#college!reader

you and bucky are the tower's most unlikely duo.

not because you're a stark and he's the winter soldier, though that's part of it. it's because you're all bright, chaotic energy and he's quiet, steady, calm. you're a supernova and he's the still, deep space that contains it. somehow, it works. perfectly.

you were the one who cracked him open, not with force, but with persistence. you didn't treat him like a fragile artifact or a lethal weapon. you just... treated him like bucky. you'd plop down next to him on the common room couch, steal his fries, and complain about your business law professor with the same breath you'd ask if he wanted to watch a documentary about deep-sea creatures.

he'd grumble, of course. a low "hm" or "don't want to" was his default. but he'd always stay. he'd watch the documentaries. he'd listen to your rants, and slowly, the grumbling turned into quiet hums of agreement, then into actual sentences. now, he'll debate with you about the logistics of deep-sea exploration and offer to help you study for business marketing by quizzing you with flashcards he makes himself.

your friendship is built on a foundation of shared mischief. you're the mastermind, he's the surprisingly willing accomplice. you once replaced all of sam's wingpack gear with glitter-filled replicas. bucky's job was to create a diversion so you could make the switch. his diversion? challenging sam to an arm-wrestling match in the middle of the kitchen. it was glorious. you've superglued clint's arrows to their quiver, put pink dye in steve's shampoo (which, to everyone's disappointment, just made his hair look shinier and blonder), and convinced natasha that a new, highly sensitive alarm system had been installed in the gym, forcing her to move in exaggerated slow motion for an entire afternoon before you both burst out laughing.

bucky's laugh is rare, a deep, rumbling thing that feels like a personal victory every time you coax it out of him.

and then there's the nyu thing. you're tony stark's daughter, but you're not just riding on his name. you're brilliant. top of your class at stern, a whiz with numbers and strategy, a natural-born leader who just happens to be able to recite the entire history of the avengers initiative. you're a dedicated student, and you actually enjoy going to your classes.

which means bucky walks you to class.

it started as a security thing, a tony-mandated precaution that bucky, with his stealth and observation skills, was perfect for. it quickly became your ritual. he'd wait for you by the tower's private entrance, an iced vanilla latte in his hand for you, his own black coffee in the other. the walk through washington square park became your time. you'd talk about everything and nothing. your classes, the latest missions, the terrible music someone was blasting from their apartment, the way the sun hit the leaves.

of course, two famous faces walking through nyc every day doesn't go unnoticed. the tabloids had a field day. "stark heir and winter soldier: nyc's hottest power couple?" read one headline. another featured a blurry photo of him handing you the coffee, captioned "secret lovers' rendezvous?" you and bucky found it hilarious. you'd read the articles out loud to each other, adding your own dramatic commentary.

"oh, bucky, darling, our secret is out!" you'd swoon dramatically against his shoulder.

"guess we'll have to go public," he'd deadpan, a smirk playing on his lips. "friday, start planning the press conference."

you're not dating. you're just... you and bucky. you're oblivious to the way his eyes soften when you laugh, and he's oblivious to the way your heart does a little flip when he remembers exactly how you take your coffee. everyone else sees it, though. natasha gives you these knowing looks. sam makes obnoxious kissing noises whenever you're in the same room. tony just sighs and mutters about "potential property damage" whenever bucky is near his daughter.

tonight is different, though. it's tuesday, which means it's your night. your secret. the one thing you do that's just for you, completely separate from being a stark, avenger, or a public-figure.

you're pulling on a worn-in nyu sweatshirt and some jeans, a yankees cap on your head, and grabbing your tote bag from the hook by your door, when a quiet voice makes you jump.

"where are you going?"

you spin around. bucky is leaning against your doorframe, right outside your cracked open door, arms crossed over his chest. he's wearing a simple black henley and jeans, his hair slightly messy. he looks... soft. domestic.

"jesus, bucky! you're like a cat." you clutch your chest. "i'm just going out."

"it's almost nine." he pushes off the doorframe, his brow furrowed slightly. "and it's raining. where do you go on tuesday nights?"

you hesitate. you love your secret. the shelter is your sanctuary, a place where you're not ‘tony stark's daughter’ you're just the girl who's ‘really good at socializing the scaredy-cats’ you're just a volunteer.

"it's nothing," you say, a little too quickly. "just an... errand."

he tilts his head, his blue eyes narrowing just a fraction. he knows you're lying. he always knows. "it's raining," he says again, his voice lower. "i don't want you walking around the city alone in the dark. in the rain."

you sigh, knowing you're not going to win this one. and a small, traitorous part of you is actually happy about it. "i can take care of myself, you know."

"i know," he says, stepping closer. "humor me."

so you tell him. you explain about the "paws and reflect" shelter, a small, underfunded place in the east village that takes in the hardest cases. the cats no one else wants. you explain how you started volunteering there a year ago, looking for something normal to do with your hands, something that wasn't studying or saving the world.

he listens intently, his expression unreadable. when you finish, he just nods.

"can i come?" he asks.

your eyes widen. "what? no. it's my thing."

"i know," he says softly. "but it's late, and it's raining, and i don't want you going alone. i won't get in the way. i'll just... sit in the corner. i promise." he looks so earnest, so genuinely concerned, that you feel your resolve crumbling.

"fine," you grumble, grabbing your keys. "but if you scare any of the cats, i'm leaving you out on the streets."

the rain is a light, persistent drizzle, blurring the city lights into watercolor smears as you drive. driving in the city is always a pain, and you’re not very good at it, but you insisted on driving, not trusting bucky's "i learned in the 40s" driving skills in manhattan traffic. he doesn't argue, just slides into the passenger seat of your sensible yet stylish suv, the one tony bought you for your "safety." you never really wanted it, not from ungratefulness, but because you never liked driving. except, after the avengers became public figures, taxis were not much of an option.

the shelter is tucked away on a quiet side street, a small storefront with a hand-painted sign of a cat chasing its tail. the inside smells faintly of antiseptic and... well, cat. but it's a warm, comforting smell. rachel, the night manager, looks up from behind the front desk, her face breaking into a warm smile when she sees you.

"hey! you're a little later than usual." her eyes flick to bucky, who's hovering awkwardly by the door, looking like a 200-pound assassin who's accidentally wandered into a knitting circle. her smile widens. "and you brought a friend."

"rachel, this is bucky," you say, trying to sound casual. "bucky, this is rachel. she keeps this place from falling apart."

"nice to meet you," bucky says, his voice quiet. he offers a small, polite nod.

"you too," rachel says, her eyes twinkling. "any friend of our best volunteer is a friend of ours. she's a miracle worker, you know. got oliver to come out from under the bed last week. he's been there for six months."

you feel a flush of pride. "he just needed to know someone wasn't going to grab at him."

"well, you're the only one he'll let near him," rachel says, shoving a clipboard at you. "usual chores. litter boxes need changing, food and water top-ups. it's pretty quiet tonight, most of the adoptions were done this afternoon."

you loved this shelter because it offered you a profound sense of normalcy. here, you weren't some untouchable figure to be revered; you were just another pair of hands, given tasks and told where to help. it was a complete escape from your reality.

you take the clipboard and turn to bucky. "okay. so, the rule is, move slowly. no sudden movements. let them come to you. don't stare. blink slowly. it's like... cat sign language for 'i'm not a threat'."

he nods, his expression serious, like you're giving him mission briefing. "slow movements. no staring. got it."

you lead him through the facility. it's not fancy, but it's clean and warm. rows of crates and pens line the walls, each containing a cat or two. some are sleeping, curled into tight balls of fur. others watch you with wide, curious eyes. a few hiss from the back of their cages, a low, warning sound.

you hand bucky a scoop and a bag of food. "you're on food and water duty. i'll handle the... less glamorous stuff."

he takes the scoop without complaint, his eyes already scanning the room, assessing it with the same focus he'd use on a recon mission. it's almost funny, seeing the winter soldier treat a bag of dry kibble with such solemn gravity.

you get to work. the rhythmic scrape of the scoop against the bottom of food bowls mixes with the quiet meows and the distant rumble of the city. you're in your element here, moving from cage to cage, speaking in soft, murmuring tones. "hello, jasmine. you look beautiful today. here you go, mittens. dinner is served."

bucky is surprisingly good at this. he's quiet, his movements economical and precise. he doesn't try to pet any of the cats, just fills their bowls and refills their water, his presence a calm, non-threatening constant. you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you finish cleaning the last litter box. he's crouched in front of a cage containing a huge, grumpy-looking orange tabby who is famous for swatting at anyone who comes near.

"his name is garfield," you whisper, walking over to stand beside him. "and he lives up to it. don't take it personally if he tries to take your hand off."

bucky doesn't look at you. his focus is entirely on the cat. he slowly extends his hand, not to pet, but just to rest near the bars of the cage, palm up. garfield flattens his ears, lets out a low growl. bucky doesn't flinch. he just stays there, a silent, steady offering. after a long moment, garfield relaxes, just a fraction. he inches forward, sniffing the air near bucky's fingers.

"see?" bucky murmurs, his voice barely audible. "he's just scared."

your heart does that stupid little flip again. he's not just looking at a stray cat; he's seeing a reflection of himself. of something that's been hurt and is lashing out because it doesn't know how to be gentle anymore.

"yeah," you say softly. "he is."

you finish the chores in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft padding of your feet on the linoleum and the distant purr of a contented cat. the shelter feels different with him here. not invaded, but... shared. like a secret you didn't know you wanted to tell.

"okay, that's the last of it," you say, wiping your hands on your jeans. "we just have to wait for rachel to do her final rounds and then we can go."

you lean against the counter, and bucky leans next to you, his shoulder just a breath away from yours. the space between you feels charged, warm. the rain outside has picked up, tapping a gentle rhythm against the window.

"you're really good with them," you say, breaking the quiet.

"they're simple," he replies, his gaze fixed on the rows of sleeping cats. "they don't want anything from you except a little patience and some food. no ulterior motives."

"unlike people," you say, a wry smile touching your lips.

"unlike most people," he corrects gently, and he glances at you when he says it, and the look in his eyes is so open, so sincere, it makes your breath catch. "not you, though."

you feel your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly find the floor pattern absolutely fascinating. "well, i mean, i do occasionally want to steal your fries."

a low chuckle rumbles in his chest. "that's different. that's... friendly fire." he teases.

you laugh, and the sound feels too loud in the quiet shelter. you both fall silent again, but it's not awkward. it's... nice. it's the kind of quiet you can sink into.

"why this place?" he asks after a moment. "why not a big, fancy shelter? you could get your dad to fund one, name it after you, the whole nine yards." 

you shrug, picking at a loose thread on your sweatshirt. "that's the thing. i didn't want it to be about me. i didn't want to be 'tony stark's daughter, the philanthropist.'” you said exaggerating and nodding. “i just wanted to be... me. scooping litter boxes. i don't know. it feels real. here, i'm not a nepobaby or an avenger. i'm the girl who knows that oliver under the bed prefers pâté to chunks." you said jokingly.

he's watching you again, that intense, focused gaze that makes you feel like you're the only person in the world. "you're not a nepobaby," he says, his voice firm.

"bucky, i literally got into nyu because my dad has a building named after him there."

"you're at the top of your class," he counters. "your dad's name doesn't get you a's on your exams. you do that."

the way he says it, with such absolute conviction, makes something warm and gooey spread through your chest. you're used to people dismissing your accomplishments, assuming they're handed to you. bucky never has. he's the one who stays up with you when you're cramming for finals, quizzing you until you can recite business economic principles in your sleep.

"thanks," you mumble, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

"it's just the truth," he says simply.

you're about to say something else, something equally sappy and out of character, when a tiny sound cuts through the quiet. it's not a meow. it's more of a squeak. a pathetic, little mew.

you both turn toward the sound. it's coming from the last pen in the row, the one usually reserved for new intakes that need to be kept isolated. you walk over, bucky right behind you.

inside, all by herself, is the tiniest kitten you've ever seen. she's pure white, with fur so fluffy she looks like a little cloud. one of her ears is folded over, and she has the biggest, bluest eyes you've ever seen in your life. she's shivering, her whole body trembling, and she lets out another pathetic little mew.

