You wake slowly. Your lashes flutter, the world still soft around the edges as you shift slightly against the bed, the sheets tangled somewhere around your legs. For a second, you don’t move, just lying there, letting sleep cling to you before you put your hand reaches and fumbles blindly across the bedside table, grabbing your phone, bringing it close enough to squint at the screen.

You slightly jolt at the realization that half of the day went by. “What—?” Your voice comes out hoarse, disbelieving.

You push yourself up slightly, brushing your hair away from your face and just sit there, back leaning against the headboard to give your brain time to catch up. You turn your head to the side and find Hyunjin still asleep. He’s sprawled across the bed with arms stretched, one leg half hanging off the mattress, the duvet completely kicked aside. It’s like he’s making snow angel in his dream.

You shake your head as a soft laugh slips out of you. You move his arm, setting it beside him as you shift closer. Your body naturally finding its place against his, and you nuzzle your face into the warm curve of his neck.

“Hey, wake up,” your voice comes out low and a little hoarse.

He’s too deep in his slumber to even respond. You try again by gently poking his cheek with your finger, followed by small, ticklish kisses along his jaw. Still, nothing. Not even a twitch.

You pull back slightly, narrowing your eyes at him as you sigh in annoyance, “Unbelievable…”

Well, if he won’t wake up, you will make him. You slide off the bed and walk over to the window, fingers gripping the curtain before pulling it open in one swift motion. Daylight instantly floods in, filling every corner of the room with bright, unforgiving late afternoon sun.

You turn to look at him, waiting if it does something to him and to your surprise, nothing. You exhale sharply through your nostrils and march back to the bed. You don’t even hesitate to jump and the mattress sinks as you land beside him, bouncing slightly as you lean over him.

“Come on! Wake up!” You say, pulling at his arm.

Finally, he stirs just slightly and groans. Then his arms moves as it reaches for you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you down with him. You let out a small sound of surprise as you collapse onto his chest.

Hyunjin is already settling again, eyes remain closed, breathing slow and even. Like he’s already halfway back to sleep again.

You huff softly and stack your hands together on his chest, resting your chin on it. Then you just watch him, all his beautiful features that complement each other perfectly. At the sight of his lips, an intrusive thought pops in your head and almost without thinking, your fingers lift, tracing lightly over his soft, plump lips.

Another intrusive thought pops and you cave in immediately — you lean down to press your lips against his, placing a gentle, lingering kiss on him.

You pull away just enough to put an inch between your lips. “Wake up. I’m hungry…” you mumble with coaxing tone.

He doesn’t answer, but his arms tighten around you, holding you closer. A bit later, he shifts and lifts his head to close the inch between your lips for a soft, sleepy kiss. Then he drops back onto the pillow.

He takes a moment to gather his senses and then his eyes fluttering open. When they meet yours, he breaks into a lazy grin. A gentle hand lands on the top of your head, thumb tucking away a strand of hair on your temple.

“Room service?” he murmurs.

You shake your head. “No. Let’s go out.”

He stares at the ceiling, like he’s thoughtfully considering it. Then he nods. “Okay.”

You smile and place a quick kiss on his lips. “I’m going to get ready,” you say.

You press your hands into the mattress, about to push yourself up when all of a sudden, his arms tighten again and holding you in place.

“Hey—”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You glare down at him. “Just five?”

“Mmm-hm.”

“Just five more minutes,” you warn as you let yourself sink back down, melting into him.

However, five minutes turn into… more than five. By the time the two of you step out of the hotel for a late lunch and it turns into an early dinner. Despite it, the food tastes better and maybe because you skipped an entire half of the day with sleep. Or maybe it’s just him. Either way, you both finish the meals rather too quickly.

On the bright side, it gives you and him time to walk down to the beach, just in time to enjoy the sunset.

By the time you’re sitting on the sand, side by side, the sky is already starting to shift, the blue deepening, warm colors slowly bleeding into the horizon as the sun lowers itself toward the water.

You pull your knees up slightly, arms wrapped loosely around them as you watch. “Can’t believe we just wasted another day like that…” you sigh with a pout.

Hyunjin leans back, hands propping against the sanding behind him. “We didn’t just waste it,” he mutters in disagreement.

You turn your head and narrow your eyes at him. “If only you weren’t scowling and upset with me all the time,” you say, teasing him.

He scoffs at that and without looking at you, he says, “Pfft… I told you I wasn’t upset.”

“Yeah, but you were scowling.”

“I wasn’t.”

You softly laugh and then playfully bump his shoulder with yours. “Yet you’re the one who says why I’m the girl with the adorable scowl,” you casually say, glancing sideway to see his reaction.

It takes him seconds to process your words and realizes where they came from. Yet, he decides to act oblivious and coyly says, “What are you talking about?”

You glare at him, giving him another shoulder bump. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know.”

He just looks at you, feigning innocence like he never heard it before. Or that those exact words firstly came out of his own mouth.

“I know you recommended me to Jane. For the test program,” you tell him.

Hyunjin pauses for a second and then smirks. Like you figuring it out just now is entertaining.

Offended, you elbow his side, but he barely reacts. “You acted so convincingly at the seminar. Like you didn’t know we were paired.”

That gets him bursting into laughter, his head tilting back slightly, shoulders shaking as the sound escapes him freely.

It annoys you even more so you elbow him again, a little harder. “Stop laughing.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.

You cross your arms slightly, turning more serious now. “Why did you choose me anyway?”

That question lingers a little longer than the others. Hyunjin simply shrugs and says, “Because I wanted to annoy you.”

You elbow him again. “Be serious!”

He laughs again, dodging slightly this time. “Okay, okay—”

He thinks for a second and then tries again. “Because it’d be fun. Doing it with you.”

The answer is more honest than before but you elbow him anyway. Harder. “Try again.”

“Hey—” he winces, hand coming up to his side. “That one hurt.”

“Good.”

He exhales, rubbing his ribcage. This time, he looks at you as he seriously answers. “Because I always wanted to get close to you and I just didn’t know how.”

You go quiet. Your gaze softens without you meaning it to. A smile starts to form anyway and you look away before he can see too much of it, looking back to the horizon where the sky is now painted in orange and pink, the sun dipping lower, reflecting across the water.

“You should’ve chosen Gabe,” you say, almost absentmindedly.

“What’s the fun in doing it with someone who already likes me?” he says without a beat.

You let out a scoff of disbelief. “Yeah, sure, the girls go crazy for a cocky guy like you,” you sneer.

He turns to you and beams as he lightly says, “See? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”

You try not to fall in easily but a soft laugh slips out before you can stop it. And when he puts his arm around you, you instantly lean into him, fitting there easily.

Hyunjin leans in to press a kiss on the top of your head and then brings his mouth close to the side of your head. “I know you like this cock,” he whispers with a teasing edge.

You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes and letting him see the way yours widen in surprise. You elbow him again, but this time is more like a nudge.

He laughs in satisfaction and draws you closer to his side. “I mean, I know you like this cocky guy,” he corrects, still laughing.

A beat later, he corrects again, “A charming, cocky guy.”

You shake your head at that but at the same time, can’t help the way your lips curve into a smile.

He looks at you, still with that grin on his face and then he presses a gentle kiss on your lips, long enough for the warmth of it to spread all over you.

When the kiss breaks, the two of you turn your head back to the way the sun sinking deeper into the horizon, the sky darkens and the air cooling. The way everything else feels like it’s slowing down around you.

Aside from the fact that everything happened before this is not as accidental as you think.

But this, here, right now — you’re both here because you chose to be with each other.

In this moment.

-

The elevator is empty when you step in. Hyunjin hurriedly presses the number to your hotel floor without letting go of your hand and soon, the doors slide shut. Before the elevator even starts moving, you reach for him. Your fingers gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him forward until he’s standing right in front of you, your back pressing lightly against the wall.

He doesn’t resist. Instead, his hands come to your waist, holding you steady as his eyes drop to meet yours. “So, what’s our plan for the night?” he casually asks, but there’s something underneath it.

You glide your hands up his arms, hands resting on the nape of his neck, playing softly with the strands of hair there. You don’t answer. You just keep looking at him and that alone is enough to create tension between you and him.

His grip tightens just slightly at your waist. “Are you hungry already? Should we get room service later?” he asks, a smirk threatening to show.

With the hand rested on the back of his head, you pull him closer and without the slightest bit of hesitation, you kiss him.

It catches him off guard for a fraction before he melts into it, kissing you back like he’s been waiting for it with one hand stays on one side of your waist, the other trailing up your spine.

You open your mouth wider just to let him have as much taste as he can, letting him deepens the kiss and then slowly, you pull away. But he follows, chasing for your lips, for another kiss.

Before he can execute it, the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Then a group of people steps inside. And just like that, Hyunjin stops and straightens, but he stays where he is, close to you.

You can’t help but chuckle seeing his exasperated expression and the way he tries to compose himself. But his eyes— His eyes are still on you.

Feeling mischievous, you tilt your head just slightly, gaze dropping to his lips before flicking your eyes up and stare deeply into his eyes. You pull him close, close enough that only he can hear you when you speak.

“I have a plan for us tonight.”

This time, he stops himself from hiding his smirk. “Yeah?”

You rise onto your tiptoes, allowing you to speak right into his ear. Your lips lightly grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Trust me. It’ll be fun.”

You linger there for a few more seconds before pulling back and look at him. The smile you give him is flirtatious and knowing. Like you didn’t just leave him there, caught between curiosity, intrigue… And something else entirely.

The elevator continues to climb, floor by floor and you can tell that Hyunjin is wondering what you have planned for tonight.

-

The second Hyunjin closes the door behind him and then turns, you run to him. Your hands grabbing onto him, your body colliding into his hard enough that it pushes him back a step and at the same time, your lips crash into his.

Hyunjin lets out a soft, surprised sound against your mouth, caught off guard by the force of it, but it only takes him a heartbeat before he’s kissing you back. Eagerly, like this is the only thing he thinks about since the elevator.

Your bodies tangle immediately, moving clumsily that your feet stepping over each other, as you push him backward, guiding him toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The kiss is messy and breathless, desperate in places. Yet you don’t stop, you keep steering until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. And then, you pull away, gasping for air when your mouths finally detached.

You flash him a smirk as you put both hands on his chest and then push him, hard and he falls back onto the mattress. A soft exhale escaped his parted as he lands, eyes already on you with excitement flickering in them. His smirk returns like a tell that he’s already enjoying this. Like he wants to see what you’ll do next.

You don’t make him wait for it. You climb onto him, straddling him easily, your knees settling on either side of his hips as you lean down and put your lips on him again. This time, you kiss him harder and deeper, teeth gently biting at his lower lip, tongue twirling around his.

Hyunjin’s hands coming up to your waist, gripping, pulling you closer like there’s even space left between you. You let him yourself get drawn to the temptation, feeding in on his hunger for you.

When your lungs start to burn and your breath turns uneven, only then do you pull away. Reluctantly. Your hand comes up beside his head, bracing yourself as you hover over him, looking down.

He’s already looking back at you with dark, lustful eyes and solely focused on you. His hand lifts, brushing your hair away from your face, tucking it back gently like he doesn’t want anything in the way of seeing you.

“Is this the fun plan?” he asks, voice a little rough.

You seductively smile and then lean down to press a quick, innocent kiss to his lips. “No.”

That throws him and you immediately see the confusion on his face. You pull back with a small smirk and cup his jaw. “Give me a few minutes as I get things ready,” you say.

His eyebrow lifts and you can almost see every thought running through his head, every possibility stacking on top of each other. It almost makes you laugh at how much you enjoy this. Instead, you lean in again, stealing one more kiss before pulling away completely.

“Now, wait here and don’t come out until I call you.”

With that, you slide off him, off the bed, leaving him there watching you as you step back. You walk toward the sliding doors, each hand reaching to pull them closed. Before you shut them completely, you pop your head in between and warn him one last time.

“Stay and wait here.”

You doubt that he hears you right or that he’d listen to your warn anyway. You lift a finger and pointing it at him. “Don’t come out until I call you,” you warn again, firmer but with a playful smile decorated your face.

Hyunjin doesn’t answer or confirm, he only grins at you. You choose to trust him that he’ll be a good boy and does as you instructed. Then you take one last step back and close the doors

-

Hyunjin stays where you left him. He’s lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and patitently waiting for your call. It’s only been a minute, he’s sure he needs to wait longer so he lets out a quiet sigh, a disbelieving huff slipping past his lips as one hand brushes his dark locks to the back.

What just happened?

Hyunjin slowly backtracked everything he did together with you. Waking up to your soft, loving call of his name. Ate late lunch/early dinner together. Enjoyed the beautiful sunset together. You found out that he recommended you to Jane and wasn’t upset about it as he thought you would. You whispered that you have a fun plan prepared for tonight. You kissed him, pushed him hard onto the bed. You kissed him more, straddling him and pining him under. And now, you’re making him wait as you’re preparing something behind those doors.

He lets his arms stretch out before tucking them behind his head and stares up as his mind slowly catching up with everything.

It’s a lot to process all at once, but strangely, he doesn’t feel overwhelmed. If anything… He feels good that everything is out and that it doesn’t make things awkward or complicated. He feels really, really good.

And while he waits, his thoughts drift back to you, to whatever you’re doing behind those doors. There’s only so many directions his brain wants to go and none of them are exactly innocent. He exhales through his nose, a smirk forming as he shifts slightly on the bed as he lets himself indulges in the imaginations.

Maybe you’re changing into something… nice. Something you know would surprise him in so many ways, except innocently. Or maybe, you’re going around the room, setting a few things to be more ‘in the mood’. Or maybe—

Oh, man. The longer he waits, the more his imagination fills in the blanks and the more impatient he gets.

With a small groan, he rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes fixed on the doors like he can somehow will them open faster. But nope, they’re still closed, still quiet.

“Few minutes are up,” he calls out, voice just loud enough to carry through.

A while later, he can hear the faint sound of your laughter. “Just a little bit more,” you reply.

He smiles just from hearing your voice and laugh — Which honestly is kind of insane. He shakes his head slightly, amused at himself before deciding to push it further.

“I’m getting sleepy,” he says, dragging out the words.

“Then go to sleep,” you answer without a beat.

Hyunjin breaks into laughter as he’s dropping his head back onto the bed again, one arm falling over his eyes. God. Love is so silly and embarrassing.

A moment later, you finally call for him. “Okay, you can come out now.”

Hyunjin scrambles to get up, swings his legs off the bed and stands. He pauses for a brief moment by the doors, hands on the handles like he’s bracing himself for whatever’s on the other side.

After a deep inhale of air, Hyunjin parts the doors open and his eyes automatically sweep over the room, looking for the ‘fun plan’ you’ve been talking about. He notices that the lights aren’t dimmed, no candles surrounded the space or the sofa has not been cozied up for a certain activity. And when his eyes land on you, you’re still wearing the same dress, more covered than what he imagined earlier. He only sees you there, sitting on the carpeted floor right in front of the low table.

Your arms thrown wide in the air, beaming at him like you’ve just revealed something spectacular. “TADA!”

He gives it another look-around, scanning the room like maybe he’s missing something, but no. But when his gaze return to you, he finally notices something on the table. Some kind of board game.

He takes a slow step forward, still processing. “This is your fun plan?”

You grin as you nod in confirmation.

He steps closer, like proximity might somehow change what he’s seeing. “Board game?”

You nod again. “Yes.”

Hyunjin just stands there for a second, staring at you and at the board. And then back at you. A breath escapes him. Half disbelief. Half laughter threatening to break through. “You made me wait for this?”

There’s no real complaint in his voice. He’s just… slightly baffled yet amused. But also, he knows this is just so you.

You smile as you pat the space on the carpeted floor beside you. “Come. Sit.”

He obeys, lowering himself onto the carpet, crossing his legs as he settles in, his gaze flicking from your bright, expectant grin to the board in front of him. Still confused.

“What kind of board game is this?” he asks, brows slightly drawn together.

Before you can answer, there’s knocking on the door. You’re moving, quick on your feet as you hurry to the door, leaving him sitting there, blinking after you like this whole thing just keeps getting stranger.

When you return, you have a bottle of champagne cradled in one arm and carrying a tray with both hands. His eyes follow every step as you lower it onto the table, two champagne flutes with a wine opener and then, something mysterious hidden under a metal lid.

As if you know he’s curious with what’s inside, you lift the lid to reveal a bowl of strawberries and melted chocolate in the other smaller bowl. The memory of that one movie night hits him instantly.

You hand him the bottle of champagne, along with the wine opener. “Will you please open it?”

“Certainly,” he says as he takes them. His hands skilfully working with the cork until it loosens and pops open. A soft fizz follows, bubbling at the neck as he quickly pours into both glasses, careful not to spill a drop. He quickly clinks his glass gently against yours and takes a big sip to not let it spill over. The wine is slightly fruity and smooth, instantly refreshing him.

He exhales quietly, setting the glass aside before leaning forward again, eyes back on the board. It looks like a game of monopoly but he knows for sure that it’s not it.

“What kind of game is this?” he asks again.

“It’s a fun game,” you simply answer with a grin.

He lets out a small sigh, already half-exasperated. “I mean, how do you play it?”

You softly giggle and then patiently explain that it’s just like any other board game. He only needs to roll dice and then moves the pieces according to the number he gets, but even that feels vague, like you’re intentionally leaving things open.

“Let’s just learn as we go,” you finish, waving it off.

He doubts that that’s all it is. But he chooses to trust you, for now. “Okay.”

You take another sip of wine, then glance at him. “Ready to play?”

He mirrors you, lifting his glass for a quick sip before setting it down. “Yeah.”

He straightens a little, focus settling in and gets his head in the game. But then, you look at him again.

“To start, we have to look lovingly into each other’s eyes,” you carefully instruct, setting the two pieces on the starting square. “And whoever blinks last gets the first turn.”

He scoffs lightly, a competitive spark lighting up immediately. “Just so you know, I’m good at staring games.”

You smile like you already know something he doesn’t. “Let’s begin by close our eyes first and open them at the count of three.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes right away and across from him, he hears the subtle shift of you turning to face him fully.

Your voice slower and softer now as you start to count down. “One… two…”

He breathes in and as soon as the word “three” is out of your mouth, he opens his eyes. and it startles him just a little to find you leaning in so close. Your face right there, merely an inches away from his with a sly smile playing on your lips as you look straight into his eyes.

Suddenly, this isn’t a game anymore. Something about the way you’re just looking at him and the unspoken words flickering in them — It does something to him. Because all he can think about is how easy it would be to close the gap between your lips. It’s a test on his restraint.

“We’re supposed to lovingly look into each other’s eyes,” he mutters, trying to hold onto some control.

You giggle and when you stop, your teeth fainty biting at your lower lip. Then, you lean in even closer. “What do you think I’m doing?” you murmur.

He knows you’re baiting him, knows you’re pushing him right to that edge on purpose.

And still, he holds onto his restraint just a little longer, a little stronger. But god, the way you’re looking at him. The way your eyes don’t waver, almost daring him. The way your lips are right there. He feels his restraint slipping and eventually, he gives in.

He lifts his hand, cupping your face as he closes the distance and finally, kisses you. Like that’s what this was always leading to. The kiss is gentle yet deep

“I won,” you triumphantly declare as soon as he pulls away.

He exhales, dropping his head back slightly as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Take the first turn. Whatever.”

But as he turns toward the board, there’s a smile tugging at his lips anyway. Because honestly? He doesn’t feel like he lost at all.

-

Hyunjin leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he watches you take the dice.

You shake it in your hand in confidence and then toss it onto the table. It rolls and then stops on a five.

His eyes follow your hand as you move your piece across the board, counting softly under your breath until it lands on a square marked with a small cherry. He tilts his head, curious. “What does that mean?”

“It means I get a sweet treat,” you answer, reaching for the tray. You pick up a strawberry and dip it slowly into the melted chocolate. Then take a bite.

His eyes stay on you, watching the way your lips wrap around it, the chocolate catching slightly at the corner of your mouth.

You chew and smile a little to yourself. Then glance at him. “It’s your turn.”

He quickly snaps himself out of it. He grabs the dice, rolling it between his fingers before tossing it onto the table. Three. He moves his piece and it lands on a square marked with a pair of lips.

His brow lifts slightly in confusion. “And what this one means?”

“You get to kiss.”

His mouth twitch but before it can form into a smile, you place a different dice into his hand. This one is red and eight-sided, there are words written on each side of it.

“Now, roll this one,” you instruct.

He barely has time to read what’s written on each side of the dice. He rolls and then tosses it onto the table. It lands on… Hand.

“Hand?”

You nod, like this is completely normal. “That means you get to kiss me on the hand.”

He scoffs lightly. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants to kiss you somewhere else. But still, a kiss is a kiss, it counts when it’s with you. He takes your hand and brings it up. Then gently presses a kiss on the back of it and another on your wrist. He doesn’t stop there as his lips trail upward, making a trail of ferocious, little kisses up your arm.

You giggle in reaction, trying to pull back. “You only have to kiss my hand!”

“I am,” he says, half-laughing, not stopping. “I’m kissing your whole hand.”

You laugh harder, finally tugging your arm away, but he’s already smiling to himself, satisfied.

He picks up the red dice again, this time actually reading it. Lips, cheek, forehead, neck. His eyebrow lifts when he reads, ‘Free’.

“Free?”

“That means you can kiss wherever you want,” you casually answer.

His lips curve into a seductive smirk. “Wherever?”

“Wherever,” you repeat.

You roll again before he can say anything else and this time, your piece steps on a square with a question mark on it. You reach for the stack of card with identical mark, picking up a card and flipping it over to read what’s written on it.

“What’s the sexiest part of your partner’s body?”

His gaze slightly intensifies. A slow smirk forming as he leans back slightly, waiting in anticipation for your answer.

He suddenly aware of the way your eyes travel down his body. Not just looking, but scanning, taking him in. He notices the way your eyes linger around the lower half of his body before flicking back up to meet his eyes.

You flash him a cryptic, naughty smile before finally say your answer. “Your eyes.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, doubting your answer. “My eyes? Really?”

You nod, certain.

Hyunjin leans in, leaning in too close that his breath ghosts your lips. “I thought you’d say something else.”

Your head tilts slightly, eyes daringly stare back at him. “Huh? What did you think it is?”

His gaze dips for a second and instead of answering, he chooses to show you. He takes your hand again, bringing it up, brushing your fingers lightly against his lips. His voice is dropping lower now. “Are you sure it’s not my lips?”

You smile as he continues to use your fingertips to feel the softness of his lips. “Your lips are sexy too. But…”

“But…?”

You catch his chin in your hand and then turn his face back toward the board game. “But it’s your turn now.”

He huffs out a laugh and then takes the dice again, rolling it with a small shake of his head.

It lands on a martini glass.

“You get to drink,” you quicky explains.

“That’s boring,” he grumbles. Yet, his hand reaching for his glass, taking a sip of the bubbly wine, feeling refreshed once again.

You’re already rolling again. Six. You waste no time to move your piece forward, landing on a square marked with a chili pepper. You take a card from another stack with the same drawing on the, and read it out loud.

“Give your partner a passionate kiss for 15 seconds.”

Oh. That’s how this game works. Each square is a command but the cards are specified commands depend on their signs. So far, the question mark is for questions. The chili pepper one is for spicy commands. Then, there’s another stack with a heart on it and that one is still unknown.

But wow! Finally! Something exciting.

You dramatically sigh as you prop a hand under your chin. “Why does this feel like a punishment?”

He doesn’t even try to hide his smile, turning his body slightly facing you and patiently wait for you to come to him.

You let out another sigh before crawling your way toward him and then, you climb onto his lap like you’ve already accepted your fate. His heart starts beating faster as your hands come up, cupping his face as you look down at him.

For a second, you just look, letting the anticipation builds and builds. When you close your eyes, he does the same. The first touch of your lips is light, testing and you pull back just slightly, just enough to tilt your head to the side. You part your mouth open before leaning in once more, kissing him deeper yet slower, letting him feeling every brush of your lips on his, the way you suck on his lower lip and coaxing him to open his mouth by gently biting at it. Of course, he caves in eventually and the kiss grows more certain, more consuming.

The tension keeps building with every second as you lean more into him, your tongue brushes his and twirling it with his, enough to pull a quiet breath from him before you latch on him again, kissing him with everything you’ve got.

Fifteen seconds suddenly feels way too short. Because just when he’s getting lost in it, you pull away.

You’re smiling as you mutter, “Time’s up.”

He chases after your lips, wanting more, needing more. “Just a bit more…” he breathlessly whine, almost pathetically.

You only give him a quick peck on the lips and then slide off his lap, settling back to your spot like nothing happened. He almost shakes his head at the way you mercilessly tease him and act like you didn’t just do that.

You grab the dice again and he stops you by wrapping his hand around yours. “Hey, it’s my turn.”

“I got six,” you say, opening his grip on your hand. “So I get to roll again.”

Hyunjin reluctantly lets go and you toss the dice onto the table. Five. Your piece lands on the cherry. He sighs because it’s the boring one, but he quickly reaches for the bowl of strawberries.

“I’ll do it for you,” he says.

You let him and watch as he takes one, dipping the strawberry into the chocolate, holding it up to your lips. Once you take a bite of it, he shoves the rest into his mouth and licks the chocolate off his fingers.

When you look at the board, you grin and clap your hands together. “I finished one lap.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“First to finish three laps wins.”

Okay, now that he understands how the game works, —well, most of it— he realizes that winning the game is not really the point.

Hyunjin takes his turn, still feeling the warmth of you lingering in his arms as he rolls the dice. Four. His piece stops on a square with the heart on it.

You point at the stack of card. “Pick a card.”

He eyes you suspiciously before reaching for the stack, picking one from the top and flipping it over. He reads the command loud enough for the two of you to hear.

“Hug your partner for 30 seconds.”

He puts the card down and mumbles, “Only 30 seconds? That’s cruel.”

You softly laugh at that but don’t seem to mind as he’s already moving. He stands on his knees and offers you his hands, helping you up with him until you’re facing each other. First, he puts his hands on your waist and then slowly, he pulls you in until there’s no space left between you.  And just like that, you’re in his arms.

Your arms loop around his shoulders, one hand drifting up to the back of his head, fingers lightly scratching there. It makes him relax and leans in further, burying his face into the crook of your neck like he’s just found the most comfortable, safest place for him to be.

Time flew by and when you murmur softly that time’s up, he only tightens his hold.

“Give me like…” his voice is muffled by your skin. “…thirty more hours of it.”

You chuckle at that and let him, your hand sliding to his back, landing comforting rubs there. And for a moment, he forgets everything else, including the fact that this is a part of a game.

You pull back just enough to look at him and say, “We have to continue.”

Reluctantly and with a dramatic pout, he lets you go and the two of you settle back onto the carpeted floor.

You take your turn and you land on the chili pepper. Again. His interest peaked as you grab a card and read it. “Sit on your partner’s lap until your next turn.”

The grin on his face is so wide that his cheeks hurt. He folds his legs together and pats his lap. “Come, girl. Come on!” he calls for you like he’s summoning his pet puppy.

The annoyed sigh makes a return as you move and sit on his lap. His arm wraps around your waist immediately, holding you close like you’d float away if he didn’t. He leans in without thinking, sneaking a kiss on your neck. You sharply glare at him for it, but he ignores it as puts his focus on the game.

His piece lands on the question mark and he confidently picks up a card from the stack. “When do you find your partner the most beautiful?”

Hearing the question, you turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder, putting all of your attention on him.

He tosses the card aside, both arms wrapping around you now as he thoughtfully thinking like this is a question that will alter his life. “You’re the most beautiful when… you’re working.”

Your expression is pure confusion for one second and turns a little surprised in the next one.

“When you’re focused… serious… you have that faint little scowl on your face,” He can see the way you’re holding yourself back from smiling as he continues. “You’re too busy taking care of… everything else you don’t even realize how beautiful you look.”

You let your smile shows and then narrow your eyes at him. “Correction! It’s an adorable scowl,” you playfully say with a grin.

He nods at that and before your smile disappears, he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“It’s my turn now,” you say, sliding off his lap. You give a dice a good shake and roll it onto the table. Five. The piece lands on the kiss square.

His eyebrow perks up in excitement as you take the red dice and roll it across the table. It stops just on the edge and on the word, ‘Neck’. Before he can even tease you for it, you lean in to place a quick, fleeting kiss press of your lips against his neck. Barely there.

“Hey, that doesn’t count,” he instantly protests.

“But it was a kiss. On the neck,” you say, matter-of-factly with a faint grin.

“That was nothing.”

You crack a laugh and this time, when you lean in, you lean in slower and more deliberate. Your lips press to his neck, warm and soft, and then, your tongue brushes over the skin in a light, teasing lick. It’s quick but enough to make his eyes fluttering and sending a shiver down his spine. A quiet inhale slipping from between his parted lips before you pull away, smiling like you know exactly what you just did.

You place the dice in his hand. “Your turn.”

Hyunjin is still reeling from the kiss and he inhales air to recover from it, shaking the dice in his palm, eyes already locked on a specific square. The chili pepper square. Three steps away. He brings his fist to his mouth, blowing on it like it’ll bring him luck and then tosses it.

Three. He lets out a quiet, satisfied hum. He keeps his calm as he picks up the card from the stack and reads it silent.

“This is fun,” he mutters with a slow, dangerous smirk stretches across his face.

You lean in, trying to read what’s written on the card. “What does it say?”

He reads it aloud for you. “Take one piece of your partner’s clothing off.”

You groan immediately as you look down and realize there’s not much to undress as you’re in a dress. “Great. I should’ve worn layers.”

He leans back slightly, considering his options and watching your cute, annoyed face. It seems obvious to you that he’d go for the dress and he lets you think that by reaching for the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly.

Your eyes lock with his as your thighs are now exposed and you slightly lift your hips off the floor as he lifts the hem higher and higher and then—

He changes direction, letting go of the hem and slips his hand under, and then higher until his fingers meeting the waistband of your underwear. Your eyes widening in reaction, a low gasp contained behind your pressed lips and that alone is enough to push him further.

He takes his time as he hooks his fingers in the fabric and then pulls it down, slowly and deliberately. He lets out a sigh when the silky fabric comes into sight and keeps his eyes on it as he continues to pull it down your legs until it’s off of you. He shamelessly takes a quick sniff and shoves it into the pocket of his shirt after. Then leans back with a satisfied look, like he just won something.

You shake your head at him, taking a sip of your drink like you’re suddenly thirsty from the little stunt he pulled. You breathe in air before taking the dice in your hand again and roll it. Your piece stands on the square with the heart on it.

You pick up a card from the stack and read it. “Whisper three compliments to your partner.”

You put the card away with a sigh. “Oh, man, I wish I have something nice to say to you,” you jokingly mutter, giving him a side glance.

Hyunjin only smiles at you and calmly says, “You can say I’m charming. I’m fun to be with. Or that I’m good at annoying you.”

“The last one sounds about right,” you say with a smile. You scoot closer, bringing your mouth close to his side and get quiet as you think.

When you’re ready, you lean in closer and he tilts his head to meet you halfway. Your lips brushing near his ear as you whisper, “I think you’re a talented artist.”

He smiles and nods. “A hundred percent agree!”

You hum as you pause and think again. “You’re very good at annoying me,” you whisper.

He opens his mouth to protest but you quickly add, “… As good as making me smile and laugh.”

And he can’t help but smile at that. He doesn’t expect that one to make his heart fluttering inside his chest.

“And…” you whisper as you continue.

He softly gazes into your eyes and echoes, “And…?”

“You’re good at…” your words trail off as your finger playing with the button on his shirt, intentionally making him wait for it. When your eyes meet his again, you finally finish the sentence. “You’re good at making me feel good.”

That compliment has double entendre and he knows you did that on purpose. Because now he can’t decide whether he should be touched or aroused, or both. But one thing for sure, the compliment gives him a boost of confidence.

You hold his gaze for second longer, letting him read the intention behind your compliments before taking the dice and put it in his hand. “Okay, time to roll.”

