten so used to you understanding him that he stopped trying to understand you back. Every missed dinner, every forgotten date, every “sorry baby, schedules got extended”—he always assumed there’d be another chance to make it up to you later.
Later.
Everything with him was always later. Later when promotions ended. Later when schedules calmed down. Later when he could finally breathe again. But you waited through all of it. And he just…let you.
Fuck.
The anniversary. James squeezes his eyes shut, the memory making his chest ache. You sitting alone with that cake while he was busy doing a live he barely even remembered now.
The realization makes him feel sick.
Because Keonho was right. He could’ve left earlier. He could’ve skipped it. He could’ve chosen you for once instead of assuming you’d understand again. But he didn’t. The worst part about all of this wasn’t even that you were angry at him.
It was the possibility that you were finally done understanding him at all.
He rushed to your house.
Heavy and continuous knocks echoed throughout your apartment. You open your door just enough to take a peek at who’s at the door.
James.
He’s breathing a little too heavily, his forehead has a thin layer of sweat and he’s looking at you with those eyes. Those eyes that spoke before he could.
You freeze for a second, door opened completely now. “James?” You let out shakily.
He looks at you, “Can I come in?” He pauses, “Please?”
You let him in. He followed you to your couch hesitantly. When you sat down, he didn’t sit down beside you. Instead, he got on his knees. His forehead resting on your knees.
He didn’t look up. “I’m sorry.”
Silence.
He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for being an ass, I'm sorry for being the worst boyfriend ever, I’m sorry for never making time for you, I’m sorry for just…just–” the words caught up in his throat.
James inhales shakily, shoulders trembling slightly. ‘I-I’m sorry.” His voice cracks halfway through it. Before you can even react, he buries his face deeper into your lap, palms pressing harshly against his eyes like he’s trying to stop himself from falling apart completely.
The room falls quiet again. You don’t know what to say. Because this is James. Your James. The same boy who always kept himself together no matter how exhausted he was. The same boy who laughed through stress and brushed everything off with an easy smile. But right now, he looks ruined. ‘James…’ Carefully, you try lifting his head from your lap, but he only shakes his head stubbornly, fingers curling tighter into your hoodie.
‘James, get up.’ Another small shake of his head. ‘James,’ your voice softens despite your anger, ‘I can’t talk to you like this. Look at me.’
And when he finally does, your breath catches in your throat. His eyes are red and glossy. “Don’t cry.” You say pushing him away slightly. “I won’t accept your apology simply because you’re crying.”
The moment the words leave your mouth, James’ eyes get more watery, he looks up trying not to let the tears slip. His lips part slightly for just a second before he quickly nods. “I know,” he says quietly. “I know that.”
You pull yourself away from his grip gently, creating a little distance between the both of you. Distance allowing you to think, allowing you to breathe—because god, seeing James cry was never easy.
Not when he was the type to hold everything in until it consumed him whole—untill it got so bad he couldn’t keep it in anymore.
“You don’t get to do this now,” your voice shakes despite your attempts to steady it. “You don’t get to ignore me for a week and then show up crying and suddenly expect everything to be okay again.”
“I know.”
“You always know, James.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your lips. “That’s the problem. You know and then you do it anyway.”
He lowers his gaze again..
“I waited for you,” you whisper, and somehow those four words hurt more than yelling ever could. “Do you even understand how horrible that feels? To wait for someone only for them to never show up?”
James swallows harshly.
“I sat there like an idiot waiting for you, I thought you were late because of late night practices or your company, or something but–” voice cracks, “—You decided not to show up. The live clearly wasn't important enough. Not important at all if Keonho and Seonghyeon could skip it.”
James squeezes his eyes shut.
“Every single time you cancelled on me, I told myself it was okay because you were tired. Because you were busy. Because your dream was finally happening and I wanted to support you so badly.” Tears blur your vision. “Do you know how hard I tried not to become someone that held you back?”
“Baby—”
“No, let me finish.”
He goes quiet again. “I kept understanding and understanding until one day I realized you stopped trying altogether.” Your breathing grows uneven. “You missed our anniversary, James.”
His face crumbles instantly.
“You missed it and somehow I still ended up feeling bad for you because you were stressed.” A broken laugh escapes you. “Do you know how messed up that is?”
“I know,” he says again, voice hoarse now. “I know and I hate myself for it.” Then quietly—“I fucked up.” James finally looks at you properly again, eyes red and swollen. “I got too comfortable,” he admits shakily. “I got so used to you always being there that I stopped being careful with you.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“I kept thinking there’d be more time.” He laughs weakly through his tears. “Later after promotions. Later after schedules calmed down. Later after everything settled.” His voice breaks again. “I didn’t realize later was hurting you. I never stopped loving you,” James whispers desperately. “Not once. I swear to god, not once.”