"oh, you poor thing," you coo, automatically unlatching the cage door. "where did you come from?"

bucky crouches down beside you, his expression softening into something you've never seen before. it's pure, unadulterated awe. "she's so small."

you reach in slowly, letting the kitten sniff your fingers. she hesitates, then butts her tiny head against your hand, purring a motorboat rumble that seems way too big for her little body. you gently scoop her up, cradling her against your chest. she immediately burrows into your sweatshirt, her tiny claws kneading the fabric.

"she was probably abandoned," you say, stroking her soft fur. "she can't be more than a few weeks old."

bucky reaches out with his flesh hand, his movements impossibly gentle, and strokes the kitten's head with one finger. the kitten looks up at him, blinks slowly, and then licks his finger. a smile breaks across his face. a real, genuine, breathtaking smile that reaches all the way to his eyes.

"she likes you," you whisper, your own smile matching his.

"yeah," he breathes, his eyes glued to the tiny creature in your arms. "she's... perfect."

you both just stare at her for a long time, completely mesmerized. she's a tiny, fluffy ball of perfection, and in that moment, you both fall completely, irrevocably in love.

"we should name her," bucky says, his voice still hushed.

"alpine," you say immediately, the name popping into your head without thinking.

he looks up at you, his blue eyes wide. "alpine?"

"yeah," you say, a little embarrassed. "it's just... she's white, like snow. and it feels... peaceful. you know?"

a slow smile spreads across his face. "yeah," he says softly. "i do know."

you're both still staring at the kitten, who has now fallen asleep in your arms, when the reality of the situation starts to dawn on you. this tiny, perfect creature is here, in this shelter, and she needs a home. your home.

"bucky," you say slowly, your eyes meeting his. "what are we going to do?"

he knows exactly what you mean. the smile fades from his face, replaced by a look of pure panic. "the tower," he says, his voice a horrified whisper. "your dad."

"and steve," you add, your own voice rising in panic. "he'll probably have an allergic reaction just from looking at her." i guess the super-serum doesn’t take away all weaknesses

"and natasha will try to train her to be an assassin," bucky says, his eyes wide with terror. "sam will try to put her in a tiny flight suit."

"and my dad will build her a $50 million robotic litter box that will probably try to take over the world," you laugh, the full, horrifying weight of your decision crashing down on you.

you look at each other, the same manic, determined gleam in your eyes. it's the same look you get right before you execute a really good prank.

"we're doing it, aren't we?" you ask, a grin already spreading across your face.

he looks down at the sleeping kitten, then back at you, and a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. it's the grin he gets right before he agrees to one of your terrible, wonderful ideas.

"yeah," he says, his voice filled with a terrifying resolve. "we're doing it."

the next twenty minutes are a blur of covert operations. you sign the adoption papers with a speed that would make a cheetah jealous, scribbling your name on the dotted line while rachel gives you a knowing look and a small cardboard carrier.

"be good to her," she says, her voice warm.

"we will," you and bucky say in unison, which makes you both pause and exchange a look. it's too synchronized. too domestic.

the drive back to the tower is the most nerve-wracking experience of your life, and that's saying a lot considering you once watched your dad fly a nuke into a wormhole. you finally let bucky drive. alpine is awake now, mewing pitifully from her carrier on your lap.

"shhh, shhh, it's okay," you whisper, peeking through the little air holes. "we're almost home."

Bucky keeps glancing in the mirrors, tapping a nervous rhythm on the dashboard. "Alright, so what's our cover story if we get stopped?" he asks with a grin. "I give it thirty seconds before Friday's assembling a strike team. Or should we just go with the truth and hope your dad doesn't kill us?"

"He won't kill us," you say, rolling your eyes playfully. "It's just a... a project. For my, uh, biology class. Very hands-on. he’ll appreciate the educational aspect” you add, nodding and shrugging.

"a project with fur and claws that sheds," bucky corrects grimly.

you use your private entrance, the one that leads directly to the residential elevators, bypassing the common areas and the main lobby. it's late, past midnight, so you're praying everyone is either asleep or on a mission. the elevator ride up to your floor is silent and tense. you hold the carrier, and bucky stands so close to you that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

"okay," you whisper as the doors slide open. "phase one: get her to my room undetected."

"phase two: survive the morning," bucky adds, his eyes scanning the empty hallway as if this was a co-op mission.

you creep down the hall, a ridiculous, covert operation involving two highly trained individuals and a two-pound kitten. you reach your door, and you fumble with your keycard, a stupid stark security quirk, your hands shaking slightly. the lock clicks open with a sound that seems to echo through the entire tower.

you slip inside, bucky behind you, kicking the door shut with a soft sigh of relief. you place the carrier on the floor of your spacious bedroom and open the little door. alpine tentatively steps out, her little pink nose twitching as she takes in her new surroundings.

your room is your sanctuary. it's a mix of stark-tech minimalism and cozy chaos. a huge window overlooks the glittering manhattan skyline, but the floor is covered with soft rugs and piles of pillows. bookshelves overflow with textbooks, novels, and vogue magazines, and your desk is a controlled mess of laptops and notes.

alpine seems to approve. she takes a few small steps, then pounces on a stray pen, batting it under the bed. she looks up at you, lets out a triumphant mew!, and then proceeds to explore every nook and cranny of your room with the confidence of an mice inspecting a hole in the wall.

bucky is watching her, a look of pure, unadulterated fondness on his face. "she's so brave," he says softly.

"she's a stark," you joke, nudging his arm with your elbow, though there's a strange lump in your throat. "of course she's brave."

you find a small, fluffy blanket and lay it on the floor. alpine immediately abandons her exploration and curls up on it, falling asleep in seconds.

you and bucky stand there, watching her sleep, the silence in the room broken only by her tiny purrs.

"we're her parents now," you whisper, the words feeling both insane and completely right.

"co-parents," he corrects gently, his eyes still on the kitten.

"right," you say, your heart doing a weird little flutter. "co-parents."

you look at him, really look at him. the soft light from the city illuminates his profile, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his mouth. he looks... happy. truly, deeply happy. and it's because of this tiny, fluffy creature you just impulsively decided to bring into your lives.

"we're going to be in so much trouble tomorrow," you say, but you're smiling.

"worth it," he says, and he turns to look at you, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch. it's the same look he had when he was talking about the scared cats, the same look he had when he was defending your academic achievements. it's a look that says he sees you. all of you.

the space between you shrinks. you don't know who moves first, maybe you both do. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. his metal hand is cool against your waist. you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"i've wanted to do this for a while," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.

"me too," you breathe.

and then he kisses you. it's not a frantic, desperate kiss. it's slow, and gentle, and sure. it tastes like coffee and the rain and the promise of something new. it's a kiss that says "finally." it's a kiss that feels like coming home.

when you pull apart, you're both breathing heavily. you rest your forehead against his, a smile playing on your lips.

"so," you whisper. "this changes things."

"yeah," he says, a smile in his voice. "it does."

you spend the rest of the night on your bed, talking in whispers so you don't wake the kitten. you talk about everything. about your fears, your hopes, the moment you each knew your friendship was something more. you fall asleep curled up together, with alpine a tiny, warm weight on the bed between your bodies.

the morning comes, as it always does, with the blare of the towers wake-up alarm and the distant sounds of the tower coming to life. you groan, burying your face in bucky's chest.

"it's judgment day," you mumble.

he kisses the top of your head. "start prepping the defense" he jokes.

you get dressed, steeling yourselves for the inevitable confrontation. you decide the best offense is a good defense. you'll just... walk out. with the cat. act like it's the most normal thing in the world.

bucky holds alpine, who is now purring contentedly in his arms, looking like the world's most intimidating and adorable cat dad. you take a deep breath, open your door, and step into the hallway, walking down to the kitchen for breakfast.

its full. almost every avenger is around the counter conversing.

tony is standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand, wearing a black led zeppelin t-shirt and a look of grim determination as he spoke with the others. steve is there, looking concerned in his captain america pajamas. natasha is leaning against the wall, a knowing smirk on her face. and sam is just... grinning. the traitor.

"well, well," tony says turning his head towards us walking in. his eyes zeroing in on the fluffy white creature in bucky's arms. "what have we here?"

you open your mouth, ready to launch into a defense, but bucky beats you to it. he just stands there, holding alpine, his expression completely calm.

"her name is alpine," he says, his voice steady. "and we're co-parenting."

the word hangs in the air. "we're." as in, the two of you. a unit.

tony's eyes flick from the cat to bucky to you, and then back to the cat. a slow, calculating grin spreads across his face. "co-parenting," he repeats. "so that's what the kids are calling it these days."

steve looks confused. "you got a cat? bucky, are you allergic? do you need an epi-pen?"

natasha just winks at you.

sam, however, is practically vibrating with excitement. "a cat! can i hold her? does she have a little avengers uniform? i can design one! with little wings!"

before anyone can say anything else, alpine, seemingly sensing she's the center of attention, does the most perfect thing she could possibly do. she wriggles out of bucky's arms, him quickly moving down closer to the floor before she fell. She immediately leaps gracefully to the floor, trots directly over to tony stark, and rubs her fluffy little body against his leg, purring like a motorboat.

tony stares down at her, his mouth slightly agape. he slowly bends down, his arc reactor glinting through his shirt in the morning light, and scratches alpine behind her folded ear. she responds by flopping over and exposing her belly.

"oh," tony says, his voice soft. "well. alright then."

and just like that, the war is over. you didn't even have to fire a single shot.

that evening, you and bucky are curled up on the common room couch. alpine is asleep on bucky's chest, rising and falling with each breath he takes. sam is on the floor, trying to teach alpine how to "fist bump" with her tiny paw. natasha is watching you both with an insufferably smug look. tony is on his tablet, and you're pretty sure he's designing a state-of-the-art, climate-controlled, self-cleaning cat tree.

─˖· masterlist

But now, as you flex your fingers against your legs and bob your head on his length, your eyes burning, you aren’t so sure. Because Joel is big. Bigger than you had anticipated, even during the times you’d dreamt about it while stuffing your cunt with your own fingers.

He’s big and manly and nearly too much for you.

“S’good baby.” he pants, his hands in your hair. He doesn’t seem to notice the time, doesn’t seem to care that it’s creeping closer to ten minutes. Your knees ache, carpet digging into them as you move your head. Joel makes a noise at the back of his throat and you feel your stomach clench, your muscles aching at the idea of him stretching you.

This game of back and forth with your college roommates dad had finally peaked, and even though you had promised yourself this wouldn’t be the summer you acted on those past months of lingering glances and flirty conversations, you can’t say you’re surprised that you found yourself here.

What you are surprised at, is the fact that he hasn’t gotten close to finishing. He’s hard as rock against your tongue, warm and smooth as you swirl around the head. He groans again, his neck strained and it makes your brows knit.

You can feel his muscles tense and twitch under his skin, the veins in his arms bulging in his forearms as he tries to keep himself from touching you. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white as he grips the couch cushion. You can see the sweat glistening on his chest and face. He looks like he might snap at any moment, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You ain’t kidding,” he gasps, and his fingers go into your hair, threading at the nape of your neck. “You can do a lot.”

You preen at his praise, the words invigorating you, and you dig your nails into the palms of your hands. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deep and he almost chokes, sitting up and gently tugging you back by the grip on your hair.

Joel's chest heaves as he pulls you off just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “Easy there,” he rasps, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. His other hand stays tangled in your hair, not yanking it, but holding, like an anchor.

You can feel the way his hips twitch upward involuntarily when you swipe your tongue over the slit of him again. He swears under his breath and leans back against the couch with a groan that sounds more pained than pleased now.

“Little fucking’ hellion,” is all he manages to grit out between clenched teeth, like it's supposed to be an insult but comes out dangerously close to worship instead.

“Let me,” you hum, reaching for him again, and he moves his thumb over your lip again, saliva thick over your mouth and he surges forward, kissing you. When he pulls back, a string of spit connects between you, thin and clear and he groans, releasing your hair to stroke himself.

“Ya sure?” He hums, stroking slow. “Want me to come in that pretty mouth?”

You nod eagerly, feeling cock drunk even though the only place his cock has been is in your mouth, and Joel smiles, almost lazily. Outstretching his hand, he holds his palm up just below your chin.

“Spit.” He orders, and you blink a few times before you dip your head, and spit into his palm. With his eyes on yours, he grips his length and strokes, a little faster, before nodding at you. “Go on. I know you gotta be aching.”