With a sigh, Hyunjin takes the dice in his hand and gets four. The piece lands on the kiss square and he knows his way around the game now. He grabs the red dice. His eyes darken slightly as the dice stops on the word, ‘Free’.

“Kiss wherever I want…” he mutters with a look of mischief.

You only shake your head in defeat, a smile supressed to hide your amusement.

He crawls to you, taking your legs and turning you to face him. He uses his hand to part them open, the hem of your dress covering what’s in between but not the fact that you’re bare underneath.

You stay where you are, calmly leaning back with your hands propped against the floor, legs parted open. A faint smirk lingering on your lips.

Hyunjin flashes you a seductive smile before lowering his mouth, lower and lower until his head buried between your legs. He presses his nose against your inner thigh, drinking in the scent that clings to your skin.

You remain still as he trails up your thigh and not stopping until his mouth meeting your bare sex, warm and wet. He hums as he inhales the arousing smell and then leans in to kiss your clit. Your body jerks for a fraction as he uses his tongue next, just the tip, circling on your bundle of nerves and then taking it into his mouth again. He got you. He got you good. But the truth is he’s just as affected. Maybe more.

A breathless gasp falls out of your mouth as he continues kissing at your clit. Like he’s making out with it. A hand comes to tangle it in his dark locks, gently tugging at it. “It says a kiss,” you tell him.

Hyunjin smiles against your heating cunt and drags his lips to the side, kissing on the skin around your arousal. “It is a kiss.”

Then he pulls back just enough to put his tongue out. “It’s one—” he pauses to land a lick between your folds. “…long—” a lick. “…continuous—” another lick. “…kiss.”

A soft, amused chuckle escaped your lips as one knee bends higher than the other, toes curling against the carpet. But you manage to stay calm despite the way his tongue and lips hungrily eating your cunt.

“I’m going to take my turn anyway,” you casually say.

A hand stay tangled in his hair while the other reaches for the dice, shaking it in your palm and toss it onto the table. He can hear the way you shift and move your piece on the board. Then—

“I won.”

With his head buried between your legs and the hem of your dress cloaked over it, Hyunjin couldn’t care less about anything else, whether he wins or loses. He’s got everything he wants and needs right here, on his mouth.

You tug harder at his hair, forcing him to pull away and he reluctantly detaches his mouth, looking up at you with his mouth glistening wet with your essence. “Didn’t you hear me? I won,” you tell him.

Hyunjin innocently shrugs and says, “So?

“That means I get to do whatever I want,” you say with a triumphant grin.

His brows knitted into a questioning look. “You didn’t mention it earlier,” he grumbles.

You cup the side of his face and coyly smile. “It’s not like you care about the rules and all that.”

Hyunjin kind of expected that you kept something from him and that whoever wins get to have that privilege. But then again, he doesn’t really care about it. He has you and therefore, he won. Without thinking, he throws himself at you and taking you with him, collapsing onto the carpeted floor. Then wastes not another second to plant his mouth on yours.

The game completely forgotten now as you kiss him back, legs wrapping around his waist as you draw him close until there’s not even an inch left between your bodies. You let him put his weight on you, arms wrapped around his back as he deepens the kiss, kissing you without restraint now.

When he deems you need a second to breathe, he lets go. His big hand frames the side of your face, keeping you still so he can stare at your face as he pleases.

“I won,” you say again, a hand braced against his chest.

“Yeah, I heard the first time,” he waves you off while continuously gazing into your eyes.

You glide your hand up to his neck, feeling his pulse there and smiles. “It’s time for the real fun plan,” you declare.

His brows lift in curiosity. “What is it?”

Your hand reaches under the table and pulls out the box. He immediately recognizes it as a welcome gift from the pharmaceutical company. You lift the lid, put your hand inside to look for something without looking. Once you found it, you lift it up.

Furry handcuffs. His eyes slightly widen at it while you tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “The fun plan.”

-

The bed makes a soft creak as you get on top of him again, straddling his hips, your weight grounding him into the mattress as your lips crash into his. The kiss is unlike ones you’ve given him before. It’s heat and urgency and something reckless threaded through it. His breath catches against your mouth as he tries to keep up, hands feeling you through your clothes.

You’re just as impatient, clumsy fingers working on his shirt, tugging at buttons like you don’t have the patience to do it properly.

He huffs a quiet laugh into the kiss, half breathless, half wrecked by it. The sound dissolves when your mouth presses harder, stealing whatever thought he had left. So he gives in, pushing himself up just enough to shrug the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking.

You don’t even pause. Your lips are back on his instantly, coming at him like you’ve been waiting for it and he lets himself fall back again, fully pinned beneath you as you take what you want, and he gives it just as eagerly. His hands tighten on you, pulling you closer, like there’s still space left between your bodies when there isn’t.

When you finally pull away, his chest rises and falls a little faster, eyes already searching yours.

“It’s fun time,” you breathlessly murmur with a wicked smile.

“Is that necessary?” he asks, head tipping back slightly as you bring the handcuffs back into view.

“Yes,” you answer without a beat.

“I swear I’ll keep my hands off. All the time,” he assures though his eyes hinting at mischief.

You drop your head to the side, eyes staring into his. “Why? You don’t trust me?”

He scoffs lightly, a playful edge to it. “Yeah. I don’t.”

“Exactly.”

Despite his reluctance, he doesn’t move, doesn’t stop you when you reach for his hand. Instead, he watches the way your fingers wrap around his wrist, the way you put too much focus as you secure one cuff and guide his arm up, looping it around the headboard until there’s a soft click and then another. His other hand follows and just like that, his movement is limited. His arms stretched, restrained and the faint clink of metal echoing in the room.

Hyunjin tests it once, just enough to feel the resistance. Then he sees you, catching that look on your face — of satisfaction and amusement.

He tilts his head, voice softening, tone coaxing. “You could at least let one of my hands free.”

You shake your head immediately. “No. Can’t do.”

The answer sounds final and non-negotiable. Your hand comes up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheek as you look down at him like you’ve already decided everything.

“It’d be fun to blindfold you too,” you add, almost thoughtfully. “But… I want you to see everything.”

Oh, you really do know how to drive him crazy. How to get him aroused and excited and waiting for you in anticipation. Before he can guess what you’re going to do next, you lean down and kiss him again before pulling back with a grin that feels like a secret.

“First things first,” you say as you shift back, your gaze dropping, and his follows without thinking. “I kind of made a mess.”

Hyunjin glances down, bending his leg slightly and yeah, there it is. A darkened, wet patch on his jeans. He guesses you’ve been rubbing yourself against his thigh. He lets out a breath through his nose, half amused, half… fucking aroused.

You don’t look sorry at all, if anything, you’re pleased by it. “So let’s take these off first,” you say, reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

His chest caves as he holds his breath, watching as your fingers work the button open, then the zipper in such calmness that somehow arouses him. He lifts his hips instinctively to help you get it off, watching the way you don’t hesitate or falter.

Once the jeans are out of the way, your eyes automatically land on the evident proof of how aroused he is. To his hardening member, flushed and pulsating with so much desire. A small lift of your brow is enough to say that you’re impressed by what you’re seeing. And you just have no idea what it does to him, do you?

You sit back then, taking in the sight of his naked body against the white sheets with hands chained up and all of him, restrained and aroused under you. Just for you. “I’ll make it fair,” you say.

It gets him clueless for a second until you reach for the zipper at the back of your dress. He doesn’t realize how still he’s gone until the sound of it sliding down fills the room and the fabric slips away. Your hands reaching to the back again, unclasping your bra and then toss it away.

And just like that, there’s nothing left between his gaze and you now.

The cuffs clink softly as his hands shift, instinct pulling against restraint, a quiet frustration threading through the want that hits him all at once. He wants to touch you, kiss you, feel you whole. He wants to be all over you. He didn’t even realize how much he missed this. You and your heavenly body. His eyes darkening as he looks you, eyes trailing every line, every curve of you.

You notice. He knows you do from that little smirk flickers across your lips before you brush it off like it’s nothing, already moving on. “Now for the fun part.”

Your voice turns low and sultry, enough to make his stomach tighten. You reach toward the nightstand, dragging the box onto the bed, pushing the lid aside that it falls onto the floor.

Hyunjin watches with curiosity as your hand disappears inside for a second and then comes back holding a small bottle.

You lift it, tilting it just enough for him to see it. “I’m sure you remember this.”

From the familiar package, he recognizes it right away. Edible lubricant. He huffs a quiet laugh, head tipping back for a second before he looks at you again with double the intensity in his gaze. “Of course I do.”

The way you smile after that tells him he’s in trouble. You open the bottle and tilt it over the back of your hand. The small, clear drop glistens against your skin, you lean in and taste it.

“It tastes just like watermelon,” you say, almost surprised.

That pulls a low chuckle out of him, amused. “What were you expecting?” he asks, voice warm, a little rough.

You shrug, entirely unfazed. “It’s not as good as the cherry one, but… not bad.”

The casual way you say it does nothing to ease the tension curling tight in his chest. If anything, it makes it worse. He notices the way your gaze shifts lower, to the noticeable erection and his breath dips when you bring the bottle closer, positioning it over him without hesitation.

“Oops…” you lowly gasp as you squeeze lubricant onto his cock. But the way you say it doesn’t sound like you’re sorry at all.

Hyunjin grips at the chain on his handcuffs, bracing himself for what’s coming for him. Yet a shiver running through him as the cool sensation hits him as you add a little more and watch it drips down his length.

Your lips curve as you toss the bottle away like it’s already served its purpose. You look at him and keep your eyes on him as you’re using your hand next, lathering the lubricant down his shaft. Your fingers lightly tickling the crest and tighten when it goes down. By the time your hand wrapped around the base, he sharply exhales through his nose.

Your hand trailing over him once more before settling into steady movements, slowly and deliberately, like you’re learning the reaction, memorizing it.

Hyunjin swallows, eyes locked on yours, the tension in his body pulling tighter with every second you take your time. The way you hold his gaze while pumping him, the way you don’t look away, not even for a second—says everything. And it’s the eye contact that gets to him more than anything.

His fingers curl uselessly against the restraint, metal knocking softly against wood as his body reacts, every instinct telling him to reach for you, to pull you closer, but he can’t. The fact that you notice his struggle and do nothing about it is cruel, but it only sends another wave of heat through him.

When you lean down, he stops breathing for a second, half-lidded eyes watching you as you smearing some more lubricant around the head and then lick your fingers after.

“Are you going to put it into your mouth?” he asks, voice heavy with lust.

You put your index finger into your mouth and slowly pulls it away. “Should I?”

Hyunjin forces himself to stay calm after watching that and manages to put on a smirk. “Not sure you can take it though,” he says with a challenging tone.

You only reply with low, flirty giggles and you drop your body lower until your chest hovering above his thighs. You put a hand over him, resting your head on it as your hand mindlessly playing with his cock, taking your time with it. Finger lightly tracing the shape, thumb pressing on the little slit on the tip as you watch it with almost bored eyes.

He scoffs a laugh, watching you treat his cock like a mere toy but fuck, that is just so fucking hot. He doesn’t know you have this wild side of you and wishes he’d see it often in the future.

“You’re making a mess of it,” he protests, voice rough around the edges. “You should clean it up.”

You lift your head and then nonchalantly shrug. “Maybe I should.”

And with that, you lean in and start licking the tip. Your tongue swirls around it repeatedly, licking the lubricant clean before dragging it down his shaft. You tilt your head to the other side, doing the same thing on the other side. The hold around him tighten just slightly as you lift his length, keeping it up as you head for the base, teasing his knob by lightly sucking on it.

“Fuck, baby,” he blurts out. He’s pretty sure you feel him twitching in your hand just now, clearly not expecting that.

You pull back with a sly smile on your face and you give him no time to recover as you put him into your mouth. You don’t go easy on him, you hollowed out your cheeks and suck him hard. A hand compensates the rest that you can’t take.

“Oh, fuck, look at that mouth…” he hisses through his gritted teeth. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice. A surrender he didn’t mean to give. Hands straining against the handcuffs like he could break away from the sheer will alone.

Just as he starts to sink into it, to the feel of your mouth around him and the way you please, just as he’s about to give in completely, you stop and pull back. He almost sighs out of frustration. Almost.

“Wait,” you say lightly, like you’ve just thought of something. “I need to get on a better position.”

You don’t wait for him to ask or say anything, you crawl over him and turn, straddling him again, knees bracing each side of his waist, but this time, your back is facing him. You glance over your shoulder, eyes glinting with something playful, something a little wicked.

“Enjoy the view.”

Hyunjin’s fingers curl again, instinct taking over as he strains against the restraint only to be met with the sharp, unyielding reminder of metal against wood. “Fuck…” he exhales under his breath, half a groan, half a laugh, because you’re right there and he can’t even touch you.

A soft, almost mocking laugh slipped out of you as you turn your head back and then, you lean down. Again, not giving him time to brace himself as you take him into your mouth.

The feeling of your mouth alone is enough to drive him mad but god, you know how to take it further by intentionally jutting your ass higher, exposing your cunt, soaking wet with arousal, giving him a view you know he can’t do anything about.

Instinctively, he lifts his head, leaning forward as much as he can, just enough to put his mouth on you, but failed. He swears under his breath, strained laugh following right after.

His head falling back for a second before lifting again, strained his neck forward, trying to reach you, even just a little. He barely gets anywhere before gravity wins, dropping him back onto the pillow with a frustrated groan. And it frustrates him so much because you’re so close, yet out of his reach.

“You’re so wet, baby. You’re dripping for me,” he sighs, voice rough, edged with something dangerously close to desperation.

The chain rattles again when his hands flex, a sharp inhale catching in his chest as he fights the urge to just grab you, pull you down, close the distance himself.

You seem to have finally noticed his struggle as you pause for a second and glance over your shoulder. “You okay back there?” you ask too casually.

He lets out a breathless laugh, eyes narrowing slightly. “You think?” he shoots back, but there’s no harshness to it. Just heat, just frustration tangled up with want.

You only smile and then you’re right back to it, like nothing happened. Mouth sucking hard, tongue tickling the tip, hand wrapped tightly around the base, endlessly pleasing him.

Hyunjin’s head falls back again, a deeper groan slipping out now as his control starts slipping through his fingers. He shifts under you, restless, unable to stay still anymore, the tension in him coiling tighter and tighter.

When he opens his eyes, the sight of your dripping cunt tantalizes him once more. “Let me have you on my mouth. Let me taste you,” he says in a rush, voice rough and barely held together like he needs it. Urgently needs it.

You pause again, letting go of him with a loud pop and looking at him with your lips glistening wet. “What was that?” you ask, like you didn’t hear him.

He lets out a disbelieving huff, almost laughing despite himself. “Want you on my mouth,” he says without stuttering.

That gets you smirking and swiftly, you turn anyway, shifting until you’re facing him again, straddling him like before—except now, his view is filled with you, your face, your eyes, that expression that tells him you’re enjoying every second of this. Your hand comes up, thumb brushing lightly over his lips, tracing the shape of them in a way that makes his breath quivers.

“You want me on your mouth, you say?” you murmur softly.

He nods immediately, no hesitation, lips parting slightly beneath your touch. “Yeah, I do.”

You lean closer, hovering just above him, close enough that he can feel your breath. “Say it properly,” you whisper.

Hyunjin’s patience has run thin and he breaks whatever composure he had left. “I want your wet pussy on my mouth and ride it endlessly,” both his voice and his gaze don’t waver as he says it.

You smile, satisfied with what you heard but you take your time after that, making him wait, to let it sink in, to let the anticipation stretch until it almost hurts.

“Okay,” you finally answer and a beat later, you add, “But only for a bit.”

He nods immediately, almost too quickly, like he’s afraid you’ll take it back if he hesitates. And when you move closer, when his world narrows down to just you, his eyes darkening and completely focused on you.

You slowly lower yourself on him and his head tilts up instinctively, meeting you halfway, taking whatever you give without question, without restraint. There’s no hesitation in him now—only want, only the need to feel you, to be this close.

His hands pull again against the cuffs, useless, but he doesn’t even care anymore. Not when he finally gets what he wants. Not when he finally has you like this. Not when your wet pussy presses on his mouth.

A hand gripped the headboard to steady yourself and the other grabs at the crown of his hair, tugging at it as you’re moving your hips, riding his mouth as you please. When he darts his tongue out, you switch into pulsating your hips against him, letting his tongue fucking your little hole.

“Oh, god…” you breathlessly moan with your head tilted back, overwhelmed.

He smirks against your flesh and opens his mouth wider, taking more of you, letting your essence flooding his mouth. Breathing become second in his priorities and what comes first is you, you and you. And just as quickly as it builds, you pull away.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, a quiet protest slipping out before he can stop it, his head falling back again, chest rising and falling unevenly. “Just a little bit more,” he breathlessly mutters, licking at his lower lip after.

You don’t submit to his wish but instead, you get off of him and lay down beside him. Half of your body overlaps him, hand reaching for his chin and turn his head your way, leaning in to press your lips against him. Then you’re kissing him, slowly yet passionately, like you’re making up for it.

He responds immediately, kissing you back and deepening it, tasting himself on you as you’re tasting yourself on him, and it does something to him that’s almost overwhelming. His hands flex again, frustrated, wanting to hold you properly.

As your lips continue locked with his in a heated kiss, your hand moving down south, finding his stiff member and begin slowly stroking on it

When the kiss breaks, he exhales against your lips, still close, still hovering. “Are you going to let me out of these now?” he asks, hopeful, but still edged with that same heat.

You softly smile at him and for a second, he thinks you might. But then you pull away and say, “Not yet.”

He lets out a soft groan, head dropping back again. But you completely ignore that, already reaching for the box again, pulling something else out this time. A pack of condom.

“Let’s put this one first,” you say, holding it up. “Just to be safe.”

Hyunjin watches every second of it. The careful way you tear the foil, slower than necessary like you’re aware he’s looking. His head rests back against the pillow but his eyes continue tracking your hands as you put it on him next.

You put so much focus on it, a crease formed between your brows like you can’t mess this up. Using your finger, you roll the rubber down his length.

“You’re getting good at that,” he mutters, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You don’t even look up. Just finish what you’re doing with that same quiet concentration before answering, almost casually, “Well, I’ve had a lot of practice.”

That earns a low chuckle from him, something amused and disbelieving, but it fades the moment you crawl back over him and your lips meet his again. There’s something about the kiss now, it’s not rushed, not frantic, just… warm and deep and consuming in a different way.

He melts into it despite himself, tilting his head, chasing it when you shift, trying to pull you closer even when he can’t.

When you pull away, he chases after your lips. “Are you going to let me out of these now?” he asks, softer now.

You press a quick kiss to his lips only to say, “No.”

And just like that, he drops his head back with a helpless groan. But he doesn’t fight it anymore. Not when you settle over him again and grab the bottle of edible lubricant, squeezing the content onto your palm. Then you rub it all over his cock.

He shudders, hips jerking for a fraction and every reaction only seems to amuse you more, and he can see it now. The way your lips curve, the way your eyes flick up to check on him like you’re studying him. And yeah, he’s done for.

He exhales sharply when you begin stroking him again, hands tightening uselessly against the cuffs, the soft clink of metal punctuating the moment as he sinks back into the pillow.

There’s no winning here. Not when you’re like this.

“When are you going to let me go?” he asks, almost like a whine, like he knows it might get to you.

You lean in, close enough that he thinks you’re going to kiss him, but you stop with your lips hovering just a breath away from his. “Until I’m done,” you murmur.

Something about that certainty, the confidence undoes him. His gaze stays locked on yours, unwavering, even as you scoot closer, allowing you to rub his length against your wetness, pressing the tip on your clit.

Then, you slightly lift yourself as you positioning his cock into your entrance. Without the slightest of hesitation, you ease yourself down on him, pausing after an inch or two, letting out a breathless moan of pain and pleasure.

Hyunjin can’t look away. His eyes stuck to the way you’re taking more and more of him into you. The tension coiled inside him now, jaw tightening briefly before relaxing again, eyes focused on the way he’s disappearing into you. He lets himself fall into the feel of you, the warmth and tightness, into the way you easily take all of him like you were made for him.

To calm himself down, Hyunjin deeply inhales air before letting it out in one long, shaky exhale. “Look at you now… you take me so damn well,” he sweetly praises.

Instead of answering, you’re putting your hands on his chest, lowly giggling and moaning like something tickles you. A foolish, satisfied grin filled your face.

“Have you always been this tight,” he sighs, subtly rolling his hips to feel you around him. “Or it’s because I haven’t fucked you in so long?”

You don’t deny nor confirm, but you suddenly clench around him, earning a raw groan from him. A smirk tugging at you lips as you begin rolling your hips in slow, circular motions, making his groans grow louder and unrestrained now. A moment later, you move by pulsating your hips against him.

Hyunjin keeps his eyes on you, the way his cock slips in and out of you, the way your breasts bouncing along to your movements, making him once again, uselessly trying to break away from the cuffs that restrained him.

The sound of your breathless, sultry moans that’s echoing in the room doesn’t help, he’s completely into this intimacy that feels less physical, more emotional. And because it’s not just the feeling—it’s you. The way your expression shifts, the way your confidence flickers into something more vulnerable for just a moment, the way you stay right there with him, holding his gaze like this is something shared, not one-sided.

He stays where he is, telling himself to be present in this moment with eyes looking at you in admiration and want. He puts aside his needs, letting you have him, letting you take what you want from him. And he can see the way you tirelessly moving, chasing for it.

When the tension finally peaks and you come around him, he watches you through it, doesn’t look away, doesn’t miss a second of it. Because that’s what he wanted, just you, like this, with him.

When you melt against him, your body warm and pliant on top of his, your breathing uneven, matching his in soft, staggered rhythm. He lets his head fall back for a second, eyes closing, trying to steady himself but it doesn’t last long. Not when you’re right there. Not when he can feel you like this, close and real and his.

He needs to touch you, holds you so he nudges his forehead lightly against yours. “Can you let me go now?” he murmurs, voice turning breathless at the end of the sentence.

You lift your head just enough to look at him, eyes heavy-lidded, lips curved in that slow, knowing smile and he already knows you’re going to say yes before you do. “Okay.”

You grab the keys from the nightstand, eyes half-focused as you unlock it until there’s the soft click of the cuffs.

The second they fall away, his hands are on you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you down against him, holding you tight like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s been patient for far too long. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeper, claiming.

As he keeps your mouth busy with kisses, his hand reaches down between your bodies, taking his cock and slips it between your legs, rubbing it against your heating wetness. He feels the little, breathless gasps you make against his mouth. It drives him further, impatient to be inside you again and he does, slipping his stiff member back into you in one smooth slide until he’s completely buried in you again.

He softly groans into your mouth, feeling you still quivering from your previous orgasm. His hands slide along your back and move sideways, taking your hands in him and then folds them together. He keeps them there, grounding you against him as his lips trail the column of your throat and jaw, and only to return to your lips, hastily kissing you.

You laugh softly against his mouth and mutters, “Been waiting for that, huh?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he begins moving his hips, bucking into you from under. Soon, the sound of your shared breaths mixing with the squelching sounds of his cock ramming into you, slow but purposeful.

“Missed you. Missed the way you feel,” he sighs into the curve of your neck, breath hot and tickling. “And the way you cling to my cock.”

From those words alone, you clench around him tighter, moaning his name in incoherent, breathless pleads for more —of this, of him. And of course, he’ll give it to you. Anything for you.

Everything that follows feels less like a game and more like something inevitable. Like all that tension, all those moments before, have finally found somewhere to go. His movements are no longer restrained, no longer careful in the same way—they’re certain, driven by the way you respond to him, the way you cling to him, the way your breath turns ragged.

And honestly, Hyunjin can’t hold himself back anymore so he finally, finally lets himself go with your name caught somewhere between a breath and a whisper.

Afterward, he brings your hands and lets them fall round his shoulders as he puts his around you, holding you close like you’re not already pressed onto him.

You lift your head, mouth instinctively finding his and taking it for an earned, slow kiss, a kiss that guides him to gradually come down from his high. When you pull away, you pull away with a soft smile. “Have you always come this fast or is it because we haven’t fucked for so long?”

This is your way to get back at him and he lets out a breathless laugh in response, a little tired and still undone. “Both,” he shamelessly answers.

You laugh at that, sending his body shaking along with your laughter. It feels warm and nice as his arm stays wrapped around you, hand resting at your back, thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. You fit there too easily. Like you’ve always known the shape of him.

Hyunjin tilts his head slightly, cheek brushing against your hair, eyes half-lidded as he stares at the ceiling. “You’re a lot to handle, you know that?” he says with a smile still lingering on his lip. A lazy, satisfied smug.

He feels your quiet laugh against his chest before he hears it. “You’re just saying that because you lost.”

His scoff is more breath than anything. His fingers pause for a second before resuming their slow drawing on your skin. “Lost?” he echoes, like the word doesn’t quite sit right with him.

You shift just enough to look at him, chin propped lightly against his chest, eyes curious but already amused—like you’re waiting for whatever nonsense he’s about to say next. “Yes. You lost, sir,” you playfully say.

Hyunjin looks at you, the way your hair is a little messy, lips still soft and flushed, eyes warm and bright in a way that makes him take a second to imprint this into the back of his head. He exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Still unfair though,” he says after a moment, tone light and teasing. “You set me up from the start.”

You scoff softly, nudging his chest. “You agreed to play.”

“Didn’t know the stakes were this high.”

“That’s because you don’t read the rules.”

He chuckles at that, the sound rumbling beneath your ear. “Wouldn’t have changed my answer anyway.”

“Since when do you care about the rules anyway,” you conclude, easily resting your head on his chest like you’ve decided that it’s your safe place.

For once, Hyunjin doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. He just stays with you. His hand drifts lazily along your arm, then back again, grounding himself in the simple fact that you’re here, still close, still warm against him.

“Next time, I’m picking the game,” he suddenly declares.

You tilt your head slightly, smiling against his chest. “Sure you are.”

He smiles too, eyes closing for a second as he rests his cheek against your hair again.

But his arm doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens just a little like he’s not quite ready to let you go yet. And maybe he won’t be. Not anytime soon.

-

The next morning, you wake up to the warmth seeping from behind you, the weight of an arm draped securely around your waist and then the faint brush of lips against your shoulder… your neck… light and almost lazy, like whoever’s behind you has nowhere else to be.

You hum softly, still half-asleep, shifting just enough to tuck yourself closer.

Noticing it, Hyunjin exhales against your skin, amused. “So you’re awake,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, lips ghosting along your shoulder again.

You don’t answer right away. Just tilt your head slightly, giving him more space without even thinking about it. “Mm… depends. Are you going to keep doing that?”

His low chuckles vibrating through you. “Probably.”

That’s enough of an answer. You turn slowly in his arms, eyes still heavy with sleep, and find him already looking at you with messy hair, eyes soft, lips curved into that small, sleepy smile that feels too attractive for how early it is. Or late. You don’t even know what time it is anymore.

His hand comes up, brushing your hair away from your face, thumb lingering along your cheek. “Morning,” he says.

You huff a quiet laugh. “Pretty sure it’s not morning.”

“Still counts.”

You don’t argue because he leans in and softly kisses you like he’s easing into it instead of chasing anything. It lingers just long enough to make your chest feel warm before he pulls back, forehead resting lightly against yours.

And just like that… the day starts.

-

The rest of the vacation turns into a blur after that.

You’re in the passenger seat with the windows down, wind tugging at your hair while Hyunjin drives with one hand on the wheel and the other lazily resting on your thigh. Music plays low in the background and every now and then, he glances over at you like he’s checking you’re still there. Like you might disappear if he doesn’t.

But here you are, choosing to stay. In this. With him.

You wander through little streets you’ve never seen before, duck into random shops just because something in the window catches your eye. You try things on, hold things up to him, laugh when he gives you opinions you didn’t ask for.

“You’re unhelpful,” you tell him at one point.

“I like everything on you,” he easily replies.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t put the item back.

-

In every place you visit, Hyunjin makes sure to take photos, documenting everything, every moment. Of the sea, of the sky, of random corners that feel oddly beautiful and of each other. He catches you mid-laugh more than once, camera lifted before you can hide it, and you groan every time.

“Delete that.”

“No.”

“Hyunjin—”

“It’s good.”

“Because you like my annoyed face more than anything, huh?”

“Yep.”

When it gets too hot and the sea looks too tempting, you both end up in the water. The ocean water somehow feels cool against your skin but not biting. You splash him first this time, unprovoked, and he stares at you like he’s offended. Then immediately retaliates.

It turns into a mess of laughter and water and hands grabbing at each other to stay upright, neither of you really trying to win anything.

Just trying to stay close.

-

By the time night falls, you’re both exhausted in the good kind. Yet, you always get each other in the best way. In the best, most seductive way.

Some nights, he has you bent over the edge of the bed, lips making a trail of kisses down your spine before he enters you from behind, one hand pressed onto your shoulder, pining you down as he thrusts into you, and not stopping until you fall apart around him.

Some other nights, you barely make it back to the bed. Once, you settled onto the sofa, clothes littering the hotel floor, limbs tangled, a cushion propped under you, giving him that delicious angle to thrust into you deeper. Though it doesn’t stop you from asking him to get deeper inside you.

The second him, your hands braced against the floor-to-ceiling window, your breath fogging the glass as you moan from the way Hyunjin hungrily eating you from behind, tongue jamming into your hole as one hand curve around, fingers skilfully circling on your clit. Your legs shake as you come into his mouth and he doesn’t wait, he turns you around, an arm lifts you and keeps you off the floor,  one hand impatiently lining his cock with your entrance and once he’s fully sheathed in your warm, tight walls, he fucks you tirelessly, making you loudly moaning that you sure whoever stays in the next room could hear it.

And in each time, the room eventually fades into background noise and you end up in each other’s arms. You learn that the only thing that matters is the way he holds you, the way he stays close and most importantly, choosing to stay.

And each time, before sleep gets to you, you think about how easy this feels. How right.How you wish, just for a second, maybe longer… That life could stay like this.

-

You don’t realize how quickly it’s ending until you start gathering your things. It hits you somewhere between folding a shirt and setting aside the small souvenirs you’ve picked up over the past few days. You move slowly, almost reluctantly because something in you resists finishing it.

“Already packing?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts from behind you.

You glance over your shoulder, offering a small shrug. “Just… putting things together. I’ll pack later.”

He leans against the wall, watching you in silence like he understands exactly what you’re doing and why. After a moment, he offers you a comforting smile and asks, “Want to go out and watch the sunset?”

You keep your suitcase open, half-packed and ditch it entirely. “Sure,” you answer without thinking, already getting on your feet.

The beach greets you again like it always has. The sand is cool beneath you as you sit, shoulders brushing, hands naturally lacing together like it’s something you’ve always done. The sky is painted in warm hues, the sun slowly dipping lower, stretching the moment as if it’s giving you time.

You lean slightly into him and softly sigh. “Can’t believe this is the last day,” you say, a little incredulous, a little reluctant.

Hyunjin lets out a quiet breath beside you. “Yeah.”

You turn your head just enough to look at him. “We spent it well though, right?” There’s a hint of something in your voice like you need to hear it.

“Yeah,” he says again, softer this time. Then he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, offering comfort as best as he can.

You smile into it and when you pull back, you rest your head on his shoulder, watching as the sun sinks lower and lower until it finally disappears beneath the horizon, marking that another day has gone.

-

The two of you decide to have dinner out, probably something special to commemorate the moment. You walk side by side, fingers loosely lacing together until they eventually intertwine without either of you making a big deal out of it.

After browsing through some restaurants and their menus, you settle on one that seems exactly like what you’ve been craving.

“I’d love the chicken pesto pasta for dinner,” you mutter, getting hungry just from the picture of it.

Hyunjin’s eyes are still scanning the menu as he comments, “Yeah, that looks nice.”

“We could share the steak,” you add as he flips into a new page.

“Good plan,” he says with a smile.

After a mutual agreement and strategically planned dinner meals, the two of you walk up to the waiter. “Table for two, please!” Hyunjin politely says.

The waiter offers an apologetic smile as she says, “Sorry, we’re fully booked tonight.”