“Then why did I feel so alone?”
James lets out a shaky breath before dropping his forehead against your knees again. “I don’t know,” he chokes out miserably. “I genuinely don’t know when I became someone that could hurt you this much.”
The room falls silent except for his uneven breathing. You hate this. You hate how much you still love him despite everything. Hate how one look at him falling apart makes your anger weaken around the edges.
“I was angry,” you admit quietly. “But after a while I just…” You pause. “I got tired.”
James looks up immediately at that. That hurts him more than anything else you’ve said tonight. You weren't tired or angry. You were just done. You’d given up. “No, no—” he shakes his head quickly, panic slipping into his expression again. “Please don’t say that.”
“You made me feel like loving me was inconvenient.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel stupid for missing you.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel like I was asking for too much when all I wanted was you.”
James physically winces. “I know,” he whispers again, tears spilling over finally. “I know, I know and I’m so fucking sorry.”
You stare at him for a long moment. “You really hurt me.”
“I know.” His voice cracks again. “And if I could take it back, I would. I swear I would. I’ll fix it.”
You don’t respond.
“I mean it,” he says quickly, crawling closer without even realizing it. “I’ll do better. I’ll make time. I’ll answer your calls even if I’m exhausted, I’ll leave schedules early if I need to, I’ll—”
“James.”
“No, please.” His hands grab yours carefully. “Please let me fix this. Take me back. Please.”
Your eyes sting again, tears welling up. “I hate how much I love you,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.
His entire expression changes. “You still love me?”
You let out a watery laugh. “Unfortunately.”
James actually sobs at that. A pathetic, relieved sound leaves him as he presses your hands against his face. “Oh my god,” he laughs through tears, “oh my god, I thought I lost you.”
“You did.”
That makes him immediately. And for the first time tonight, James truly understands how close he came to losing the best thing in his life. “I’m serious this time,” he says softly. “I’ll do better.”
You study his face carefully. “You don’t get another chance after this.”
“I know.”
“And if you start making me feel alone again, I’m leaving.”
James nods so fast it almost looks ridiculous. “Okay. Okay, I understand.”
Silence settles between the both of you again. Then finally, quietly—“I’ll give you another chance.”
James freezes. Like he physically stops breathing. “What?”
You sniffle, looking away from him. “I said I’ll give you another chance, idiot.”
His reaction is instant. “Holy shit.” Before you can even process it, James shoots up from the floor so quickly you nearly yelp as he suddenly pulls you up with him. “James—!”
He wraps his arms around you impossibly tight before lifting you clean off the ground. A startled laugh escapes you as he spins you around the living room. “Oh my god,” he keeps repeating breathlessly against your cheek. “Oh my god, I love you, I love you so much—”
“James!”
“I’m serious,” he says frantically, setting you down only to cup your face immediately after. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—”
Then he kisses you like he’s been dying to do it for years. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing unevenly. “I love you,” he whispers again, eyes glossy. “God, I love you.”
Our Paris honeymoon felt like a dream I did not want to wake up from.
It was everything I had wished for and more. From spontaneous midnight walks around the hotel garden to the café dates I could only dream about.
There was no denying I was a little sad about returning home.
We were on our way back home from the airport, Sunghoon driving while I was struggling to keep my eyes open in the passenger seat. The radio was playing an old tune, which Sunghoon hummed along to.
I turned my head to look at Sunghoon- my husband. The fact that we were now married still got me feeling giddy like a nervous teenager.
His fingers were slightly drumming along the steering wheel while he hummed along to the tune, and he looked absolutely perfect.
Feeling my stare on him, he turned to look at me.
"Why are you staring?"
"Can I not look at my husband, hmm?" I replied with a cheeky grin.
Sunghoon's face turned a shade of bright pink as he heard my reply, which just made my grin larger.
"You, Mrs Park, are a menace"
It was my turn to blush now. I felt like I was floating when he addressed me as 'Mrs Park', my stomach flooding with butterflies. Satisfied with my reaction, he winked at me, before turning his attention back on the road.
I turned my head to look out the window, looking at all the trees pass by.
My attention snapped to Sunghoon when he took a wrong turn.
"Hey, we had to go left from there" I reminded him, but he just shot me a grin.
"Surprise!"
I squinted my eyes in suspicion.
"What do you mean surprise?"
His grin didn't falter from his face once as he turned his attention back on the road.
"Guess you'll have to wait to find out"
I groaned at his reply, letting out a dramatic whine.
"That's not fair!"
"All is fair in love and surprise" He winked.