You scramble onto your ass, shoving your right hand into the band of your pants and panties to find yourself soaked. You rub slowly, lashes fluttering as you watch him stroke himself.

“B-but I wanna…” you choke, your fingers slipping along your clit in a way that makes you shudder.

Joel's breath hitches as he watches you, his grip on himself tightening just enough to make a muscle in his jaw jump. “Fuckin' hell,” he mutters, eyes dark with something between disbelief and hunger. His free hand reaches out abruptly, not to stop you, but to push your fingers deeper into your panties with rough insistence. “Do it right then,” he growls, voice ragged at the edges. “Show me.”

The way his hips jerk upward betrays him entirely—like even he didn't expect this level of filth from either of you tonight.

A bead of sweat trails down the side of his throat when you whimper around two fingers instead; Joel swears viciously under his breath again before palming himself faster, like he’s racing you but isn’t sure he wants to win.

Your left hand slides beneath your shirt, tingling against your sensitive nipple and you make a broken sound as a wave of pleasure crashes over you. You fall back, leaning on your elbow as you ride out your high and you’re mildly aware of Joel moaning, of his jerks getting sloppy, and then ropes of white are covering his fist. Panting, you watching his head fall back, lips parting and if he hadn’t already just cum, you’d be begging to suck him again.

It takes him a few moments before he pulls his hand away, wiping it off with an already-ruined shirt off the couch before collapsing back and closing his eyes. You both sit in silence, trying to catch your breaths and catch up to the fact that your roommates dad had just jerked off to the sight of you fucking your self.

You finally work up the courage to sit all the way up and glance over at him, finding a small glint in his eye and a lazy smirk curving up his lips.

“You didn’t let me…” you murmur, eyes dropping to his dick that’s still hard, still glistening.

He sighs, his smile widening as he leans forward. “S’okay darlin’,” he drawls, and your stomach flips. “Now I know you can do a lot in fifteen minutes.”

You grin almost sheepishly, your cheeks pink and he barks out a rough laugh, dragging a hand down his face like he can’t believe this is his life. “Fifteen fuckin’ minutes,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

He shifts on the couch with a grunt before suddenly reaching for you—not to pull you back into anything filthy, just to haul your limp body halfway onto the cushions beside him. His arm drops over your waist almost absentmindedly as he fishes for his cigarettes with his free hand.

“Gimme five,” is all Joel says by way of explanation, though whether he needs five or if that's how long it'll take before either of you remembers you’re not supposed to be doing this? Currently unclear.

X

Joel miller ML

You should have known you couldn’t trust your car anymore. Should have taken literally anything else to get to college today.

But now it’s too late.

Snow slices sideways in thin white sheets, needling your cheeks, slipping down your collar. Your breath fogs out in frantic puffs as you stare at your poor, unreliable car — slumped on the side of the road, giving up on life at the exact moment you needed it most.

Your fingers tremble as you tap your phone screen for the hundredth time, as if sheer desperation could conjure a miracle.

It doesn’t, and it won’t.

The tire is flat. Definitely, spectacularly, almost offensively flat. It’s ruined. A sad, sagging pancake of rubber.

And you have an exam in — you check your phone again — 11 minutes.

11 minutes to get across campus. Through the snow. With a dead tire and a heart that feels like it’s trying to jailbreak.

A hollow thud echoes in your ribs. You could try running, but the exam building is half the campus away, and the snow isn’t exactly rooting for you.

You shove your frozen fingers through your hair, pacing beside the defeated car, muttering every curse you’ve ever learned and a few you invented on the spot.

That’s when you become aware of a sound. A bossy, old, familiar growl of an engine turning the corner, a slow-rolling rumble through the snowfall. An old Jeep drives into view, snow stuck to its hood like frostbite jewelry. Its headlights blind you through the white haze, and the grille looks like it’s grinning at you.

You would have calmed in relief at the sight of the Jeep if you didn’t know who’s inside of it.

The world really is mocking you today.

The Jeep slows. Stops.

And behind the wheel is James Buchanan Barnes — Bucky to the entire campus. It’s always him at the worst possible moments.

His reputation precedes him by several miles — college track star, campus flirt and serial heartbreaker, professional ego-wearer. The pretty-boy bastard with a list of hook-ups long enough to require alphabetical indexing. He’s also obnoxiously good-looking in the kind of way that feels engineered to ruin GPAs. He is a constellation of contradictions — tousled and dark hair, smug grin, muscles packed into a jacket that definitely shouldn’t fit him that well.

And naturally, there’s a girl in the passenger seat. Very glossy. Very bored-looking. She’s leaned back, tapping her acrylics against her phone screen, radiating expensive impatience.

The window rolls down, and he leans an elbow out, a slow, easy smirk spreading across his face as though he’s got all the time in the universe and zero intention of using it wisely.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he calls, tone buttery-smooth, warm where the world isn’t. But all you feel is frost. “Car givin’ you attitude? Looks like it’s having a rough day.”

You blink at him. You do not have the emotional bandwidth for this man right now. “Not really in the mood, Barnes,” you snap, glaring at him, breath puffing hard. “I’m fine.” You know you’re clearly not fine. “Just go.”

His brows lift, amusement coming to life like a spark. “Wow. And here I was, thinkin’ the cold was the problem. Turns out it’s you.”

“I said I’m fine. Just leave,” you grit out, losing patience, even though you didn’t really have any to begin with.

“You also look like you’re about to cry,” he remarks, tone annoyingly light, as if pointing out the obvious is some kind of sport he excels at.

Behind him, the girl sighs dramatically. Loudly. “Bucky, can we go? I’m freezing.”

He ignores her. Completely. Like she’s wallpaper.

Instead, his eyes roam over you, your snow-bright hair, the stress in your shoulders, the way you’re almost vibrating with anxiety. And something that isn’t teasing slips into his expression.

You don’t have much time to examine it, because he then puts the Jeep in park, pushes the door open, and climbs out into the snow. Boots crunching on the ground. Hands buried in the pockets of his jacket as though he’s strolling up to a coffee date instead of a roadside meltdown. The cold doesn’t seem to touch him. Of course it doesn’t.

“Move,” he says, and it’s almost soft. “Let me look.”

You bristle. “I don’t need your help.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Yeah, you do.”

You swallow. “You don’t have to—”

He holds up a hand. “Just let me take a look, doll.”

And before you can say anything else, he crouches by the tire.

You stand there with your arms folded across your chest and your stomach turning in knots. You don’t want him to be right. You don’t want him to be useful. You don’t want his stupid jawline or his stupid smile or the stupid flutter in your chest to matter right now.

He brushes snow away, fingers assessing. Even such an act he does with a confidence he shouldn’t look this good performing. He mutters under his breath. Soft and low. “Huh. That’s not good.”

Your stomach drops. “What? It’s just flat, right? I have a spare.”

“Nope,” He taps the torn rubber. “This tire’s shredded. Like, shredded-shredded. You must’ve hit something nasty. And your spare’s useless without the right tools, which I’m guessin’ you don’t have in this little sedan.”

You blink back something that threatens to become tears. “Awesome. Great. Perfect.”

His head snaps up. “Hey, come on now.” His tone gentles, surprisingly sincere. He stands, brushing snow from his knees. “It’s not a big deal. You’re gonna be fine.”

You look away from him, staring at the snow, arms crossing tighter. “I have an exam.”

“I know.”

That pulls your head up. “How do you know that?”

You didn’t mention it. Other students have exams in other buildings, but yours isn’t a huge one — not a campus-wide event anyone would track. It’s important to you on a personal level.

He shrugs lightly, eyes skimming your face as if he’s reading a page he’s memorized. “Saw you studyin’ for it in the library yesterday. Same professor I had last year. The 8:30 slot’s brutal.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts, because what is there to say? You didn’t think Bucky Barnes noticed anything outside the orbit of sports, parties, and whichever girl he was smiling at.

Talk about the devil, the girl in his Jeep slams her hand on the dashboard. “Are you serious right now, Bucky? We have places to be.”

He freezes. Something shifts behind his expression. Something that looks like annoyance, or the realization that he doesn’t care about her schedule even a little. “Then walk,” he deadpans, not even looking at her.

She gapes at him like he just suggested she wade through lava. “Are you kidding? It’s snowing.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Won’t kill you.” His tone is flat and unfazed, dismissive in a way you notice he’s never used with you.

She huffs, curses, and slams the door as she gets out and stomps down the road like a rattled swan. He watches her go for half a heartbeat, then dismisses her entirely. As though your little flat tire has eclipsed whatever morning plan he had.

He turns back to you. “You’re not gonna make it on foot.”

“I know,” you whisper, the admission aching.

He nods toward his Jeep. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”

You jerk back. “What? I— no. I can’t just leave my car here.”

“You can,” he says simply. “I’ll handle it.”

You inhale sharply. Snowflakes melt on your tongue. “You’ll— what does that even mean?”

“It means,” he drawls, leaning slightly closer, eyes warming despite the cold, “I’ll call my buddy from the auto shop after I drop you off. He owes me a favor. We’ll get it towed, patched up, whatever it needs.”

You stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded. Your chest tightens. Something inconvenient curdles in your stomach. “You’d do that?”

He tilts his head, snowflakes catching in his hair like stars tangled in dark silk. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

You keep staring, unsure.

He raises a brow. “C’mon. I’m not lettin’ you fail an exam because of a tire and some snow.”

You hesitate, heartbeat stuttering. “I don’t— I mean— it’s a lot to ask, I can’t just—”

“You didn’t ask,” he remarks, voice losing all its flirt and landing somewhere honest. “I offered.”

Snow settles on his long eyelashes. The wind picks up, and he steps closer, shielding you from the worst of it. You don’t know if he notices he’s doing it.

“Now, you comin’?” he asks quietly.

After a long, brittle moment, and a heavy sigh, you nod.

He smiles — not cocky, or sly, just warm. Real. “Alright, doll. Hop in. I’ll turn the heater on.”

You slide into the Jeep, the door closing you into a cocoon of warmth and pine-scented air. He pulls off his jacket and simply hands it over to you in a gesture so simple, it shocks you for a moment. “I can see you shaking, doll. Just take it.”

You do.

And for a brief and bright and disorienting moment, you feel the beginnings of something difficult threading through your chest.

He shifts the Jeep into gear and glances at you, sitting there with his jacket on, as he drives off.

And as you two roll through the snow, you stare out the window at the falling flakes, heart doing strange, dangerous gymnastics because James Buchanan Barnes has just surprised you in a way too positive for your body to handle.

“Thank you, Barnes,” you say quietly.

You see his lopsided grin in your peripheral vision. “Think I deserve to be Bucky now, doll.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the projector and the occasional shuffle of papers.

You stood tall at the front of the hall, posture straight as if you’d been sculpted for moments like this.

Your fingers smoothed the hem of your pleated skirt, tugging once at your cropped white blazer to ensure it sat perfectly on your shoulders.

The faint gold pin of your major’s crest glinted under the overhead lights as you adjusted it ever so slightly, a habit born of nerves you’d never admit to.

Behind you, your designs illuminated the screen—five mid-length coats, each distinct yet cohesive in their color palette and silhouettes.

“For this final piece,” you began, voice calm and steady, “I wanted to marry modern minimalism with delicate detailing. The bodice is structured with a cinched waist for shape, while the lace sleeves soften the silhouette.”

You paused, the faintest crease forming between your brows.

“However, during construction, I noticed an issue with the stitching at the lace sleeve ends—it wasn’t holding cleanly against the lining.”

A murmur ran through a few students in the audience, but you pressed on.

“To solve this, I reinforced the edges with an under-stitch and switched to a finer thread gauge for more flexibility, which allowed the lace to sit flush without compromising durability.”

You stepped back slightly, hands folding neatly in front of you as you gave a small nod. “That concludes my presentation. Thank you.”

For a beat, the room stayed quiet. Then applause swelled, echoing through the hall like a rolling wave.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile—not too wide, never smug—just enough to mask the tightness in your chest finally easing.

One of the panelists, Professor Kim, leaned forward with a warm expression. “As expected of Choi (Y/N). Our top student.”

A few soft laughs broke out across the room, and your smile grew a fraction.

“You have an exceptional eye,” He continued, “but more importantly, you have the presence of mind to identify and resolve issues independently. That’s a skill even seasoned designers struggle with.”

You inclined your head politely. “Thank you, professor.”

Behind you, the murmurs grew louder, sprinkled with approving comments from your peers.