The excitement inside you deflates and turns into a frown, turning to Hyunjin like he somehow could fix it. “I really wanted that…”

He patiently and softly smiles at you. “I’m sure we’ll find somewhere else to have dinner.”

You let out a short, heavy sigh before accepting it. “Okay.”

He doesn’t miss the way you’re still frowning so he leans in and kisses you without warning.

You lowly gasp in surprise and crack a laugh, feeling lifted up already.

“Let’s go,” he says, taking your hand, fingers threading through yours again. “We’ll find something better.”

You let him pull you along but three steps later, you hear a voice calling for you. “Hey!”

You and Hyunjin turn almost in sync and the second you recognize them, your face lights up.

“Jules—Diane!”

They look just as delighted, already moving toward you, arms open for quick hugs that feel oddly familiar despite how little time you’ve actually spent together. “Well, look at this! Our favorite couple,” Jules beams.

You and Hyunjin laugh at the same time, instinctively. “It’s so nice to see you again,” you say with a bright smile.

“Aren’t you guys getting dinner?” Diane asks, hand vaguely gesturing toward the restaurant.

“Well, yeah. But it’s fully booked,” you answer.

 “We have a reservation. We can share the table,” Diane immediately offers.

This time, Hyunjin cuts in by kindly refusing the offer. “Oh, no. It’s okay. You guys should enjoy your dinner.

“Oh, nonsense,” Diane waves it off immediately. “I’m sure they can arrange something and make it dinner for four.”

You kindly refuse again, smiling as you do. “Oh—you should enjoy that then, we can—”

“Also, because we’re sick of each other. We really need to talk to other people,” Jules playfully says with a serious face.

“No, it’s okay,” you insist gently, shaking your head. “Really, we don’t want to—”

“It’s settled,” Diane says, already turning back toward the restaurant like the conversation is over. “We’ll just tell them.”

“Diane—” Jules laughs, but she’s already hooking her arm through yours, tugging you along anyway. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You glance back at Hyunjin, caught between protest and amusement. He just shakes his head lightly, lips curved into a small smile like he saw this coming and then follows without a word.

-

Dinner settles into something easy and comfortable in a way that feels almost surprising, considering how all of this started.

The four of you sit around the table, laughter woven in between bites of food and sips of wine, stories overlapping, little interruptions that don’t feel rude—just… lived-in. You find yourself leaning in more than you usually would, listening, talking, laughing without overthinking it.

Jules dabs the corner of her lips with her napkin before smiling at the two of you. “So, what have you two been up to all week?” she asks, eyes bright with curiosity.

You glance at Hyunjin instinctively before answering, like the memories are shared between you. “A bit of everything. Beach, shopping, exploring… eating way too much.”

Hyunjin hums in agreement beside you. “She’s not exaggerating.”

You nudge him lightly under the table. “This is actually our last day. We’re flying home tomorrow,” you share with a melancholic smile.

Jules’ expression drops into something genuinely sympathetic. “Already?”

Diane sighs, shaking her head. “That’s just rude. Time shouldn’t move that fast on vacation.”

You laugh softly, but there’s a quiet truth in it. “I think it’s because we enjoyed it too much,” you admit.

There’s a brief pause and then Diane leans forward slightly, eyes flicking between you and Hyunjin, a playful glint returning. “So…” she says, dragging the word just a little, “are you two still co-workers?”

You choke slightly on your drink. Heat rushes to your face instantly, your mind flashing back to earlier where Hyunjin kissed you and they must have seen everything. You glance at him, letting him answer this one.

“Yeah,” he says casually, reaching for his glass. “Still co-workers.”

Then, without missing a beat, he adds, “Sadly, I still need the paycheck.”

The table bursts into laughter. Diane shakes her head, smiling knowingly. “Oh, please. There’s definitely something going on here.”

You skip on answering again. You just smile a small, shy smile, a little caught.

“There is,” he says lightly like it’s no big deal. “I’ve liked her for a while but she didn’t know it.”

You keep your calm, eyes on the glass of wine you’re holding as you’re listening to his side of story.

“But once she did,” he continues, like he’s telling a harmless story. “She’s playing hard to get.”

Your head automatically turn toward him and stare at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Jules and Diane laugh again, clearly enjoying every second of this. Diane looks at you then, softer this time, her smile warm as she says, “You’re doing the right thing.”

You smile at that before looking at Hyunjin again and give his knee a gentle slap under the table, a playful warning. But you can see that it doesn’t affect him whatsoever as he only grins in reaction.

By the time dessert comes, you’re comfortably full, but you still take another bite anyway. It’s too good not to.

Hyunjin excuses himself to the restroom and you’re watching him go for a second before turning back to your plate.

Jules notices your expression immediately. “Glad you’re enjoying the food,” she says with a soft smile.

You quickly wipe your mouth with your napkin, a little embarrassed. “Everything is just… really good.”

Diane nods approvingly. “Worth the trouble earlier.”

Jules looks at you, there’s hesitation in her eyes but she eventually leans in anyway. “I hope you don’t mind me asking. But … what took you this long?”

You put down your dessert spoon. “Pardon me?”

“I mean, I don’t know him that well but I can see that Hyunjin is great. And that boy is in love with you,” Jules explains, rather too seriously.

You’re a little taken aback by the mention of that word. Love. “I wouldn’t say—”

“He’s got these twinkles in his eyes every time he looks at you,” Diane cuts in before sipping her wine.

“So why do you hesitate much?” Jules asks again.

Your fingers curl lightly around your glass as you take a sip of water, buying yourself a second to think. You look at Diane and Jules and realize that you’ve only known them in matter of hours, but you feel comfortable to share openly.

“I think…” you start slowly, eyes dropping to the table for a moment, “I had this idea in my head that I’m… hard to love.”

The words come out lighter than you expect despite the fact that you’ve never shared this with anyone before. “And like… easy to leave.”

The table quiets like your openness, your honestly dazzle them. Jules reaches over without hesitation, her hand resting over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know it can feel that way. But that’s not the truth,” she says, voice as soft as her gaze. “There’s no such thing as someone being hard to love. Sometimes people just don’t try hard enough. Or they’re not patient enough to learn how.”

Something in your chest loosens at that. You hadn’t realized how tightly you were holding onto it and how you let it held you back from getting what you want, what you deserve.

“You’re not hard to love,” Jules assures you once again, her other hand tapping gently at the back of your hand now.

“You know, I believe Hyunjin would give you the world,” Diane suddenly says, slightly off topic. But then she adds, “All you have to do is ask for it.”

You take a second to process their words and let them sink into you. Then you nod. “Thank you,” you genuinely say in gratitude.

You let out a short laugh of disbelief because you didn’t think that you would hear these words from two strangers and yet, they seem to know what you needed to hear. Like it’s meant to be.

“Were you talking about me?” Hyunjin says when he returns, sliding back into his seat and looking the three of you, suspiciously amused.

Diane doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

You and Jules burst out laughing. Diane follows after sipping her wine.

Hyunjin blinks, caught off guard for half a second before he laughs too. “Wow.”

“We also talked if we should do a round of drinks since this is your last day,” Jules adds, already opening the cocktails menu.

“That might be a problem,” Hyunjin says with a faint grimace.

You glance at him, sensing that he’s doing something. Something that is most likely mischievous. “What did you do?”

He shrugs and then digs into his dessert. “I already paid for everything.”

Jules and Diane immediately soften at that.

“That’s very kind of you,” Jules says.

Diane turns to you dramatically. “Marry him already.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

Jules flags down a waiter anyway. “Well, the drinks are on us,” she insists.

Hyunjin doesn’t even argue and instead, he playfully says, “Let’s make it three rounds then.”

“Deal,” Jules says in agreement, holding her hand out at him.

Hyunjin takes it and shakes it. “No takeback,” he says.

The table fills with laughter again and you realize that this is exactly how you wanted the night to end.

-

There’s another couple in the elevator, standing near the panel and rapidly talking to each other in a language you don’t understand, and you can’t tell if they’re just talking or arguing. You decide not to mind someone else’s business and focus on how content you feel tonight, how the night couldn’t have ended better than this.

Then you feel the way Hyunjin’s hand finds yours and laces it together with yours. You turn to meet his eyes only for him to begin steering you toward the corner until your back meets the wall.

He steps in close and your breath catches just a little as he stops right in front of you, leaving only inches between your bodies. You look up at him and he’s already looking at you. A smile etched on his face, knowing and a little dangerous.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure. “That was…” you start, forcing your voice to stay light, “a really nice way to end the last day.”

He nods once, eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah.”

You try again, grasping for something normal, less intense. “It’s a shame we still have to pack after this.”

He slowly shakes his head and then, leans in until his mouth hovers near your ear, close enough that you feel it before you even process the words. “There’s a better way to end the night,” he murmurs, voice is low and warm, sending a quiet shiver down your spine.

You try not to react, try not to give in so easily. But then he leans in again, just a fraction closer, and this time, his breath brushes your ear as he whispers, “Way better.”

When he pulls back, just enough for you to see his face again, that grin is still there with mischief written all over it, like he already knows exactly what he’s doing to you. And worse,

like he knows it’s working.

-

After everything that’s already happened between you. After the way his eyes have seen and admired your body, hands have learned the shape of it. You don’t expect to the nerves, they’re subtle yet slowly creeping in as you stand in the bathroom, fingers fixing the ties of your bikini. You exhale slowly to calm yourself down and reach for the bathrobe, wrapping yourself in it before stepping out.

The balcony doors are open and the night air greets you first, cool and salted, brushing against your skin. You linger there on the doorway, one hand braced against the glass door as you find Hyunjin is already in the tub. His arms are stretched along the edge, posture relaxed. Water glows softly around him under dim lights, tracing the line of his back muscles, the broad shoulder, the slope of his back. His hair is tied up, messy, a few damp strands clinging to the nape of his neck.

You stay there and take a moment to take him in, the way he looks like a Greek God with the sea stretches against him, dark and endless, catching the half-moon in broken reflections.

It’s like he senses your eyes on him, he slowly turns his head and lights up when he sees you. “You made me wait,” he says, turning to the side, one hand draping over the edge of the tub.

You suddenly get flustered, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You recover quickly, stepping toward him, lifting a brow. “Well, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

His grin answers that for him, running his wet hand through his hair.

You untie the robe, letting it fall open before slipping it off, and his eyes slightly widen at the reveal — the white bikini you’re wearing underneath.

He hurriedly holds his hand out, guiding you into the tub and you take it, kicking your slippers off your feet before finally putting a foot into the tub and then another. The water welcomes you instantly, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you lower yourself into it, heat curling around your body until you’re submerged, weightless in a way that feels almost unreal.

You barely settle before he pulls you onto his lap, your back meets his solid chest and you melt into it without thinking like your body already knows the shape of him, the way you fit.

His arms wrap around you, one draped low across your abdomen, the other circling you fully, holding you in place. Holding you with him.

All of a sudden, the nerves vanish and fade into the water.

His lips brush your shoulder first and then higher, along your neck, each touch lingering just enough to make you feel it twice. You lowly giggle as he places ticklish kisses on that sensitive skin behind your ear. Instead of stopping, he gently grabs your chin to turn your head to the side, allowing him to capture your lips in his.

The kiss is deep and unrushed in a way that steals the air from your lungs more effectively than anything hurried ever could. His tongue tirelessly coaxing you to part your lips open, the second you don, he sucks on your tongue before twirling it with his. He deepens the kiss once more and it gradually softens from there. By the time he pulls back, you’re gasping for air, chest rising and falling against his.

He lets you settle again, arms tightening, keeping you close to him.

You sink into him, head tipping back against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “This feels nice,” you murmur.

He hums, low and pleased, lips brushing your neck again like punctuation.

Your hand lifts, finding his jaw blindly, fingers grazing his skin. “We should’ve done this every day.”

Another hum. Agreement. Or maybe just contentment. He shifts slightly, turning his head to the other side of your neck, burying his face there like he’s claiming the space and you let him.

For a long moment, the two of you stay like that. The water laps quietly. The ocean beyond mirrors the sky. The world narrows to warmth, to the steady rhythm of two people not needing to say anything.

Until Hyunjin opens his mouth and curiously asks, “What makes you think you’re hard to love?”

You stiffen just a little, realizing that Hyunjin probably listened in on the deep talk you shared with Jules and Diane earlier. Your head turns sharply, eyes narrowing in a playful glare. “You’re not supposed to eavesdrop on our talk. Our girls’ talk.”

He grins, unapologetic. He probably didn’t mean to and just happened to be there when you shared.

You click your tongue at him. You’re not actually mad, just surprised that he heard it, that he heard it this soon. But he’s not a stranger and eventually, he’d know and you want him to understand.

So you sigh softly, gaze drifting out toward the sea. “I used to think… that love is something you have to earn. That you have to give… more. Do more. Be more. That you have to greatly sacrifice yourself for it.”

You rest your hand on his forearm, fingers tighten slightly over it. “Otherwise… they leave.”

He lets go of your hand only to catch it in his, intertwining them together and rests it over your chest. And to your surprise, he says, “Yeah, you weren’t easy.”

You huff a quiet laugh, slightly offended. “Huh?”

“You know… with your plans,” he adds, brushing his nose lightly against your temple, “your schedules… your rules.”

You smile despite yourself, feeling called out and slightly embarrassed.

When he speaks again, he waits until your eyes looking at him. “But you you’re not hard to love,” he says, voice is as soft as his gaze.

You nod, slowly. Because you’re starting to believe that. Because maybe it was never about being hard to love. Just being loved the wrong way.

His lips press gently to your temple. “All you have to do is let it happen.”

You turn your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay,” you say, and really mean it.

“And yes, I’d give you the world if you ask for it,” he adds with a playful grin.

You softly smile at that and before it can fade, he captures it with a kiss, so soft it almost feels like a promise rather than a kiss. It lingers long enough to make your chest tighten. Long enough to make something inside you shift.

When he pulls away, your hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his skin.

“This vacation changed you,” you tease.

He scoffs softly, dramatically correcting you. “Free vacation.”

“Right,” you say, kissing him again.

This time, you turn on his lap, shifting until you’re facing him, straddling him now, water rippling around you both. You put your hands on his shoulders, staring into the brown of his eyes and Diane was right, you can see the twinkles in them as he looks at you.

A hand comes up to his jaw and tenderly holds the side of his face. Then slowly, you lean in, kissing him with your heart open and letting the content pours into the kiss, into him.

His hands sliding along your sides, over your waist, mapping you out like he’s allowed to now. Like he knows he is. He’s pulling you closer, holding you tighter.

You let yourself fall into it easily. Because it’s him. Because it feels right. Because you don’t want to stop.

When he breaks the kiss, it’s only to drag his mouth lower, lips trailing along your neck. He trails lower still, opening his mouth slightly wider as he places searing little kisses down your chest until he’s buried between your soft mounds.

Instinctively, your hands trail along his shoulders and gather in the back of his neck, fingers tangled in his damp hair. Your breath stutters as he plants his soft lips on the skin before his mouth opens slightly wider to take a mouthful of your flesh and lightly sucking on it.

A low, breathless gasp falls out of your mouth as he yanks down the cup of your bikini, wasting no time to take your hardening nipple into his mouth, tongue circling on it. your hands tangled deeper in his hair, mouth buried in his dark locks as you cradle his head close to your chest.

You’re humming from the feel of his mouth devouring your breast and yet, it doesn’t quite satisfy his hunger. So impatiently, a hand trails up your spine, finding the knot of your bikini straps there, tied on the nape of your neck and clumsily pulling at it until it snaps open. In the end, he takes the whole thing off of you, tossing your wet bikini top aside.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you, at your bare chest and the way your breasts hung beautifully on your chest, inviting him to touch, to feel. He doesn’t stop himself for using both hands, each one kneading, fingers pinching at the sensitive buds.

You shake your head, looking down at his wide eyes, dark with lust. Half-amused, half-aroused. “Are you trying to put on a show?”

He presses a warm kiss on your sternum and then pulls away with a dazed smile, eyes glinting. “Maybe.”

The answer sends a small, unexpected thrill through you. So you lean in and kiss him, but it only lasts for a few seconds as he breaks the kiss. He shifts his focus back to your chest. Hands pushing them to the middle so he can greedily take both nipples at once.

“Hyunjin…” you breathlessly call, uselessly trying to stop him.

But of course, he pretends not to hear or decides to ignore you completely, his mouth too busy sucking on your breasts, teeth lightly tugging at your nipples just to tease you, making you whimper in reaction.

You gently cup his jaw, tilting his head up just enough for his eyes to meet yours. You run your hand through his hair as you look at him and say, “What don’t we go inside… and I’ll put on a good show for you?”

That works to make him pause, eyebrow raised in curiosity. He slowly detaches his mouth, leaving your nipples wet with his saliva and raw from all of his sucking. He looks at you, lips curving into a smirk.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

-

You barely make it out of the shower without touching him again. It’s ridiculous how quickly the tension comes back, how the heat clings even after the water washes everything clean. Your robe sticks lightly to your skin and Hyunjin’s the same, hair still wet and brushed to the back.

The second you step into the room, your hand finds his, guiding—no, steering—him straight to the bed. He drops onto the edge of the mattress, looking up at you like he already knows he’s about to lose whatever control he thought he had.

You climb onto his lap, knees settling on either side of his hips, and the moment your bodies meet—he exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since the hot tub. Your hands find his face first and then your lips. The kiss lands deep, immediate, like you’re trying to pick up where you left it.

He responds just as quickly, hands coming up to your waist, pulling you closer like he needs to feel all of you at once. The kiss goes on, long enough to blur the line between breath and touch. Until he breaks it and then rests his forehead against yours.

“So… when does the actual show start?” he asks, voice low and a little hoarse.

You click your tongue softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. “You’re not even ready for it.”

His plush lips curve into a sly smirk. “I’m always ready.”

“Yeah?” you murmur, fingers slipping to the edges of his robe. “Let’s see.”

Your hands work slowly as you untie it and then pull it open just until it drapes around his shoulders. You place a hand on his chest, still warm and damp from the shower. Yet, you lean in without hesitation, placing kisses along his neck, down to his collarbone, letting each touch of your lips on his skin linger just long enough to make him react.

He does. He reacts in sharp inhales and quiet hisses, his grip on your waist tightening.

You pull back and slip the robe off your shoulders until it’s falling away completely, and for a second, his hands just stay on your waist. Like he’s still deciding where to start.

Once he’s decided, his hands move without hesitation. They’re on you, all at once, warm and little greedy. You’re joining him as he once again fondling on your breasts, feeling the way he touches you, feeling yourself. Your head tilting side to side as you humming in delight.

You let go as he leans in, burying his head between your soft mounds and let him stay there, shivering just slightly as he inhales your skin like he couldn’t get enough of your scent.

When he tilts his head up, looking at you again, you catch him off guard with a haste, messy kiss. As you keep his mouth busy, your hand slips between you, finding his cock strained and hot to the touch. His breath stutters against your mouth as you stroke him slowly, thumb circling around the head, feeling him pulsating for you.

A small hum escapes you. Your half-lidded eyes locked with his as you mutter, “Yeah… you’re ready.”

He lets out a soft laugh that doesn’t quite sound like a laugh anymore.

Your hands move to his shoulders, gripping at them firmly as you lift yourself just slightly, positioning his cock to your entrance and then, slowly taking him into you.

Hyunjin stills, his grip tightening on you, mouth dropping open like he’s about to say something but the pleasure overwhelms him, knocking the thoughts out of his head. His eyes flick down, widening at the way you easily ease down yourself on his cock. And then, it hits him.

“Wait,” he says in a rushed tone, his grip is impossibly hard now. “The condom.”

You hush him softly, while continue taking more of him into you. “It’s okay,” you murmur.

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s not convinced yet. “But—"

You press a kiss to his lips. A gentle, reassuring kiss. “I’m on the pills. It’s okay,” you calmly say.

Slowly, his grip loosens as he decides to trust you and you do the same, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, leaning in closer as you take the remaining of his length. You let the distance disappear in a way that feels less like urgency and more like choice. Like you’re both stepping into it together.

Hyunjin’s mouth stays open the whole time, eyes dazed and dark, continuously locked in a heated gaze with yours. A low sound caught somewhere between surprise and something deeper.

The second he’s fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls. You wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder, drawing yourself closer to him until there’s no gap left between your bodies. You press your forehead against his, letting out breathe that more like a soft laugh of relief.

“My god, you feel so good inside me,” you mutter in a hint of disbelief, lips grazing his as you speak.

Hyunjin, still overwhelmed, swallows air and forces himself to say something, do something. A beat later, he glides his hands up, holding you by the ribcage now, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing over the skin. “Is it really okay?” he asks again, voice barely audible, like he’s still processing this.

You laugh softly and then place a soft kiss on his lips. “More than okay,” you answer with a smile.

That seems to be all what he needs to hear. His hands slide up your back, holding you closer. A hand gently curves around the nape of your neck, angling your head slightly to the side as he leans in and kisses you, slower this time, like he’s trying to give himself a chance to catch up.

When you pull away, you put on the softest smile and ask, “So, how does it feel?”

He lets out a quiet exhale, almost a laugh. “You feel… so fucking perfect. So perfect for me.”

That makes you smile and you tilt your head, eyes softly gaze into his eyes. “How much would you rate it?” you ask, playful but edged with curiosity.

He captures your lips in a slow, heated kiss. “Infinite out of ten,” he finally answers after pulling away, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

That also makes you smile and you hastily kiss him, conveying that words couldn’t. You shift slightly on his lap and the slightest movement is enough to remind you of his whole size inside you, filling you, stretching you deliciously.

“I’m going to move, mmh?” you say.

“No, wait,” he says, gripping at you like he wouldn’t let go. “If you move now, I think I’m done for.”

You chuckle at that and kiss him again instead of answering, slow and reassuring, giving him a moment to adjust, to compose himself. And when you finally move, you move just a little, just enough but it draws a reaction out of him that he can’t hide, his head tipping back slightly, grip tightening again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he sighs, half scolding, half in pleasure.

You keep your rhythm slow and steady, moving your hips in rolling motions and somehow, without the layer of protection, you feel even more sensitive around him. And oh, he just feels so good. Hot and hard, penetrating you deeper and deeper in each passing second.

“You feel so good,” you say again and again, not caring how much you’ve said it before.

It’s so easy to fall into it, into the feeling of him and the way his eyes stay on you, heavy and focused, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of it. The way your name almost slips from his lips but doesn’t quite make it out.

It’s clear that it’s getting overwhelming for both of you so you pause. You kiss his mouth, deep and messy, lips and tongues crashing together. Once you pulled away, you lean back with one hand still gripping his shoulder as support and then continue moving.

Seeing your breasts bouncing merely inches away from him, he doesn’t skip the chance but cling to it, mouth sucking hard on your nipple like he’s one thirsty man.

You gasp when he sucks too hard, but the added stimulation keeps you going, keeps you moving and tirelessly chasing your high. Your hand slides up to his neck, grounding yourself there as you lean in again, pressing your lips against the top of his head, on his temple and then forehead. Then pull away just slightly, just enough to look down at him.

“I want this to last,” you whisper, voice small and quivering on the edges.

He pulls away with a gasp before lifting his head, looking back into your eyes. A soft smile pulling at his mouth despite everything. “Then let’s stay like this,” he murmurs back, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Forever.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Playful? Yes. But not entirely. You feel that thread of something real, woven into all the heat and closeness. You let yourself believe it that maybe this could last longer than just tonight.

-

You stay there with him, moving slowly, letting the rhythm build instead of chasing it, letting yourself feel every shift, every reaction he gives you. And he gives you plenty.

His hands tighten around you, fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to keep you right where you are—like he already knows you’re getting close.

You are.

It creeps up on you in waves, soft at first, then stronger, until your breath starts to falter and your grip on him changes without you meaning to.

His arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you flush against him, his face dipping into the curve of your neck as if he wants to hide there, breathe you in, anchor himself to you while everything starts to tip over.

“You’re close, mmh?” he lowly asks, almost swallowed against your skin.

But you’re already there, already slipping.

When you hit your high, it pulls a soft, unfiltered sound from you and he holds you through it, closer than before, like he’s not letting you drift too far from him even for a second.

His lips find yours again almost immediately, kissing you deeper. Like he’s chasing you through it. Like he wants to stay right there with you, even as you’re still catching your breath.

“You look so beautiful…” he pauses, brushing his thumb across your cheek, gaze heavy and soft all at once. “Coming around me like this.”

You can only manage a small, breathless smile as you cling to him and trying to steady yourself again.

But his grip shifts, and before you can fully process it, he’s guiding you back until your back meets the bed. He moves with utmost care, almost protective, like he’s making sure you land softly, like nothing about this moment is meant to be rushed.

He hovers over you, eyes searching yours and then he kisses you again. His mouth drifts from yours, trailing down your jaw, your neck and each kiss lighter than before, but somehow just as intense. It’s not about urgency anymore. It’s about staying.

Your fingers find his hair, brushing it back, holding him there when he dips lower, making a long trail of kisses down your front and only stopping when his mouth lands on your still sensitive, still pulsating clit.

He burrows onto the mattress, arms curve under your thighs and makes himself comfortable there, on the space between your legs. Like this is where he lives now.

He takes his time to please you with his mouth, tongue landing small, featherlight licks, lips capturing your clit in soft kisses while his mouth occasionally sucking on it. Just enough to make you restless. Just enough to make your legs tremble and your toes curl.

He lets go only to place kisses on your inner thighs before crawling over you, hovering above you once more. He takes a moment to just admire, one hand gliding down your torso and then settles on the curve of your waist.

“So beautiful, so perfect…” he murmurs in a mix of disbelief and awe. Then he crashes his mouth onto yours, taking your breath away in every brush of his lips against yours.

When he finally settles between your legs again, the tension is thicker and heavier now. He doesn’t rush back into you. Not yet. Just rubbing his length between your slick folds, letting your essence lubricating it. He lets the moment stretch, lets you feel him how hard he is, lets you want it until you can’t help but touch him, guiding his cock to your clit and circling the tip around it. You keep your eyes locked with his as you do and there’s something in the way he looks at you now — he’s almost gone. In the best way.

You push the tip down, aiming it toward your entrance and push it just an inch. And yet, it’s enough to elicit a quiet, low sound he doesn’t even try to hide. You arch your body, letting him feel the way you wrapped around him once more.

Hyunjin sighs, like he’s trying to calm himself down before finally does the rest, pushing forward and penetrating you again. His eyes don’t stray, they focused on the way his length sliding into you little by little. By the time he’s fully bottomed out, he stills. Like he needs to adjust, to steady himself, to not lose it right then and there.

You feel it the way he trembles slightly, the way his hands flex at your sides, the way his breathing changes. And then—

“You take me so easily now,” he murmurs, rough around the edges. His thumb presses on your clit, gently circling and applying just the right pressure on it

You slyly smile in return, lifting your knees higher and cupping your breasts in your hands, giving yourself the extra stimulation your body seeks.

The sight arouses Hyunjin so much that for a brief moment, he just stays there, watching you touching yourself. His hips begin moving then, ever so slowly but the motions only allow him to feel you more. More intense than before.

Hyunjin’s eyes screwed shut for a second like he’s struggling to keep up with what he’s feeling and seeing. When he opens them, they meet you right away. “I fucked you so many times that you’ve taken the shape of me, yeah?” he murmurs, followed by a shaky exhale.

Instead of answering, you put your legs down and around his waists, hands reaching for his shoulders to bring him close until he’s settled on top of you. You kiss him and he kisses you back in the same eagerness, almost sloppy.

And at the same time, Hyunjin keeps moving his hips in rolling motions and it always impresses you how he moves like his body made of fluid, flowing and unrestrained. Each motion measured, like he’s trying to hold onto control while still giving into it.

Praises slipping between kisses—soft murmurs that make you flutter in a way that has nothing to do with the physical anymore. You’re too deep in it now. Not just the feeling.

Him.

The way he’s looking at you. The way he’s holding you. The way this doesn’t feel like just a shared intimate moment—it feels like something more.

Your hands find his, and he laces your fingers together, pressing them into the bed as he quickens the pace, enough to pull another breath from you, enough to bring you right back to that edge again.

“Hyunjin…” you whisper his name.

He hums against your lips, barely pulling away. “Yeah?”

“I’m close…”

The words come out softer, more vulnerable than you expect.

He exhales, pressing his forehead to yours for a brief second before kissing you again. “Just—stay with me a little longer.”

You nod, even if you’re not sure you can. And when he deepens his thrusting, it becomes harder to think about anything else. Harder to hold back.

“I can’t—” you mutter breathlessly, body squirming and quivering. “I can’t hold it back anymore.”

When you finally let go, it takes him with you. There’s no holding it this time, no stopping it. He breaks with a rough, guttural groan that spills out of his mouth as he pulls you closer, burying himself against you, the moment crashing over him just as hard.

The soft, quiet stillness comes after. His forehead rests against yours, breath still uneven, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he’s seeing something new. Something important.

He waits until your eyes are focused and meeting him. And the he says it.

“I love you.”

The words hang between you for a moment, you let them sink in, let them seep into somewhere deep in your chest. you have the answer but the words feel strange, feel heavy on your tongue. You try anyway, opening your mouth, but he stops with a kiss.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he murmurs, thumb swiping across your lips.

You smile lazily at that. “Well, I don’t want to,” you playfully say.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Then don’t.”

But your hand comes up to his cheek, thumb brushing lightly across his skin, your gaze steady on his. And this time, you don’t hesitate.

“But I love you.”

He stills for a second. Like he didn’t expect it. Like he’s not sure he heard it right. And then he breaks into laughter as if he’s trying to release the nerves, the worries and concerns.

And with that, he leans in and kisses you again, body lowering until he’s settled on top of you. Until your bodies fit together. Until your hearts are lying close to each other with mere bones and flesh in between. The hearts that have chosen each other.

Hopefully—

Forever.

-

Hyunjin doesn’t think he’s ever been this aware of silence before. The kind that hums softly, wrapped around the steady drone of the plane, tucked between the quiet breaths you take beside him. The kind that feels comfortable, content.

He shifts slightly in his seat, shoulder brushing yours, just to make sure you’re still there, still real. Because a part of him keeps whispering that this was all too good to be true. Like something his mind would make up just to torture him later.

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his long hair before turning his head and there you are, sitting beside him with legs tucked in just a little, scrolling through your phone with that faint crease between your brows—the one he’s grown ridiculously fond of. The one he used to call annoying. The one he now thinks about at the most inconvenient times.

As if you feel him looking, you glance up and softly smile at him. And just like that, the noise in his head quiets.

You lean closer, talking so low that it feels like it’s just for him. “The pharmaceutical company emailed. They want a review for the couple’s test program.”

“Really?” he asks, one brow lifted.

You nod, already shrugging it off and shoving your phone into your bag. “Let’s just do it later.”

Later. He lingers on that word for a second.Later means this continues.Later means you’re not… done.

You nudge him lightly, already leaning close to his. “Wanna watch something?”

He nods, clearing his throat a little. “Yeah. Let’s finish that movie we didn’t get to watch.”

You hum, already leaning forward to scroll through the in-flight screen, mumbling under your breath. “I don’t even know if they have it…”

A moment later, you look at him and shake your head, lips slightly curled into a pout. “They don’t have it.”

And god, that face. He smiles without meaning to, something soft and helpless slipping through before he can stop it. “Just pick anything.”

You drop your hand to your lap. “No. You pick this time.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, like he’s been handed something far more serious than choosing a movie. “Alright.”

He scrolls through the options, squinting like he’s studying for an exam. Then, he jokingly mutters, “I don’t think they have porn on this thing.”

Your hand flies to his mouth, muffling him as you half-laugh, half-scold, “Are you insane? There are kids around.”

His eyes widen in mock innocence as he glances around, deliberately dramatic. “I don’t see any.”

“Just pick a movie,” you tell him while gently patting his cheek. “A normal, flight-friendly movie.”

Another moment passed with him scrolling through the movie selection and ends up with something light, a teen comedy movie. You both slip on the headsets, and before the opening scene even finishes, you link your arm through his, head settling comfortably against his shoulder. Like you’ve done it a hundred times. Like you’re going to do it a hundred more.