Sunghoon stopped the car in a new neighbourhood.
"Where are we?" I muttered, looking around my surrounding.
Sunghoon didn't reply, just got out of the car before rushing to my side to open my door.
Instead, he took my hand and guided me towards a bungalow, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out keys, jiggling them in front of my face.
"Surprise, baby!" He grinned, handing me the keys.
"Welcome to our home!"
My eyes widened at his words, as I turned around to look at him, a look of disbelief on my face.
"You're joking!" I muttered, my mouth agape.
He just shook his head, smiling slightly. I suddenly jumped into his arms, squealing in excitement. He caught me mid air, our laughter echoing throughout.
"I love this- I love you!" I grinned, pulling his hand towards the entrance on our home.
My hands were shaking with adrenaline and excitement as I unlocked the door. My jaw dropped as I saw the inside of the house. It was exactly how we used to imagine our house to be.
From the fireplace beside the brown couch, to the windows facing the garden- it was exactly how we wanted it to be.
Without even realising, my eyes started to tear up. I turned around and looked up at Sunghoon, only to find him already looking at me. His hand reached out to touch my cheek, wiping away the stray tears that fell.
"This is perfect..." I whispered, my voice cracking with emotions.
"It's our now, Joo..." He smiled back, wiping away my tears.
"How did you remember everything?"
"You said it, Joo. How could I ever forget your dream home." He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"God! I could kiss you right now" I chuckled.
"No one's stopping you" He muttered, before leaning down and capturing my lips in a kiss.
I smiled into the kiss, my hand coming to rest on his chest, my hands fisting into his shirt while his rested lightly on my waist.
We pulled back soon to catch our breaths, smiling at each other.
"I love you" His voice came out, slightly raspy because of kiss.
"I love you more" I smiled, before putting my hands around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.
your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.
✧ WARNINGS AND TAGS
soulmates!au ◦ vampire!au ◦ mentions of sex ◦ dark themes such as depression, melancholy, killing ◦ landlord!sunghoon x fem!reader ◦ vampire!sunghoon x collegestudent!reader ◦ vampire!enhypen ◦ gore, mentions of violence and blood ◦ graphic description of violence ◦ in this au, humans and vampires coexist and vampires are almost extinguished ◦ heavy angst ◦ family drama ◦ mommy issues ◦ reader's dad has cancer ◦ eventual smut ◦ description of blood ◦ HAPPY ENDING ◦ too much angst ◦ pls be mindful of what you're consuming for your mental health.
+2OO,OOO main masterlist STATUS ━━━━━ FINISHED
۶ৎ 𝓜 , live laugh love vamp!hoon >< reposting my favorite piece of creation i've ever done because this was life changing for 20-year-old mari and i owe it all to my enhablr lovely readers. this will eventually have smut, so mdni. layout credits to kiwiatoll, banner credits to hoonstrology and divider credits to uzmacchiato. i love you guys sm thank u for being awesome and talented <3 i lost my old blog and all the tsj posts under it, that's why i'm reposting this. for now, the links will only redirect to ao3 bc your girl doesn't have time yet to repost each chapter here on tumblr but dw because i'll eventually post everything here okie.
read on ao3 spotify playlist main masterlist
THE SEONGHYEON JAEGA ━━━━━ MASTERLIST
PROLOGUE ONE ━━━━━ pink tiles
꒰ 5.8k ꒱you didn’t expect the winter garden, or the hydrangeas blooming out of season. and you definitely didn’t expect sunghoon — quiet, unreadable, and watching you like he already knew how this would end.
PROLOGUE TWO ━━━━━ the seonghyeon jaega
꒰ 10.9k ꒱between printer boys, rooftop gardens, and the neighbor who looks at you like he’s trying not to set the world on fire, this is what happens when loneliness meets curiosity and accidentally kicks off something bigger than you’re ready for.
CHAPTER ONE ━━━━━ hydrangeas & homicide
꒰ 11.2k ꒱ park sunghoon has survived centuries by staying detached — until a new neighbor moves in and quietly unravels everything. caught between instinct and control, he senses a bond he thought was myth, as something human begins to feel dangerously inevitable.
CHAPTER TWO ━━━━━ six-hundred-and-thirty-three
꒰ 16k ꒱ your body thrums with a strange, residual ache — not pain, but presence. like something has settled beneath your skin, quiet and irreversible. you don't have the words for it yet, but whatever passed between you and sunghoon in that moment wasn’t just physical. it’s something older, deeper, and it’s already taken root.
CHAPTER THREE ━━━━━ eletromagnetic emo ghost
꒰ 21.6k ꒱ all day, he feels you — in the air, under his skin, in every pulse that isn't his own. he watches you stumble through the day, dazed and aching, and hates that he caused it. but more than that, he hates how badly he wants more.