As you made your way back to your seat, Yujin and Wonyoung were already grinning like proud parents.

“I told you,” Yujin whispered as you sat down, elbowing you lightly. “You were overthinking it. You killed it.”

You let out a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe.” Wonyoung smiled, eyes crinkling as she rested her chin in her hand. “You really said, ‘save the best for last,’ huh?”

You shook your head with a quiet chuckle, trying to ignore the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Good job, everyone,” Professor Kim’s voice cut through the fading applause, drawing the attention of the room back to the front.

“You all passed the midterm project. Well done.”

Cheers and relieved sighs erupted from the students, the tension breaking like a dam. Hands clapped, a few chairs scraped back with excitement, and Yujin even did a little fist pump beside you.

But then Professor Min spoke up, her tone calm yet edged with finality. “However—”

The cheers instantly died down, replaced by a chorus of groans and murmurs.

“There’s still the final project,” she continued, clasping her hands in front of her. “It accounts for forty percent of your grade.”

You straightened slightly in your seat, fighting the urge to sigh. Forty percent. Of course.

Professor Min’s expression softened just a little at the collective despair in the room.

“The materials and requirements have been uploaded to the portal. You’ll have until the end of the month to submit. I suggest you start early.”

With that, the panelists gathered their notes and began exiting the hall.

“Good luck, everyone,” Professor Kim added with a small smile. “You’ll need it.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, the buzz of conversation returned—quieter now, tinged with nervous energy.

You exhaled slowly, relief loosening the knot in your chest.

“Shall we?” Wonyoung asked, slinging her sleek tote bag over her shoulder. She tilted her head toward the door with her usual elegance, though the teasing glint in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“Yeah,” you murmured, gathering your tablet and sketchbook. Yujin hummed in agreement, already stuffing her charger into her bag as she grinned.

“You two seriously need to chill,” Yujin said playfully. “Midterms done. Let’s get celebratory coffee. My treat.”

But before you could reply, a familiar, cheerful voice called your name from the doorway.

“(Y/N)!”

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before a smile broke out.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and blonde hair catching the light, was none other than Kim Sunoo.

His grin was bright enough to rival the afternoon sun. “There you are! I thought I’d missed you.”

“Oh right!” you exclaimed, the realization hitting you as you snapped your fingers. “I completely forgot—I promised I’d help you with the costume samples for your performance.”

Wonyoung and Yujin exchanged knowing looks as they stood.

“It’s totally fine,” Wonyoung said smoothly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You can just meet us at our usual table later.”

“Yeah, go be a good Samaritan,” Yujin added with a wink, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not a good Samaritan.”

“Sure you’re not,” Wonyoung teased as the two of them strolled away down the hall.

Turning back to Sunoo, you noticed his slightly sheepish expression as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said with a small laugh. “Were you busy?”

“Not at all,” you replied warmly, shaking your head. “Come on, let’s finish the samples in the cafeteria. What do you say?”

His entire face lit up at your suggestion. “Yes! Thank you. Seriously, I’m really glad you’re my friend, you know that?”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging his shoulder as the two of you began walking side by side.

“Nonsense. I’m glad you’re mine too,” you said genuinely. “I’m always happy to help you, Sunoo.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made it impossible not to smile back, and for a moment, the weight of final projects and deadlines felt just a little lighter.

As the two of you walked through the halls, the sound of your heels tapping against the floor mixed with Sunoo’s occasional hums.

It was warm outside the design building, but the faint hum of conversation and laughter spilling from the cafeteria ahead felt heavier—too packed, too loud for your liking.

When you finally stepped inside, you sighed softly, scanning the chaotic sea of students.

Every table was occupied—people hunched over assignments, groups laughing a little too loudly, trays clattering as someone almost tripped over a chair.

“Yeah…” Sunoo rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the tables with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Well…” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh! I see someone I know.”

You raised a brow, watching his hand lift as he pointed toward the far side of the cafeteria. “Is it okay with you if we join him?”

You sighed, adjusting the strap of your bag. “As long as this person doesn’t annoy me.”

Sunoo laughed brightly. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t really speak that much around strangers.”

That made you pause.

Strangers? You weren’t sure if that label comforted you or not.

But you nodded anyway, following Sunoo as he weaved between crowded tables until you reached a corner tucked away from most of the noise.

There, sitting with his head bent low over a laptop, was a boy with cherry red-dyed hair, one hand lazily scrolling through the touchpad as a small pile of chocolate milk cartons sat stacked beside his things.

“Hey! Heeseung!” Sunoo chirped, grinning as he reached the table.

The boy’s head lifted slowly, dark eyes meeting Sunoo’s before a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Sunoo.”

Sunoo offered him a fist bump, which Heeseung returned without looking away from his screen.

“Mind if we sit?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking to you just for a second—long enough to make your stomach tighten.

Then he nodded lazily. “Go ahead.”

Sunoo grinned, turning to you as if urging you to sit before you changed your mind. You reluctantly slid into the seat across from Heeseung, setting your tablet down with practiced precision.

“Look at this.” Sunoo gestured to the pile of chocolate milk with an incredulous laugh. “What’s with the stockpile?”

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly. “Go crazy. Don’t even like chocolate milk that much.”

“Seriously?” Sunoo chuckled, grabbing one. He held another out toward you. “Want one, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head politely. “I prefer banana milk.”

At that, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from his laptop, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly,” he murmured, voice low but smooth like he’d just won a silent argument.

Sunoo blinked between the two of you before laughing. “Oh right! Lee Heeseung, Choi (Y/N). Choi (Y/N), Lee Heeseung.”

Heeseung offered his hand across the table, his long fingers loose and easy like he wasn’t trying at all. “Nice to meet you.”

You glanced at his hand but didn’t take it. Instead, you gave a polite nod.

He hummed, retracting his hand without missing a beat. “No to physical touch. Got it.”

Sunoo chuckled awkwardly. “We’re gonna be working here for a while. Hope that’s okay.”

“Don’t mind me.” Heeseung shook his head, already looking back down at his laptop. “I’m busy.”

And he meant it. His fingers tapped lazily at the keyboard, the glow of the screen highlighting his sharp features.

Cherry red strands fell slightly into his eyes, and you hated how effortlessly striking he looked even when he wasn’t paying attention to anything but his work.

You tore your gaze away, opening your tablet with a soft sigh.

“Sunoo,” you murmured, sliding the design mock-up toward him, “we need to modify the cargo pants.”

Sunoo leaned closer, nodding eagerly. “Right! The ones for the backup dancers? What do you think—less pocket bulk?”

“Yes,” you replied, your eyes flicking briefly to Heeseung before focusing fully on Sunoo again. “And we need a lighter fabric. It’ll move better during the performance.”

Sunoo hummed, nodding eagerly as his fingers drummed against the table.

He reached over to grab another chocolate milk from the small pile beside Heeseung’s laptop, twisting the carton in his hands as his lips curled mischievously.

“You know…” Sunoo began, eyeing the absurd stash with a teasing grin, “why do you even have so many of these anyway?”

Heeseung, still hunched lazily over his laptop, spared him a glance. The faintest curve of amusement played on his lips as he opened his mouth to answer—but he didn’t get the chance.

A chorus of soft giggles floated toward your table, and you instinctively looked up.

Three girls from your Apparel Development class—each perfectly dolled up in their own statement pieces—were making their way over.

Their steps were hesitant yet excited, clutching cartons of chocolate milk in their manicured hands as they approached.

You watched silently as Heeseung leaned back slightly in his chair, his cherry red hair catching the warm cafeteria light.

He let out a quiet sigh, though his expression melted into a smooth, practiced smile.

“Yes?” His tone was light, teasing even, but not unkind.

One of the girls stepped forward nervously, placing three more cartons onto the growing pile beside him.

“We, um—thought you might want more,” she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and effortless. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll be sure to drink them, yeah?”

They giggled again—one even tucking her hair behind her ear as she muttered a shy “bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye,” he replied with an easy grin, watching them walk away before turning back to his laptop like nothing had happened.

Sunoo nearly choked on his sip of chocolate milk, laughter spilling out as he wiped the corner of his mouth. “Oh my god. That’s why.”

Heeseung didn’t look up, fingers tapping away at his keys. “Hm?”

“The chocolate milk. You don’t even like it that much—you’re just hoarding offerings from your little fanclub.”

A faint smirk tugged at Heeseung’s lips, but he didn’t deny it. “What can I say? People like to give.”

Sunoo shook his head, grinning as he glanced at you. “Isn’t he ridiculous?”

But you weren’t smiling. You raised a brow, glancing between the newly stacked cartons and the cherry red-haired boy across from you.

The dots connected almost instantly in your head.

Of course.

Just another pretty face with the personality to match. Charming. Effortless. Probably used to people falling over themselves to get a sliver of his attention.

You shook your head lightly, muttering under your breath, “Figures.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicked up at you then—quick, sharp, like he’d caught the faint trace of judgment in your tone.

But you didn’t meet his gaze.

Instead, you tapped your tablet screen with a neatly manicured finger, saying to Sunoo, “We need to adjust the stitching pattern on the waistband too. It’s pulling oddly at the seams in the mock-up.”

Sunoo nodded, already distracted as he jotted notes. “Got it. You’re a lifesaver, (Y/N).”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung’s lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—as he turned his attention back to his glowing screen.

“Interesting,” he murmured under his breath, so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the soft hum of the cafeteria.

His gaze trailed briefly—taking in the elegant way you held your stylus, the faint crease in your brow as you pointed out flaws in Sunoo’s design, and the way your gold wristwatch caught the light when you reached for your tablet.

You didn’t notice him watching, too focused on your work. Or maybe you did, and you were just very good at pretending you didn’t care.

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly again, this time in a softer way, like a private joke only he understood.

His fingers resumed their lazy tapping on the keyboard, but his eyes flicked up one last time—just for a second—as if filing the image of you away for later.

Then, with a low hum to himself, he muttered almost inaudibly, “This could be fun.”

The soft hum of chatter and clinking mugs filled the café, the faint aroma of espresso and warm pastries wrapping around you like a blanket.

It was the next morning, and though the sun had barely broken through the hazy clouds outside, Decelis students already filled the small coffee shop—hunched over laptops, sketchbooks, and steaming mugs.

You sat tucked into a corner booth, tablet balanced delicately against the pile of papers sprawled in front of you.

Wonyoung sat next to you, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she scrolled through fabric swatches on her phone.

“I’m telling you, chiffon could work,” Wonyoung mused, tilting her screen toward you. “It’s breezy, light, and drapes beautifully for movement.”

Sunoo leaned in from across you, popping the straw of his iced Americano between his lips.

“It’s good, but it needs a stronger base. Otherwise, it’ll just float awkwardly when they dance. Maybe a cotton blend? Something breathable.”

You hummed thoughtfully, tapping notes onto your screen.

“We could layer chiffon over a structured lining. That way, it keeps the form but still flows with the movement.”

Wonyoung’s eyes lit up. “Genius.”

The conversation continued like that—light, technical, and productive—until the quiet jingle of the café door’s bell rang.

Out of habit, your eyes flicked up, barely paying attention.

It was none other than Lee Heeseung.

Cherry red hair falling just slightly into his eyes, a simple gray sweatshirt hanging loose on his frame paired with ripped denim. Silver rings and a thin chain glinted faintly under the café’s warm lighting.

He carried nothing but his phone and earbuds, looking entirely too comfortable as his gaze scanned the room—until it landed on you.

For a second, your eyes met. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the same kind that had gotten under your skin yesterday without him even trying.

You quickly broke the eye contact, lowering your head to your tablet as if the stack of fabric specs was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Sunoo didn’t miss the way your shoulders stiffened. He turned slightly, following your line of sight just as Heeseung approached their booth.

“Hey, Sunoo,” Heeseung greeted casually, lifting his hand for a high five.

Sunoo grinned, reciprocating with an easy slap of palms. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Didn’t know you guys would be here either.” Heeseung’s voice was smooth and low, his eyes flicking briefly—almost lazily—to where you sat, before returning to Sunoo.

“Yeah,” Sunoo laughed, oblivious to the faint tightness in your jaw.

Heeseung hummed lightly, then gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll be right there.” He nodded toward an empty table at the back of the café.

“Great. Are you busy later?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly as his fingers toyed with the silver chain at his neck. “Besides helping out at the tryouts? No, not really. Why?”