Hyunjin presses play and for the first half of the movie, the two of you share quiet commentary, soft chuckles, the occasional glance at each other when something particularly dumb happens on screen.

He lets himself sink into it this time, lets himself believe that just because the vacation is over, doesn’t mean it’s over. It’s still happening. You and him.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, you get quiet and he notices it a little too late. He tilts his head, looking down and as expected, you’re fast asleep. Your face slightly smushed against his arm, lips parted in the softest pout, brows relaxed now, all that focus and awareness melted into something unbearably soft.

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Again?” he murmurs under his breath. But his voice is fond. So, so fond.

Carefully, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your pout. The kiss lingers there for half a second longer than he intended to before pulling back, eyes soft as he stares at your face. Then he reaches up, slipping your headset off, then his.

The movie keeps playing silently for a moment before he pauses it altogether. He straightens on his seat, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer until you’re properly tucked against his side, your head resting more comfortably now against his chest.

You instinctively curl into him, like even in your sleep, you know he’s safe. Like you trust him. Completely. And that means more than anything.

The restlessness fades. Not completely. Because maybe things will change when you land. Maybe work will get in the way. Maybe reality will creep back in. But this isn’t something that disappears the moment the plane touches the ground. He knows that now. He presses his cheek lightly against the top of your head, eyes drifting shut for just a second.

Some things stay the same.

And some things change.

And for once, he’s not afraid of either.

-

Hyunjin doesn’t realize how tightly he’s been holding onto that quiet, fragile feeling until the door clicks open. You step in first and he follows, wheeling both suitcases in with a soft thud against the floor. He turns back to close the door, hand lingering on the handle a second too long like he’s sealing something in, or maybe trying to keep something from slipping away.

When he turns around, you’re already looking at him. Your smile is soft and content, a little tired too, but that’s understandable.

“It’s so nice to be home,” you sigh.

Yeah. It is.

You don’t give him time to sit in it, though. You walk right up to him, slipping a hand to his waist, tugging him closer. The kiss you give him is a quick brush of your lips against him, but his heart flips anyway.

Then you look at him, casual as anything. “Are you hungry?”

He huffs a small laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah.”

You grin, reaching up to pat his cheek lightly like he’s done something right. “Can you please order something delicious for us?”

How can he say no when you look at him with a soft gaze and a soft smile?

“Of course,” he answers without argument. He pulls his phone out immediately, scrolling through options while you disappear briefly to set your things down.

By the time the food arrives, you’re both settled at the dining table, still in your travel clothes, too comfortable to care. In between bites of food, the two you talk about the vacation — the rocky beginning, the fun bits, the unexpected things you encountered and discovered.

You talk with such zest and Hyunjin finds himself watching you more than listening sometimes. The way your eyes crinkle, the way your hand gestures mid-story, the way you lean back in your chair when you laugh like you’ve forgotten everything else exists.

He wants to stay here, right in this version of things. Where it’s just you and him, a table between you, shared food, shared stories, no expectations pressing in from the outside. A small, selfish part of him wonders if it’s possible to stretch this moment, make it last just a little longer before reality starts knocking again.

But eventually, the plates are empty and you push your chair back with a quiet sigh, stretching slightly as you stand.

He gets ahead of you, collecting plates and stacking them together. “I’ll do it,” he offers.

“Thanks,” you murmur before walking up to him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

And when you pull away, you look at him like you know exactly what that did to him. “I’ll be waiting for you upstairs.”

You say it so casually and don’t say anything else after, but let him figure it out himself.

Hyunjin just stands there with dirty dishes in hand. Brain lagging behind. He watches you cross the living room, grab your bag from the sofa, then head upstairs without a second glance back. Your footsteps fade, followed by the soft sound of a door opening and then closing.

Upstairs? Does that mean you want him in your bedroom?His eyes flick briefly toward the staircase, then back down at the dishes in his hands.

“You’re definitely inviting me,” he says to no one, shaking his head in disbelief.

There’s no point pretending otherwise. Still, he forces himself to finish cleaning, faster and a little rushed, his thoughts already halfway upstairs with you. Because all he can think about is you, up there, waiting for him.

-

Hyunjin pushes the door open with his shoulder, backpack hanging loosely from his hand. He steps into your room, slower than he needs to, like he’s taking it in properly this time.

You’re not there, but he hears the sound of water running from the bathroom.

He lets out a quiet breath, something between relief and anticipation, and walks further in, setting his backpack down by the nightstand before lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.

The room already feels familiar. It’s still in the same layout. The same sheets. The same faint scent that lingers in the air, something that’s just… you. But it feels different.

Last time he was here, he wasn’t supposed to be. He remembers moving around quietly, careful not to leave a trace, like he was borrowing something that didn’t belong to him.

Now? Now he’s sitting here because you told him to come. Because you want him here. Because this is no longer something hidden between moments.

He leans back slightly on his hands, eyes drifting around the room, a small smile tugging at his lips before he even realizes it.

The bathroom door creaks open and he turns his head instantly to find you standing in the doorway with your hair down, dressed down in a simple night dress that somehow does more to him than anything else you’ve worn all day.

“Hey!” you call out with an edge to it. Like you’re seeing something that doesn’t belong in your room.

Did he—? Did he get it wrong? Did he read too much into everything?

But before the thought can even settle, you walk toward him, stopping just close enough to look down at where he’s sitting. “That’s my side of the bed.”

God. He overthinks it again. He shakes his head at himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “Right. Of course it is.”

You cross your arms, still holding onto that mock glare, but there’s a grin threatening at the corner of your lips.

He plays along, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he grabs his things. “I come all the way here and I don’t even get a good spot.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now.

He walks around the bed, dropping onto the other side, tossing his things down like he’s been doing this forever.

You watch him for a second before nodding toward the bathroom. “Go wash up. Hurry.”

He groans softly, dragging himself up again. “Bossy.”

“Go. Now!”

“Okay, okay,” he mutters with hands lifted in defeat, already heading toward the bathroom.

Soon enough, Hyunjin comes out of the bathroom with a towel slung over his shoulder, hair still slightly damp, the warmth from the shower clinging to his skin.

The first thing he sees is you, sitting comfortably against the headboard, legs stretched out under the blanket, phone in your hands as your thumbs move quickly across the screen. The warm glow of the bedside lamp lights up your face, softening your features.

You glance up the second he steps into view and smile. It hits him instantly that he should get used to it now.

“Well,” you say, a teasing edge in your voice, “thank you for not taking forever in there.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he walks over. “You’re welcome. I tried my best not to inconvenience you.”

You narrow your eyes playfully, but the smile stays.

He sets his things down on your nightstand while you lock your phone and put it aside without a second thought. Then you shift, sliding further down into the bed, patting the space next to you. “Hurry. Get in.”

He rolls his eyes, dragging out a dramatic sigh like he’s being forced into it. “So demanding.”

He takes his time anyway, pulling the covers back, settling in beside you, but the second he’s there, you snuggle up to him. Like it’s where you’re meant to be.

He doesn’t even think about it but offers his arm, letting you rest your head on it, adjusting slightly so you’re comfortable. Your body melts into his side, and he feels the soft hum you let out against him.

His fingers drift to your hair, brushing through it gently, slow and absent-minded. His other hand finds yours, threading your fingers together before softly kissing the your knuckle and resting your laced hands over his chest.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing, the faint rustle of sheets shifting with every small movement. This is nice and he is relaxes, and yet, one thing sitting in the back of his mind, refusing to stay quiet.

He swallows, then nudges you slightly. “Hey.”

You hum in response, eyes already half-closed. “Mmh?”

“You’re not gonna get weird tomorrow, right?”

You let out a small scoff of laughter against him. “Get weird how?”

He keeps his voice steady and the tone casual. “Like… you’re not gonna go back to how you used to be with me.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, brows lifting. “And how did I used to be with you?”

He grins, a little sheepish now. “You know. Like you’re always annoyed by me. Like… I’m just your test partner.”

A quiet chuckle leaves you and your eyes flutter, forcing them open to look at him. “First thing first, I’ll always be annoyed by you,” you murmur with a playful smile.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and sighs, but he knows that part is true. He doesn’t think he’ll stop annoying you sometime soon.

“Secondly,” you continue, looking and sounding a little serious now. “Congratulations, you just got promoted as my long-term booty call.”

He lets out a breath that should turn into a laugh. But your answer is not quite the one he wants to hear, not the kind of assurance he seeks. Before he can say anything else, you suddenly burst into laughter, shifting over him until you’re half on top of him, looking down at him like he’s the most ridiculous person alive.

“We’ve been—” you cut yourself off with another laugh, shaking your head, “—we’ve been fucking each other for days, said ‘I love you,’ and now you’re here, in my bed… and you’re still asking what we are?”

He presses his lips together, trying to hold it in and fails. A laugh escapes him out of embarrassment. “Just making sure,” he mutters while nodding to himself.

You roll your eyes and then drop your head to the side, quietly chuckling.

He looks at you and carefully asks, “Can I tell people about it?”

“I’d rather keep it low-key,” you eloquently answer like you expected that question from him.

His brows knit slightly. “Why?”

You reach up, brushing a strand of his hair back. “I don’t want to mix work and personal stuff. And I definitely don’t want to give the office something to gossip about.”

He gets it. He fully understands it. But still, he pouts because a part of him wants to the tell the world that you’re his. “So… I can’t tell anyone?”

You smile, amused. “You can.”

His eyes light up slightly at that, but then you quickly add, “Only if someone asks.”

The pout comes back immediately and you barely have time to laugh before he suddenly rolls over, flipping you onto your back beneath him. You let out a small sound of surprise, but you’re smiling.

He hovers over you, looking down with that familiar mix of mischief and something softer underneath. “Do you really love me?” he asks.

You grin instantly. “Do you really love me?”

He leans down, nudging his nose against yours. “I asked first.”

You hold his gaze and just to make this difficult, you answer, “Sometimes, I do.”

He narrows his eyes, leans in and gently bites your nose.

You shriek, laughing, hands flying to his face as you cup his jaw, pressing a quick kiss there.

“I want to take things slow. I want to keep this between us for a bit longer.”

He nods in understanding. But then—

“Can I at least tell our CMO?”

You laugh immediately, knowing that Seungmin will be likely the first person Hyunjin would declare this relationship to. “Yes.”

He nods, satisfied. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, he leans down, giving you a long, lingering kiss. A kiss that says more than he bothers putting into words.

“No more questions. I’m tired,” you half mumble with eyes closed.

“Okay,” he says, tangling his hand in your hair and gently brushing it. But not even a second later, he asks, “How about one more kiss?”

You sharply exhale air through your nostrils before tilting your head up. “Just one more kiss,” you murmur.

Hyunjin makes the best of it, capturing your soft lips in his and kissing you. Less heat, more intent. With his whole heart. When he pulls away, he smiles and lowly murmurs against your lips, “Goodnight.”

You smile with your eyes closed. “Goodnight,” you say back, just as softly.

Then he rolls back onto his side, pulling you with him, tucking you close like before. You fit there perfectly. His arm wraps around you, hand resting at your back, holding you close as your breathing slowly evens out.

And this time, his mind is quiet because when morning comes, he knows you’ll still be right here.

-

The moment you open your eyes, you see him.

Hyunjin, right beside you. So close that you can feel his breath, soft and even against your skin. His face is slightly smushed into the pillow, lips parted in the faintest pout, hair a mess in the way that makes him look softer and unguarded. And somehow, a lot more attractive.

There’s something about seeing him like this that makes your chest feel a little too full and your lips curve into a smile 

Carefully, you shift closer. Your fingers hover for a moment before brushing lightly along his jaw, tracing the line of it. Then you lean in, pressing small, lingering kisses there—one, two, three—slow and gentle, just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips.

He doesn’t stir. Not even a little as you smile against him. So you press one more kiss and this time to his lips and to no one surprise, still nothing.

It’s only when you start adjusting the blanket and shifting your leg, he finally reacts. A low groan slips out of him as he burrows deeper into the pillow, voice rough with sleep. “What time is it?”

You reach for your phone, squinting slightly at the brightness before answering, “Six seventeen.”

He groans louder like he has issues with those numbers, and immediately turns his face further into the pillow. “Wake me up in an hour,” he mumbles.

He sounds so serious about it. Like it’s a real plan. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

Then, after a beat, his voice comes again, slurred and drifting. “Actually… don’t wake me up at all.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head a little as you hum in response. “Noted.”

You lean down again, pressing another gentle kiss to his lips. And this time, he reacts, just barely. As you pull away, his lips follow yours, chasing for a second before he catches you in a lazy, lingering peck. It’s clumsy, half-asleep, but warm in a way that settles in your chest. Then just as quickly, he’s burrowing back into the pillow, arm loosely draped where you were moments ago and go back to sleep.

You watch him for a brief moment before willing yourself to start moving. You stretch slightly, easing yourself out of bed, careful not to disturb him again. Morning is here and for once, you don’t feel like you have to brace yourself for anything.

You fall into your routine almost instinctively—shower, clothes, skincare and by the time you’re in the kitchen, the sun is already filtering in through the windows, warm and bright. You set breakfast together from whatever you have left in your fridge. Oatmeal, a few extras on the side and pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You’re halfway through your first sip when you hear his slow, dragging footsteps. You glance up just as Hyunjin appears at the bottom of the stairs with messy hair and eyes barely open, one hand rubbing at his face like he’s still negotiating with the idea of being awake. Yet, his expression changes instantly the second he sees you. He smiles as he walks into the kitchen.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” you softly say back.

He passes by you, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the top of your head before reaching up to the cabinet. It’s so natural, like it’s always been part of the routine. You don’t even hesitate to grab his mug as he takes it down, pouring coffee into it for him.

He glances at you, grin tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”

You nod toward the counter. “Want some oatmeal?”

He pauses mid-sip and grimaces. “I’m pretty sure I still have cereal left,” he says, already turning to rummage through your cabinet where he last put it.

Not long after, he finds the cereal box and pulls it out, opening the lid to peek inside. His brow furrows and slowly, he turns his head toward you. “Why is there barely anything left in my cereal?”

You lean against the counter, keeping your expression neutral, lifting your cup for another sip like you have no idea what he’s talking about.

His eyes narrow as he takes a step closer. And you can feel the way he’s looking at you, like he’s waiting for the crack to show.

You tell yourself to stay calm but it only lasts for two seconds and then your lips twitch. “I might’ve eaten it. Occasionally,” you admit, rather casually.

He scoffs, shaking his head as he closes the distance. “You’re still bad at lying.”

You grin, completely unbothered. “Oatmeal?” you offer again, just to annoy him.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he cups your face with both hands and then leans in, kissing you. The kiss is quick, but it lingers just enough to make a low gasp escaping you when he pulls aways.

He looks at you like he’s already decided something and says, “No, thank you. I’ll stick to my cereal.”

A few minutes later, you sit across from Hyunjin, one leg tucked under you, spoon lazily circling your oatmeal while he crunches through his cereal. But every now and then, he glances at you like he’s checking you’re still there.

You pretend not to notice. Instead, you reach for your phone resting beside your bowl, unlocking it and sliding it across the table toward him.

“Hey, we should probably do this now before we forget,” you begin.

He pauses mid-bite, spoon hovering in the air. “Do what?”

You tap the screen lightly, where the form is pulled up. “The couple test program review. They asked for it.”

He leans forward, squinting a little as he reads, then lets out a quiet ah of realization before leaning back in his chair. “Right. That thing.”

He shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, chews on it and then, he asks, “We’re filling it together?”

You raise a brow at him like it’s obvious. “We were in it together, weren’t we?”

That earns you a soft huff of a laugh. He nods, scooting his chair a little closer, elbow coming to rest on the table as he angles your phone toward both of you. “Okay, let’s see,” he says, suddenly a little more awake.

You take your mug, sipping your coffee as your eyes scan the first question. “How would you rate your overall experience?” you read aloud, then glance at him. “Be honest.”

He tilts his head, considering it for a brief moment like he’s weighing something heavier than the question itself. “Good. Not excellent.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Not excellent?”

His gaze flicks to you, slow, deliberate, the corner of his mouth tugging. “Well, we had… complications.”

You scoff under your breath, already tapping “Good” anyway. “You mean you couldn’t stay professional.”

“I stayed professional,” he counters, completely unbothered. “You’re the one who—”

You kick his foot lightly under the table. “Next.”

He laughs and lets you move on.

You go through the aspects together, taking your time with it. You read them out, and he answers, sometimes immediately, sometimes after a pause, sometimes after a quiet debate between the two of you that ends in a compromise and a shared glance that lingers just a second too long.

“Partner coordination,” you murmur, tapping the screen. “Four?”

“Four,” he agrees. Then, after a beat— “Could’ve been a five.”

You hum, pretending to think about it. “You complained a lot.”

“You liked it.”

You don’t answer that. Just press the rating and move on. And each time, your lips curl into a smile.

“Did the program have a positive impact on your relationship?” you ask, voice softer now. You don’t look at him right away like you did before. Your thumb hovers over the screen.

“Yeah,” he says before you can ask.

You glance up then, and he’s already looking at you. You nod once, almost to yourself, before tapping “Yes.”

Neither of you says anything for a second after that. Then you clear your throat, nudging the moment forward. “Favorite part?”

He leans back in his chair again, dragging his spoon lazily through the empty bowl now. “Working together,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then, after a beat, quieter— “Getting to see you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Focused and bossy,” he answers without a beat. A grin blooms on his small face as he adds, “A little scary.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers hesitate over the screen before typing it in. The rest comes easier from there until you reach the last new question.

You tilt the phone slightly toward him. “Would you be interested in joining another couple test program in the future?”

He doesn’t even pretend to think about it. “Yes.”

You smile a little at how fast that was. “That was quick.”

He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave you. “Depends on the condition.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

He leans in, raising his eyebrow as a flirty gesture. “For an instance, same partner.”

Your fingers still for a second over the screen and you try to fight it, but the smile tugging at your lips anyway. You nod as you tap the answer in, exactly like that. Then you set your phone down and reach for your coffee again.

He watches you over the rim of his mug, quiet for a moment. Then—

“So… we’re doing another one?”

You meet his eyes over the table, sunlight catching in them, in yours, in everything that’s changed without either of you saying it out loud. You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Looks like it,” you say.

And maybe this time, it won’t feel like a test at all.

-

COUPLE TEST PROGRAM PARTICIPANT REVIEW FORM Participant 1 ID: P-260319 Participant 2 ID: P-260320 Program Duration: 30 Days 1. Overall Experience How would you rate your overall experience? ☐ Excellent ☑ Good ☐ Average ☐ Poor 2. Program Aspects (Rate 1–10) Product Quality & Variety: 9 Clarity of Testing Instructions: 9 Ease of Use (Products): 8 Reporting & Documentation Process: 8 Partner Coordination & Task Balance: 8 3. Relationship Impact Did the program have a positive impact on your relationship? ☑ Yes ☐ No ☐ Unsure If yes, how? (optional) It encouraged consistent communication, cooperation, and adaptability. We became more aware of each other’s preferences, working styles, and boundaries through repeated interactions. 4. Highlights & Challenges Favorite part of the program: Testing products in a shared setting and comparing perspectives. The process felt interactive and allowed for genuine reactions and discussions. Any challenges or concerns: Maintaining objectivity while working closely as partners could be challenging at times. Differences in opinions occasionally affected the evaluation process. 5. Recommendation Would you recommend this program to other couples? ☑ Yes ☐ No ☐ Maybe 6. Future Participation Would you be interested in joining another couple test program in the future? ☑ Yes ☐ No ☐ Maybe If yes, under what conditions? (optional) Preferably with the same partner to maintain consistency in evaluation and communication. 7. Additional Feedback The program is well-structured and effective for observing real-time partner dynamics. Slight improvements in reporting flexibility and clearer expectations for subjective evaluations would enhance the experience. 8. Final Comment Thank you for the opportunity to participate in the Couple Test Program. The experience was insightful, engaging, and unexpectedly meaningful for both of us. Beyond product evaluation, the program encouraged stronger communication, teamwork, and understanding between partners in everyday situations. We appreciate the effort put into creating realistic testing environments and activities that allowed authentic interactions and feedback. Overall, it was a valuable experience that we would gladly participate in again. Submission Status: ✔ Successfully Submitted

-

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plastic bag of snacks swinging off your wrist, crinkling loud enough to announce you two corners away, you clutched it like a peace offering, or a bribe, or a confession. everything in it had a story: the milk soda gummies he’d once nearly cried over. that dumb pink shrimp chip brand you always fought over because the flavor was “emotionally damaging” (his words). a tiny green tea cake with icing you’d pressed your thumb into by accident. the whole bag smelled like saccharine surrender. you hadn’t seen him in months.

yuuta had been sent to africa—yes, the continent, not the band—because gojo had gotten it into his hollow skull that yuuta needed “recalibration,” like he was a satellite that went a little too sharp after the shibuya aftermath. the accident—those cursed children, that nightmarish tangle of residuals, the stupid thing with the shrine and the way his voice cracked saying “i didn’t mean to—” right before gojo shoved him on a plane—had left him looped up in his own head. not dangerous, not even spiraling. just… too tuned in. too raw. so gojo, in his infinite “big brother but worse” wisdom, had sent him away. not to punish, not to exile. just to breathe somewhere far enough that even his regrets would echo slower.

you had hated him for it. not yuuta. gojo. because you missed him. and because you didn’t know how to say it.

he had texted, of course. photos of monkeys stealing his food. long meandering voice notes about heatstroke and rogue cursed spirits in old mining towns. one audio message that was just six minutes of wind and then “...it smells like burnt cinnamon here, isn’t that weird?” and then more wind. you’d replayed that one until the file started glitching.

now he was back.

you walked up the stairs with knees that didn’t work right, heartbeat like a stray drumroll in your chest. the hallway smelled like that vaguely bleachy institution-funk, overlaid with someone cooking too much garlic too late. but his door was the one with the taped-up polaroid of a lizard on the peephole—he’d named it jerry and claimed it once saved his life in botswana by pointing at a cursed talisman with its tail (you didn’t believe a word but loved him for trying)—and it stood exactly as you remembered. slightly misaligned. always looked like it wanted to be a secret.

you stood there too long. shifted the snack bag from left to right. considered fleeing. considered kicking the door down. did neither.

instead, you knocked. once. twice. then a little impatient third one that said “hey, i’m still me.”

the hallway was quiet.

your hand still hovered, a little curl of fingers like maybe you'd knock again but also maybe you'd just rest it there and feel how solid the door was between you. it didn’t matter. the moment had already bent in that soft surreal way, like a movie scene that couldn’t decide if it was a comedy or a tragic romance. behind that door was him. your friend. the dumbass with the soft hands and the eyes like old moonlight and a voice that didn’t realize it made you ache.

you licked your lips, wiped your palm on your thigh. you told yourself you were ready.

the plastic bag rustled. it sounded like a heartbeat.

the door opened with a click that sounded way too loud for the sleepy summer hallway and maybe also a little like the climax of a drama scene about to spiral into something stupid and irreversible, and there he was—yuuta okkotsu, fucking alive, standing barefoot in the doorway like he’d just walked off a fever dream you had eight weeks ago, except realer and worse, because reality had done something to him that memory never could: it made him taller.

not metaphorically taller, not emotionally expanded, not some symbolic “he grew while he was away” bullshit—no. he was literally, absolutely taller, which was rude as hell because you were already tragically average and now standing in front of him, your face came up to his stupid newly-broadened neck and you had to tilt your head back to look at his face and that made your neck hurt and now everything was his fault. again.

“whoa,” he said, voice a little low and scratchy like he hadn’t talked much today, maybe a little sleepstill lingering at the edges, but then he smirked, and it was the kind of slow curling thing that should’ve come with a health warning. “what the hell are you wearing?”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t, really. because your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes tracked the line of his collarbone visible through that worn white t-shirt—the one clinging just enough to expose the ghost of his abs underneath, because apparently he had those now, just a casual six-pack sculpted out of trauma and climate change and moral injury—and then lower, to where the hem of the shirt barely brushed the waistband of those indecently low athletic shorts. shorts that screamed “i don’t own dignity” but in a confident way. and legs. endless, lean, travel-worn legs like he’d gone on a side quest for new muscles.

his hair was parted to the side, a little messy but shaped like it meant to be, probably from running his fingers through it a hundred times, and his eyes were brighter than you remembered—not in that overworked, glassy way he used to have, but something steadier, like he’d seen some shit and come back joking about it. and his smile was sharp now. not mean. just sharper. more boyish menace than anxious darling.

“you okay?” he asked, still holding the door open, leaning one shoulder against the frame like he’d taken a class in posing over there. “you’ve been standing there like i’m a ghost. is this the part where you tell me i’ve been dead the whole time?”

“no,” you blurted, then immediately hated how your voice cracked like a teenage boy about to confess his love to the back of a girl’s head in a shoujo anime. “no, you’re just—i didn’t realize you’d... grow vertically.”

he raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down, dramatically, then back up. “you’re just short.”

“liar. you’re taller than before.”

“am i?” he tilted his head. “i thought you just shrank. maybe that’s what all the strawberry-print shorts are doing to your brain. estrogen shrinkage. is that a thing?”

“you look like a backup dancer for a washed-up j-pop group,” you fired back, finally stepping past him into the dorm, brushing his shoulder on the way, pretending it didn’t buzz like an electric fence when you touched him. “no right looking like that at home. i almost dropped the snacks.”

“the what now?” he snatched the bag from your wrist with a dramatic flourish and held it up like it was the holy grail, peering inside. “is this—are these shrimp chips? you do love me.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“your shorts said it for you.”

“fuck you.”

he shut the door behind you with a little too much smugness in the click, dropped the snack bag onto his desk like it was a reward for something he didn’t work for, and turned to look at you fully. “okay, but seriously. hi. you look... like you lost a fight with a dryer, and then won the war of being adorable.”

“you’ve been back for five minutes and i already regret everything.”

“but you missed me.” his voice dropped just half a note, not sultry, not teasing—just confident, and you hated that it made your stomach go soft and fluttery like a tragic anime side character about to say something embarrassing and get hit by a car. “you missed me so bad, didn’t you?”

“i missed you like a hole in the head.”

“that’s still a kind of love,” he grinned, stepping closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down so his forehead almost bumped yours. “cursed and irreversible.”

you tried to back up, hit his desk instead. fuck.

“you’re an idiot.”

“you look like you wanna cry.”

“i do. because of your face.”

“because you love my face.”

“yuuta.”

he laughed, that soft exhale kind of laugh, warm and real and too close. his fingers grazed the snack bag again. your heart forgot how to perform basic rhythm.

you hated him. you hated how he looked better than before. more whole. more like himself. and that he wasn’t scared anymore. and that now you didn’t know if you were allowed to want him without breaking something.

“so,” he said, turning to open the mini fridge, crouching slightly, letting his shirt ride up so you could see the shadow of his lower back and the waistband of his shorts pulling low, “what’s the plan, captain? movie night? tears? declaration of undying devotion? all of the above?”

you hated him. you hated that he knew. that he was waiting.

but you were here now. no takebacks. and your knees had already lost the ability to lock.

you said, “movie night.”

he grinned again, not looking back. “mmhm. coward.”

you stared at him for a second too long, a long dumb second where he was still bent over with the fridge door hanging open and the lamplight just so, highlighting the curve of his spine and the soft dip of muscle above his waistband, and he was rattling a soda can around like it owed him something, humming some godawful off-key jingle under his breath while absolutely oblivious to the fact that you were contemplating both murder and marriage at the same time. and that was dangerous. because the moment you started thinking thoughts like his back looks like a religious experience and i want to punch him in the throat, you were in too deep.

so you did the only thing your tragically flustered nervous system allowed: you walked up and kicked him square in the shin.

“ow—fuck, what the hell,” he yelped, straightening with the drama of a man shot in war, dropping the soda in the process which landed with a thud and rolled under the desk like it knew what was good for it. “was that necessary?”

“yes,” you said, stepping around him like he was debris, heading straight for the tiny kitchenette shoved into the corner of the dorm like an afterthought. the popcorn bag was already in your hand, pre-buttered and microwavable and honestly the only real symbol of stability in your life at the moment. you yanked open his one cabinet, found a bowl shaped like it had been purchased in a panic, and set it down with the finality of someone trying very hard not to scream. “i am asserting dominance.”

“by kicking me like a rabid toddler?” he called from behind you, and you heard the stupid amusement in his voice, the I’m-smiling-but-I’m-also-plotting kind of grin that made you want to wrap your legs around his head and drown him in it. “wow. you really did miss me.”

you ignored him, shoved the bag into the microwave and typed in numbers that weren’t the time but felt emotionally correct. then you heard it—that sound. the soft, quiet approach. sockless feet brushing linoleum. and then—

his fingers in your hair.

it started small. just a gentle flick, like he was testing the texture, maybe reminding himself what it felt like to touch you. and you told yourself you weren’t going to react. you were strong. you were composed. you had kicked him in the shin, for god’s sake.

then he twirled a strand, slow and deliberate, looping it once, twice around his index finger like he was braiding the concept of being insufferable. and he was close. not body-pressed-close, not oh-no-we’re-about-to-kiss close—worse. emotionally close. best-friend-who-knows-what-makes-you-crack close. and that was the real danger zone.

“i don’t remember giving you permission,” you mumbled, not looking back, hands busy pretending to rearrange popcorn bags that didn’t need rearranging.

“you didn’t,” he said, twirling harder, tugging it gently like he was testing how far he could go before you screamed. “but it’s not like you’re gonna stop me.”

“you’re violating the geneva convention right now.”

“it’s hair. not nuclear arms.”

“i will scalp you.”

“hot.”

you froze for a half-second, horrified by the small laugh that slipped out of your own throat, because how dare he be funny and disgusting and weirdly charming all at once. and the worst part? the actual worst part? his fingers were still in your hair. just resting there now, tangled lazy, like he belonged. like you were a thing he was allowed to touch. and your whole body was doing that thing again—heat in the gut, soft static under your skin, a flush crawling its way up your neck like shame dressed as desire.

“i hate you.”

“you keep saying that but you’re not convincing,” he said, voice close to your ear now, low and amused and awful and warm. “you didn’t even flinch.”

“i’m biding my time. waiting for the perfect moment to shiv you with a butter knife.”

“you are so bad at pretending you don’t love me,” he whispered, fingers giving your hair one last tug, then releasing like he hadn’t just incinerated every single one of your higher brain functions.

you whipped around, popcorn forgotten, bowl cradled in your hands like a weapon. “you’re the most annoying man i’ve ever met.”

“you’ve only met like four men.”

“and three of them were fictional.”

“and you still picked me.” he grinned, then leaned in so close you could count every unfair eyelash, all fluttery and boyish and violent. “tragic.”

you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the microwave dinged, loud and shrill like an alarm you didn’t set, and both of you jumped. he stepped back, smirking like the devil in gym shorts.

you hated him.

you also loved him.

but that wasn’t the point.

you reached past him to yank open the microwave, your arm brushing his chest on the way, and you could feel the heat of him, the bare skin under that translucent white shirt, like he’d been designed in a lab to make you clinically insane.

he didn’t move.

you didn’t either.

not yet.

fast forward past the microwave war crimes and the traumatic realization that the strawberry-print shorts rode up every time you bent even slightly, past the part where he insisted on filling a second bowl “for tactical snack separation” and then immediately kept both within his reach like a possessive gremlin, past the flickering mental images of throttling him versus maybe gently kissing him just to shut him up—it was later now, and you were on his bed, which felt like a decision made under spiritual duress.

you were laying on your stomach like a lazy sea creature, arms folded under the ridiculous puff of one of his old pillows, probably the one he drooled on based on how aggressively it smelled like shampoo and existentialism. the tv on his desk across the room played soft flickers of color over your bare legs, the blue hue of a night scene washing over your skin like cinematic bathwater. the pillow squished your ribs uncomfortably but you refused to move because you were locked in a delicate standoff between comfort and pride. your shirt had ridden up, naturally. you ignored it. you were committed to the bit.

he was leaned back against the headboard beside you, long legs stretched out like a relaxed golden retriever who knew he owned the whole damn room, the popcorn bowl balanced delicately between the two of you, technically for sharing but realistically under his complete jurisdiction. every now and then, when you reached for some, he’d shift the bowl slightly like a petty little landlord, then smirk when you glared without heat.