CHAPTER FOUR ━━━━━ resist the urge to bite (or kiss)
꒰ 35.2k ꒱ you want answers, but you also don’t want to ask. when you finally see him again, your body reacts before your mind can. and when he speaks — low, careful, restrained — it only confirms what you’ve been afraid to admit.
CHAPTER FIVE ━━━━━ hanil women university
꒰ 18.2k ꒱ the tension between you builds — sharp, close, and unbearably restrained. and when you finally ask if he regrets it, sunghoon doesn’t answer with words. he just looks at you — and it’s enough to know the truth.
CHAPTER SIX ━━━━━ necklines & near-death experiences
꒰ 24.3k ꒱sunghoon is shaken. and now that the bond is forming between you two, it’s not just instinct — it’s blood memory. he’s caught in something ancient and irreversible. and for the first time, you’re not the one in danger — he is.
CHAPTER SEVEN ━━━━━ orange blood
you never knew. and now everything — your instincts, your reactions, the way your body answers sunghoon before you can think — starts to make sense. it’s not legacy. it’s inheritance by accident. buried. hidden. and now, waking up.
EPILOGUE ━━━━━ bad desire (unleash)
it’s not soft. it’s inevitable. after nights of denial and tension so thick it ached, this moment snaps like a pulled thread. it’s teeth, breath, hands, and truth.
SYPNOSIS : in which…the guys thought it would be funny to play a little prank on you, not knowing you hadn’t completely healed from the way they used to treat you before debuting.
CORTIS 6TH MEMBER AU
a/n: two updates in one day omg…ALSO I LOVE THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH AIAOSOSO I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT AS MUCH AS ME…
01 | 02
series mlist
the past few days had been hell for everyone. avoiding the others wasn’t exactly difficult since you were barely home anymore. whenever practice ended, you usually disappeared with allday project and stayed out until ridiculous hours of the night. if you did return to the dorm, it was usually long after everyone had gone to sleep. you would quietly let yourself in, grab a blanket from the couch, and sleep there until morning before leaving again. the guys had tried everything to catch you long enough for a conversation, but every attempt somehow failed.
even during practice there wasn’t an opportunity. lately, you had been training like your life depended on it. the second practice started, you completely locked in. every break was spent stretching, rehearsing, or running through choreography again. if anyone tried approaching you, you always found an excuse to leave. after a few days, everyone finally realized you weren’t just busy. you were avoiding them.
nobody was taking it well. keonho had probably sent enough texts to fill an entire novel by now, and martin had already tried cornering you twice after practice. even seonghyeon had sent an apology message, which shocked everyone considering he hated talking about his feelings. none of it worked. every time you thought about that stupid prank, your stomach twisted all over again. what hurt wasn’t even the prank itself. it was the fact that they all knew exactly why it affected you so badly.
especially james.
out of everyone, james was the one you couldn’t stop thinking about.
that was how you ended up sitting on the beach late one night. the ocean stretched endlessly in front of you while the moon reflected across the water in a long silver line. the waves rolled onto the shore in a steady rhythm, and for once your thoughts felt a little quieter. you had been sitting there for nearly half an hour when you heard footsteps approaching from behind.
normally, you would’ve ignored it, but something about the pace felt familiar. a second later, someone lowered themselves into the sand beside you. you didn’t even bother looking. you already knew who it was.
james.
for several minutes, neither of you said anything. he sat beside you with his hands resting on his knees while staring out at the water. surprisingly, the silence wasn’t awkward. it never really had been between the two of you. eventually, you let out a slow breath and broke it yourself.
“out of all people, i thought you’d be the last one to do something like that.”
beside you, james lowered his gaze and nodded once. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t defend himself, and didn’t try making excuses. he simply waited. he knew you weren’t finished.
you laughed quietly to yourself, not because anything was funny, but because you genuinely didn’t know what else to do. “i mean, seriously. i understand keonho or sean. they’re idiots. i love them, but they’re idiots. half the time they don’t even realize they’re doing too much until somebody yells at them.”
that earned the smallest smile from james before it disappeared again.
“but you?” you finally turned your head toward him. “you’re supposed to be my older brother.”
james visibly winced.
“you were the first person in this group who actually saw me as me. before everyone got close to me. before all of that. it was you.” your eyes drifted back toward the ocean. “you saw how badly all that trainee stuff affected me. you saw everything.”
the words came easier now that you had started.