“Can I come and watch?” Sunoo asked, his grin widening.

“Sure. Anytime.” Heeseung’s smile was easy, effortless—as if he hadn’t just left a quiet ripple in the air around your booth.

He offered Sunoo a brief nod before walking away, slipping into the corner seat with the same quiet confidence that had annoyed you yesterday.

You didn’t look up until you were sure he wasn’t paying attention. Then your eyes finally flicked back to Sunoo.

“Tryouts?” you asked, arching a perfectly-shaped brow. “For what?”

Sunoo’s grin widened knowingly. “So you were listening.”

Wonyoung didn’t even try to hide her smirk as she sipped her lavender latte. “Didn’t know you were into bad boys, (Y/N).”

You scoffed, sitting straighter as your fingers swiped across your tablet screen. “Please. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Wonyoung’s grin only grew as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don’t know… I don’t think your brother would be thrilled about Lee Heeseung of all people.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the faint heat threatening to creep up your neck. “What’s with him, anyway? How do you even know him?”

Wonyoung’s voice lilted with playful mischief. “Everyone knows him, (Y/N.) He’s the captain of the basketball team. Smart. Ridiculously talented. And—”

Sunoo chimed in with a laugh. “—Decelis’ golden boy. Oh, and notorious playboy. Don’t forget that.”

Wonyoung giggled, nodding. “Seriously. He’s everywhere—sports, academics, even social events. You could ask anyone, and they’d have at least one story about Lee Heeseung.”

She tilted her head, her earrings swaying slightly as her lips curved in playful mischief. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the rumors?”

You didn’t even look up from your tablet as your stylus glided against the screen with practiced precision. “I don’t listen to baseless rumors.”

Sunoo snorted softly from across the table, stirring his drink with his straw. “Oh, these aren’t baseless. Trust me, there’s a lot.”

You raised a brow, reluctantly glancing up at him. “Like?”

Sunoo held up his fingers, ticking them off one by one.

“He made another senior cry after they broke up—though technically she wasn’t even his girlfriend. He punched Jake in the face once for accidentally popping one of their basketballs.”

“That’s…” You blinked, surprised despite yourself. “A little extreme.”

“It’s true!” Sunoo laughed, shaking his head.

“And he’s really famous for… you know, not really rejecting girls outright but not accepting their confessions either. He doesn’t lead them on, but he also doesn’t stop them from trying.”

You let out a small sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair neatly behind your ear as your eyes flicked back down to your sketches.

“Why are you even friends with him? He’s like the total opposite of you, Sunoo.”

Sunoo smiled faintly, the kind of soft grin that said he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. “He’s a good friend. I’ve known him since high school.”

“Has he always been like that?” you asked, almost without thinking, fingers still idly tapping at your tablet screen.

“Kinda,” Sunoo admitted with a quiet laugh. “But he’s also the type who shows up when it matters. People don’t see that part of him.”

You hummed, not fully convinced as you flicked through the color palettes on your screen. “Sounds like a headache to me.”

Sunoo and Wonyoung exchanged a knowing glance, the corners of Wonyoung’s lips twitching as though she wanted to say more but decided against it.

After a moment, you glanced back up at Sunoo. “Tryouts—for what?”

“Basketball,” Sunoo replied simply, popping a piece of pastry into his mouth. “The team needs some fresh faces. I don’t know… diversity or whatever.”

You hummed again, resting your chin lightly on your hand as you returned your focus to your work. “Figures. Someone like him would need all eyes on him.”

Wonyoung smirked, sipping her latte. “Sounds like you do listen to rumors after all.”

You shot her a flat look, lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I just observe.”

And with that, you let their teasing voices fade into the background, your fingers resuming their steady rhythm on the tablet screen.

You drowned out the clinking mugs, the hum of Decelis students laughing at nearby tables, even the faint thrum of music from the café speakers.

The only thing you refused to acknowledge was the burning stare you swore you felt at the back of your head.

You didn’t look back—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

It was five in the afternoon when you found yourself being dragged—quite literally—across the campus courtyard by an overly eager Sunoo.

He clutched your bag like it was ransom, his blonde hair glowing under the late afternoon sun as he half-pleaded, half-whined.

“Please, (Y/N), come on. Jungwon and Ni-ki bailed, and I can’t watch alone or I’ll look like a weirdo.”

You sighed, tugging lightly on your bag. “Sunoo, you know I don’t do… whatever this is. Basketball? Gymnasium air? Questionable bleachers?”

“Questionable?” He gasped dramatically, hugging your bag tighter. “You wound me. Also, I’ll buy you dinner after.”

“I don’t need—”

“Or,” Sunoo cut in with a grin, “you can buy me dinner instead. Your choice.”

You paused, glaring faintly at the boy who you’d grown to treat like your own younger brother—thanks to your lack of one.

He was giving you the puppy eyes again, all wide and glinting in the light, knowing exactly how to push your walls down.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Sunoo’s entire face lit up as he looped his arm around yours with a triumphant grin. “You’re the best. Like, actually my favorite person alive.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see if I’m still your favorite after I get mosquito bites,” you mumbled, letting him steer you toward the back gates of the main building.

The walk was quiet, the sound of your shoes tapping against the concrete blending with the faint buzz of cicadas.

Streetlights flickered to life one by one as Sunoo guided you toward the closed gymnasium near the music department’s building.

“Oh, come on. It isn’t that bad,” Sunoo chirped, practically bouncing on his heels.

You gave him a skeptical look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Mhmm. Getting eaten alive by mosquitoes isn’t bad at all.”

He laughed, a soft melodic sound, as you both approached the double doors.

He peeked through the small glass window before pushing one open and gesturing dramatically. “After you, milady.”

The first thing to hit you was the scent of disinfectant and polished wood.

Then came the faint squeak of sneakers against the glossy court floor and the rhythmic thuds of basketballs being dribbled in quick succession.

The gym was fuller than you’d expected—students scattered in groups, some running casual drills, others sitting along the sides chatting.

“Here, let’s sit,” Sunoo whispered, tugging you toward the far bleachers. You allowed him to guide you, your eyes scanning the room out of pure habit.

And then they zeroed in on him—01, Lee.

His back was to you, cherry red hair slightly tousled, the number on his jersey stretching across his broad shoulders as he stood talking to a group of guys you recognized from campus.

His gray sweatpants clung loose around his long legs, but there was nothing casual about the way he carried himself—confident, relaxed, like the court belonged to him.

You raised a brow as you settled on the bench beside Sunoo, crossing your legs neatly. “Captain, you say?”

Sunoo followed your gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. That’s Heeseung.”

You hummed softly, leaning your elbow on your knee as you rested your chin against your palm. “Figures. He looks like the type who needs a whole room watching him.”

Sunoo snickered. “You say that like you’re not watching him right now.”

You shot him a pointed glare. “I’m observing.”

“Sure.” Sunoo grinned, leaning back on his palms.

“That’s what everyone says before they end up showing up to every game.”

You scoffed lightly, eyes flitting back to your tablet screen as you pulled it out of your bag. “Relax. I won’t even be here long.”

“Uh-huh.”

Before you could even unlock the screen, Sunoo snatched the device from your hands with alarming speed, holding it out of your reach as his eyes narrowed at you playfully.

“No work.” He gave you a pointed look, wagging a finger. “We’ll finish that later.”

“Sunoo—” You let out a sharp sigh, already knowing arguing was useless when he had that determined gleam in his eyes.

With a dramatic huff, you crossed your legs and folded your arms, leaning back against the cold bleacher seat.

“Fine. But if I get behind because of this, it’s on you.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Ms. Perfectionist.” Sunoo smirked, tucking your tablet into his tote bag for safekeeping.

You rolled your eyes, dragging your gaze reluctantly back to the court.

Heeseung’s voice echoed through the gym, bouncing off the walls with a quiet authority that demanded attention without trying.

“Alright, split into two groups,” he called out, his tone smooth yet commanding.

“One with me, one with Jeno. Let’s run a few trial games. Five minutes each—show us what you’ve got.”

You watched as he gestured toward the vice-captain—a sharp-eyed boy with black hair—tossing him a spare ball. He caught it easily, already motioning for half the group to join him.

Heeseung, meanwhile, walked leisurely toward the sideline, spinning his own ball absentmindedly in one hand.

The loose white sleeveless jersey showed just enough of his toned arms to make the girls a few seats away from you and Sunoo start whispering excitedly.

“Heeseung!” one of them called out with a nervous giggle.

He turned his head slightly, offering them an easy wave and the kind of lopsided grin that probably lived rent-free in their daydreams.

You huffed under your breath, ignoring their flustered whispers and giggles.

But then his gaze moved—and for the second time in two days, Lee Heeseung’s eyes found yours.

His lips quirked into a small smile, one eyebrow raised as if amused by the fact that you were even here. You held his gaze steadily, tilting your chin up ever so slightly—refusing to be the first one to look away.

Even seated on the bleachers, you stood out like a flame in a room of shadows.

The pastel blue blazer draped flawlessly over your frame—a tailored Chanel piece he recognized instantly—paired with a crisp white skirt that skimmed mid-thigh and delicate heels that clicked against the wood earlier when you walked in.

Your hair fell in soft waves, not a strand out of place, your expression calm and poised like you belonged anywhere but in a stuffy gymnasium.

Heeseung’s smile widened faintly before he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

He passed the ball in his hands to Jeno with a casual toss and clapped his hands together. “Alright! Let’s see what you can do.”

“Who’s that?” you murmured, nodding slightly at Jeno as he barked instructions at his group.

“Jeno. Vice-captain,” Sunoo answered easily, eyes still on the court. “Really solid player. Heeseung trusts him with running drills.”

You nodded, your attention unintentionally drifting back to Heeseung as he leaned casually against the scorer’s table, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Even from here, it was impossible not to notice how tall he was—how he seemed to take up space without even trying.

“He’s tall,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Sunoo’s lips curled into a knowing grin. “Yeah. He’d make a good model, huh?”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Only if he wasn’t such a notorious playboy.”

Sunoo grinned knowingly but didn’t comment, his attention shifting back to the court just as Heeseung stepped forward again.

The cherry red-haired captain barked out quick, decisive orders—his voice cutting through the gym’s chatter with practiced ease.

“Jeno, you’re on point. Seungmin, cover left. I’ll take it from here. Let’s go.”

The ball was in his hands again before the words even finished leaving his mouth.

His movements were clean, precise, almost lazy in their ease as he dribbled past two freshman defenders, pivoting with a sharp twist of his heel.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished wood filled the air as Heeseung stepped back—just outside the three-point line—and with one smooth motion, he sent the ball flying.

It arced high, almost tauntingly slow, before it sank cleanly through the hoop.

The gym erupted in cheers, a few players even clapping as Heeseung gave a small shrug like it was no big deal. His gaze, however, flicked toward the bleachers—directly at you.

For a brief moment, his eyes locked with yours.

And then his lips curved into that maddeningly faint smirk before he turned back to the game, calling out more instructions like he hadn’t just made the air between you sizzle.

“Show-off,” you muttered under your breath, straightening in your seat.

Unfortunately, the group of girls sitting nearby noticed the fleeting interaction. You caught them glancing at you from the corner of your eye, whispering behind manicured hands.

You raised a perfectly sculpted brow at them. “What are you looking at?”

One of them scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Spoiled brat.”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a cold smile. “Because I have the money to do as I please?”

The girl faltered slightly, and you rolled your eyes with a sharp laugh. “Relax. Lee Heeseung’s all yours. I promise I’m not interested.”

They looked away quickly after that, muttering under their breaths as you exhaled a slow sigh, focusing your gaze back on the court.

By the time the game wrapped up, the freshmen on the sidelines were red-faced and panting, while the regular players clapped a few of them on the back.

Heeseung had a towel draped around his neck and a bottle of water in one hand as he jogged over to where you and Sunoo sat.

“Well?” he asked, his voice light with amusement as his eyes flicked between you and Sunoo. “How’d I do?”

Sunoo grinned as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t the freshmen be the ones asking that?”

They both laughed, an easy, familiar sound that made you feel like an outsider for just a second.

Heeseung’s gaze then settled on you, his smile softening as he tilted his head. “And you? What’s the verdict?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment before biting the inside of your cheek. “I… don’t know anything about basketball.”