“this is a hate crime,” you muttered, palm in the bowl fishing blindly for something that wasn’t just kernels and betrayal.

“this is a romantic crime,” yuuta corrected, chewing obnoxiously loud next to your ear. “we’re bonding. we’re creating memories. you’re gonna look back at this one day and cry.”

“i’m gonna look back and sue.”

“i’m gonna bring this up in my vows.”

“what vows—are you marrying my corpse?”

“god, you’re so dramatic,” he said, nudging the bowl toward your face just as you gave up. “here. have a sympathy handful, you absolute victim.”

you grumbled something incoherent but shoved your hand in before he changed his mind. your fingers touched his for a second and he didn’t flinch, just looked down at you with that dumb fondness in his eyes like he’d won a prize at the fair and couldn’t decide whether to eat it or keep it on his shelf forever.

on screen, ana steel was currently having her lip bitten by christian grey for the twelfth time in twenty minutes.

“i can’t believe you made me watch this,” you groaned, mouth full of popcorn, turning your face into the pillow like it might drown out the secondhand embarrassment.

“excuse me?” he gasped, mock horror fully engaged. “i am blessing you with culture.”

“you made me watch a billionaire man-child stalk a woman into a bdsm contract.”

“and he bought her a car,” yuuta pointed out, as if that somehow absolved the war crimes happening on screen.

“he sold her car without asking.”

“okay, that part was unhinged,” he admitted, stuffing another handful into his mouth. “but also kind of hot, like in a ‘don’t do this but also do this if you’re rich and emotionally damaged’ way.”

you turned your head to look up at him, chin digging into the pillow, eyebrows furrowed. “so you identify with him?”

he didn’t miss a beat. “i identify with ana.”

you snorted so hard you nearly inhaled a kernel.

“what, like you want someone to rescue you with their trauma and a playroom full of sex toys?” you asked, half choking on laughter.

“no,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head with criminal smugness, “i want someone to look at me like that and let me sign a contract that outlines exactly how often i’m allowed to be annoying.”

you rolled your eyes so hard you almost left your body.

“god, you’re insufferable.”

“but lovable,” he added, nudging your shoulder with his knee. “admit it. you like watching horny garbage with me.”

you didn’t answer right away, just flopped your face sideways into the pillow again, watching the screen, because the thing was—this was maybe the dumbest and coziest version of hell you’d ever experienced. the soft weight of his blanket tangled over both your legs. the occasional crunch as he kept eating your popcorn with the rhythm of a man chewing through existential dread. the quiet hum of the fan above you both. his presence looming, always just close enough to lean into. or over. or on.

“you’re the garbage,” you finally said, voice muffled. “the movie is fine.”

“awww,” he cooed, leaning down, voice dripping with weaponized smugness. “is that your love language? bullying me into intimacy?”

“don’t flatter yourself, grey.”

he reached over and tugged at your shirt gently, pulling the hem down over the small of your back, only to immediately pull it back up again like he was testing how much he could get away with. you smacked his hand blindly, but it made you laugh anyway, because this was him—yuuta fucking okkotsu, sweet and mean and flirty and dumb as a brick in love’s stupidest architecture. and you hated how soft it made you feel, how completely unguarded and ridiculous and… happy.

“we should recreate the elevator scene,” he whispered suddenly, like a war criminal.

“i will push you down the stairs.”

“you’re no fun. i could be your emotionally stunted dom.”

“you literally cry at those dog rescue videos.”

“emotional depth isn’t a crime.”

“you own one pair of handcuffs and they’re for cosplay.”

he gasped like you’d just ruined his career. “you promised never to bring that up.”

“you wore them to the school halloween party and said you were ‘sexy rehabilitation.’”

“and it worked! i won second place! gojo voted for me!”

you couldn’t breathe. your face was buried in the pillow again but this time from hysterics, your body shaking against the mattress while the movie’s dramatic music swelled in the background, completely ignored. he reached down and started playing with your hair again, soft and absentminded, fingers running over strands and occasionally tugging just to make you twitch.

“you’re the worst,” you muttered into the fabric.

“i’m your worst,” he said, and it was so quiet, so offhand, so horribly gentle that you had to close your eyes for a second and hold your breath just to survive it.

the tv glowed soft and blue. the popcorn was half gone. and yuuta’s fingers were still tangled in your hair like they’d never stopped.

you don’t remember when the popcorn bowl was exiled to the floor like a fallen soldier, when his knees bent to cage your hips in place, one on either side like he wasn’t subtly climbing you like a tree, like he didn’t just decide that personal space was a capitalist lie invented to keep you from enjoying the sheer horror of his presence, but suddenly there he was—perched over you like a smug gargoyle with perfect posture and absolutely no sense of shame, one hand tangled in your hair again, the other casually draped over the small of your back like he was claiming territory or maybe measuring how far he could push you before you screamed into his pillow.

you were still lying on your stomach, still pinned to his stupid bed with your stupid dignity melting through the mattress like slow death, still pretending you were unaffected by the fact that he was now fully lounging on top of you like a sunbathing menace, his weight gentle but inevitable, like gravity got a personality disorder and started flirting.

“you know,” he drawled, voice sliding right beside your ear like a heat rash in audio form, “if i didn’t know better, i’d say you planned this.”

you tried to lift your head but his palm gently but very firmly pressed it back into the pillow with the same exact energy as someone telling a golden retriever to “stay.” your voice came out muffled, somewhere between indignation and a breakdown. “planned what? the fucking suffocation?”

“you brought snacks,” he said with a completely unserious shrug you could feel vibrate through your entire spine. “you wore the shorts. you’re lying on my bed like a sacrificial offering. i’m just connecting the dots.”

“you’re connecting shit. you’re a conspiracy theorist with a god complex.”

“mmm,” he hummed, tracing a lazy circle between your shoulder blades with one finger. “god’s out of office. i’m your problem now.”

you flailed halfheartedly, kicked one heel back into his thigh. “i’m filing a complaint.”

“please do,” he said brightly. “i love getting fan mail.”

“you’re so—so annoying.”

“you’re blushing,” he said.

“i’m overheating under your weird emotionally co-dependent weight.”

he bent low enough that his breath tickled the back of your neck and you wanted to slap him and kiss him and throw yourself out the window in equal measure. “you like it. just admit it. you like when i’m all clingy and dramatic and a little mean. you missed me. so bad. like it hurt.”

you choked on a noise that wasn’t a denial. it might’ve been a dying bird. maybe a baby crying. the tv was still playing in the background, some intense jazz instrumental under a scene where christian grey was earnestly making eye contact while unzipping something. you hated this. you loved this. you wanted to throw the remote at his head and then press your mouth to his collarbone like you could bite the word finally into his skin.

“you’re getting cocky,” you whispered, tilting your chin just enough to glance up at him, your face twisted in dramatic pain. “something happened to you out there. in africa. the mosquitoes gave you a superiority complex.”

he laughed, short and loud and delighted, collapsing just slightly more against you, his chest brushing your back in a way that felt like someone turning a page too slowly. “nah. you just forgot i was a menace before i left. it’s all coming back now, isn’t it?”

“i blocked it out for my mental health.”

“you missed me so much you forgot your own coping strategies.”

“you’re projecting.”

“you cried when i posted that video of the meerkat hugging the baby goat.”

“because i have empathy.”

“you sent it to me with ‘this is us.’”

“because you’re the goat and i’m the burdened soul holding on for dear life.”

he snorted, finally rolling just enough to the side so his weight settled against your hip instead of directly on your back, one leg still draped over yours like he was trying to win a game of human jenga. “you love me.”

you groaned, pulling the pillow over your face. “stop saying that.”

“say it back, coward.”

“no.”

“say it.”

“absolutely not.”

“say you love me or i’ll quote the contract scene verbatim.”

“i dare you.”

he took a deep breath.

you shrieked, flung the pillow directly into his face, which he caught with both hands while wheezing with laughter. “you fucking menace. you—how do you still know the words? do you memorize garbage?”

“yes. and you. same folder. same cherished label.”

you glared at him. he was laughing so hard his cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess again from rolling over too much, one curl sticking to his temple with sweat and popcorn grease, and the sight of him—real and here and loud and breathing all over bed space—hit you so hard you went still for a second, like your body realized before your brain did that this was the moment, the moment, the breath before you said something you couldn’t walk back.

his eyes caught yours. quiet for once. sincere. amused, yes, always, but... waiting.

“you are so fucking annoying,” you whispered.

“you’re stalling,” he whispered back.

“you smell like corn butter and laundry detergent.”

“say it.”

“you’re ugly.”

“say it.”

“you’re literally the worst person—”

he grabbed your jaw. not hard, not rough—just enough to tilt your chin up and look you in the eye, eyes glinting with something unbearable and infuriating and stupidly, ridiculously beautiful. “say it, or i’m gonna say it first and you’ll be mad about it for the next thirty years.”

your chest hurt.

your legs tingled.

your mouth was dry and also stupid.

“i love you,” you said, like it was a dare.

he blinked.

paused.

then, grinning like a man who just pulled off the greatest heist of his life, he leaned down, brushed your nose with his, and whispered—

“took you fucking long enough.”

you wanted to hit him. not with your fist. with a book, probably, or maybe a bag of frozen peas, or something heavy and full of metaphor like the complete works of shakespeare annotated by someone with too much time and a vendetta. because he was smiling now, but it wasn’t even a normal person’s smile—it was a stupid, slow, predatory, cat-that-ate-the-whole-zoo grin, the kind of smile that said “i’ve already won and now i’m just here to gloat about it while reclining dramatically on your grave.”

he was leaning in, still half-laughing, half-devastating, his forehead brushing yours again like he couldn’t quite resist the gravitational pull of your face and the disaster inside it. your breath hitched and your brain short-circuited and all your blood decided to throw a rave in your ears. you couldn’t look at him. so, obviously, you did.

“say it again,” he whispered, and the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying to be hot. he was just obnoxious and needy and chronically underloved in the most annoying way possible, which made it ten thousand times worse, because now he’d tasted victory and he wanted seconds.

“you didn’t even say it back,” you said, mouth dry, fingers curling into the pillow like it owed you emotional support. “why should i go again if you’re gonna keep holding your words hostage?”

“oh,” he said, tilting his head dramatically like a villain who just heard a plot twist. “do you think this is transactional?”

“everything’s transactional when your heart is on fire,” you snapped, voice high and stupid and a little wobbly.

“jesus christ,” he breathed, grinning wider, “you are in love with me.”

“no, i’m just suffering.”

“same thing.”

you made a sound. an actual sound, like a dying kettle or a kettle that’s just learned about taxes, and buried your face in the pillow again, except this time he didn’t let you escape. he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you back, just enough to keep you looking at him, just enough to make you feel every inch of him, the soft weight of his thigh over yours, the heat of his hand wrapped around your arm, his breath a lazy ghost near your cheek.

“okay,” he said, voice lower now, still soft but stupidly smug, “you ready?”

“for what,” you mumbled.

he raised a single, unnecessary eyebrow. “i’m gonna say it back. you better not cry. or kiss me. or cry while kissing me.”

“i am deeply unattracted to you right now.”

“shut up.”

you did.

he took a breath. unnecessarily long. dramatic as hell. he looked like he was about to deliver a monologue on a stage with a spotlight, except instead it was just you and him and the flickering tv in the background showing a guy tying a tie around someone’s wrists, and the half-empty popcorn bowl on the floor like the saddest metaphor for your relationship.

“i love you,” he said, finally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it wasn’t news, like he hadn’t already been living it out loud every day since you met.

you blinked.

he blinked back.

then: “there. now we’re even. now it’s not weird anymore.”

“it’s still weird.”

“you’re weird.”

“you love someone who’s weird.”

“you’re right,” he said. “i’ve got horrible taste.”

you tried to shove him off the bed. he caught you by the waist and laughed so loud you swore someone in the next room probably heard, and you didn’t even care anymore because it was so easy now—laughing with him, being angry with him, being alive with him—it all made the same kind of impossible sense.

you fell back against the mattress, still tangled in him, still dumbfounded by how something so long-simmering could feel so sudden, so now. and he was staring at you again with that specific kind of expression that should be illegal—soft and knowing and just a little too satisfied with himself, like he’d cracked the code to life and it was just your name on repeat.

“you’re gonna marry me one day,” he said casually, like he was mentioning the weather.

“oh my god,” you groaned. “please shut the fuck up.”

“you are,” he insisted, lying flat beside you now, one arm under his head, the other tracing the hem of your shirt with a pinky like he wasn’t doing it on purpose. “we’re gonna fight over dishes and have a weird little dog named knife and every time we argue i’ll remind you that you confessed first.”

“you’re a walking restraining order.”

“and you fell in love with me. tragic.”

you turned your head to glare at him. he was so close his breath hit your cheek every time he exhaled. his eyes were stars and graveyards. his mouth was curled in that same stupid smile that made your stomach try to escape out your knees.

“yuuta.”

“yes, my beloved nemesis.”

“if you don’t shut up in the next five seconds i’m going to kiss you so hard it’ll reset your nervous system.”

“that’s the opposite of a threat.”

you lunged.

and he caught you.

and he kissed you like he’d already been kissing you for years. not perfect. not polished. just yours. messy, crooked, smiling into your mouth kind of kissing, hands in your hair, your fingers twisting in his shirt, legs tangled and breathless and stupid. kissing like a fight and a promise and an inside joke all at once.

when you pulled back, he was already laughing.

“told you you’d cry while kissing me,” he said, wiping under your eye with his thumb like the smug idiot he was.

you slapped his hand away.

and then you kissed him again.

it was deranged, truly, how fast the air changed—one second you were sprawled like a corpse of sarcasm and poor life choices on your stomach, cheeks warm, laughing against his mouth, his fingers still in your hair like they’d grown roots there, like they were meant to stay, the whole room vibrating with that ridiculous bubble of mutual idiocy and love and “did that really just happen?”—and the next thing you knew, he was shifting, moving with that new, awful confidence like he’d been holding back for years and the dam finally cracked. your brain barely registered the shift in weight before he sat up fully, legs folding beneath him, his hands sliding down your sides with terrifying purpose, and you were the one who ended up on his lap, straddling him like you’d been doing it since the dawn of time and the world just hadn’t caught on yet.

the tv was off. when had the tv turned off? it didn’t matter. the screen was black now, and you could see your own reflection in it behind his shoulder—wide eyes, wild hair, expression like someone who’d just been told the apocalypse was romantic—and the room was dim, barely lit by the single desk lamp glowing soft yellow, its bulb on its last legs, everything cloaked in that kind of warmth that made skin look flushed and intentions look softer than they really were.

you didn’t remember putting your hands on his shoulders. you didn’t remember him pulling you closer. but there you were, knees pressed against the outsides of his thighs, his palms anchored at your waist like you were something solid, something worth holding onto even now, especially now, and his thumbs were rubbing gentle circles through the hem of your stupid strawberry-print shorts and you could feel the electricity behind his breathing, tight and shallow and not teasing anymore.

no more games. no more sharp-edged banter. just this.

“you’re quiet,” he whispered, voice the softest it had been all night, reverent almost, like he was afraid if he said it too loud the moment would fold in on itself.

“i’m overwhelmed,” you answered, honestly, stupidly, because you couldn’t lie to him anymore, not now, not when his mouth was this close and his hands felt like home. “you’re being—serious.”

he blinked, slow and soft, then smiled—not the usual grin, not the toothy, boyish mischief. this one was small. sad in the corners. sweet in a way that hurt.

“i’m always serious with you,” he said, brushing his nose against yours like punctuation.

“no, you’re not,” you laughed, even as your voice trembled. “you’re a menace.”

“a menace who’s in love with you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the edge of your jaw, a soft thing that made your entire ribcage vibrate. “deeply. irrevocably. stupidly.”

“you forgot ‘violently’,” you whispered.

he kissed the corner of your mouth. “violently,” he echoed.

then he kissed you. properly. finally. again.

but this time it was different—no more smirking into the press of lips, no more tongue-in-cheek or cocky little nips meant to drive you crazy. this was slower. deeper. like something he’d been holding in his lungs for a decade and now he could finally let it out. he kissed you like he wanted to memorize every reaction, every shift in breath, every way your hands trembled slightly against the curve of his neck when he tilted his head just right and exhaled into you like a confession he couldn’t quite say out loud yet.

his mouth moved against yours with that awful sweetness that made your knees weak even though you weren’t standing, the kind of kiss that said stay. the kind of kiss that didn’t have to ask.

your hands slid into his hair before you even thought about it, fingers tangling in those soft strands, pulling him closer like it wasn’t enough, like it would never be enough. and he let you, of course he did, tilting into your grip, mouth parting just enough for your teeth to catch his bottom lip and make him sigh—a sound so soft and desperate it knocked every thought straight out of your head.

his arms wrapped around you tighter, one slipping under your shirt like he needed proof you were really there, fingertips ghosting up your spine, warm and shaking and tender. he kissed you again, and again, in between breaths like he was scared the distance might kill him.

“fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, his voice breaking around the edges now, none of that performative sass left, just raw affection and nerves and that unbearable sincerity that always lived under the mess. “i missed you so much it made me fucking sick.”

you closed your eyes. rested your forehead against his. let your nose bump his cheek. let your entire body lean into him like the safest place in the world.

“i thought about you every day,” you whispered. “like a freak. like some pathetic little lovesick idiot.”

he kissed your cheek. your temple. your chin. “yeah,” he said, “same. we’re freaks together.”

“soulmates in idiocy.”

“co-presidents of the tragic dumbass society.”

“yuuta.”

he looked up at you again, eyes wide and stupid and full of too much feeling.

“yeah?”

“don’t stop,” you whispered.

so he didn’t. he kissed you again. again. again. slower now. messier. the kind of kiss you fell into and never came back from. the kind that changed your blood type.

you didn’t know where this was going. you didn’t care. all you knew was this—his hands on you, his voice in your ear, his mouth against yours like he was trying to rewrite your entire existence one breath at a time.

and god, it worked.

he kissed you like he was running out of time and breath and restraint, like every press of his mouth against yours was both apology and reward, thank you and finally, and it didn’t feel like escalation, didn’t feel like foreplay or some slippery slope into the inevitable—it felt like something older than either of you, something pulled up from under your skin and cracked open between your teeth. you could barely think. you were breathing through him, your whole world tilted on its axis and centered now around the place where your hips were pressed against his, knees bracketing his thighs, your hands still tight in his hair because if you let go you might float straight out of your body and never come back.

his palms splayed across your back like he was trying to memorize the exact pressure needed to keep you tethered, moving in soft little circles that made you shiver even though the room was hot, and his tongue flicked against your lower lip again and again, coaxing little sighs out of your throat that made him groan like he was the one unraveling. and maybe he was. maybe you both were. maybe this was the only way either of you knew how to be real—half-laughing, half-crying, wrapped around each other like idiots in love and out of options.

you dragged your mouth away long enough to gasp, “we’re so dumb.”

and he, breathless and flushed and grinning like the devil had just offered him a promotion, replied, “yeah, but we’re hot.”

you snorted, chest heaving, and dipped your head into the crook of his neck, lips brushing against the column of his throat as you laughed directly against his pulse. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re hesitating,” he shot back, and it took you a second to realize what he meant, to follow the trail of thought through the haze of heat and affection and general hormonal disaster. your hands had shifted, were now fisted lightly in the hem of his shirt, that worn, thin white thing clinging to his chest in soft folds, semi-transparent under the lamplight. you’d tugged it up just a little—just high enough to expose the first dangerous inch of his stomach—but then stopped. froze. like a coward.

“i’m not hesitating,” you muttered, because lying was easier than having a panic attack mid-makeout.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and amused and way too full of affection for someone being slandered. “you’re totally hesitating. you’re scared of my abs.”

“i’m not scared of your abs.”

“you’re scared of my hot, missionary-sent-me abs. you’re intimidated.”

“you’re literally the most annoying man alive.”

“you love my annoying abs.”

“yuuta,” you said, trying to be serious, trying to slow the momentum of the joke before it took over everything again. “i just—i don’t know.”

he went quiet. not in a bad way. not in a oh no now he’s overthinking way. just soft. aware. like he’d felt the shift in your hands, your posture, the way you were still touching him but also thinking too much.

he brought his hand up to your cheek, tilted your face back toward his with two fingers under your chin, and whispered, “hey. look at me.”

you did. of course you did.

his eyes were stupidly gentle, like a blanket you didn’t ask for but needed anyway.

“we don’t have to do anything. we don’t have to do anything,” he said, clear and calm and slow like he wanted to make sure every word landed in the right place. “i just wanna kiss you. i could kiss you for, like, seven years. we can pause for snacks. maybe a nap.”

you blinked, suddenly a little breathless again but for a different reason.

“you’re so dumb,” you whispered, but it cracked halfway out.

“and you’re still holding my shirt like it personally offended you.”

you looked down at your hands, still clenched in the hem like it owed you rent. the skin under your fingers was warm, soft, the faintest hint of tremble under his calm like he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be.

slowly, carefully, you moved your fingers again. just a bit. tugged the fabric higher.

yuuta didn’t move. didn’t help. just watched you. patient. still.

you pushed it up over his stomach, revealing more—soft skin, lean lines, that ridiculous little dip under his ribs that was definitely not helping your composure, and finally, the undeniable definition of his abs. stupid. taut. completely unnecessary. like someone designed him with the express purpose of making you go into cardiac arrest.

“jesus,” you mumbled. “i thought this was just the lighting earlier.”

he smirked, tilting his head. “you can say it. you’re turned on.”

“i’m not gonna feed your ego.”

“baby, you’re literally in my lap.”

“on accident.”

“sure.”

your hands slid higher, just a little more, and he leaned back slightly to help you, finally, tugging the shirt off the rest of the way and over his head, tossing it to the side with a casual flick that really shouldn’t have been so hot but unfortunately was. his chest was bare now, lit golden in the low light, the shadows making every line look sharper than necessary. he sat there, proud and obnoxious and gorgeous, arms resting loosely around your waist, eyes half-lidded and waiting.

“so?” he said. “what’s the verdict?”

you stared for a beat too long, then shook your head. “i hate you so much.”

he leaned forward, mouth brushing yours, and whispered, “you’re drooling.”

you kissed him before he could finish laughing, kissed him hard and hungry and full of frustration and gratitude and longing that had nowhere else to go. his hands slid back up your spine again, then down, slow and warm and steady, and you pressed your chest against his, skin to skin now, breath tangled and mouths moving in sync like it was muscle memory.

this was different now. not just soft. not just playful. it was still dumb, still full of laughter and half-whispers and too many feelings, but it was honest. real. the kind of closeness you only earned after months of pretending not to want it.

his mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve until you shivered, his hands holding you like you were fragile and indestructible at the same time.

“okay,” you breathed, fingers threading through his hair again. “okay. maybe i am turned on.”

he laughed against your skin, a low hum that made your whole body vibrate.

“yeah,” he said, voice low and satisfied. “me too.”

you felt it before you saw it—his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, slow and reverent, like he was approaching a religious artifact and not your tragically old white cotton tee that probably still had mystery stains from dorm laundry hell and smelled vaguely like microwaved snacks and anxiety. his hands were warm, thumbs dragging along your ribs, and your breath caught halfway out of your throat because he wasn’t being cocky now, wasn’t making jokes or weird noises or doing that thing where he said something infuriating just to watch your face implode—no, he was focused. soft. maddeningly gentle. like he was scared of spooking you. like he was trying to do this right.

he looked at you the entire time, didn’t glance down once, even as the shirt bunched under your arms, his fingers pushing it up your back and then over your head in one smooth motion that felt too intimate to be legal, too slow to be real, and the way his eyes locked on yours as the fabric peeled away? criminal. unhinged. deeply dangerous. you could feel your heart trying to claw its way out of your chest cavity and throw itself out the window.

and then, like an idiot, like a grinning stupid horrible soft idiot, he said:

“whoa.”

“if you make a single joke,” you warned, voice threatening but also fragile, the kind of tone that cracked around the edges like old ceramic.

“no jokes,” he said immediately, holding up both hands like he was surrendering to the law but still resting them dangerously close to your spine. “i swear on gojo’s dumb designer sunglasses. you’re—shit. you’re so pretty. it’s actually rude.”

you didn’t know what to do with that. so you stared at him, blinking like someone who just got told they won a sweepstakes they didn’t enter, and tried not to melt into a puddle of hormonal regret.

you were still in your bra, obviously. thin-strapped, slightly crooked from his earlier manhandling, one cup sitting a little askew like you’d been in a romantic fender-bender. you felt like a hot mess. he looked like he wanted to write poetry about it.

“yuuta,” you murmured, unsure of what you were even trying to say.

he leaned in, kissed your collarbone with a soft press of lips that made your head tilt back instinctively, then trailed down—slow, slow, like a river taking its time to flood. and then his hands moved again, sliding up your back, thumbs brushing your shoulder blades, one finger hooking under the band of your bra in that way that made your stomach absolutely plummet.

his mouth was still on your skin when he said, half-muffled and far too casual:

“can i?”

the bastard had already found the clasp. one hand resting over it like it was a button to a secret door. your entire body was stiff and molten at once.

you breathed. shallow. shaky. said, “you’re asking now?”

he had the decency to chuckle into your shoulder, the vibration making your skin break out in chills.

“consent is hot,” he whispered, “even if i’m already halfway there.”

“yuuta,” you said again, but softer this time, more like a prayer than a warning.

he pulled back to look at you, and fuck—his face. flushed. open. stupidly beautiful. eyes wide and waiting, not pushing. not assuming. just there.

you nodded. slow. a little dizzy.

“yeah,” you whispered. “you can.”

his fingers moved without hesitation now—not rough, not rushed—just sure. the clasp gave way with a quiet click, the tension in the band loosening, and he slid his hands under the straps as if to say, i got you, even though he didn’t say anything at all. the fabric slipped down your arms like surrender. you let it. let him.

his eyes dropped, finally, but the look wasn’t hungry. it wasn’t some cliché moment of ogling. it was worse. it was tender. reverent. like you were something to be memorized, not devoured. like he was seeing you for the first time and the only thing in his brain was thank you.

his voice cracked a little when he said, “holy shit.”

you wanted to laugh. or cry. or combust. maybe all three.

so you did the only thing you could: you grabbed his face, held it in both hands like you were trying to mold it into something you could survive, and kissed him again. desperate. grateful. a little shaky. and he kissed you back like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

he didn’t touch your chest—not yet, not even a hint of suggestion. he just wrapped his arms around you, full body, buried his face in your neck and whispered, “you’re gonna ruin me.”

and you whispered back, “good.”

and meant every word.

the air in the room shifted like it had caught on fire, not the loud kind, not the dramatic blaze that engulfed buildings and screamed for attention—no, this was the slow, creeping kind, the burn that started in your chest and worked its way outward, cell by cell, inch by inch, until even the dim, flickering lamplight felt like it was watching you both a little too closely. and there you were, bare from the waist up now, still straddling his lap like a disaster waiting to happen, like a headline, like a statistic in a very affectionate cautionary tale, his arms around your ribs so gently it felt like gravity was being polite about it, and his face buried in the crook of your neck like he was hiding from his own goddamn feelings.

he hadn’t moved since you said it—good—hadn’t laughed or made some snarky little comeback, which was alarming in itself because that was his whole brand, wasn’t it? being a menace in the shape of a boy you stupidly trusted with your life and now your shirt. but instead, he just exhaled. slow. hot. reverent. like that single word did something to him he wasn’t ready to admit.

and then, of course, because he couldn’t help himself—because silence was a threat to his personality—he whispered, voice muffled into your throat, “you’re evil.”

“you’re clingy,” you muttered, even as your arms looped around his shoulders like anchors, like reflex.

“you just said you wanted to ruin me. do you hear yourself?”

“i said good, which was not a threat.”

“oh no, it was,” he said, finally pulling back to look at you, and he looked wrecked already, hair a mess, lips bitten pink, cheeks flushed, pupils blown out like he’d seen some divine truth in the curve of your collarbone. “you’re saying things like that while sitting on my lap and half-naked and then acting surprised when i combust.”

“you haven’t combusted yet,” you said, tilting your head, “do i need to try harder?”

his jaw dropped. his hands—those goddamn hands, all heat and reverence and menace—gripped your hips a little tighter, not rough but anchoring, like he needed to confirm you were real and also possibly prevent you from flying off the rails, which was ironic because you were the one currently holding yourself together with a thread and a half.

“okay,” he said, nodding slowly, eyes narrowing like he was processing a new kind of threat. “okay. so this is what we’re doing.”

“what are we doing?”

“you’re playing innocent while literally breaking me.”

“i’m not innocent,” you said, inching forward just slightly, just enough to make his breath hitch in a way that made you feel like you’d grown wings, like maybe you could ruin him if you tried. “i’m just not doing anything.”

“that’s the problem,” he said, and then, like he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in again, lips brushing against your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone, soft kisses dropped like punctuation marks in a letter he hadn’t finished writing. “you’re not doing anything and i’m still losing my fucking mind.”

you reached up, brushed his hair back from his forehead, your fingers sliding into the mess like they belonged there, like they’d always been there. he looked up at you from under his lashes, and it hit you all over again—how stupidly pretty he was, how unfair his face was in this lighting, how every expression on him looked like a confession.

“yuuta,” you whispered, and it wasn’t a warning this time. it wasn’t even a question. it was just his name, soft and unsteady and full of every terrible, wonderful thing you hadn’t had the guts to say before.

“yeah?” he breathed, hands still on your waist, fingers twitching like he was trying so hard not to move.

you kissed him again. because what else could you do? his mouth opened under yours like it had been waiting, like it knew how to respond to your rhythm, your breath, your hunger before you even gave it a name. this kiss was slower, but not gentler. it was deep, exploratory, a little unhinged, teeth catching his lip, your hips shifting against his thighs without permission, and he groaned into your mouth like it surprised him, like the noise escaped before he could trap it.

“fuck,” he gasped when you finally pulled back for air, forehead pressed to yours. “you kiss like you’re trying to make me pass out.”

“good,” you said again, and he made a sound, something between a growl and a laugh and a strangled plea.

“you keep saying that,” he muttered, hands sliding up your sides now, not pushing, not groping, just holding, like he needed the contact, needed the skin-on-skin like it was a lifeline. “and it keeps getting hotter.”

you shivered, not because of the cold—there was none, not here, not with him breathing like that, not with your skin pressed against his, not with your heart trying to climb out of your mouth and build a shrine to his name in the back of your throat—but because of the weight of it. all of it. everything you’d kept hidden between laughter and fake arguments and eye-rolls. it was all out now. and he was still looking at you like you were the best decision he’d ever made.

“what happens now?” you asked, not quite trusting your voice.

he smiled, slow and devastating, one thumb rubbing a line across your waist like he was signing something unspoken.

“whatever you want,” he said. “this—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “—is yours.” he kissed your jaw, “you call the shots.” kissed the dip under your ear, “you tell me when to stop.”

you leaned into him, breathing fast, laughing a little even though it felt like you were about to cry.

“god, you’re such a dumbass romantic.”