“that’s why i thought you’d stop them. or at least tell them it wasn’t going to be funny. you were there when i cried about that stuff. you were there when i thought nobody wanted me around. you were there when i felt like i didn’t belong here.” you swallowed hard. “so when all of that happened again, even for one day, i honestly felt like we were right back at the beginning.”
for a moment, neither of you spoke. the only sound was the ocean.
when james finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.
“i know.”
you didn’t say anything.
james dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. “and honestly, that’s exactly why i’ve felt like shit this entire week.” he stared down at the sand while speaking. “i’m not gonna sit here and make excuses because there really aren’t any. we thought it’d be a stupid prank. that’s the truth. we thought you’d get annoyed, we’d tell you it was a joke, everybody would laugh, and we’d move on.”
he shook his head.
“but we didn’t stop to think about what it’d actually feel like for you. especially me.”
you glanced over at him.
“i should’ve known better than anyone,” he continued. “i remember those trainee days. i remember finding you crying after practice. i remember how long it took before you finally got comfortable around everyone. the second you came home excited about seeing allday project, i already knew this was probably a bad idea. i should’ve stopped it right there.”
the guilt on his face was obvious.
“and i’m sorry.”
the apology sat between you for a few moments. you didn’t know what to say to it. part of you was still angry. part of you was still hurt. but another part of you could tell he genuinely meant every word.
james looked back out at the water and laughed quietly to himself. “also, whether you like it or not, you’re basically our little sister.”
you immediately rolled your eyes.
“there it is.”
“what?”
“the sibling speech.”
james grinned.
“it’s an important speech.”
“it’s a terrible speech.”
“still important.”
despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched slightly.
james immediately pointed at you.
“that was almost a smile.”
“shut up.”
“it was.”
“james.”
“i saw it.”
you groaned and buried your face in your hands while he laughed quietly beside you. for the first time all week, the tension between you didn’t feel quite as suffocating.
after that, neither of you said much. surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. if anything, it reminded you of your predebut days. back when you and james weren’t particularly close yet, but somehow always ended up sitting together after practice. neither of you had known how to start conversations properly back then, so you mostly sat in comfortable silence until somebody finally thought of something worth saying.
eventually, james pushed himself to his feet and brushed the sand off his clothes. then he held out a hand toward you.
you stared at it for a second.
then sighed dramatically.
“you’re annoying.”
“coming from you, that’s basically a compliment.”
rolling your eyes, you grabbed his hand and let him pull you up.
the walk back to the dorm was almost completely silent. strangely enough, it felt familiar. not because everything was fixed, because it definitely wasn’t. there were still conversations waiting for you back at the dorm and apologies you hadn’t heard yet. but for the first time in days, the distance between you and james didn’t feel quite so impossible anymore.
and for now, that was enough.
the next morning, you woke up before everyone else like you had been doing for the past week. for a moment, you simply stared at the ceiling. your usual routine would be to quietly leave before anybody woke up, spend the entire day avoiding the dorm, and come back sometime after midnight. honestly, you were already halfway through convincing yourself to do exactly that.
instead, you sat up with a sigh and climbed out of bed.
the apartment was completely silent as you made your way into the living room. pale morning sunlight was peeking through the gaps in the curtains. after a moment of hesitation, you walked over and opened the blinds. sunlight immediately flooded the room, making you squint.
you stood there awkwardly for a second, then shook your head. if you were already here, you might as well do something useful.
the kitchen was exactly as disastrous as you expected. judging by the state of a frying pan sitting in the sink, somebody had attempted cooking recently and failed miserably. you didn’t even want to know who.
with a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and got started.
despite everything that had happened, you still knew exactly how everyone liked their breakfast. james liked his eggs plain. martin liked extra cheese. juhoon hated having too much pepper. keonho somehow managed to complain about every breakfast food imaginable except bacon. seonghyeon preferred his eggs cooked longer than everyone else.
it was annoyingly easy to remember.
by the time you were done, six different plates sat neatly on the countertop. beside them were six different drinks. water for james. orange juice for martin. cherry juice for juhoon. cold milk for keonho. warm milk for seonghyeon.
you had no idea why you remembered all of that.
afterward, you grabbed your own bowl of cereal and sat at the table. you had never liked eggs much anyway. the apartment remained quiet for a while before you finally heard movement coming from one of the bedrooms.
a few seconds later, james shuffled into the living room.
his hair was sticking up in every direction imaginable and his face was still puffy from sleep. he looked half conscious at best. the moment his eyes landed on you, though, you watched something visibly relax in his expression.
like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
james simply grabbed his plate and drink before sitting down beside you. the two of you ate quietly. it wasn’t awkward. if anything, it felt surprisingly normal.
that peace lasted all of five minutes.
the next person to wake up was juhoon. he walked into the living room while rubbing his eyes, clearly still half asleep, when he noticed you sitting there.
he froze.
without saying a single word, he turned around and walked straight back to the bedroom.