His grin widened into a chuckle, head tipping back slightly. “Not even one thing?”

You shook your head, expression calm and unimpressed. “No.”

“Guess I’ll have to teach you, then,” he teased, reaching for his towel to wipe his forehead.

You only raised a brow, saying nothing as Sunoo stood and reached for your bag.

“Is everybody in the team already?” Sunoo asked as he handed you your things.

Heeseung shrugged. “Most of them. Still deciding on a few spots.”

His eyes flicked back to you briefly—searching, almost curious—as you stood next to Sunoo, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“You two are still here?” Heeseung asked, his voice casual but his gaze lingering a beat longer on you. “It’s getting late.”

Sunoo smiled brightly, reaching to loop an arm through yours. “Yeah, I wanted to watch. Anyways, we’re heading out now. Bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye, Sunoo.” Heeseung’s eyes shifted to you, his tone softening slightly. “Bye, (Y/N).”

You gave him a small nod, offering no more than a polite smile as Sunoo gently tugged you toward the doors.

Heeseung watched you leave, his once playful expression slipping into something unreadable—neutral, contemplative.

As the gym doors closed behind you, he let out a quiet sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck before turning back to his teammates.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up.”

The only sound that filled the old-school charm of the library was the faint rustle of turning pages and soft whispers exchanged between tables.

You sat alone, the large mahogany desk in front of you covered with sketchbooks, swatches, and expensive pens your mother insisted you use.

Your eyes narrowed down at the blank figure on the page, the silhouette barely formed—no color, no lines, no personality. Nothing was coming to you.

Finals weren’t even near, but you never slacked.

Not when your mother was Korea’s most sought-after designer, nor when your older brother—Decelis alumni—was already making headlines with his own shoe firm by twenty-two.

You weren’t just expected to be great. You were expected to be better.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you let your thoughts swallow you whole.

Maybe you weren’t born to design. Maybe you were just the family’s pretty face—the one good at being polite, presentable, and perfect in public.

You sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, frustration starting to bubble in your chest when a soft knock on the wood of your desk made you jolt upright.

You blinked.

Silver rings. Long fingers. Knuckles lightly bruised like he’d just come from a game or a fight—maybe both.

You slowly looked up and met the warmliquid brown gaze of Lee Heeseung. Eyes shaped like a doe’s—soft but unreadable. Almost too pretty for someone with a reputation as cold as his.

Cherry red strands framed his face, a bit tousled like he didn’t bother fixing it after practice, and he wore the Decelis black varsity jacket unzipped, revealing a white shirt that clung to his torso.

His expression wasn’t cocky—just curious. And quiet. Like he was trying to figure you out.

You tilted your head slightly, lips parting as you let your gaze fall down and then back up.

“Yes, Lee?” you asked, voice smooth with a hint of challenge.

Heeseung just smiled, the corners of his lips tugging up with ease as he motioned to the empty chair across from you. “Can I sit here?”

You raised a brow at him but gave a small shrug, nodding. “Sure. Not like it’s reserved.”

“Thanks,” he said, still grinning as he slid into the wooden seat, the chair giving a quiet creak beneath him.

He set his laptop down with a soft thud, glancing up to find you already trying to focus again, fingers twirling a pencil between them, eyes narrowed at your untouched sketchpad.

“Where’s Sunoo?” he asked casually, like it was just a passing thought.

“He had something to do,” you replied, tone clipped but not exactly cold. You didn’t owe him more than that, and he didn’t seem to expect it either.

Heeseung chuckled at the lack of detail, nodding slightly as he opened his laptop. “So just you, then.”

“Just me,” you echoed, eyes still on the page, not even sparing him a glance.

There was a short silence between you, not heavy, but not exactly comfortable either. Then, you felt his eyes flicker to your side. “You major in fashion, right?”

You looked at him finally, one brow arching with a sarcastic twist. “What gave it away?”

To your surprise, he didn’t falter. He simply pointed at the maroon Prada bag neatly tucked beside your sketchbook. “Everything, honestly. But mostly that.”

You hummed, fingers tracing idle lines on the page, trying to sketch something—anything—that didn’t look like an uninspired blob. The pencil scratched lightly, but your mind was blank.

“You’re quiet,” Heeseung said suddenly, gaze still focused on his screen. “That means you’re thinking. Or stuck.”

You let out a small sigh. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’m out of ideas,” you mumbled, flipping the page and starting fresh.

Heeseung nodded knowingly. “Writer’s block, designer’s block… same thing. When my brain gets stuck, I get up. Cafés and walks help a lot.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious despite yourself. “Why’s that?”

He turned toward you slightly, resting his chin on his palm. “They give me something to look at. Different people, different conversations, smells, sounds—it’s like mini inspiration packets for free.”

You eyed him for a moment. “And you’re a…?”

“English major,” he answered with a small shrug, the glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Heeseung liked talking about this—liked the way his words could shape things, the way ideas came to life on the page.

You studied him for a second.

His laptop was already open to a document, full of scattered dialogue and poetic lines you couldn't read but looked lived-in, like he actually used his mind more than people assumed.

Heeseung caught your gaze and smirked. “What? Surprised I can read?”

You blinked, before nodding slowly, voice laced with dry humor. “You don’t exactly seem like the literary type.”

That made him chuckle under his breath, a soft, low sound that felt too genuine to be mocking. His shoulders relaxed a little as he leaned back, fingers tapping lazily at the edge of his laptop.

“Fair,” he replied, still smiling. “You’re not the first to say that.”

There was something oddly refreshing about the way he said it—no irritation, no defense. Just amusement.

You glanced at him again, catching the faintest glint in his eyes, as if he truly enjoyed talking about himself… not in a narcissistic way, but like it was rare for someone to ask without already assuming the answers.

And it was rare.

You didn’t know anything about Lee Heeseung—aside from the constant buzz of whispers and stolen glances he seemed to drag with him wherever he went.

But none of that existed here, not in this quiet corner of the library. Here, he was just some guy sitting across from you, trying to strike up a conversation.

Heeseung turned back to his laptop, the screen lighting up his face in soft white-blue hues as he said, “I’m sure you’ll find inspiration later.”

You frowned slightly. “How do you know that?”

“I just do,” he answered easily, not looking away from his screen, fingers now scrolling through something.

“It comes in waves. You’re just in the middle of a dry one.”

You hummed quietly, eyes drifting back to your sketchpad, still blank except for a few frustrated pencil lines.

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable.

Across from you, Heeseung adjusted his seat, resting his ankle on his opposite knee, posture relaxed but still sharp around the edges—like a blade that’s learned how to rest without dulling.

You glanced at him again, then at the Prada bag he’d pointed out earlier, and finally at your own page.

Maybe he wasn’t that bad. Maybe—just maybe—Sunoo was right. There was something a little more layered beneath the sharp jaw, the smug grins, and the nonchalant aura.

Something softer. Something that didn’t mind sitting in silence with someone else.

You tapped your pencil lightly against the edge of your sketchpad, and for the first time in hours, an idea started to form.

Heeseung, without looking up, said quietly, “Told you so.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Only when I’m right,” he replied, finally glancing up at you, that smirk tugging at his lips again. “Which, by the way, is most of the time.”

The cafeteria was unusually quiet for midday, its usual crowd reduced to only a handful of scattered students.

The sunlight slanted lazily through the tall windows, casting golden patterns on the floor as the distant clinking of trays and soft hum of background music made for a comforting lull.

You were curled up on one of the corner benches, legs folded beneath you as your tablet rested on your lap, stylus gliding across the screen with practiced ease.

Next to you sat a growing army of empty banana milk cartons—two stacked, one half-full, and another freshly punctured by a straw you were sipping through absentmindedly.

It was peaceful. Just the way you liked it.

Until a low cough disrupted your focus.

You frowned, not even bothering to look up as your hand stilled mid-sketch. “There’s literally empty tables everywhere.”

“I know,” a familiar voice said, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, half-annoyed, only to meet the cherry red-haired male from the library—Lee Heeseung.

He was holding a tray, a banana milk sitting innocently on it.

You blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Heeseung smiled, not answering as he casually slid into the seat across from you. “Can I sit?”

You sighed. “You already are.”

He laughed at that, cracking the lid off his banana milk and poking a straw in.

You stared. “You do realize that stuff’s basically sugar water, right? You’ll be running to the bathroom in like—ten minutes.”

Heeseung raised a brow, amused. “So you do care.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating faintly. “I don’t. You’re just weird.”

His gaze drifted to the side of your tray, where the banana milk cartons were lined like little trophies. “Really? That’s rich coming from the person who drank four.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” you huffed. “Leave me alone.”

You turned back to your tablet, trying to sink back into the rhythm you’d found earlier. But before you could draw another line, something soft slid across the table.

You paused. A neatly wrapped milk bread bun sat next to your tablet now, its plastic crinkling faintly under your wrist.

You turned your head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Heeseung was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, gaze pointedly not meeting yours.

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “…What’s this?”

He didn’t answer, simply popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and leaned back in his seat.

You stared at the bread for a moment before mumbling under your breath, “…Thanks.”

Heeseung looked up at you, a faint smile ghosting his lips as he gave a small nod. “No problem.”

His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to break whatever quiet bubble the two of you had found yourselves in.

He nudged the banana milk closer to him, took a slow sip, then leaned an elbow on the table, his eyes scanning your face with something curious.

“Where’s Sunoo?”

Your fingers paused over the bread wrapper. The question was innocent—lighthearted, even—but something about it made your chest tighten.

A smile crept onto your lips, small and automatic, the kind of smile that used to come so easily at the mention of your friend.

But this time, it faded just as fast.

You didn’t meet Heeseung’s eyes as you replied flatly, “He’s busy.”

You tugged the plastic open with a quiet crinkle, carefully peeling back the corners like it gave you something to focus on.

Heeseung let out a soft breath—maybe a laugh, maybe just amusement. “Of course.”

There was no malice in his voice, only a kind of warmth wrapped in sarcasm.

He glanced at you again, eyes soft as he asked, “So, it’s just you?”

The repeated question made your chest tighten for some reason you didn’t want to name. “Just me,” you murmured, tone even, like yesterday hadn’t happened at all.

Heeseung nodded, smile tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t press further. “Okay.”

He seemed almost used to your dry tone, like he didn’t expect anything more but still somehow found your cold honesty a little funny.

You didn’t respond.

Instead, you took a small bite of the milk bread, your eyes flicking back to the tablet in your lap as if hoping it would magically distract you from everything else.

If you had looked up just a second longer, you might’ve caught the fleeting smile playing on Heeseung’s lips—something real, something soft.

He stared at you for a beat longer, then shook his head with a barely-there smirk as he stabbed a fork into his food.

He didn’t speak again.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—but it was heavy.

Comfortable in a way that shouldn’t have made sense, not with someone you barely knew. But you weren’t scrambling to fill the quiet, and neither was he.

You continued nibbling on the bread slowly, the sketch on your tablet long forgotten. Your stylus sat limp in your hand as you simply… let yourself sit there, with him.

A minute later, Heeseung fixed one of his earbuds on his ear, properly slipping it in as he opened his playlist.

The screen glowed against his skin, and he tapped the play button once.

Music spilled from his other earbud faintly—mellow guitar strums and lo-fi drums—just loud enough that you could hear it if you really tried.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

You walked down the hallway with your usual expressionless stride, ignoring the not-so-quiet whispers echoing off the walls around you.

“She’s so full of herself.”

“No, she’s just a genius, didn’t you hear about her last collection?”

“I bet she thinks she’s better than everyone.”

Same voices. Different day.

You barely blinked as they passed by, used to the reputation that clung to you like the scent of luxury perfume.

You were either the fashion department’s ‘prodigy’ or the ‘cold, stuck-up brat’—there was no in-between. But it didn’t matter. You didn’t have time for their noise.

You adjusted the strap of your on your shoulder, fingers brushing the buttery leather as you continued walking toward the exit.

Sunoo had texted a few minutes ago, asking to meet at your favorite café just outside campus. A small escape—one you were honestly looking forward to.

But the second you turned the final hallway out of the fashion building, your steps slowed.

There, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, stood Heeseung.

Black joggers. Worn basketball shoes. His university jersey still on, hanging loosely over his figure. A white zip-up jacket draped open over it. His dark hair was damp at the edges, like he’d just come from practice.