“only for you,” he whispered, and meant it so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

and you believed him. like a fool. like someone ready to fall and call it flying.

you kissed him again. and this time, you didn’t hesitate.

the words slipped out like a crime, like you hadn’t meant to say them but also had meant to say them every second since you walked through his door with that bag of snacks swinging from your wrist like a peace offering and a loaded weapon—your lips grazed his, your mouth half-open from breathless kissing, brain so loud and full of him it almost cracked, and then there it was, out in the air between you, all soft and stupid and sharp at the edges:

“i want to do it.”

it wasn’t seductive. it wasn’t breathy or pornographic or dripping with confidence. it was shy and shaken and maybe even a little too high-pitched, like your body knew what it wanted before your voice had a chance to rehearse. but the second you said it, you felt it click. like the moment when you find a light switch in the dark and flip it without knowing what room you’re in.

he stilled. for once, yuuta didn’t grin. didn’t make a joke. didn’t even blink for a second. his hands were still on your waist, bare skin under his fingers, and his forehead was still against yours, but something in his eyes shifted—some soft, wide-eyed mix of holy-shit and are-you-sure and oh-god-oh-god-oh-fuck.

he swallowed. slow. shallow. said, barely above a whisper, “are you sure?”

you nodded. once. twice. then whispered it too, because it was true now, every part of you humming like a live wire, “yeah. i’m sure.”

and then he kissed you like it was his last chance to memorize the shape of your mouth, slow and deep and gentle in a way that was almost reverent, like you’d said something sacred instead of something horny. his hands moved with the kind of patience that should’ve been illegal, every touch featherlight but confident, and when he finally laid you back onto the bed, his fingers never left your skin—not once. it was less like he was trying to get you naked and more like he was trying to hold you steady while the world spun off its axis.

he made you laugh in the middle of it, too. of course he did. you’d accidentally kneed him in the thigh while trying to scoot back and he made a whole dramatic performance out of it—groaning, falling onto the bed beside you like you’d mortally wounded him, then catching you with one arm and dragging you down with him, both of you breathless and flushed and laughing like the dumbass soulmates you were. he kissed you through it, kissed your laughter, kissed the corners of your mouth like they were the most important coordinates he’d ever mapped.

and when the laughing stopped—when the air got heavy and quiet and full of warmth instead of nerves—it was slow. careful. so gentle you almost cried. hands and mouths and breath, the soft sounds of skin finding skin and hearts beating too fast. nothing about it was polished or poetic. it was awkward and intimate and full of stupid sweetness, little whispered “is this okay?” and “does that feel good?” and “i think i’m dying but in a good way,” and god, it was so real. when it finally happened—when he was inside you, when his breath hitched in your ear and his hand squeezed yours like a lifeline—you realized it wasn’t about perfect. it was about him. about you. about finally getting to say i love you in a language you didn’t know you spoke.

and then, silence.

warm, golden, soft-edged silence, the kind that only came when everything was said and nothing had to be explained.

the room was still. the sheets a little twisted. your legs tangled with his under the blanket he must’ve pulled over you at some point, and your head resting on his chest like it had always meant to live there. you were both still naked, but the air didn’t feel cold—it felt right. safe. like you were inside a bubble that nothing outside the dorm could touch.

his hand was on your back. slow circles. absentminded. your name humming under his breath like a song he didn’t want to forget. you could hear his heart, steady now. solid.

“you’re weirdly quiet,” he murmured eventually, voice low and raspy like he’d been yelling all day when really he’d only been falling in love out loud.

you nuzzled into his collarbone, lips brushing warm skin. “i’m trying to preserve brain cells.”

“did i ruin you that bad?”

“yuuta.”

“don’t lie. i felt your soul leave your body halfway through.”

“i tripped over the blanket and headbutted your chin.”

“exactly. transcendent.”

you laughed. he kissed your temple.

and in the quiet that followed, he whispered, softer this time, “i love you.”

you smiled, eyes closed, body sore in the best way possible.

“i know,” you whispered back. “i felt it.”

and you did.

everywhere. still do.

you laid there in that post-apocalyptic emotional soup of skin-on-skin warmth and sex-brain fog, limbs tangled like a pair of cats that fell asleep mid-fight, the blanket half slipping off one side of the bed like even gravity was too blissed out to care anymore. yuuta’s arm was still looped around your back like a seatbelt he refused to unbuckle, his hand absentmindedly tracing lazy, reverent little lines up and down your spine like he was trying to learn braille from your vertebrae. your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, because of course it was—because it was safe there, stupidly comfortable there, smelled like him there: warm skin and detergent and sweat and something sweet, like caramelized embarrassment. and for a while you just laid there, breathing slow, matching each other’s exhales, letting your pulse learn how to stop breakdancing.

and then your dumbass brain did what it always did in quiet moments.

it started thinking.

you didn’t mean to speak. not really. it started as a thought, then became a hypothetical, then suddenly it was a sound pushing its way out of your mouth without warning, wobbling on the edge of hesitation and a laugh and full-on dread.

“so, um,” you mumbled against his collarbone, lips barely moving, “does this mean you’re, like… my boyfriend?”

he stilled. dramatically. completely. like a lizard who sensed danger. you felt every muscle in his chest lock up under your cheek like you’d just asked him if he believed in god and monogamy in the same breath.

and then: “wait,” he said slowly, blinking up at the ceiling like he’d been personally betrayed by the sudden emergence of consequences. “we didn’t define the relationship before having sex? we’re heathens. we’re criminals. we’re going to moral jail.”

you groaned immediately. “never mind. cancel the question. take it off the table.”

“no, no, you brought the table out. now we’re gonna eat off it. we’re gonna have a whole discourse. with sides.”

“shut up—”

“you shut up,” he shot back, turning to face you properly now, rolling you a little so your leg slid higher over his hip, his hand gripping your thigh like punctuation. “you asked. so let’s unpack. do you want me to be your boyfriend? is this an exclusive, high-stakes, one-man show?”

“you literally said you loved me like five minutes ago.”

“people say crazy things during sex,” he said, eyes wide, clearly holding back a laugh. “i once said ‘let’s go’ in the middle of sex in my dream like i was about to ascend. anything’s possible.”

you slapped his chest. “yuuta. focus.”

he caught your hand before it retreated, laced his fingers through yours, and looked at you with that annoying mix of mockery and affection that made your heart feel like it was doing cartwheels in a minefield.

“you want me to be your boyfriend?” he asked again, quieter now, like maybe he wasn’t entirely joking anymore. “is that what this is?”

you swallowed, suddenly shy again, the post-sex high replaced with an equally stupid rush of panic and oh fuck this is real. “i mean… if you want to. if you don’t already have, like, a girl in every jujutsu region.”

“first of all,” he said, gently squeezing your hand, “you are the only dumbass i’ve ever stripped for. and second, of course i want to. i already am. i’ve been your boyfriend in spirit since the moment you called me a ‘walking restraining order’ and then gave me your last shrimp chip.”

you blinked. “you really consider that the turning point?”

“i fell in love right then,” he said seriously. “i knew you were the one.”

“you’re so full of shit.”

“your boyfriend is full of shit,” he corrected smugly. “say it. call me your boyfriend. do it. you started this, coward.”

you groaned again, burying your face in his neck, which was a mistake because now he was laughing and smug and warm and his stupid heartbeat was right under your ear, reminding you that yes, you loved this idiot. and yes, apparently, he was yours now.

“yuuta,” you muttered.

“say it.”

“you’re my boyfriend,” you grumbled, barely audible.

“louder, babe.”

“you’re my fucking boyfriend,” you said, half-snarling, half-laughing.

he grinned so hard you thought his face might crack. “fuck yeah i am. lock me in. relationship status: unhinged and fully committed.”

“i hate you.”

“you love me.”

“shut up.”

he rolled you both over until he was on top again, elbows on either side of your head, his hair flopping down into your face, and he kissed you quick and messy and happy, like he couldn’t help it, like he didn’t care about breath or rules or what happened next.

when he pulled back, his eyes were shining.

“girlfriend,” he said.

you rolled your eyes. “boyfriend.”

he smirked. “horny and in love. what a time to be alive.”

“but a couple months' worth of games, and plus the fiasco we had at the homecoming game, isn’t gonna make up for the entire season okkotsu.” his manager explained, genuine sympathy plastered on his face as he leaned forward and folded his fingers over the table. “i do applaud you for playing better recently, i do, believe me. but...”

yuta felt like he was gonna vomit.

“not unless you play so terrifically and the team manages to make it into the superbowl this year... i’m afraid we’re gonna have to trade you off for the next year. and moving forward.”

he was cold, and clammy, the blood completely drained from his face as he sat there staring at the stupid piece of paper.

yuta okkotsu had officially exhausted his luck and met the inevitable end of his career.

“i understand.” he quietly replied, his coach and his management exchanging worried looks.

“listen okkotsu—” his coach began. “it’s not permanent yet... right? you've been one of my most loyal players and i'd hate to see you go. just... just work hard and hope that we make it into the superbowl, alright?”

his manager cut in. “it’s never easy letting one of you boys go believe us, and i do applaud you again for that wicked touchdown you made during playoffs last season—”

yuta drowned out the rest of that meeting, all the way up until he blankly shook both their hands and took the contract from the table, thanking the both of them for their time and the opportunity before quietly closing the door behind him, silently making his way back to the locker room to pack up his stuff for the night.

had the meeting really run for that long that practice was over? it had genuinely felt like at least ten minutes to him... what more could they have possibly said?

it's not like it mattered anyway, because yuta was not only losing his team, his career, and his livelihood... but you.

he would no longer see you every morning and every night on weekdays. he'd no longer see you from across the stadium— taking pictures for your work and doing what you did best. he’d no longer have your water bottle in his cubby or your giggles in his ears when he managed to make you laugh in passing.

he'd no longer have nanami to guide him. he'd no longer have his cheerleader friend to lean on.

he wouldn’t have anything.

he wouldn’t have fucking you—

“yo okkotsu. the hell were you?”

yuta snapped out of his thoughts and looked up, his gaze met with itsuki just exiting from the locker room doors.

god not now man.

“you left the rest of practice we were down a receiver.” he lifted a brow at him. “and y/n has been waiting in there for you for like an hour already.”

yuta's face dropped. “has— has she?”

itsuki rolled his eyes.

“jesus as if you don’t already make it more obvious dude.” he hiked his duffel bag further up his shoulder. “you know she has a boyfriend right? so what are you doing?”

yuta's eyes drew into slits. “i’m not doing anything what are you on about.”

itsuki snorted and started trekking down the hall.

“right yeah. listen she’s hot as hell but do you really think she’d wanna be with you? of all people? if it was nanami i'd believe it.”

“itsuki i'm not in the mood tonight so just go the fuck home.”

“i’m just trying to help you!” he called from down the hall. “forget about her already! you're out of the running!—”

yuta kicked the locker room doors open, having to physically remove himself away from itsuki to refrain from literally murdering him, yuta completely missing the way you jumped at the loud noise from where you sat as he flung the letter somewhere in his cubby.

“hi yu.” you softly greeted.

“hi.” he mumbled.

why was he such a god damn failure?

you faltered a bit at his tone, but continued nonetheless.

“i um... i wanted to thank you again for the flowers!” you faintly smiled. “and for being there for me...”

“s’fine.”

he ripped his gloves off and threw them in his cubby, along with pulling whatever padding he had nestled underneath his jersey off.

“i— i talked to reno and we managed to work it out...” you timidly explained.

he froze, eyes stuck to the floor.

“so you don’t have to worry about me anymore heh! he told me that he was sorry and that he had dinner reservations for tomorrow night—”

“don’t count on it.”

you stopped, blinking dumbfounded for a couple of seconds.

“h— huh?”

“i said don’t count on it.” he snapped from over his shoulder, and you flinched at his tone.

yuta wasn’t one to talk to you like that.

“...what do you mean?”

he spun around and flailed his arms out in exasperation.

“what do i mean? y/n—” he dug a hand in his hair. “he’s a piece of shit! he doesn’t love you!”

your jaw dropped.

“are you—”

“how do you not see it?!” he shook his head side to side. “i’ve watched him be so fucking awful to you for almost two years, he forgets your anniversary, basically verbally abuses you over the phone, and you forgave him?! again?”

“yes because he’s my boyfriend yuta—”

“and what am i?!” he yelled in desperation. “did you forget what happened earlier? what i said?!”

you gnawed on the inside of your cheek.

“what— what did you—”

“i fucking love you y/n! that's what i said!”

yuta was so done.

he was done with his team, he was done with the nfl, and he was done watching you be with another man that couldn’t care less about you when he was right freaking there.

“i can’t— i can’t eat, i can’t sleep, i can’t play football i can’t do anything because i'm literally sick over you and you’re with him!”

the sight of his bloodshot glistening eyes killed you, and you sniffled, frantically trying to blink back your own tears.

“i can’t get you out of my head baby.” yuta frantically shook his head again, a palm to his forehead. “i’m so fucking sorry y/n i tried i swear to god i tried but i can’t do it i can’t shake you i can’t—”

baby.

“—i held on for as long as i could and i kept my— my space but i just can’t do it anymore. i would do anything for you i'd let you do whatever you wanted i'd let you get a cat!”

“yuta—”

“so what am i to you.” he cut you off, his breathing ragged and cheeks flushed red as he dropped his arm. “after what happened earlier in here. what am i to you.”

you hiccuped. “yu you’re— you’re my best friend—”

he let out a pained breath and closed his eyes. “don’t give me that shit y/n please—”

“you are!” you argued. “you’re everything to me you’re not—”

“they’re trading me off.”

you locked up. “what?”

“that’s what the meeting was about that nanami came in here for.” he sniffed. “i’m being traded. m'leaving in a few months.”

your heart dropped to the pits of your stomach, your blood running cold and feeling like this wasn’t real, like you weren’t currently fighting with yuta and that he wasn’t being kicked from the team, like he wasn’t officially being beat down by the industry like you’d feared so much for all along.

“you can’t be— you can’t be serious—”

yuta turned his body and reached behind for the notice in his cubby, holding it out for you and you quickly taking it, hurriedly wiping your eyes and cheeks so you could see it clearly.

player trade notice: yuta okkotsu.

a breath of disbelief escaped your throat, flipping the paper over to its back and then to the front, over and over as if that was going to make this situation any better.

“coach says my only saving is if i play well and the team gets into the superbowl, which isn’t possible and you know that.” he numbly explained. “so i'm asking you again.”

you snapped your head up from the notice.

“what am i to you.”

why couldn’t you figure it out? why couldn’t you fucking admit it? why was your skin and chest burning so badly when you looked at yuta’s teary eyes?

but reno...

your hands trembled as you set the notice down on the bench, a sob wracking through you as you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

“you’re... my best friend.” you spoke through your tears, diverting your gaze.

yuta slumped then and squeezed his eyes shut, his heart actively breaking into a million fucking pieces in that moment as he put a hand over his chest— not knowing of why but just needing to do it or else he felt like he was going to die.

you had made your choice.

and stupid itsuki was right.

“i think— i think me leaving is for the best.” he shakily spoke, turning around and dragging his backpack out from his cubby. “i really can’t be here anymore—”

“no yuta don’t say that please don’t say that—”

you speed walked over and grabbed his wrist, tugging and willing for him to look at you.

he didn’t.

“why are you even friends with me to begin with.” he mumbled. “it's because you feel bad for me isn’t it?”

a pang of hurt and anger shot through your chest.

“are you kidding?” you asked incredulously.

his frustration was entirely misdirected at this point, and his heart was screaming and pulling at him to stop what he was doing and just make amends with you, to stop making you cry, to— to—

“m’not.” he laughed humorlessly then. “why else would you even talk to me y/n... you pity me because i'm the worst god damn player here—”

“how could you say that?!” you raised your voice, broken hearted in your own way as you stared at the side of his face with narrowed wet eyes. “do you even know who the fuck i am?!”

he turned to face you head on and your fingers slipped from his wrist, expressionless with silent tears streaming down his face.

“you of all people should know that i would never do some shit like that! much less to you!”

yuta did know that.

“i care about you yuta! so fucking much i care and i worry and i think about you but i've never pitied you! not even once!”

“that’s why i can’t be here.” he choked out. “because you do that and it makes me want you more and i— can’t.”

“don’t say that please...” you sobbed. “please yu just— i need you here with me.”

he lifted his hands and carefully cupped your face as you cried, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs again and again despite the fact that it was practically useless with how much you were crying, each hiccup and beg that you iterated further tearing him apart into smaller bits and pieces.

“i love you pretty girl.” he whispered. “i love you and i can’t be here.”

“yu!—”

yuta turned your face and smushed his lips to your cheek in a firm kiss— squeezing his eyes shut in utter agony as you stood there wide eyed.

he couldn’t control himself anymore, knowing that he’d fucked it all with you by doing what he did and saying what he said— stupidly crossing the lines of what it took to lose you forever when he swore up and down that he never would.

but he just couldn’t do it anymore.

yuta held you there for a couple of seconds before detaching his lips with a little chuu, dropping his hands and snatching his backpack from the ground.

“m’sorry—” he choked on a sob and wiped his eyes with his arm, slinging his bag over his shoulder without sparing you a glance and quickly walking to the exit, pushing his way through the doors— leaving you.

you didn’t speak to each other for four weeks after that.

it was a mutual avoidance, the both of you no longer attached to the hip as you stayed on your respective sides of whatever— the field, the locker room, the wrap up at the end of the day to go home— the walk through the parking lot that was awfully quiet now without either of you babbling about anything you wanted.

yuta would cautiously make sure that you weren’t in a room first before going in himself, or you would keep your distance from him on the field when capturing photographs, neither of you even looking at one another except for stolen glances— your eyes somewhere else while his somber ones were on yours, lingering there just up until you turned your head, his gaze switching off and replaced by you looking at him— a tangled up ball of guilt and heartache in your chest that hadn’t gone away since the day you argued.

it was obvious enough that your cheerleader friend noticed, along with nanami, the two of them gently questioning you every now and then about how either of you were doing... about why you weren't speaking to yuta, why he wasn’t speaking to you, the answer always the same every time they asked.

you both were just busy.

did they buy it? no. but they knew better than to question.

it was torture and fucked up for the two of you. you missed yuta... and you didn’t know if you could ever forgive yourself for hurting him in the way that you did.

and yuta should’ve known better than to assume he’d ever be a choice to you.

his lack of sleep grew worse, along with his self-loathing and misery, his body considerably aching all over despite him sustaining zero injuries during practices, him just— exhausted every day and mourning you even when you were standing just a few feet away from him across the field, beautiful and lovely and a girl that didn’t belong to him no matter how many times he wished and begged for it.

he was sick in the heart because of you.

“speak with her.” nanami spoke while rearranging his cubby, yuta sitting on the bench nearest to him with his head hung low.

“this has gone on for quite a while. enough of a while actually.”

yuta solemnly shook his head, eyes trained to the ground as he absentmindedly tugged at his fingers.

“i can’t.” he mumbled. “i really can’t.”

“because of your pride?”

“what? no.” he softly pushed. “it has nothing to do with that...”

“i’m failing to understand the issue okkotsu.” nanami sighed through his nose, pausing what he was doing to look at him from over his shoulder. “i thought you loved her enough to make amends.”

he faltered. “i— i do.”

“then speak with her—”

“the difference is she knows now nanami...” yuta picked his head up to match his gaze. “things can’t go back to the way they were i don’t— i just can’t do it.” he tiredly rubbed at his eyes. “i can’t be her friend anymore.”

yuta messed things up with you... you messed things up with him... there was nothing more to it. nothing more to do.

and the fact was quickly eating away at him.

nanami silently nodded then, moving around a bit to take a seat next to him on the bench.

“you’re correct.” he spoke. “she knows. she made her choice. there is nothing you can do.”

yuta's throat tightened.

“but if you love her enough to set your needs aside one final time, you’ll find that making amends with her will hurt far less than you leaving things the way they are.”

yuta looked away, his brows pinched together in gloom, a permanent frown stitched on his face.

“it’ll help you find peace okkotsu...” nanami continued. “allow yourself to have a bit of it by knowing you did everything you could to get her.”

a beat of silence followed.

“you’ll live to regret it if you don’t. i promise you.”

peace.

what even was that if you weren’t the one giving it to him?

with a heavy pat to his shoulder, nanami stood and grabbed his duffel bag, murmuring for him to consider it just before packing up the last of his things and leaving, yuta sitting there in his thoughts as the locker room vacated little by little, all the way up until it was just him and the slight buzzing hum of the air conditioning unit.

yuta sighed after a few moments and placed his hands on his knees to help himself up off the bench, silently walking over to his cubby to take his backpack and sling a strap over his shoulder, zipping up his jacket before making his way out of the locker room for the night.

he wondered when it was that you went home.

he wondered if reno was still being mean to you.

he wondered a lot of things as he walked through the empty stadium, entirely preoccupied in his whirling aching brain to pay attention to where he was going, his hands stuffed in his pockets with his head down— almost thinking it was comical how he’d lost practically everything in the span of one night.

yuta wished he was into tennis instead of football. he wished he wasn’t so bad at everything.

he wished he met you first rather than reno.

and he wondered who was the one crying as he stepped through the stadium doors to get to the parking lot, a chilly gust of wind brushing across his skin.

feet coming to a halt, his eyebrows furrowed and he picked his head up, looking around at the mass of cars and thinking he was going fucking crazy, failing to spot anyone at all— but the quiet sniffling very much there.

who was still here at this hour?

a particular hiccup then made him realize that he was in fact not going crazy.

and that it was you.

he moved faster than he even realized, legs hasty and his heart in his throat, all reason and rationale for not talking to you and avoiding you flying out the fucking window as he rounded the corner of the building, hands rushing to stabilize himself on the brick wall upon doing so, chest rising and falling and cheeks flushed—

to see you sitting on the ground against the wall, knees drawn to your chest as you hid your face in your arms and sobbed.

“y— y/n?”

you squeaked from where you sat and snapped your head up, your gaze locking with his and instantly wiping your cheeks upon realizing who it was, your heart internally breaking at you noticing how much darker the bags under his eyes were...

“oh fuck i'm sorry—”

shaking his bag off him to land god knows where, he unzipped his jacket and he swiftly made his way over to you.

“are you okay?! how long have you been out here y/n it's freezing—”

he kneeled and draped his jacket over your shoulders despite your weak protests.

“put it on.” he ushered, placing the back of his hand against your cheek while helping in slipping your arms through his jacket. “put it on please you’re really cold—”

a sob broke through you then, one that made him stop entirely, his eyes softening and shoulders slumping as he looked at you, properly for the first time in four weeks— your expression completely broken hearted and torn to bits.

“what happened?” he breathed out, pupils frantically scouring over your face as he cupped your cheeks, you taking him by surprise when you immediately placed your hands over his own and cemented them to you, gripping onto him.

oh god.

“shit don’t tell me it’s because of me y/n i— i'm sorry for hurting you i'm so fucking sorry—”

“it’s not you!” you cried, drowning in your tears. “it’s n— never you—”

“then what is it?” he gently pushed, and his face fell when you shook your head no.

“why not?” yuta tightened his hold on your cheeks just a bit. “please y/n i— fuck what happened with us that doesn’t matter at all right now—”

“i’m just stupid!” you wept, your eyes glimmering with chunky tears. “everyone was telling me to— leave and i didn’t li— listen—”

“y/n—”

“reno cheated on me!” you finally admitted, weeping in his hands.

...

yuta's pupils constricted.

“he what.”

but you could only nod, sobbing and hiccuping and choking back as much of it as you could.

“i found out today—” yuta hurriedly wiped your teary droplets as you bawled. “in— in the morning—”

“the morning?!” he exclaimed.

meaning you’d been holding this in all freaking day?

“some— girl messaged me on my socials a bunch of fucking screenshots and— and pictures and videos—”

“no y/n no...” he painfully breathed out. “you looked at all that?”

you nodded, and yuta authentically felt like beating the shit out of him.

“for how long.” he demanded. “how many times? just once?”

you sobbed harder.

“the entire time we were together!” you wailed. “i don’t get what i did— wrong i— hic!— i tried so fucking hard for us and put so much effort—”

“why are you blaming yourself? it has nothing to do with you it's him!—”

“because m’not enough!” you sobbed. “everything i did and i still wasn’t enough i don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“what?! nothing is wrong with you—” your head hopelessly drooped and yuta lifted it to grab your gaze again. “please you’re way more than enough i promise you y/n you were an absolute angel to that piece of shit moron and all he did was shit all over how sweet you are i— fuck man—”

he'd heard enough.

grabbing your arms, he placed them around his shoulders before wrapping his around your waist and hoisting the both of you up to your feet, snatching your wrist and walking.

“we’re leaving.”

“h— huh?” you wiped your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, trying your best to keep up with his fast legs. “yu where are we going?—”

“we’re going to reno’s place, you’re gonna break up with him and then you’re gonna go wait in the car while—”

“what?! no!" you dug your heels into the pavement and pulled at your wrist to stop him. “we’re not doing that we don’t need to do that!”

“y/n listen to me—” yuta reached and gripped your shoulders as you cried, his eyes wild and desperate. “you can’t stay with him after this please baby please!—”

“we’ve been broken up already!—”

he halted.

been?

“been?” he blinked in confusion. “wha— since— since when?”

you hiccupped and rubbed a fist into your eye.

“since the day we fought...” you sniffled. “i broke up with him that night...”

that was— four fucking weeks ago.

yuta let out a stunned pant, his hands unsteady as he used one to cup underneath your chin and bring your crying face up, gaze fixed on you.

“i don’t get it i—” he shook his head. “you chose him that night you— you stayed with him i thought that’s what you wanted—”

“no!” you bawled. “that’s not what i wanted—”

“but you said—”

“i want you!” you cried.

yuta's heart stuttered.

there was no way in hell this was real— yuta concurring that somehow he managed to fall asleep somewhere and now he was dreaming about something so fucking cruel—

“please say something...” you whimpered with a hiccup, and yuta slowly lifted a thumb to caress over your chin.

“you want me?” he softly asked.

you immediately nodded.

there's no way there was just no way—

“i’m so sorry for hurting you.” you sniffled. “it was— killing me so bad knowing that i hurt you and i can’t tell you how s— sorry i am that’s why i stayed away—”

“why’re you apologizing to me pretty girl...” he murmured, using his unoccupied hand to gently brush the strands of your hair away from your face. “you have nothing to be sorry for...”

“no i do!” you negated, voice cracking. “since we met you’ve been the sweetest boy ever and— and all i did was go on and on about reno without thinking about how you must’ve felt—”

“how could you have known y/n there was no way.” he laughed softly, using the hand under your chin to gently squish your cheeks together repeatedly. “now you’re just being silly.”

it had taken you long enough to realize that you were entirely and idiotically wrong. two years total to be exact. maybe even before that.

reno showed you that he supposedly loved you in flashy gestures and expensive gifts that had zero correlation to who you were as a person, he had buttered you up and sweet talked you, made you feel like you were it for him...

and all of these things conveniently happened in moments where he messed up and upset you, him so unbelievably good at manipulating and guilt tripping you that you remained blinded to it up until the moment you met yuta.

you genuinely didn’t know how in the ever living hell you were so fucking stupid.

reno never saw you for who you were, nor took the time to get to understand you, instead choosing to blame you for every misfortune that came your way or throw fits whenever you refused to allow him to get his way, him twisting the narrative every time into you being the issue— blatantly taking advantage of your loyalty and forgiveness and morphing it into something that would let him get what he wanted.

it was exactly that that prohibited you from seeing yuta.

because you had, but your frenzied devotion to making your relationship work with reno completely blocked it off, putting you into an endless pit of denial that only further sucked you into the toxic cycle that you let a man enable for so long.

yuta okkotsu was the embodiment of what a good person was supposed to be like.

he was pure, incredibly considerate of those around him and respectful, always full of everything good and everything he did was just overwhelmingly sweet, unlike anything you had experienced before from a man— one who was genuinely kindhearted in every aspect despite being pushed around by the industry he was involved in.

yuta saw right through you the minute he introduced himself to you on his first day on the team.

yuta knew you. he knew your likes and dislikes, the things that made you laugh or gag, the people you adored and the ones you couldn’t stand.

he knew you preferred silly photographs over the serious ones you had to take for work, he knew that you leaving behind your water bottle in his cubby at the end of the day was almost always a given.

he knew you loved cats. he knew you loved charms.

he knew you loved lilies.

and there wasn’t ever a moment where you had to explicitly tell him any of it. he just noticed and remembered. he made you feel seen without expecting anything in return.

he made you feel like you were worth someone to think about.

you really didn’t know when it was that you fell in love with yuta, and it was a very real possibility that it happened merely months into getting to know him, because it was yuta that unlocked a feeling within you that was entirely foreign and endearing and one you were afraid of letting in to make sense of, leaving you confused all of the time, too timid to abandon the false sense of conformity to address that it was yuta all along.

he was always the one and only choice for you.

maybe the reason why you pulled your weight so hard over everything with reno, wasn’t because you were trying to salvage the relationship... but because he just wasn’t yuta, you grasping at anything to force the puzzle pieces together— reno being all that you knew and terrified of abandoning it even if it was hurting you, stuck on the familiar instead of accepting that it wasn’t good for you.

your loyalty was in the wrong hands and you fucking knew that. you knew all along and tried to fill your own needs with the wrong person, because the right one was a little too late to the race— leaving you to give your all to someone else.

 and yuta loved you through it all anyway. without conditions.

“i don’t deserve you yu...” you fought back a new wave of tears. “you didn’t deserve me literally leading you on and— upsetting you with everything that was going on with me—”

his brows furrowed as you spoke, quickly shaking his head.

“baby what are you talking about?” he continued to wipe your newfound tears. “you never lead me on... i chose to stay. i did that not you.”

“and you shouldn’t have!” you sobbed. “you didn’t— deserve to be in pain like that—”

“stop telling me what i deserve y/n...” he breathed out a little squeaky laugh that made your stomach flutter. “i’m a grown man i can decide that for myself... okay?”

you sniffled and hiccupped, and he gave you a tender smile in response.

“i hated being away from you.” he whispered.

you'd never experienced your heart pounding as hard as it was until this moment.

“i hated being away from you...” you replied, hands coming up to wrap your fingers around his wrists, caressing them.

“and i love you.”

yuta felt his heart stop.

“m’sorry i didn’t tell you that night.”

it was then that yuta okkotsu realized he hadn’t exhausted all of his luck just yet, for the privilege of having someone like you love him was a solid testament that he still had a teeny weeny bit of it left— along with hope.

and he was glad to officially use up all of his fortune on you.

“where do we go from here?” he quietly asked. “whatever you need is okay with me.”

a gorgeous smile spread across your lips then, the first one he’d seen up close since the day you argued, and he flushed at the sight.

“i... i wanna try.” you nervously bit your bottom lip, yuta’s gaze locked there. “i wanna try with us. but is— is it okay if we go slow..?”

he lit up then, having to internally swallow down the giddy scream that threatened to escape.

“of course pretty girl!” yuta smiled wide, his thumb absentmindedly tracing over your bottom lip to gently untuck from your teeth. “whatever you want.”

your cheeks buzzed at a sudden thought.

“there’s something else i want...” you hummed. “if... that’s fine?”

curiosity spiked him and he instantly nodded.

“what baby?”

your grip slightly tightened on his wrists, ever so slowly standing on your tippy toes to lean in closer.

“for you to kiss me a little.” you whispered, and yuta’s pupils dilated, dazed and loopy in all that was you as he brought his own lips closer.

the moment was awfully familiar to the one you’d had in the locker room, except lovelier and a bit frosty— your cheeks cold and both your fingertips nearly going numb, your cloudy puffed breaths visible in the air as they fanned across your faces, slight heat tickling your mouths.

“tell me you love me and i will.”

you giggled.

“i love you, yu. very much.”

your noses brushed against each other’s as well as your mouths, yuta briefly biting on his bottom lip before releasing it, intoxicated by the fact that your soft plushy lips were right there for him.

he hummed.

“that so..?”

you knees nearly buckled.

“uh huh.”

“how lucky am i...”

and he engulfed your mouth then, lips softly smacking as they wrapped around each other, slotting perfectly and yuta just about whimpering by how soft your lips were— craddling your face in his hands as he moved and deepened the kiss, savoring it all and engraving it in his mind to remember for as long as he lived.

the flutters in your stomach went on overdrive with every shift of your mouths, the two of you literally having to pull apart for a millisecond to catch your breaths before you swallowed one another back in, your hands sliding up around his neck and his down to envelop around your torso and pull you in, kissing again and again— completely lost in what it was to finally be together.

the right way.

whether yuta stayed with his team or got traded really didn’t matter to him in retrospect, because he felt he had everything he needed already... experienced everything that he needed to experience, feeling that he played the best that he could and worked just as hard through it all to keep himself afloat. he was satisfied with it.

because through his football blood, sweat, and tears... it earned him you.

it earned him peace.

and that was all he needed.