“…okay.” you frowned.
james immediately started laughing into his water.
a minute later, juhoon returned, this time holding a folded piece of paper. he walked directly over to you and awkwardly shoved it into your hands before taking several steps backward.
you stared at him. slowly, you started unfolding the paper.
“no, wait.”
you paused.
juhoon looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “don’t read it now.”
you looked up. “why?”
“because it’s embarrassing.”
you immediately became interested. “how embarrassing?”
“very.”
“juhoon.”
“please.”
you grinned. “if this is too corny, i’m literally never letting you live it down.”
juhoon closed his eyes and sighed like a man accepting his fate. without another word, he grabbed his breakfast and sat down as far away from you as physically possible.
you laughed quietly and slipped the paper into your pocket. whatever was written on it could wait until practice.
a few minutes later, the peaceful atmosphere was shattered by yelling.
“i’m telling you that’s not how microwaves work.”
“then explain why it started smoking.”
“because you’re stupid.”
“that’s not an explanation.”
the remaining three idiots.
their argument continued all the way down the hallway before they entered the kitchen together. the second they walked in, however, all three of them froze.
their eyes landed on you.
the silence lasted approximately two seconds.
“oh thank god.”
before you could react, keonho launched himself across the room.
you had literally just taken a bite of cereal when he wrapped his arms around you. the sudden impact made you immediately choke.
“i’m sorry y/n, i love you, you’re my baby sister, please forgive me, i’ll never do that again, i’m horrible, i’m a terrible person, you’re just a little kid—”
you awkwardly patted his back while coughing. “get him away from me.”
james took another bite of breakfast. “nah.”
eventually, martin grabbed keonho by the hoodie and physically dragged him away. keonho hit the floor dramatically and kept whining.
your relief lasted about three seconds, because then you noticed martin opening his arms. “no.”
martin ignored you. the next thing you knew, he had somehow folded himself into your lap despite being significantly larger than you.
“we don’t deserve you,” he cried dramatically. “if it wasn’t for you, we’d be dead. we’d be starving. we’d be eating drywall.”
“martin, you’re crushing me.” you coughed while trying to shove him away.
eventually, after several seconds of struggling, you managed to push him off. martin immediately collapsed onto the floor beside keonho.
both of them remained there.
your attention drifted toward seonghyeon. unlike the others, he hadn’t said much. he was already sitting at the table with his breakfast in front of him. when your eyes met, he immediately froze.
for a second, neither of you looked away. then seonghyeon lowered his gaze.
you frowned slightly. the tension was definitely still there, which was strange.
you had already forgiven keonho. honestly, the second he threw himself at you and nearly caused your death by cereal, most of your anger disappeared. martin was martin. juhoon had apparently written you some sort of emotional apology letter. james had already talked things out with you last night.
but seonghyeon felt different. he didn’t feel angry, defensive or anything like that.
he just looked nervous as hell. almost like he’d been rehearsing something in his head for days and still hadn’t figured out how to say it.
and judging by the way he kept staring down at his breakfast instead of eating it, you had a feeling that conversation was coming sooner rather than later.
practice had gone surprisingly well.
the atmosphere was completely different from how it had been a week ago. everyone was joking around again, teasing each other whenever someone messed up choreography, and arguing over things that didn’t matter. for the first time in days, things felt normal.
during break, you slipped away to the balcony with a can of cola.
the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky orange and pink as a cool breeze drifted through the air. after making sure nobody was following you, you finally pulled the folded letter out of your pocket.
juhoon’s handwriting was terrible.
you immediately smiled.
dear y/n.
first of all, before you start making fun of my handwriting, shut up.
i know you’re already laughing.
anyway.
i’m not really good at saying stuff like this out loud, so i’m writing it instead. james told me that’s a coward move, but i’m choosing to ignore him because he’s old.
i wanted to say i’m sorry.
not just for the prank. i’m sorry for every time i’ve made you feel like you weren’t important to us. because you are.
i don’t think i tell you that enough.
actually, i don’t think i tell you that at all.
you do so many things for us that none of us even think about until they’re suddenly gone. you remember everyone’s schedules. you remind us to eat. you know exactly how everybody likes their food. you somehow always know when one of us is having a bad day before we even say anything.
and the thing is, you act like nobody notices.
but i do.
i notice how every night before bed, you stand on the balcony for a few minutes and stare outside before going to sleep.
i notice how you always leave the last piece of food for somebody else even when you’re still hungry.
i notice how you pretend you’re not tired because you don’t want anybody worrying about you.