His gaze was scanning the students spilling out of the building—bored, like he didn’t even know what he was looking for. Until his eyes landed on you.

And then, as if you were in some cliché drama, he lifted a hand and waved. At you.

You blinked.

Glanced behind you.

No one.

You raised a brow and sighed under your breath, the slightest drop of dread forming in your gut as you adjusted your bag and walked forward, your heels clicking with every step on the polished floor.

You met halfway, and as always, he was already grinning like he found your frown amusing.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want, Lee?”

He pushed off the wall with lazy ease, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he fell in step beside you. “Are you always this harsh?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Are you always this annoying?”

He laughed—head tilting back slightly like he actually enjoyed the way you spoke to him. “Damn, you really don’t hold back, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just kept walking. If you acknowledged the slight way your heart tripped at his laugh, you’d never forgive yourself.

He matched your pace effortlessly, his longer legs keeping up with your brisk stride as you both exited the building into the soft breeze outside.

“I’m actually here on behalf of Sunoo,” he said, finally explaining his presence.

You turned your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What? Why?”

Heeseung shrugged a little too casually, “He told me he’d be running late. Some last-minute project he needed to finish up. Said he probably wouldn’t make it in time—so he sent me as his substitute.”

You blinked. “Substitute?”

“Mhm.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with ease before turning it toward you. Sure enough, there it was—a message labeled ‘Sunoo’ with the text:

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: i owe u big time heeseung pls just go w her to the cafe she’ll kill me if she waits alone

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: I’ll try to come later!!

You stared at the screen, deadpan, then sighed, muttering, “Kim Sunoo, I swear to God.”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Oh come on, I’m not that bad. I thought we were getting close.”

You gave him a flat look, raising a single brow. “Is three days enough to determine a person’s personality?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, as if considering your question way too seriously. “Well… kind of,” he mused, “I mean, you wouldn’t stab me in public just because I’m here instead of Sunoo… right?”

You didn't respond immediately—just kept walking as you muttered, “Tempting.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound light and easy, like he wasn’t bothered at all by your dry jab. “So, where’s this mysterious café of yours?”

“Just one near the gate by the arts building,” you replied, voice even as you tucked your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan.

He nodded, gaze forward as he adjusted the strap of his backpack. “Huh. Never been. Lead the way then.

Silence soon wrapped around the both of you—not uncomfortable, but filled with something you couldn’t quite name. The air between you felt heavier the longer you walked side by side, heels tapping in sync against the stone path.

Still, he didn’t speak again, and somehow, that unnerved you more than his usual cocky remarks.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, observing the way his cherry-red hair caught the dying gold of the afternoon light.

He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t trying to get under your skin. He just walked. Quiet. Calm. Collected.

And that was what unsettled you the most.

It was strange—seeing him like this. The same Heeseung who made it to the top of your ‘Most Annoying People Alive’ list without even trying, the one who always had a smirk ready and a comment lined up to rile you.

But now? He was unreadable. Still. Focused.

Was this how he always was when Sunoo wasn’t around to stir him up? Or was this his default?

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure why it bothered you so much. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—with a strange sort of quiet confidence that made you question your own.

Or maybe it was the way his presence didn’t demand attention, but somehow pulled yours in anyway.

He turned to you suddenly, catching your stare. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

Heeseung smiled faintly, a knowing sort of curve to his lips. “You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were definitely staring,” he teased, nudging your elbow with his.

You scoffed. “Your hair’s just blinding.”

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh, the sound bouncing lightly between the two of you.

“What, you don’t like dark red?” he teased, running a hand through his vibrant cherry-dyed hair with a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

You didn’t bother replying—just kept walking, eyes forward. But he caught the way the corners of your lips twitched ever so slightly.

Heeseung’s grin only widened at the lack of protest. “Okay then,” he hummed, clearly entertained by your silence.

The next thing you knew, the two of you were already inside the café.

A warm hum of espresso beans and jazz music swirled around the quiet corners of the glass-walled space. The table you chose—one of the corner booths nestled near the tall windows—was bathed in a soft afternoon glow.

Your matcha cold brew sat on the table in front of you, condensation sliding lazily down the cup. Heeseung’s java chip frappé, on the other hand, was already half-melted, neglected entirely as his focus stayed glued to you.

“I still don’t get how you manage to multitask so much,” he said, chin propped on his hand as he leaned slightly forward, eyes scanning your tablet while you spoke.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, letting out a short, amused breath. “I don’t know either. Now stop staring and focus,” you mumbled, turning the device toward him.

He blinked before shifting a little closer, his knee brushing against yours under the table. “Alright, alright,” he murmured with a small grin.

“Okay,” you started, eyes scanning your notes, “I made some modifications on the pants—fixed the trim to something more tapered, but I haven’t stitched it yet. I’m stuck on what thread to use so it doesn’t tear the fabric, especially since Sunoo moves so much onstage.”

Heeseung tapped his chin thoughtfully, his brows pulling in. “Have you tried bonded nylon? It’s tough. Won’t tear easily.”

You looked up slowly, brows raised. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I had a close friend who was a fashion major. He graduated last year.”

You nodded, clearly impressed. “You remember at least one thing he said, huh?”

“I remember the important stuff,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your tablet again.

“Tell Sunoo you’re done finalizing the fabric for the top, and you just need to settle on accessories. You said you were leaning toward gold last time, right?”

You blinked. “Yeah… I was.”

Heeseung looked proud of himself. “See? I listen. Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

A small smile escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly looked down to hide it, pretending to scroll through your files.

He caught it anyway.

“I told you,” he said, voice light, teasing. “I’m not that bad, (Y/N).”

You shook your head, lips quirking. “We’ll see.”

Heeseung let out a quiet chuckle, eyes flickering to the condensation dripping down his forgotten drink. “I still don’t get how you haven’t burned out.”

“I have,” you said honestly, tone softer now. “I just don’t show it.”

Heeseung smiled, not the teasing kind he usually wore, but something smaller—gentler.

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling right back into place as he leaned one elbow on the table, eyes not leaving yours.

“So it’s just you, huh?” he repeated, voice quieter.

You let out a breath of a laugh, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Just me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly like something about that amused or maybe even impressed him. The sound made you smile in return—an unintentional reaction that slipped through your usually guarded expression.

Then he leaned forward, squinting at your nearly empty cup and the crumbs on your plate. “So, are you hungry?”

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “I had a muffin earlier. And the matcha’s still half full, so… not really?”

He gave you a flat look, raising a brow. “Real food, (Y/N).”

You snorted. “I can’t. I still have another project to finish after this.”

“When’s that due?” he asked, already knowing what your answer would be.

You sighed, “Next week.”

He let out a laugh and leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he pointed out, “Exactly. Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“There’s no need, Lee, I can handle—”

“I told Sunoo I’d be with you.” He clicked his tongue and cut you off, tilting his head as if that settled the matter.

You stared at him. He stared back. His arms still crossed in defiance, making the letters of the Decelis University jersey stretch across his chest.

“That’s not a valid excuse,” you muttered.

“It’s a perfectly valid excuse,” he grinned. “Now get up. I’m not leaving you here to starve.”

“I’m not starving!”

“You had a muffin.”

You huffed and gave him a look, grabbing your tablet and neatly tucking it into your bag. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” he said, voice light, as he stood up beside you.

He waited, watching you pack the rest of your things. And when you finally zipped your bag and rose from your seat, he held the café door open with the cockiest little smirk like he’d just won a war.

“Cocky much?” you muttered as you stepped out, brushing past him.

He grinned, letting the door shut behind him as he fell in step beside you. “What? Can’t a gentleman walk a pretty girl back to campus?”

You rolled your eyes. “You? A gentleman?”

“I opened the door,” he said with faux offense. “Twice, might I add. That’s two gentleman points.”

You shook your head, letting out a small laugh as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk. The sky was soft now—pale blue melting into gold—and the warm breeze carried the faint scent of the bakery down the block.

Your shoulders brushed every now and then, but neither of you pulled away.

You furrowed your brows, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead.

Whatever this thing was—this connection, this pull—you didn’t know what to call it.

He wasn’t just some passing face anymore. Not after how easily he made you laugh. Not after how naturally he took up space beside you like he belonged there.

And that scared you.

Heeseung glanced at you, catching the wrinkle in your brow. “You okay?”

You blinked, trying to play it off. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You sat on the cold bleachers beside Sunoo, the hum of rubber soles squeaking against the polished wood floor echoing across the gym. It was early afternoon, and despite the crowd being modest, the cheers from a few enthusiastic bleacher rows away made your eye twitch.

You glanced down at your hand, inspecting your nails with a soft frown, lips pursed.

“Ugh,” you sighed under your breath, squinting. “Why is it that the gel always grows out at the worst possible time?”

Sunoo, beside you in his cream cardigan and blue jeans, let out a soft laugh. “You really can’t even pretend to be interested, can you?”

You raised a brow without looking at him, eyes flickering back to the court where the Decelis team moved in sharp formations. “Why are we here again?”

He turned to you, blonde hair bouncing a little with the movement, smiling brightly. “To show support for our friend.”

You snorted. “Your friend. Not mine.”

Sunoo blinked dramatically at you. “He took you out to dinner two nights ago.”

You rolled your eyes. “A night you bailed on me for, by the way.”

“I already apologized for that!” Sunoo defended with a soft whine, poking your shoulder. “Besides, that’s not the point. You went. You let him pay.”

“That was nothing,” you said, arms crossing over your chest. “He was just being friendly.”

Sunoo side-eyed you, trying and failing to hide a smug grin. “That’s what they all say.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, Sunoo—”

Before you could say more, the buzzer rang loudly through the gym, and the crowd stirred with energy as the timeout was called.

The players headed toward their benches, water bottles being passed around. You scanned the group lazily until your eyes landed on Heeseung.

Cherry red hair damp with sweat, jersey clinging to his tall frame, the number on his back glinting slightly under the lights. He wiped his face with the edge of his shirt, flashing a sliver of toned abs that made the girls a few rows down absolutely lose it.

You scowled, muttering under your breath, “They act like they’ve never seen abs before.”

Sunoo leaned over slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Like you have?”

You turned your head slowly, one brow arching as your lips parted to retort—but he beat you to it.

“Yes, smartass, I know,” he drawled dramatically, flipping his blonde bangs out of his eyes. “You help your mom and brother with their modeling gigs.”

You gave a victorious little smile, proud and smug as you leaned back against the bleacher, eyes flicking lazily back toward the court—only to meet a pair of familiar brown ones already staring.

Heeseung was standing near the team’s bench, one hand on his waist, towel draped over his neck. He wasn’t even pretending not to look.

His lips curled into a knowing little smile as he caught your gaze, and you blinked in surprise before offering him the most nonchalant wave you could muster.

He dipped his head slightly, amused, then turned back to his teammates who were crowding around the coach. But not before you saw that stupid cocky grin again.

Sunoo hummed beside you like he was watching a soap opera unravel. “Yeah. Totally not friends.”

You didn’t even have to look to know he was smirking.

He continued, voice laced with mock sincerity, “Because, you know, friends totally look like they wanna suck each other’s faces off.”

Your head whipped toward him, scandal written all over your expression. “Kim Sunoo—!”

He just laughed, loudly and unashamed, clapping once at your reaction. “God, I love toying with you and your high-class grammar. You make it so easy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, swatting at his arm. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

“Painfully.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the players began lining up again. You sighed, arms crossing over your chest as you slumped back into the metal bleachers.

“When’s this game going to be over?” you asked, voice bordering on a whine.

Sunoo glanced at his phone. “We don’t have classes until two.”

You groaned. “So, never.”

Sunoo snorted, nudging your shoulder with his. “Patience.”

The two of you slumped a little lower in your seats, your chin resting against your palm while your eyes drifted over the court. It had gotten a little more intense, more aggressive.

You watched as Heeseung weaved in between two defenders with ease, chest heaving, face damp with sweat, and you couldn’t lie—it was kind of attractive.

Just kind of.

Not that you were going to admit that out loud.

The game dragged on, minutes stretching as the buzzer rang again and again, signaling quarters, subs, and timeouts. You and Sunoo chatted aimlessly in between, and despite yourself, you kept glancing back at Heeseung.

He played like he had something to prove. His movements were clean, controlled—every pass, every shot, every quick dodge through players was done with ease and confidence.