“can you do a peace sign— yes! awww how handsomeee!—”

yuta boyishly laughed as he stood in the middle of the tunnel with you and posed, surrounded by buttloads of staff and media personnel and anything else of the like, him and his teammates gathered up— awaiting for their usual signal that it was time to run out on the field and commence the game with the starting kickoff.

your camera clicked as you snapped a couple of photographs, a series of bright flashes going off, the sight of yuta so compliant and grinning widely for you, the absolute glee on his face and the crinkles by his eyes... all worked in turning you into literal doughy putty.

“you look so cute yu!” you cheesed, lowering your camera and flicking through the photos you just took, a pink hue to your cheeks. “you look so happy in theseee!”

his own cheeks warmed and he diverted his gaze, wringing his hands behind his back and leaning up against the wall, fighting with himself to not reach out and grab you for the sake of keeping what the two of you had going on in private, to respect you.

but it was as if you read his mind anyway... because you giggled and stepped closer to him, putting down your camera and adjusting the strap so the device would lay by your hip, lifting your arms to loop around his torso and propping your chin up on his toned chest, his eyes snapping to yours then before breaking out into the biggest smile.

it was still so surreal to him more often than not that you actually loved him... that he got you in the end and that you were hugging him... or holding his hand... giving him sweet cheek kisses any time you’d pass by him in the halls or when he just got off the field from training, all that made him freeze and laugh like an idiot in front of you as he tried to get his head straight from it.

yuta was oddly more bashful and nervous around you than before, because now he knew that the feeling was mutual, that it had been, that he could do all of the things he’d craved doing with you— without the hundred pounds of guilt he carried on his shoulders because your heart was trapped elsewhere.

he was happy because you were happy. and healthy. and free from the torment that you mistook for love.

“what yu?” you gently spoke up, and he untucked his arms to wrap them around your head and pull you in closer. “you okay? you nervous?”

“i am.” he shyly cheesed, craning his neck to plant a kiss to your forehead. “but it's okay! i don’t care about what happens from here.”

you pouted and whined. “but i do! don't say that silly boy...”

it had been a couple of months since you and yuta reunited, agreeing to take things slow, no titles just yet, and go at a pace that was comfortable for the both of you, loving every moment of it as you went to ample farmer’s markets to look at pretty flowers or munch on some more sweet fruit, yuta taking you out on coffee dates or planning movie nights at his apartment with bratty rika, or even beach picnics— those being particularly your favorite as you sat along the warm sand and soaked in the heat of the sun, grubbing on the food you brought before deciding to dip your feet in the chilly water for a little while.

though yuta often had to mentally and physically prepare himself every time you went on beach dates, for the sight of you in a fucking bikini was one he had to tear his eyes away from and literally avoid looking at you just to keep the dent in his pants not dented.

it never worked.

but throughout these said months... yuta also played better.

he was still teetering along the lines of being the worst player and a god awful player, but he no longer fumbled the ball whenever he accepted passes from a quarterback, or misinterpreted signals and ran the wrong direction, or accidentally gave a defender from the opposing team the perfect opportunity to score a touchdown.

perhaps the football gods didn’t want to let go of him yet, for reasons he could not understand whatsoever.

because he was sharper. quicker on his feet. more purposeful in his play that was noticeable to the rest of his teammates— his coach and manager— yuta’s player stats slowly rising little by little, contributing to his team moving along the path to the superbowl game after game, time and time again...

until his team’s jagged road through playoffs landed them in the divisional round, which they miraculously won, him and his teammates now placed in the conference championships that dictated who was qualifying for the literal superbowl.

how it happened yuta genuinely didn’t know. he hadn’t been focused on that at all, and instead on what kind of pastry he should pick up for you to give you in the morning at the stadium, or if you were hungry after work and wanted to come eat dinner with him at the small diner down the street.

but if his team managed to pull through and win... yuta would get to stay.

“why baby?” he giggled squeakily, finding the genuine anxiety and frustration on your pretty face amusing.

“because you deserve more than anyone on this team to stay yuta...” you softly emphasized, and his lips flipped into a loving smile. “you’ve been working so hard... i don’t want you to settle for a different irrelevant team when you’re supposed to be on this one. with me.”

with you.

he tilted his head then, dipping his neck down once more to ever so gently graze his nose against yours, the echoey rowdy chatter and hollering of the hasty crowd around you both subduing to indistinctness, until all that was left was you and him and the pinks on your cheeks.

“you think so?” he murmured, and you sent him a warm closed lipped smile.

“i know so.” you replied, giving him a slight nudge to his nose yourself. “i promise you.”

he grinned.

“make them feel stupid?”

and you vigorously nodded, lips coming up to capture his in a cutey kiss that nearly made him black out, tightening his hold around your head and smothering you in even closer, your bodies completely flushed against each other.

you were so soft...

“i’m assuming you did more than make amends?”

your eyes snapped open and you separated your mouths with a little smack!, yuta’s arms sliding down to settle around your waist as you turned in his hold.

you beamed.

“nanami! how are you?! oh! come find me after the game i need to get shots of you fresh off the field and sweaty i got multiple emails from—”

yuta burst out laughing and nanami flushed up beet red, physically unable to compute what he’d just heard, his mouth opening and closing as he stared at the both of you and tried to regain his composure.

“i— who is sending you these—”

“your fangirlies! i told you.” you smiled sweetly, leaning back against yuta’s pad cladded chest. “there’s never a day that goes by that i don’t get requests for a swimsuit calendar i'm telling you they need your beefed arms out—”

“i’m going back to the original subject.” he muttered, and you and yuta slipped into a fit of little snickers and giggles, hunching over and having to clutch onto each other to keep yourselves balanced.

he smiled.

“i’m glad to see you two are doing well.” nanami continued, and your eyes softened at the tiny content quirk of his lips, a gentle one of your own spreading across your face as you listened. “i was starting to believe i had to intervene.”

you laughed some more and shook your head, stepping out of yuta’s grasp to walk up to nanami, swinging an arm up over his neck to bring him in a friendly hug.

“no kento it's okay we’re okay.” you pulled away and patted his shoulder. “but thank you for worrying anyway... and for being so kind to yuta.”

he chuckled under his breath, giving you a singular nod as you walked back to yuta’s side.

“being a few steps behind everyone else is not a sin.” nanami spoke evenly, his gaze switching over to yuta. “the accumulation of everything you endured has built you to be the player you are now. rest assured that your path will match mine and only get easier from here.”

yuta was touched by his words, though he knew that deep down he could never amount to the level of skill that nanami harbored, the very same play that set him to be in the hall of fame upon retirement, the blonde haired man being the sole backbone of the team that left many worried as to how it would survive once he was gone.

how yuta would. his only teammate to look at him in the eyes and see no difference between him and a good player.

“thanks nanami!” yuta brightly grinned, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. “i appreciate it... really i do.”

“two minutes ‘til kickoff! cheerleaders are wrapping up their set!”

nanami slid on his helmet and pulled the chin strap under his chin.

“i’ll see you both out there on the field, yes?” he snapped his buckles in place, securing the helmet to his head. “be sure not to be the last one to line up okkotsu. you have generous time with miss y/l/n now no need to worry anymo—”

“ahaha!” he blurted, his neck abruptly growing hot and the hold on your hand tightening. “ahaha i— i won’t heh! i'll be there in a second!”

and with one last nod nanami left, the two of you watching his broad frame slip through the hectic crowd until he was no longer in your line of sight.

you turned to yuta and flashed him a pretty smile, bending down to pick his helmet up off the floor and holding it in your hands.

“you ready yu?” standing on your tippy toes, yuta bent his neck for you and you slipped it on over his head, readjusting the strap so it’d fit snug— clicking the buckle secure.

“mhm!” he smiled, his hands coming to rest on your waist as you slid your palms down over his jersey, dusting it off and tugging any visible wrinkles out. “as much as i can be.”

you huffed softly through your nose and reached to loop your fingers through the bars of his helmet, gently bringing him to look at you straight on.

“just play my love... okay?” you tilted your head, yuta’s eyes taking a moment to scour over your gorgeous features as you spoke. “just play that’s all you need to do. you've done more than enough already.”

and he grinned then, tenderly as he squeezed your hips and touched his helmet with your forehead, resting it there.

“i will pretty girl, don’t worry for me.” he murmured.

he'd play for you.

and whether yuta got to stay or not it still didn’t matter to him.

but it’d be nice to keep seeing you in the bright early hours of the morning at the stadium...

wouldn’t it?

“wow ladies and gentlemen! it's been one tough and close game for both team’s just up until the last quarter, the scoreboard reads twenty eight to thirty one with the hawks taking the lead— jesus i can hardly stay seated!”

“you’re damn right! the heartliners have been making uncanny progress through this entire season going through the playoffs, and now they're being carried by an unlikely source— yuta okkotsu himself! can you believe it?!”

you gnawed on your nails as your eyes stayed glued the field with a hand on your hip, fingers anxiously tapping on your radio as you listened to the idiot commentators that for once weren’t pissing you off too badly.

yuta was playing like a fucking machine.

and you hadn’t seen him play this way before, with his gaze sharp and sort of feral like as he listened to orders or made calls himself, his chest heaving and his legs moving so unbelievably fast any chance he had the ball and tried to get it to the end zone, an aura of— authority to him that was entirely new to you and absolutely lovely to see firsthand.

because yuta never received the support and guidance that he should have to flourish and be the player his management kept getting on his ass to be.

but he did all of that on his own. without needing the favor or connections of anyone to do so.

and you were so incredibly proud of him and— and in awe of him that words genuinely couldn’t describe how you were feeling in that moment as you watched him play, your nerves on fucking acid and your hands literally trembling due to the fact that there was actually a chance yuta might get to stay, that he’d get to prove himself to everyone that stupidly refused to see what you had seen the second you met him.

potential.

it was the last quarter... getting down to the last final minutes... all they needed was a touchdown and yuta would get to—

“y/n?”

you froze, and you felt the blood completely drain from your face.

absolutely fucking not—

“i um—”

against your will you turned around, reno standing there with a massive expensive looking bouquet of flowers in his grasp, staring at you with guilty saddened eyes that did everything but make you feel bad for him.

“i came to say that i'm really, really fucking sorry about everything—”

your gaze dropped down to the flowers.

they were roses.

“—you deserved way more than what i gave and did to you and... you were always so good to me babe i'm— i'm sorry.”

your eyes moved back up, raising a brow.

“how did you get on the field? you need a badge for that.”

reno fidgeted from where he stood.

“i have a buddy that works for the media.” he explained. “i asked him for a favor.”

you remained silent.

“babe you have no idea how sorry i am...” he heavily sighed and took a step closer to you. “i’m serious i... i miss you like crazy and i was just so stupid... i shouldn’t have treated you the way that i did.”

“reno i really don’t have time for this right now—”

“—no please y/n please just hear me out—”

yuta was drained.

he didn’t even know what quarter they were in, or what the actual score was, his lungs literally burning with every inhale he sucked in to regulate his breathing, limbs aching so badly from being tackled to the ground so many times and doing the tackling so many times, his brain moving nonstop from the minute he kissed your cheek goodbye and stepped onto the field.

he was just going. and killing himself in doing so all in the hopes of contributing a tiny bit to his team and get to the superbowl, to make up for all of his previous fuck ups, to stay with you.

“okkotsu!”

yuta whipped his head around to see itsuki jogging up to him.

“are you still a shitty player?” he breathed out, sweat dripping from the sides of his face as he got to him.

yuta gave him a look.

“dude we’re in the middle of a game—”

“are you a still shitty player okkotsu.” he panted. “because i'm about to call a huddle, and i'm gonna explain to the rest of the boys that i'm passing you the ball to score us a touchdown and end the game.”

yuta's eyes flew open, head snapping to the scoreboard and realizing then that it was the last fucking quarter, that the opposing team was winning and they were minutes from losing unless someone made a score in the end zone—

holy shit holy shit—

“give the ball to rei.” yuta hurriedly spoke over the cheering crowd, his tone firm. “he has way more experience than i do and i can’t promise you—”

itsuki shook his head. “you’re faster than him. i need you to run straight down the sideline and beat your defender guy.”

itsuki took a step closer, holding his gaze.

“beat your guy and i throw you the ball. and you get to stay. with y/n. deal?”

yuta felt a pang of shock ricochet through his chest at his words, the fact that itsuki was actually not being a nuisance for once and— fairly solid, was an odd thing for him to see.

but his brows furrowed.

“how do you know about y/n and i—”

“when there’s a hot girl i watch.” itsuki shrugged. “she’s a hard one to miss. that’s why the two of you make no fuckin’ sense at all i mean— yes your stats are better for whatever reason but i would assume she’d be interested in a guy like me—”

there he was.

yuta rolled his eyes and drifted his gaze away in annoyance, letting him continue yapping his ear off about utter nonsense that he drowned out for the sake of keeping himself level-headed, his line of sight tracking over the packed stadium— flashing lights and thunderous hollering, the cheerleaders dancing on the sidelines, and you.

standing face to face with reno.

his face and heart dropped, shoulders slumping as he watched reno extend an absurd bouquet of roses to you... and you reaching out to accept them.

please no.

there was... you wouldn’t. right?

you... you loved him you said you loved him you—

you said you were done with reno that there was absolutely nothing for him to worry about that you— that you wanted to take it slow no titles that— why were you accepting his fucking roses—

you then whirled the bouquet up and smacked reno’s body with it, over and over left and right you were beating the shit out of him— deep red petals flying in every direction as reno cowered and hunched, flailing his arms out in defense.

oh thank fuck—

and yuta felt a heavenly wave of relief, immediately perking up and the frown on his face breaking out into the widest grin, giggling and snickering as he watched you confront reno in the way that you were.

“y— y/n!—”

“you think roses are gonna make me drop to my knees and suck you off?! you complete dumbass?!”

you wacked him once more.

“okay! i'm sorry i'm sorry!” he exclaimed. “i— i know babe i know i'm the biggest douchebag—”

“you cheated on me reno! our whole freaking relationship you were getting your dick wet behind my back do you really think i would ever want to get back with you?!” you yelled, your blood boiling hot and chest pumping from the adrenaline and hatred you had. “what kind of fucking woman do you think i am?!”

“the greatest one i ever had—”

you reeled your arm back and smacked him again, the bouquet merely made of stems now as he whined and cowered again, your eyes briefly catching your sweet cheerleader friend from behind reno— laughing her ass off, doubling over in choking gasps, pointing and nearly falling to her knees.

you would’ve burst out laughing yourself if reno hadn’t opened his fat mouth again.

“y/n please. i am begging you.” he reached for your hand and you snatched it away. “please babe you’re right i'm— i'm awful i'm god awful but—”

“you're more than god awful.” you spat. “and stop calling me babe it’s gross.”

“y/n—”

“get off the field before i hit you again.” you muttered, spinning around and walking over to the nearest trash bin, chucking the stems inside. “we’re done reno. don't ever try to talk to me again i'm being serious.”

“y/n—”

“get off the field reno!”

“babe—”

“SECURITY!”

“NO!—”

upon breaking the huddle, there were thirty seconds left on the clock as yuta’s team jogged to their positions for a line of scrimmage, the lot of them face to face with the opponent as itsuki stood behind them by the center, crouched over and awaiting to make the call.

the crowd grew louder.

“set!...”

yuta readjusted his footing, his heart fucking pounding and the blood rushing to his ears as he waited, breathing rapidly through his nostrils as he begged and prayed that he’d just do what itsuki asked him to do.

because he had no choice but to do it. there was no other way around it if he wanted to prove his worth and make his suffering worthwhile.

if he wanted to keep spending his days watching you take photographs from the sidelines...

“hut!”

fuck it.

the crowd screeched and yuta made a run for it down the line as the huddle dispersed, his legs moving astronomically quick, feet trudging along the grass with no intention of stopping, him briefly checking over his shoulder to confirm that the ball had successfully been passed to itsuki before returning ahead.

it had!

and yuta’s eyes widened upon realizing that the path was actively clearing up for itsuki to pass him the ball.

he picked up speed and barreled down to the endzone, hyperactively keeping track of his defender opponent running parallel to him to try and take him out and run a touchdown himself, watching him out of the corner of his eye, getting closer—

“okkotsu the ball!—”

when yuta shoved his shoulder to the left and knocked the defender clean off balance, refusing to give himself time to think about anything as he swiveled around and jumped for the spinning ball, catching it in his hands before landing on his two feet.

booking it to the end zone.

“what a play from heartliners very own itsuki and yuta! christ! what kind of game is this?!”

“the kind that proves even the worst players have something to give my friend! because the heartliners may have just earned a spot in the superbowl all thanks to okkotsu and his timing—”

“go yu go!” you yelled from the sidelines, jumping up and down while simultaneously taking an insane number of photographs, your heart in your throat and tears tickling your eyes at the incredible play you just witnessed by him, your emotions so overwhelming that you could hardly even properly do your job and take the damn pictures.

you were so so so proud!

the crowd grew even louder, beer droplets flying everywhere and fans from yuta’s team begging him to keep running, to ignore whatever the fuck the other team was trying to throw at him to get him to trip up—  everyone at the edge of their seats and your hands in your hair—

when yuta threw himself to the endzone and landed, scoring an official touchdown and marking the end of the game.

marking his place back on the team.

you screamed and hollered and cried as confetti cannons burst and celebratory horns blared through the atmosphere, the cheerleaders screaming and hollering themselves because they get a chance to dance at the superbowl, and you finally getting to see yuta be appreciated by the football industry and community like you’d wished for all along.

they'd finally listen. and see that yuta okkotsu was a force to be reckoned with.

you got back into photographer mode and clicked away— taking pictures of practically everything and anything, the fans, the team, the scoreboard, though taking extra time and effort to photograph yuta in particular being rightfully celebrated by his teammates, them surrounding him in tackling hugs and pats on the back that made you giggle.

but after a few moments, you saw yuta break through the crowd through your camera lens.

and was jogging his way straight to you.

your eyes blew out and you popped your head up, putting your camera down and readjusting the strap.

why was he..?

you watched as he jogged faster then across the field, unclipping his helmet before yanking it off and throwing it somewhere on the grass, you standing there totally confused with your tummy fluttering the closer he got to you.

“yu!” you called once he was of earshot, though he didn’t stop and continued, him on the brink of standing in front of you when you spoke again.

“yu— hey what’s going on why aren't you out— EEEEEKK!—”

yuta grabbed you by the back of your thighs and hoisted you up around his waist, smashing his lips to yours and muffling the rest of your words as he proceeded to speed walk through the sidelines, down the long tunnel and down another hallway until he got to the utility closet, all while smothering you with his mouth.

“yu baby!— mmpf!—”

he kicked the utility door open and shut it with his foot, shuffling through some more to get to the table in the back used for storing padding equipment, dropping you down on it and you letting out a squeak in reply— his lips not once breaking from yours.

your heart bounced around as you gently pushed on his chest and tried to get your words out.

“yu—”

“i don’t wanna wait anymore.” he breathed in between kisses, his hands clutching and kneading at the meat on your thighs. “i’ve waited two years i don’t want to.”

your tummy flipped at his words, losing yourself in his desperate kisses as he continued.

“m’so sorry but— i can’t take it slow anymore—” his swollen wet lips slid down to the space under your jaw and you gasped. “i love you and i want you— shit— so fucking much please pretty girl be mine please—”

you frantically nodded, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his wet tongue lapping up your neck, your arms around his head that pulled him in even closer, his own hands doing the same thing and rolling his hips up to meet the ache in between your legs.

“yes yes i will yu—”

“you mean it..?” he hotly spoke against your neck, moving his sloppy sucking over to the other side of your jaw and grinding. “you’ll be mine baby..?”

“uh— uhuh! i do i swear to you—”

yuta felt like he was on a cloud that was bigger and better than cloud nine, him literally swallowing you up as you shot a hand on his shoulder to keep you balanced, the other clutching his jersey as you rutted your little cute hips in rhythm with his, a feral delighted smile slowly curving his lips that you felt against your skin.

he finally had you.

"you gonna let me do what i want with you now..?"

jesus his words were making you lose it.

"mhm— pant!— a— anything you want—"

yuta's hands slid down to your torso, squeezing and rubbing at your sides while he sucked your neck before they trailed even further down, a palm settling on your waist and the other slithering its way in the space between your legs.

"make some room for me pretty girl..." he murmured, and you listened— parting your legs and him immediately sliding his hand to your clothed pussy, working you there and applying pressure that made you choke on a gasp and shudder, bucking your hips up.

he brought his head back up to level with you, his lips grazing yours as he spoke.

"this okay?" he whispered. "you like it?"

you gave him a ditzy nod that he loved, moving to hook a finger under the waistband of your jeans and slightly tugging.

"you wanna loosen these up so i can play with your pretty pussy for a little?" yuta hummed, and you just about collapsed, a loopy little smirk curling his lips. "just enough so i can feel you baby? you'd let me?"

you didn't even give him a response, you were incapable with how desperate you were for him to touch you and do whatever the fuck he wanted with you, you basically hypnotized as your hands went down to unbutton your jeans, popping it open and yuta licking his lips at the little peek he was getting of the waistband of your lacy panties while you tugged your jeans down a tad.

"goood baby—"

he helped you the rest of the way and stopped just at the top of your pillowy thighs, his blood rushing everywhere as he proceeded to impatiently slip his hand in your panties— you squeaking and flailing your hands out flat behind you on the desk.

dear god the amount of times yuta had fisted his cock to the thought of this exact scenario...

"you're so warm." he murmured, his greedy little fingers feeling you up and slotting in between your pussy lips, you already so fucking wet and squelchy, heat rising to your face at how loud you sounded as he played with you, fingers brushing your sensitive clit.

you were so embarrassed...

you gnawed on your bottom lip and shyly peered up at him with rosy cheeks, a hand coming up to cup your mouth as you whined.

"m's— sorry..."

he breathily chuckled, finding you oh so incredibly cute as you hiccuped and whimpered with every dragging rub of his fingers, drunk off of how much of your juices were coating his hand, your hips chasing after his every move.

"for what baby..?" yuta placed his unoccupied hand on the desk before lunging forward, his puffy chest gently colliding with your front and pulling you down flat on your back with no other option, a high pitched gasp! slipping from your throat as you looked up at him.

"for this?"

he plunged his index and middle finger inside your leaky little hole, you letting out a surprised moan that made you slap a hand over your mouth to shush yourself up, your face fucking burning now.

"you're so silly." he laughed, giving you no time at all to adjust to his long fingers as he pumped them in and out of you and shoved his face back into your neck, planting his mouth in the space just below your ear to slobber, you turning your head the other way with a slack jaw and heaving chest. "if anything i need you louder—"

you were quite literally trapped underneath him... and you were fucking obsessed— in a state of fuzzy euphoria as he continued to finger you in such a way that pulled more obscene sloshing noises from your pussy, you whining and helplessly lifting your hips at how fast he was going.

yuta almost dug his nails into the wooden desk as he supported himself.

he can't cum in his pants he can't cum in his pants—

—but shit you were being so agonizingly beautiful in this moment as he moved— rapid and desperate, needing you to make a mess on his hand while he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot that had you mewling louder, squealing and arching your back off the table.

"you felt that baby?" he lapped and sucked at different parts of your neck, drool trickling down your skin— the desk rattling with his jerking arm and you jolting underneath him by the force, him getting a perfect view from the corner of his eye of your tits deliciously bouncing from your low cut top.

"god your pussy's swallowing my fingers i can't even pull them out." he huffed. "such a pretty greedy girl..."

"mmm yuuu!—"

your hand shot to his wrist and gripped it, though that did nothing in halting his jack hammering movements.

"what... you trying to stop me now?" he lifted his head to catch your fucked out gaze. "you bad little fucking thing..."

your mind was going through a whirlpool, having difficulty processing how a sweetie boy could speak so filthily to you and scold you in the way that he was.

"'cause i could." he hotly continued. "'i'll give you what you want and stop right now—"

"no!—"

you pulled both your hands up and away from his work, your shiny glazed eyes staring up at him, pleading.

"please no yu i'm— m'gonna cum!—"

"yeah?" yuta wildly grinned. "but i dunno if you deserve it baby... you broke my heart trying to pull my fingers out—"

you sniffled and frantically shook your head side to side in a panic. "no please! i'm sorry yu i'm so so sorry please i need— i didn't mean to!"

"mmm..." he pondered, and that only made you more desperate, quickly cupping his cheeks and bringing his face down to mush your lips against his, your kisses fast and sloppy as you tried your best to tongue him down through his fingering.

"please— mmpf— please baby—"

yuta's knees almost gave out, letting you ravish him and slop your tongue all over his mouth for a few moments before he slightly pulled back, panting against your lips and feeling how tight you were clenching on his fingers.

"good thing i can never stay mad at you."

and you fucking came, a white hot flash flooding through your body as your limbs locked up, moaning and choking‚ your thighs clamping around his hand while trying to keep your high pitched squeals to a minimum, not knowing when or how long it was until you seemingly came back down from the cloud you were riding on.

you laid there, both of your chests pumping and breaths misty, your brain trying to rewire itself back into place through the numb fuck you just went through, yuta peppering tiny little kisses along your jaw that aided in pulling you back to him.

when he suddenly detached from your skin and dipped down between your legs—

“w— wait! yu!—”

“mm?” he hummed, coming back up with a happy loopy smile on his face, only to lip lock with you again.

yuta could not get enough.

“you should—” you panted. “—be out there celebrating my love i—”

“i don’t give a fuck.”

you laughed against his mouth and forced a bit of separation, both of your chests rising and falling as you looked at each other— lips plumped red and cheeks flushed.

“why not?” you pouted, sliding a hand through his slightly sweaty raven locks, softly caressing. “you deserve to have them see and appreciate you yu and all your hard work. let them please...”

he gave you a loving tender smile then, his twinkling eyes boring into yours as he squeezed your thighs a little.

“you’ve done that this entire time.” he murmured, nudging his nose with yours. “that’s all i ever needed.”

you shyly blushed and rested your forehead against his, the both of you slipping into a fit of lovesick giggles then as you held onto each other, completely wrapped in a warm fuzzy atmosphere that consisted of no one else but of just you and him.

together.

the strings on your pinkies finally untangled and thicker.

yuta spent the majority of his life not knowing how he ended up playing football in the first place. it was something that he simply just couldn’t remember.

but the reasoning became abundantly clear to him as the days passed.

when he met you. when he befriended you through pathetic stutters and fumbles.

when he realized he’d fallen in love with you.

when he went to the grocery store during his thirty minute break to buy you a bouquet of lilies, standing there in line while he received odd looks from other customers because he was bulked up in his uniform, doing it all with absolutely no requirements because he adored you. so fucking much.

when you saw him through a lens that was entirely your own despite everyone else telling you not to.

and that's exactly the reason why life had pulled and insisted and nagged for him to keep playing football even through his embarrassing failing trials and tribulations.

why it had made him the luckiest boy alive.

so he’d cross paths with you, even if it was at the price of being the worst player on his national football league team.

for he was honored to be it.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

The café had stilled in that moment. Even the old espresso machine, which was usually hissing and wheezing about, seemed to fall silent. 

Panda’s hand froze mid-air, halfway to his muffin. Toge’s mutter died on his tongue. Even Maki had lifted her gaze, holding an expression that was dangerously close to surprise. Because it is not every day a bride walks into this café. 

Your eyes dart across the room — frantic, urgent, desperate to find someone, and it’s only when your eyes find him that he realises — it’s him. You were searching for him. 

At that realisation, he lurched up to stand at once. It was a little too clumsy, too sudden, as though his seat had grown immediately hot.

He thought he should speak, ask something rational, like what are you doing here? Or say something gentle, like asking if you were okay, but his tongue felt thick and lumpy in his mouth, sodden just as the dirty hem of your white dress. 

So when you began to speak, he almost sighed with relief.

“Yuuta,” you said, his name softened between your lips, and your whole face seemed to ease.

“Oh, it’s so… I’m so happy you’re here. I didn’t know where else to go. I just— I left. I left him, Yuuta. I was standing there, staring at the aisle, at him, at all of it. The expensive flowers. The expensive carpet. The expensive champagne, and suddenly it was like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do it. So I ran. I just— I ran.”

Yuuta isn’t sure what he can say to that.

It’s loaded, so he doesn’t know where to start asking questions. He simply stares at you. And then turns back to see his seated friends, as though one of them will ground him away from this dream that he seems to have slipped into. Because it is a dream, right?

But when Panda only gave a low whistle in response, it was the kind that seared the reality of the situation into his brain.

“Now this,” Panda had said, leaning back, “is better than Love Island, my friends.”

He knows now that this is real. And you’ve apparently left a wedding. You had agreed, once, to marry someone else, and then you hadn’t. This is an afterthought he tries to suppress, given everything else that’s staring him stark in the face. But he does think it, even if it were only for a moment.

Maki crossed her arms then, watching you closely. “You’re dripping mud all over the floor,” she comments, but her voice doesn’t come out with any sort of sting, but rather as an observation.

You looked flustered, but ignored the comment as you took Yuuta’s hands, clutching them with a desperation that made his heart stumble out of his chest.

You were cold to touch, and he wonders if he should give you his jacket.

“I don’t want to be who I was,” you confessed now softly. “I was this girl who lived in a bubble. I looked at him, Yuuta, and I thought— this isn’t it. This isn’t my life. This isn’t me at all. And all I could think was… I needed to find a friend. A friend who knows me.”

It’s out of place to hear this confession from a person he hadn’t seen in years now, but everything about this situation was out of place.

You belonged at the end of an aisle, and he belonged here.

You were meant for cathedrals and champagne halls, and he was meant for a chipped mug of coffee and a menial job. Yet, you were here holding his hand. 

It was all out of place. 

—

The group, to Yuuta's surprise, was astonishingly well-composed in the wake of your situation.

Toge and Panda had gone to the counter to get you something warm. Maki, whose name, you would only learn later, had wordlessly stripped a navy shawl from her own shoulders and flung it across yours in a gesture that was brusque.

And then there was Yuuta.

Yuuta was crouched before you, perched on the low table opposite. His body was tilted forward as he stared intensely at you. You didn’t blame him, though the intensity of his stare, mingled with the realisations of what you had just done — of the words you had mumbled to him, of the man you had abandoned, of the people whose names would be lighting up your screen, of the entire state of your life — all of which had suddenly all come boiling to the surface. 

And sitting there, clutching the borrowed shawl tight around your shoulders, you felt the shame and embarrassment rise sharply in your throat.

“Are you okay?” Yuuta tried, the words falling clumsily from his mouth.

And immediately he realised how stupid that sounded. Are you okay? What a ridiculous and pathetic question. Of course, you weren’t okay. People who were okay didn’t abandon weddings midway through. People who were okay didn’t search, wild-eyed, for the face of a boy they hadn’t seen in almost half a decade. People who did this were — undeniably, certifiably — not okay.

He glanced sideways at Maki, who was already looking at him like he was the dumbest man alive.

He gulped. He wanted, very sincerely, to punch himself in the face.

“I just feel like someone has reached down my throat, and has grabbed my small intestine, pulled it out of my mouth, and tied it around my neck.”

The description was grotesque, or even dramatic and childish, but it was the truth of your body.

“If you get me,” you attempted to add, your voice dropping to a meek, apologetic murmur.

And at that, Yuuta really wanted to punch himself in the face. He should be saying something, anything to distract you from your situation — to make your world lighter, but where could he begin? He knew nothing anymore. Not about you, not about the person you had become, not about the life you had just abandoned.

“I am glad to see you, though,” you added softly. “It’s strange. I haven’t seen you in years, but you’re my only true friend I’ve had in such a long time.”

“A friend who wasn’t even invited to the wedding,” Maki remarked. Her voice was sharp, but the remark itself was plain. It didn’t feel accusatory, but more so — observational. 

“Maki,” Yuuta protested, however, as his chest was tightening.