i notice how you always check if everyone’s home before you go to bed.
i notice how every time one of us gets sick, you somehow become the most annoying person alive because you’re constantly checking on us.
i notice how you’re always the first person to congratulate us when something goes right and the first person to comfort us when something goes wrong.
you think nobody notices those things.
but i do. and i know the others do too.
i think sometimes you forget how much you’ve become part of our lives.
if i’m being honest, i can’t really remember what the dorm was like before you moved in, which is probably a problem because it definitely existed before then.
but you get what i mean.
you’re family.
you annoy me constantly. you steal my hoodies, and i steal your stupid skinny jeans. you threaten violence every other day. you insult me at least seventeen times daily.
but you’re still family. and i love you.
even if saying that makes me want to launch myself into traffic.
i’m really sorry, y/n and i hope someday you’ll forgive me completely.
please burn this letter after reading it. seriously. i’m begging.
love, juhoon.
p.s. if you show this to anyone i’ll tell everybody about that embarrassing thing you did in 2024.
p.p.s. you know exactly which thing i’m talking about.
you finished reading and immediately started laughing through the tears in your eyes. by the end of the letter, your vision had become blurry. stupid idiot.
a small smile remained on your face as you carefully folded the paper and slipped it back into your pocket.
that’s when the balcony door opened.
you looked up at seonghyeon who stood there. the second your eyes met, he looked like he wanted to run away. instead, he awkwardly walked over and sat in the chair opposite yours.
for a moment, neither of you spoke. then you sighed. “i know there’s stuff you wanna get off your chest, so just say it. you know i’ll never judge.”
seonghyeon immediately looked down. his fingers twisted together in his lap. he chewed anxiously at the inside of his cheek while trying to find the words.
you waited.
eventually, he looked up. the second he did, a tear slipped down his face.
your heart immediately dropped. “seonghyeon—”
“i was jealous.”
you froze as he laughed shakily and wiped at his eyes. “that’s it. that’s the reason.” more tears followed.
“every time you talked about allday project, you’d look so happy.” his voice cracked slightly. “like… really happy.”
you stared at him quietly.
“and i started thinking maybe that was because they were your first choice.” another tear slid down his cheek.
“and maybe we weren’t.”
your stomach twisted.
seonghyeon looked away. “i know it sounds stupid.”
“it doesn’t.”
“it does.” he laughed bitterly. “because instead of talking to you like a normal person, i got jealous.” his shoulders shook.
“i kept thinking maybe you still liked them more than us. maybe you were only here because you had to be. maybe if you could choose, you’d pick them every time.”
you felt your chest tighten. “seonghyeon…”
“and then i started thinking about how i’m probably the member you’re least close to.” his voice had gotten so quiet you could barely hear him.
“i mean… can you blame me?” he wiped at his eyes again. “i treated you like absolute shit before debut.” the bluntness of it made you flinch.
“and i know we moved past it. i know you’ve forgiven me.” he shook his head. “but part of me always thought maybe you didn’t forgive me completely.” the words seemed to physically hurt him.
“so when everyone started talking about pranks, i suggested ignoring you.” he laughed bitterly. “because i was jealous.”
another tear rolled down his face. “and because i’m an idiot.”
by now, tears were running down your own face too.
“i’m so sorry, y/n.” the guilt in his voice was unbearable. “i’m sorry for the prank. i’m sorry for being jealous. i’m sorry for everything before debut. i’m just… i’m sorry.”
for a few seconds, neither of you moved. then you grabbed your chair and dragged it closer. before seonghyeon could react, you wrapped your arms around him.
immediately, he broke. his face buried itself in your shoulder as sobs shook his entire body.
you held him tighter and before you knew it, you were crying too. “you’re so stupid,” you mumbled through your tears.
he nodded immediately. “i know.”
“you’re actually so stupid.” another nod.
“i know.”
you laughed weakly, then hugged him tighter. “i love you all equally, seonghyeon.”
his shoulders froze while you pulled back just enough to look at him. “you guys are not my last choice.”
more tears spilled down his face.
“not even close.”
he immediately buried his face back into your shoulder.
“please don’t ever think that again.”
seonghyeon nodded so fast it was almost painful. for the first time in days, you felt some of the tension finally disappear.
inside the practice room, meanwhile, absolute chaos was unfolding.
martin was standing by the door with his phone out.
“clip that, clip that!” keonho giggled from beside him
“i am clipping it.” martin whisper yelled at keonho
james looked exhausted. “guys, she literally just forgave us. let’s not make her angry again.”
neither of them listened.
juhoon, meanwhile, looked like he was experiencing genuine psychological distress.
“i need that letter back.”
nobody answered him.
“i’m serious.”
still nothing.
“i need to burn it.”
keonho immediately looked over. “was it that bad?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The first time Park Sunghoon met Shin Eunjoo, it was at a mutual friends' wedding.
A few conversations later, they had exchanged instagram.
A few DM's later, they had exchanged numbers.
A few texts later, they had arranged dates.
And after a few dates, they were finally girlfriend and boyfriend.
Their relationship was nothing extra ordinary. There wasn't a movie subplot being followed.
It was simple... but it was theirs.
Their love was the kind you'd envy, not because it was full of grand confessions or extravagant gift every other day, but because it was real.
It was real in the way they'd remember little things about each other, the one's that someone would forget even about themself.
It was real in the way that Sunghoon always drank tea in the morning instead of coffee, just because Eunjoo preferred tea.
It was real in the way Eunjoo would find Sunghoon's key in just a minute after he spent several looking for it.
It was real in the way that they both still got butterflies even after 6 years of dating.
Which is exactly why they were standing across each other in the altar, dressed in a white gown and a tuxedo, looking into each other's eyes with a smile so bright it could beat the sun in a competition.
And when the priest's voice rang out
"With the power vested in me by the church, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride"
Sunghoon did not waste a second.
He leaned towards Eunjoo, eyes full of happy unshed tears that mirrored her own as he pressed his lips against hers.
The kiss wasn't intense or desperate, it was soft, one full of love and promises left unspoken but fulfilled none the less.
They were both happy and content.
But how long does happiness last before it's shattered?
𖤝 p. jongseong x reader
&&. underground boxer!jay. est. relationship. fluff. cocky jay + worried reader. vague mentions of blood, wounds, violence, etc (nothing major). main masterlist.
all content is purely fictional !
you wouldn’t trade your relationship with jay for anything in the world, but you admit you could do without the heart attack you get every time he comes home looking beaten half to death.
“sorry!”
tonight is not so bad as far as his injuries go, but you still wince when he flinches just a little as you hold the damp, warm towel to his split lip.
you swear it hurts you more than him.
“s’okay, love,” he murmurs back, eyes like molten chocolate as he looks up at you, sitting patiently while you tend to his wounds. busted up as his mouth is, the corners of his lips still turn up in a smile as he watches your face pinch up with worry.
“what are you smiling at?”
his bruised knuckles find your waist, pulling you closer where you stand between his legs. “you’re pretty when you fuss over me, y’know.”
you click your tongue, brows furrowing as you brush the compliment off, more worried about the small cut going through his eyebrow. he doesn’t flinch this time, just basks in the gentleness of your touch as you brush his hair back and dab at the scratch. “you need to be more careful, jay.”
he tugs you closer still until you’re flush against him, no room for anything between you, until you’re close enough for him to bury his bruised-up face in your waist. “you should see the other guy.”
you resist the urge to laugh, not wanting to let him get away with this blasé attitude. “i’m serious.”
you can feel his smile on your skin where your (his) shirt is riding up to expose your waist. “so am i. i didn’t do too bad, y’know. wish you could’ve seen it, but i get too cocky when i know you’re watching.”
it’s true. it’s part of the reason he stopped letting you come to his matches. (the other was just that it tended to get too rowdy and he was worried for your safety. his protective streak was cute). you remember how he’d drag himself home, proud and bleeding. you hadn’t fought him on it.
“as much as i love you, i have no desire to watch you get beat to a pulp,” you reply, gentle fingers applying antiseptic and healing cream to the blemishes on his face. he’s pliant under your touch, letting you turn this way and that as he stares at your face with all the love in the world.
“give me some credit,” he smirks as you tilt his head, eyes never leaving you.
“how about i give you something else?” you murmur, the devious lilt to your voice prompting jay to ask what you mean. he doesn’t quite get the chance to before you lean down to kiss him — just the corner of his mouth, careful to mind the split of his lip, soft and sweet and over way too quickly for his liking. he doesn’t even feel the ache in his jaw anymore, not when you’re kissing him so sweetly.
he almost whines when you pull away, half a mind to pull you back in, but the heaviness of his limbs is beginning to settle in.
your eyes crinkle when you smile fondly down at him, catching the way his shoulders slump just the slightest. you squeeze his arms that are wrapped tightly around you as an indication to stand. “come on, superman, let’s get you to bed.”
he doesn’t protest as you help him to his feet and guide him to the bedroom. his lips are still tingling from the kiss when you climb into bed beside him, and it warms him as much as your body beside his.
jay always sleeps deep, heavy after a match — but it’s not because he’s tired (even though he is). it’s because he always rests easier with you in his arms.
origamiaround
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
germansingergirl
izzy806
stormborns