“We did drift apart,” you admitted, eyes not leaving his. “But you would always be my friend, Yuuta. You know that, don’t you?”

He could swear your eyes twinkled just then.

—

You sat with both hands curled around the hot chocolate. The porcelain of the cup radiated a simple and welcoming warmth that you clung to, sip after sip, while they all stared at you. There are questions simmering beneath their tongues, you can feel it, but the warmth of the cup around your palms, the warmth of the drink down your throat left you a bit listless, and comforted — that you didn’t mind. You simply sipped on the drink as they watched you like some exotic creature they were meant to study. You look up now, at the group, and then at Yuuta. “Can I borrow your phone?” you asked, quietly but firmly too. “I need to call my father.”

Yuuta startled, cleared his throat, already reaching for his pocket. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

You handed him the empty cup, the porcelain had tints of red from your lipstick, and he exchanged it for his phone. You stood up and drifted to the far side of the café, for privacy, he assumes. 

“Who is she?” Panda asked first, his voice sly, delighted by the scandal at hand. “Don’t tell me you were having an affair with an engaged woman. How perverted is that?” He paused, grin widening as he looked at her now. “Kudos, though. She’s pretty.” Yuuta’s brow knit, irritation flashing across his face. “It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “I haven’t seen her in years. She’s just— an old friend. We grew up together. We don’t even talk anymore.” His voice trailed off. It’s all out of place. “And yet,” Maki murmured, arms folded, eyes narrowing in clinical interest, “she runs to you as she leaves her future husband. Isn’t that interesting?”

Yuuta hesitated, words catching. Then, softly, almost pleading, he said, “I mean… look at her. She doesn’t seem like she has a lot of good friends. She probably just needed someone outside of those circles. Her family— they’re the rich kind, you know. They’ve got their own world, their own orbit. I don’t know why she’s here, but I’m assuming she has no one else.”

At that, he could visibly see Maki soften, her shoulders relaxed. You were not the threat afterall. You were just a woman with a family of idiots. 

“That’s… kinda sad,” Panda said in response, voicing what everyone was feeling. And for once, his voice held no joke at all. It was sincere. 

You stood by the window, with the phone pressed to your ear. You almost wish he wouldn’t pick up. You didn’t want to face this reality of yours. This life you lived. You wish you could start a new one here, with Yuuta and his odd group of friends. 

When your father’s voice came through, it was clipped, cool, controlled — as though you had interrupted a board meeting, or worse, humiliated him by existing in the wrong place.

“Where are you?” he demanded, without any effort to establish a preamble. “Come back. Now.”

You swallowed. “I left.”

“I am aware,” he said. “You have thirty minutes. Return.”

“No,” you whispered.

“Speak up,” he urged. He hated it when you mumbled to yourself. Meek. Weak. Small. 

Your voice was trembling, though you forced it to sound steady. “I couldn’t—” You failed. “I could not do it, Papa. I tried. I really tried, but when I looked at him… I wanted to leave, and so, I did.” 

You pressed your hand against the cold glass, the rain outside smearing the city into indistinct lights. Something to steady you, you tried to focus on the colours. 

“I only wanted to apologise to you and Mama. I love you both. And I’m only sorry for that. For abandoning you to deal with this for me. But I never wanted it, and you knew it.” 

You clutched the phone tighter, as though by holding it you might tether yourself to something familiar, but the voice on the other end was not safety. It never was. 

“Goodbye,” you said then. Final. Ending. “I hope you forgive me.”

When you lowered the phone, the café seemed to tilt, the air thinning around you. Your stomach hollowed, your skin prickled. You wanted air. You wanted your bed. 

“Are you alright?” Yuuta’s voice cut through cleanly into the fugue — steady, warm, and concerned.

You turned, slow and uncomposed. Your eyes were rimmed with red, and before you could reason your way through it, you closed the distance between you and him. You all but collapsed into his arms.

He was startled and nearly lost his footing until he steadied himself. Then he steadied you, pulling you upright into his hold. His arms folded around you as his palm pressed to the back of your head in a slow, patting you now. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured. He repeated them anyway, again and again, slowly, until the sound itself became a tether. A mantra. A spell. And the more he said it, the more you began to believe it. 

When your sobs stopped, as the deep tremor in your chest had flattened down and softened, you pulled back. The world may look a little blurrier now, but you felt lighter, too.

—

There wasn’t a lot left to do now. The evening had already begun to fold itself into routine, the kind they all knew by heart. Usually, it was Maki who left first — she had a strict regimen, physical health scheduled into her life with the same precision she levelled at everything else. She stood, gathering her things, then fixed the two of you with that measured, sharp-eyed stare as you held her shawl out to her.

“Thank you for the shawl,” you said, a little awkwardly. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied, matter-of-fact. Then, after a beat: “You’ll be fine. Ask Yuuta for my number if you need a place to stay. My roommate’s moving out, actually, so the timing is sort of perfect.”

Your eyes widened, catching faint light from the café’s low lamps. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Maki said, shouldering her bag. “Just, it’s not a big deal. Just be… cool.”

“I can be cool,” you said, feeling defensive all too suddenly, though grateful at her proposal. You hadn’t mapped this out realistically at all. Where would you stay? How would you pay for things now?

Panda lasted another half hour before lumbering up from the couch, crumbs trailing from his shirt. He clapped Yuuta’s shoulder with a heavy hand that left an ache long after, rolling through Yuuta’s bones.

“You have so much to tell me,” he said, grin spreading wide, teeth flashing. “Can’t wait to see you Monday.”

It sounded less like enthusiasm and more like a threat. Yuuta frowned as Panda winked, shambling out into the drizzle with a parting wave.

That left Toge. He lingered the longest, nursing another cup of tea in silence, his gaze flickering between the two of you. Eventually, he stood, setting his empty mug down with a small click. Yuuta rose automatically, and you followed — nothing really left to do at the café but leave. Still, the act of standing felt imposed, almost abrupt, and guilt nipped at you, the faint sense that you had been a burden this evening.

Outside, the air was damp and cool. Inumaki hesitated by the door, then glanced at you once, at Yuuta, and back again. Without a word, he shrugged off his own coat — a dark woollen thing, faintly scented with smoke and tea — and draped it carefully over your shoulders

“Salmon,” he murmured, tone soft, almost tender.

You turned to look at Yuuta, feeling tended to, but confused nonetheless. 

Yuuta, fumbling for clarity, added, “You can return it next time you see him.”

“Thank you,” you said, still confused but clutching the coat closer around yourself.

Yuuta watched, throat tightening. Something faint and warm filled his chest, blooming against the night chill. “Um, what do you want to do now?” Yuuta asked. His voice was gentle and unassuming, as if the question cost him nothing particular or grave. Like the energy it took to move a muscle at best. 

You blinked, a half-smile breaking through on your face. You expected he’d bid you farewell and wish you good luck on your way. And this would be the end of this.  

You would preside after this evening only as an anecdote, a funny story to be told at parties.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, feeling lighter than you’ve felt in a year. Then, sheepishly, you speak up. “I’m hungry.”

For the first time in a long time, you heard Yuuta laugh. It’s a quiet, incredulous, almost disbelieving laughter. 

You smiled. His laughter always carried this particular alchemy.

It pulled you back, just a little, to an image of a boy — slight and sunburnt, and a girl — bright and unburdened. To summer afternoons that were filled with knee scratches and ice creams, where time had stretched itself out for you and you alone. Where his laughter accompanying your own meant the evening would be well-lived and light. 

Now, you’re here, years later. 

“I have a bike,” he said suddenly. “I can drive us up to the high street.”

You blinked. “You have a bike,” you repeated, tone incredulous, baffled, impressed, but baffled nonetheless. 

Because the Yuuta you remembered — scrawny, awkward, scared of his own shadow Yuuta — had somehow grown into this. Into a man who rode a bike. Into a man whose jacket stretched slightly over the curve of real muscle, whose hands looked steady enough to hold both the handlebars. 

The thought invoked something strange within you.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. 

Still awkward, you concluded with a smile. Still him.

The rain had eased into a mist, soft enough to blur the streetlamps into trembling halos. Yuuta wheeled the bike out from the narrow row where it had been chained, the frame slick with water, the metal gleaming in the half-light. It wasn’t anything glamorous — but a sleek red motorbike, well-worn yet polished, the kind of machine that spoke of quiet care. You noticed it immediately, how clean it was despite the weather, as though he’d taken time to tend to it, to keep it shining.

And yet, seeing him swing his leg over it, steady and confident, made something twist unexpectedly in your chest. A strange contrast to the boy you remembered, awkward and hesitant. This was new, unfamiliar — and it unsettled you in ways you weren’t prepared to admit.

He glanced at you then, his expression caught somewhere between soft pride and embarrassment. “You, uh… you’ll have to hold on.”

The words made your pulse stutter. He said them with such plain practicality, and yet.

So you slid onto the seat behind him, hesitating for a beat before wrapping your arms around his middle. His body was warm even through the fabric of his jacket, the steady rhythm of his breath grounding you against the cool, damp air. You hadn’t realised how cold you’d been until now.

Yuuta stiffened, just slightly, then exhaled, adjusting his grip on the handlebars. “Ready?”

“Mm,” you murmured, your cheek brushing against his shoulder.

And then you were moving. The bike hummed under you, wheels hissing against the rain-dark road. The night opened itself up in streaks of light and shadow — shopfronts shuttered, puddles gleaming, the occasional car spraying water as it passed. The air rushed past, damp and sharp, tugging at your hair, carrying the faintest scent of soap and rain from his collar.

—

There were only a precious few places open at this hour. It was that liminal hour between early night and late evening. This was when the city was pausing for a brief moment to start the night — commuters were seen to be returning to their flats, and the noise emanating from cafés was thinning down to a lull as they started closing down. Yuuta was racking his brain for the different possibilities of cuisine, but the truth is, the options were few and very limited.

Yuuta walked beside you after parking near the stretch everyone colloquially called “food street,” and was turning this task over in his head, as though the very act of deciding on food were a kind of responsibility he must shoulder for you. Almost reverently, for your sake.

His mind ransacked through all the possibilities — the ramen joints with neon lights on side streets, but too shabby, and perhaps too makeshift for you. You would be a pale flare in that kind of place, the white of your dress catching every eye. Worse yet, someone might assume he was your husband and think him a figure so careless enough to drag you here on your wedding night.

Convenience stores, he thought, were too sterile, lit with fluorescent bulbs, though he suspected you hadn’t had the opportunity to have a proper meal all day. He imagined you standing there outside the store in your wedding dress, peeling back a corner of film from a microwaved meal, and recoiled. He wanted to give you a meal that wasn’t pre-sealed in plastic. 

He could cook for you, he thought briefly. But the idea felt awkward, inappropriate. He hadn’t seen you in years. And you were a lady, after all. 

As though he was caught in a well-timed play, his eyes immediately caught sight of red lanterns glowing above a narrow wooden doorway. He had seen this place before, always in passing, and always from the corner of his eye when he was on his way to the laundromat, but never saw a real opportunity to enter. He wasn’t one to eat out often, besides the occasional social obligations he was invited to. He preferred cooking at home. It was a private ritual he liked.

He slowed, then turned to you. Your gaze was already drawn to the lanterns.

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice soft, tentative.

You looked at the doorway, the lanterns, the promise of something warm and sustaining, and then back at him. 

“Honestly,” you replied with a tired smile. “I could eat anything right now. It’s a free game.”

And so, you entered, slipping beneath the lanterns.

The interior was smaller than you had expected. There were long counters of dark wood, and some fake green plants were scattered around the corners. 

There was already a bunch of patrons on occupied tables, people who seemed to be mostly office workers still in suits hunched over their bowls and plates. The air was thick with the fragrance of grilled fish, miso, and the faint scent of the bitterness of charred onion. You would eat well tonight, at least.

At the entrance stood the proprietor, who was a middle-aged man with his hair pulled back into a low knot, and his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. He looked up as the two of you entered, and you could tell he attempted to repress his surprise at seeing you in your state. 

“Table for two, then?” he asked, his demeanour reverting to a calm assurance of someone who had seen all sorts of late-night guests pass through his doorway.

Yuuta nodded quickly. “Yes, please.”

The proprietor gestured you toward a small table tucked into the corner. You were grateful you wouldn’t catch the eyes of most of the patrons from here; you were half-shielded. 

Yuuta hovered for a moment, awkwardly, unsure whether to pull the chair out for you or pretend he hadn’t thought of it, and in his hesitation, you had already firmly seated yourself with a heave of sigh, smoothing the damp folds of your dress. He followed, sitting opposite you now — dejected by his lateness.

For a moment, neither of you spoke before Yuuta picked up the menu, eyes skimming without really reading. The truth was, the act of choosing a meal seemed suddenly impossible, just as choosing a place to eat did.

You leaned over your own menu, propping your chin on one hand, watching him. Intently, he would say. 

Finally, he looked up, as though catching your gaze. “Um,” he said, clearing his throat. “They have fried chicken? And, uh, a few noodle bowls. Do you—” he hesitated, “uh, want me to pick, or—”

“Yuuta,” you cut in, grinning before you could stop yourself, “I told you. Anything. I’d probably eat the menu itself if they deep-fried it.”

The waiter arrived with two glasses of iced water, setting them down with a clink. You reached for yours immediately, the cold, sweating glass delicious against your palm, and took a long swig.

“So,” you spoke up, as you propped your chin onto both your hands. “Tell me then.”

Yuuta blinked. “About?”

“About your life, I mean.” 

The clarification didn’t quell any of the weight for Yuuta. 

You’ll admit you did not know how to ask this without sounding intrusive, nor how to stop once you had begun. 

“What do you do now? For work, I mean. Do you have a wife? Is your favourite ice-cream flavour still vanilla?  What made you start riding bikes? I never, in all my life, expected to see you on a motorcycle. You look—” you paused, then smiled at him, “you look cool.”

Yuuta smiled back, a little sheepish. “I work as a physical therapist. I help people with rehabilitation after injuries, surgeries… that sort of thing.” 

You considered this for a moment — and yes, it made sense. A vocation rooted in gentleness, in patience, in touch. If anyone was suited to gently coaxing people back to their bodies, it was Yuuta.

He went on, “I still like vanilla, I guess. I haven’t thought of it much, but I like butterscotch lately. I ride motorcycles because they’re cool, like you said. And because my father used to.” 

A small, boyish tug crossed his mouth at the thought.

“And I don’t have a wife… not yet, at least. ”

You laughed softly at that, not unkindly, but with something between amusement and disbelief over his sheer sincerity. A lesser person, you thought, would have parried, would have given you one answer, or would have given you none at all. Yuuta, in his way, had offered you everything you asked. It was just his nature to do so. 

“Well, butterscotch makes sense. They’re practically the same,” you mused, leaning back in your chair now. Your back feels relaxed against the slope of the chair. 

“They’re not,” he said quickly, not defensive so much as insistent.

“They’re the same,” you grin. 

Then there was a beat. It was not awkward, but suspended rather. 

“And you know,” you added lightly, “the rest… It’s good to know.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Just sort of acknowledges it the way one lets the silence do. 

And so, the food arrived. 

You squawked it down elegantly as you could. And Yuuta, for his part, managed to manipulate the utensils and plates on the table, quietly, to push more food toward you. Sliding dishes closer to you, turning bowls so they faced your side instead. 

You must have eaten ten times more than he had. And you didn’t complain either, not as the lightheadedness that had strained you all evening began to disappear out, leaving with each full bite.

Eventually, the plates emptied out, leaving the table looking strangely naked. And though you were full, you felt a strange emptiness in realising that the night had come to its natural end as you both made your way outside. 

“So,” Yuuta said, after a moment.“I can call Maki. You could stay with her tonight, if you need someplace to stay. Or… if you have a place, I can take you there.”

“I don’t—” You stopped yourself, almost like you were recalibrating.  “I don’t have a place, and I really do appreciate Maki’s offer. I probably will take it. But…” 

Then, suddenly, you drew inward into yourself and grew shy, in a way he had never quite seen you before. 

“I just… I don’t know her. I’m sure she’s nice, but could I stay with you instead?”

His eyes grew in size over that. His apartment was small. His place is really only meant for one. But he could move, he thought. He could make space somehow.

You hurried to correct yourself. “J—just for tonight, I mean. I feel like I’m all over the place today.”

“O–of course,” he said, almost meekly. “I can take you to my house. For tonight.”

And so you hopped onto his bike again. The ride back became a scrunched rush of sensations — the street signs slid past you in a haze of bright flashes, the wind was needling through your clothes, the soaked weight of your wedding dress billowing against the wind. And without notice, you had managed to nuzzle further and further into Yuuta’s back, drawn by the heat. Something he didn’t miss, not when the contact stopped his breath in small.

— 

By the time you two reached his apartment, the rain had dimmed in its volume, mere dust specks falling at an asynchronous pace. 

Yuuta parked beneath the narrow space for parking outside his building. The engine died, and the sudden quietness settled.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your arms were still around him.

“We’re here,” he said softly, not daring to be the first to move. 

You blinked, as if coming alive from a dream now, and slowly unwound yourself from him. The absence of your touch left a phantom warmth in its place. Yuuta swallowed against it and swung his leg off the bike, steadying it before offering you his hand.

You took it without hesitation, as you followed him upstairs. 

You climbed the stairs together, your dress grabbed carelessly in one hand. It left faint damp prints all over the cemented steps. He lived on the first floor, so it wasn’t much of a trek, but after the day you’ve had every movement had slowly started to feel like a chore. 

He fumbled slightly with his keys at the door and turned before opening it. “I didn’t know I’d be hosting,” he muttered, embarrassed.

You smiled as you looked down at the state of you. The brown ends of your garb, the wet hair — “I think I’d be the last person to care about that right now, Yuuta.”

The apartment was tiny, as he’d warned you on the ride back home. A neat entryway. A quaint little kitchen to the left. A drab green sofa facing a television. A bookshelf that was, surprisingly, full —  of manuals, novels, rehabilitation texts stacked in a certain order you couldn’t make sense of. 

But it was clean.

And it was warm inside. 

“I’ll uh… make tea. You can take a shower.”

And so, you did. 

The bathroom was filled with steam that cleansed you whole, almost a baptism. Water ran over your scalp and down your spine, rinsing away the day’s dirt and the rain.

When you got out of the shower, wrapped in a dim blue towel, you walked out to the sight of clothes neatly arranged on his bed. 

You dressed slowly — donning pants that fit you just about, and a large hoodie that swallowed you whole. The fabric sat heavy and warm against your skin. It smelled faintly of detergent and something sweet that brought you comfort.

When you stepped back into the living room, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, with two mugs in his hands.

He looked up.

And then his gaze stopped. The hoodie hanging loose at your thighs. The bare legs, and then his eyes shifted away. 

You shifted your feet to cross the room slowly. 

“Thank you,” you said, taking the mug from his hand, your fingers brushing his.

“Careful,” he murmured, watching as you brought the mug to your lips. “...It’s hot.”

You settled onto the green sofa, tucking one leg beneath you, blowing softly over the surface of the tea. He remained where he was, leaning against the counter.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” you asked, one eyebrow arched. 

He felt his throat tighten as he walked up to place himself beside you on the sofa, leaving a careful inch of space between the two of you — a morally measured inch.

He puts the television on, his only saviour against the awkwardness of the silence befalling. There is a channel that’s playing a reality show of some sort — the ones that have giant balls of cushions that contestants seem to be bouncing off of. It’s strange, but it’ll do, he thinks, turning to look at you, to find you oddly invested. 

He smiles. 

You finish your cup eventually, placing it down on the table with a clink as you no longer seem invested in the TV but more so, his face. 

You keep turning to stare at him, and he notices this in his periphery but can’t bring himself to meet your gaze. 

And when he finally does, moments later. “I should get the bed ready for you,” he said, already half-rising.

“Don’t go,” you said, immediately as your hand closed around his.

He stops. 

“What?” he had managed to breathe out. 

Your thumb rubbed against the top of his hand. “Just stay for a bit.”

He sits, noticing how you don’t let go of his hand. You seem enamoured by his hand and its anatomy, running your hands across and over it as though you were a sculptor trying to understand the shape of him. 

He doesn’t say anything, as he sits there feeling every touch of yours — it scorches against his own skin. Marking him whole. 

“We need to sleep,” he said as he felt your movements slowing, though his voice lacked conviction. “Eventually.”

“Must we?” You tilted your head, mischief skimming over your features. “Can we not stay up all night like we used to?”

“I have work,” he says. But what he really wanted to say was he’d stay up all week for you if you had simply asked. 

“Right,” you said, dejected if only for a moment. “I’ll let you go then.”

But neither of you moved.

He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a thought, one that’s been brimming to the surface ever since you walked into the cafe to find him. 

“You left your wedding,” he said, plainly. 

“Yes.” You met his eyes without flinching.

“And you came to me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

And then the room seems to contract around him.

“Yuuta,” you say. His name is careful in your mouth. Delicate. 

He waits. His pulse is unpleasantly loud in his ears.

“Don’t you know why?” you said, your eyes low now. 

Something in him breaks just then.

He breathed in before he leaned toward you. It wasn’t sudden, not when he had imagined this for years despite his wits asking him not to. He stopped mere inches from you, as he waited. For you to initiate this, for you to come to him. 

And you did — meeting his lips halfway, pulling him into a kiss. The contact was warm, your lips moved against him languidly, like you both had all the time in the world.

His hand rose at last, tentatively finding its way to what he could grab first — your waist. You drew him closer in reply, your fingers sliding upward, curling up the fabric of his t-shirt sitting on his shoulder. 

The absurd laughter from the television carried on as you continued to kiss, tongues lapping against one another for the very first time. 

He’s sure this is a memory that will etch itself in his brain for eternity to come. 

Yuuta pulled away after a moment, his lips still close enough to brush yours. 

“Are you su—” 

You kiss him again, firmer this time, though still tender. It is an answer, or perhaps a refusal of the question.

“S’okay,” you murmur when you part. Your forehead rests against his.

“You left me,” he says. 

“I did.”

“For years.”

“I did.”

“Don’t ever—” He stops. His heart aches just then as he tries again. “Again—”

“I won’t,” you say. You don’t hesitate. “I won’t ever leave you again, Yuuta.”

You think, distantly, that this feels more binding than anything you might have said at your wedding today, standing in front of your family, standing in front of that stranger for a fiancé. 

“Don’t just say that,” he warned, though his voice had softened, as though he remembered the hurt all over again. 

“I do not,” you answered. “I missed you too much to leave you again.”

He drew you closer this time, to let your head settle beneath his chin, as his cheek rested against your hair.

“I kept thinking about you,” he says eventually. His voice vibrates faintly against your temple. “Even when I tried not to.”

“Yeah?” You say. Curious, wanting to know the deep imprints you had left on him.

“Yeah,” he said. “All through college.”

“Today,” you say carefully. You hear hum in response. 

“When I was getting ready, I was left alone for a moment. The moment before I’d have to go out and walk to the altar,” you continue. “I thought that the dress I was wearing felt too tight, and I never wanted a veil, but my mother wore one, so I had to as well. And I thought about the last time I felt happy — I mean, truly happy — was when I was a teenager.”

Yuuta doesn’t say anything, but you notice his arm enclosing you further into him. He’s warm against your skin. 

“And now I don’t know what I’m doing. I ran,” you said. “And now I’m here with you.”

He exhales slowly, his hand moving along your arm. “You don’t have to decide everything tonight,” he says. “You don’t have to decide the rest of your life tonight.”

You tilt your head up at him. “But I already did one big thing. Life-changing big thing.”

“You just ran from a wedding,” he says gently. 

A small huff of laughter leaves your mouth. “You always did that.”

“Did what?”

“Make things less catastrophic,” you added. “That’s part of why I ran to you today. Well, that and you know.”

“Yeah,” he says plainly. He knows. 

You shift, drawing your knees up slightly, turning toward him more fully. “Are you sure about this?”

“What about?” He asks, surprised. 

“I’m a burden,” you say. 

“You’re never a burden,” he replies immediately. 

“No,” you say, your finger coming up to hush him. “Listen to me, I have no skills outside of sustaining an audience of wealthy people. I have a degree that I didn’t enjoy. And I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m a burden”

“Like I said,” he says then. His hand comes up to brush your hair back. “You don’t have to think about that tonight. And it’s okay, I’ll take care of you until you figure things out.”

“You think I can just… reappear and take up space in your life again?” You ask.

His jaw flexes. “You already have.”

You reach up, smoothing a wrinkle near his collarbone — a meaningless gesture, an excuse to touch him again. “You’re not angry?”

“I’m just happy you’re here with me,” he admits. He thought it was only ever possible in his dreams. Now that you’re here, it was hard to hold any resentment he had built up. 

And you then at some point you’re helping him place the cups back as you sit and watch him make up his bed for you.

You walked up to him now. 

“Thank you,” you say, though you knew the words feel insufficient.

“Of course,” he replies quickly. “Do you need extra pillo—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you suddenly inched forward to kiss him. Your hand loops around his neck as his hands find your waist. And he keeps kissing you fervently and your mind wanders, onto images of him in college kissing other girls. It’s a silly thing — to be bothered by a version of him that you left and hurt, finding solace in other women. 

You fall onto the bed at some point with him over you, he pulls back. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, smiling up at him. “You were asking me something?”

He laughs, but it catches in his throat. He looks away, as if the ceiling suddenly had a large stain.

“Yuuta,” you rasped. “Look at me, please.”

You moved his face to make him meet your imploring gaze. You found his expression to be open, almost boyish in its vulnerability.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits, ducking his head into your neck, away from your eye contact again, “You make me nervous…”

You run your hand through his hair, grazing up and down his nape. He likes the sensation. He thinks he could rest here forever. 

It was safe to say that you were aware of your effect on him, whether it was physical, as you feel him against you now, or mental, but hearing it out loud is different. 

“I make you nervous?” You ask, trying to maintain a sense of mischief in your tone, but it simmers down and is overpowered by a genuine curiosity and amazement.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up at you now. “You always have.”

At that, you scrunch your brows. It’s a brief reflex of disbelief. “Not always. We were friends, weren’t we?”

“We were,” he says. We are. “But you made me nervous. You just didn’t see it back then. You always made me nervous.”

“Why?”

“You were so pretty,” he says, strangely unabashed.

“You are,” he says, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger there, grazing your temple, your cheek. “You are pretty.”

“So pretty,” he murmured, bending down to kiss your neck now, no doubt tomorrow you’d be blessed with flurries of red kisses all over your neck. 

You clothes didn’t last long on you after that and you soon found yourself bare atop his bedsheets as he licked and sucked his way along the vast skin he had since left exposed. 

He was moving so languidly, but you were wound tight like the string of a bow. 

“Yuuta,” you said then, as you was leaving kissing your stomach. “You’re good at this.”

“Thanks,” he says briefly, too invested in kissing down your abdomen. 

“No,” you say, pulling his head up forcefully now. “You’re really good at this. Had a lot of experience in college, did you?”

He looked up then, just with his eyes to gauge if this was a real concern or if this was you being you. Teasing. 

“Always knew you’d be a possessive one,” he said plainly. 

“The most,” you said with a pout. 

He came back up then, kissing your cheek.

“Good,” he replied softly. “Means you plan on keeping me this time.”

“Hey,” he said again, more softly. “Was that a real question?”

You hesitated. That was answer enough.

“I dated,” he confessed simply, his arm moving to hold your hip. “A little.” Honest as always. 

Your stomach dips.

“But it was never…” He pauses. “It was never you.” Honest as always, you think again.

You frown faintly. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m not just saying this.” His thumb moves absently against your side. “I liked some of them. They were kind. But I always knew it was you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed plainly. 

“And you?” he says then, coming back down to kiss your stomach. “You were about to marry someone.”

That one lands, as you find him inches away from your clit. 

You swallow.

“He was,” you admit as he was about to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Boring.”

And then your knees part, your cunt is fully on display. And you don’t think you’ve ever felt this bare before. You watch in your own awe as Yuuta licks his lips and finally presses his mouth to your clit.

You have an instant reaction, what with the way you buck into his mouth and release a struggling moan. His thumb seems to massage your outer lips, with his tongue trailing up and down your folds. 

His lips suction against the bundle of nerves, with his tongue caressing the nub right after. Rolling up and down as he groans into you.

You can’t hold back the string of moans and whimpers that emerge from your throat, your eyes roll back into your skull, as your legs vibrate, your hands yank on Yuuta's hair, before you find your brain turn to mush. 

He comes back up, his mouth slick as he says, “Think he could do that?” with a smirk. 

Your hand comes up to brush your thumb along his jaw. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“You were gone for years,” he says. “Think this is the least I’m allowed.”

“Oh, is this payback then?” you ask.

“Not payback,” he says, his hand coming down to finger your slick pussy. “If you’re enjoying this, can it be considered payback?”

“Yuuta, please,” you whimpered, your hand reaching out for whatever skin of his they could find purchase in.

“Please what?” he asked gently, kissing the corner of your mouth as your hand moved to feel his shoulder blades.

“Need you,” you whined, turning to kiss him. You pulled back, “Now.”

“Need me?” he repeated your words against your mouth.

You nodded.

Yuuta reached down to guide one of your legs up and bent back towards your hip, looping it to rest in the slope around his waist.

He took his cock in hand, moving up and down against your clit a couple of times before he pushed in. 

It was a welcoming burn as he moved a couple of times before you adjusted to the sensation of him inside you.

Your hands slid up to brush against the short strands of Yuuta’s undercut. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, then placed a soft kiss against the corner of your lips, as though soothing you through the stretch.

“More,” you pleaded, pulling him into the crook of your neck.

Yuuta snapped his hips up hard into you, sheathing himself entirely inside of you. A moan tore out of you again. 

“Shit,” Yuuta breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he kept moving. “You’re so pretty.”

You trembled beneath him, your eyes drawing down to the sight of him pulling in and out, in and out, you were mesmerised at the sight of him, sweat sheening as he looked so vulnerable for you.

He set a rhythmic, steady pace, it was almost languid. His movements weren’t quick, but rather, they were deep, pressing you down into the mattress so hard with every move of his hips.

His thumb came down to brush against your clit, gently at first and then a little firmer when he saw the way it made your expression go glassy and unfocused. 

“I’m gonna come,” you declared. “Kiss me.”

And so he did, bending down as he kept his movements steady, kissing you deeply. 

“‘m close too,” he groaned against your lips now, coming up to brush another unfocused kiss against your forehead, as his panting breaths caught on. 

And then you came, your legs trembling as he kept moving. Soon after, he did too, craning down to crash his mouth to yours, his hips stuttering.

Yuuta collapsed beside you, catching his breath as you moved to fall onto his bare chest. Like clockwork, his arms gathered you against him, slowly then drawing circles against your back.

The adrenaline that carried you through the evening has finally begun to dissipate, leaving only a heavy drowsiness in its wake.

Your head droops heavy against his chest.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmurs.

You shake your head weakly in protest. Your fingers have slowed against him. Your breathing has deepened.

“I don’t want to sleep,” you admit softly. “I want to stay up and talk to you all night.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” he replied, voice mirroring your softness, as the circles on your back never falter.

You swallowed.

“I feel like if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up back there.”

He didn’t hesitate. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” His hand flattened briefly against your spine, firm. Present. “You’ll wake up tomorrow to a tray full of breakfast and some flowers.”

That made you lift your head. Just enough to look at him.

“You’re getting me flowers?” You smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “Now that we’re…” he trailed off, still too timid to admit it.

You tilted your head. “Dating?”

“…Yeah.” The word came out softer than before. “I’ll buy you flowers every day.”

A tired laugh slipped out of you, warm against his skin.

“That’s a bit much,” you murmured, shifting so you could see the small, earnest curve of his mouth.

“Oh?” he said, one brow lifting. “Thought that was the kind of treatment princess was used to.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before leaning in to press a slow kiss to his lips.

“Princess will settle for kisses every day for now,” you said against him. “If that’s okay.”

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating beneath your cheek as you settled back down. His arms tightened, just slightly, as you listened to his heartbeat.