And as much as you wanted to pretend it didn’t faze you, your heart skipped when he made that final three-pointer, right at the buzzer.

The sound echoed through the gym, followed by the shriek of the final buzzer.

Cheers erupted from his teammates. The teams called out a chorus of “Good game!” and “Thanks for the match!” as they lined up to slap hands.

People began trickling out of the bleachers, footsteps echoing in waves.

You and Sunoo stood, heading down the short steps as chatter filled the air, gym bags unzipping, laughter bouncing off the walls.

And then, right at the base of the stairs, Heeseung appeared.

Sweat still clung to his neck and jaw, his shirt damp against his toned chest. He grinned—wide, boyish, and proud—as he jogged up and stood in front of you both.

He tilted his head, cocky. “Well? How’d I do?”

You blinked. “I still don’t know a thing about basketball, Lee.”

He blinked, lips parting slightly like he was almost offended—until you added, “But I guess that last three-pointer was impressive.”

His eyes widened. “Wait. Wait, did you just—? Did you actually call it a three-pointer?”

He turned to Sunoo, dramatic. “Did you teach her that?”

Sunoo raised his hands smugly. “I did. Took me two weeks, but I finally got through her designer brain.”

You smiled, shaking your head as Heeseung chuckled.

“Well, thank you. Both of you—for coming.”

Sunoo shrugged. “It’s nothing. Not like we have classes until two.”

Heeseung nodded in understanding, grabbing the edge of the towel draped around his shoulders to wipe his forehead. “Still. Means a lot. Even if it’s just a practice game.”

Sunoo arched a brow. “For a practice game?”

The two boys exchanged a look.

Sunoo laughed first. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re annoying,” Heeseung muttered fondly, nudging Sunoo’s arm with his elbow.

Sunoo pointed toward the gym doors. “Well. Shall we?”

You gave a little nod and turned to follow Sunoo, your steps soft on the polished floor. But behind you, Heeseung’s voice called out.

“Good luck on your classes, (Y/N)!”

You glanced back. “Thanks, Lee.”

He smiled at you, sweat-slick hair falling slightly over his eyes.

But before you could respond again, Sunoo was already a few steps ahead, tapping his phone and humming some song under his breath.

You quickened your pace to match him, only to glance one last time over your shoulder.

Heeseung was no longer looking at you, now surrounded by a bunch of girls from some other department. They laughed at something he said, one of them reaching to push his shoulder playfully.

He didn’t look at them the same way he looked at you, but still—your brows furrowed.

You looked away and stepped outside with Sunoo, the gym doors closing behind you with a soft thud.

But you couldn't help it.

Your feet slowed slightly as your eyes flicked back over your shoulder, catching a glimpse through the tall glass panes on the door.

For a second—just a second—his eyes drifted back toward the door like he knew. Like he knew you’d turn around. And when they did, your gaze clashed with his across the glass. He didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

That stupid, lopsided, boyish smile that made your stomach do something annoying.

You quickly turned your head, heat rising to your cheeks, only to see Sunoo already watching you like a hawk, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cream hoodie, lips twitching with barely concealed smugness.

“I know that look,” he said in a sing-song tone, starting to walk again.

You glared at him, falling in step beside him. “No, you do not.”

He shrugged. “Come on. I mean, it's your first time liking someone, I don’t blame you.”

You nearly choked. “Sunoo—!”

“What?” he laughed, throwing his hands up playfully. “You don’t have to say it out loud for me to see it all over your face. You get this weird thing going on with your mouth when you’re trying not to smile.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even know him fully. Sunoo, please. You’re making it sound like I’m… infatuated.”

He hummed. “Aren’t you?”

You smacked his arm lightly, earning another laugh from him as the two of you walked past the familiar brick path that led back to your department’s main building. But the truth lingered in your throat.

You didn’t know what you felt for Heeseung. And you really didn’t know why the sight of him laughing so easily with other girls made something sour coil in your chest.

It wasn’t like you were anything to him. Just a stranger from a different building who happened to have a loud friend and a schedule that aligned, somehow.

You exhaled quietly, pushing the doors open to the Fashion Department and stepping into the cool air-conditioned hallway.

The hallways of the main building were as chaotic as ever, buzzing with voices, shoes clicking against polished floors, and the occasional laughter echoing off the walls.

You walked through it all like you were floating—head held high, confidence cloaked around you like one of your mother’s luxury silk scarves. Your tote swung against your hip with every graceful step, your expression unreadable.

“She looks so intimidating, oh my God…”

“Wait, is that Choi (Y/N)?”

“Damn… she’s even prettier up close.”

You heard it all. You always did. But like usual, you didn’t flinch—let alone acknowledge it.

You were headed to the administration office, needing to track down one of the professors under the Fashion Merchandising elective to confirm your final consultation date for your Market Behavior in Modern Fashion project.

One of your designs had been shortlisted for a collab pitch, and there were requirements to meet.

You clutched the folder of reference papers closer to your chest, turning the corner toward the long hallway where the admin office sat, only to pause ever so slightly at what you saw.

Heeseung.

Walking right toward your direction with two boys at his side. You’d seen them around before—thanks to Sunoo.

The sharper-eyed one with the feline expression was Yang Jungwon, a student org vice president, while the one with the striking pale features and deep-set eyes could only be Park Sunghoon. No Sunoo in sight.

They were laughing at something. Shoulders bumping. Casual and easy in that boyish way. And then, as if gravity had its own plans, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from whatever Jungwon was saying—and met yours.

It was brief.

A single moment.

But it lingered.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t let it show.

You simply looked away and kept walking past them like nothing.

Heeseung's head tilted the slightest bit as his gaze followed you. His smile from earlier dimmed just slightly—his brows knitting together.

“Hey,” Jungwon nudged him with a chuckle, glancing between Heeseung and your retreating form. “What, another new girl?”

Heeseung frowned. “She’s not—she’s my friend. If you can even call it that.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Come on. Me and Jungwon aren’t blind. You do this whole… googly-eye thing when you’re interested.”

“What googly-eye thing?” Heeseung snapped, glaring mildly at Sunghoon as the other boy held in a laugh.

“That one,” Sunghoon pointed at his face dramatically. “Right there. You look like you’re trying not to smile every time you look at her.”

Jungwon grinned. “Exactly. Like, is she different? ‘Cause I think she might be different.”

“Shut up,” Heeseung groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, stealing another glance down the hall you just disappeared into.

“She’s not like that. I mean—she’s not one of them.”

“Them being…?”

“My admirers,” Heeseung said flatly, the word tasting sour. “They obsess over me. It’s weird.”

“Okay, Mr. Humble,” Jungwon said with a shrug. “So then, what’s she to you?”

Heeseung slowed his steps for just a second. Thought about the glare you gave him during your first encounter.

The annoyed roll of your eyes when he teased you. The quiet softness in your expression when you forgot to be guarded.

Heeseung exhaled, “…I don’t know,” he muttered.

Sunghoon raised a brow. “You sure?”

He didn’t respond.

He was still staring at the hallway you disappeared into, wondering why your silence this time left him with a strange, unshakable emptiness in his chest.

Meanwhile, just around the corner, your steps finally slowed.

You turned into the quieter hallway leading to the Administration Office, letting the sound of chatter and heels against tile fade behind you.

The second you were alone, you exhaled sharply.

You stopped in front of the frosted glass door, fingers tightening around the strap of your shoulder bag as your eyes dropped to the polished floor.

“Get a grip,” you muttered under your breath, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

“You’re here for the product catalog inquiry. Not to unravel over some guy who probably flirts with anything that breathes.”

You shook your head as if it would shake the thoughts away too. “He’s confusing. That’s all,” you whispered, steadying yourself with a deep breath.

“You don’t even know what this is. And you’re not about to let it get in the way.”

And with that, you reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a blank expression painted on your face—composed and unreadable, no matter what war brewed underneath.

The sun was merciless, beating down on your shoulders like it had something to prove.

You shifted the paper bag in your arms, muttering under your breath, “It’s so hot, I feel like I’m about to melt into the pavement.”

Your blouse clung uncomfortably to your back, and you sighed as you approached the wide pathway near the gym—one of the only shaded spots on the walk to the art building.

You stepped gratefully into the shadow cast by the structure, a small sigh of relief slipping past your lips as you used your free hand to fan yourself.

But your eyes shifted toward the open gym doors, curiosity betraying you.

The first thing that caught your attention was the dark cherry-red of his hair, glinting slightly under the gym lights. Then the white fabric of his jersey, the navy-blue ‘LEE’ stitched across the back in bold letters, slightly wrinkled as he moved.

Heeseung was tossing a basketball to one of his teammates, laughing with a kind of ease that felt both annoying and magnetic.

You didn’t mean to stare—but your feet stopped moving.

He turned, almost like he felt your gaze.

And the second his eyes found you, his entire expression lit up. Heeseung raised a hand in your direction, a wide smile forming on his face like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

But you blinked. Once. Twice.

And then you turned your head and walked away.

Didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

The smile on his face faltered. His hand dropped slowly, confusion flickering across his features as he stood frozen for a moment, the echoes of bouncing basketballs and sneakers squeaking on hardwood suddenly too loud.

“What the hell…” he mumbled, brows drawing together.

“Yo, Heeseung! You good?” one of his teammates called out.

Heeseung didn’t answer. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the sudden heaviness in his chest.

Things were going well. You laughed at his jokes, talked back without flinching, sat with him at cafés like you didn’t mind his presence.

But now, you looked at him like he was a stranger again. Like he didn’t exist. Like he wasn’t the same guy who once grinned when you called him a show-off.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “You confuse me, Choi (Y/N),” he muttered under his breath, fingers curling into fists as he forced himself to look away.

He was many things. Top of his class. Basketball team captain. Future latin honors. The kind of student teachers raved about and underclassmen admired.

But with you? None of it seemed to matter.

Because you didn’t fall for the rumors or polished charm. You didn’t give a damn about titles. You saw through all of it—and that scared him. Excited him. Frustrated him.

And now you were cold again. Distant. Untouchable.

He looked down at his hands, fingers twitching like they wanted to crush something. Then he turned back toward the court with a scowl pulling at his lips.

“You still with us, captain?” one of his teammates called, dribbling toward him.

Heeseung forced a smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Peachy.”

He jogged back toward the rest of the team, sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor as the sound of bouncing balls and barking coaches faded into background noise.

But his thoughts were louder. Clingier. Like your silence had clawed its way into his brain and was now echoing on repeat.

You wanted space.

Fine. He could give you that. Hell, he wasn’t the type to chase someone who clearly didn’t want to be chased. Not anymore.

As he stopped at the three-point line and waited for the pass, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head slightly, like he could physically knock your face out of his thoughts.

He caught the ball with a heavy thud and muttered under his breath, “Get it together.”

Because yeah, maybe he had a reputation—a little rough around the edges, the guy who showed up with bruised knuckles and a cocky grin.

Maybe he pissed off teachers with his smart mouth and turned in papers two minutes before deadlines.

But even with all of that… he had respect.

He never forced himself into anyone’s space. Especially not yours.

So if you needed distance, then distance you’d get.

He drove the ball forward and sank it cleanly into the net. The gym echoed with the satisfying swish, and someone clapped him on the back.

“Damn, someone’s pissed,” one of the boys joked. “Girl trouble again?”

Heeseung scoffed, spinning the ball once in his hands before tossing it back toward center court. “Aren’t you late for your third rejection this week?”

Laughter broke out, but his smirk was tight.

Because no one knew.

No one knew just how bad it messed with him—

To finally feel like he was getting through to you, only for you to shut him out all over again.

The warm scent of garlic butter and fried chicken wafted through the air as you, Wonyoung, and Yujin strolled down the path to the main building cafeteria, heels clacking lightly against the pavement.

Your tote hung low on your shoulder, sketchpad sticking out awkwardly between fabric swatches, and your fingers were still smudged with yesterday’s dried graphite.

“Well, I think my proposal’s going really well,” you began optimistically, gaze flicking to the sky like you were asking the universe for some grace.

Wonyoung snorted, not even trying to hide her smile. “You mean your color palette and those three empty pages labeled ‘concept sketches’?”

“Okay, rude,” you muttered, letting your weight lean into her side as she tugged you by the arm into the forming lunch line.

“I still don’t have a muse. Or any real inspiration. I can’t even visualize the silhouette yet—this project’s gonna be the death of me. I’m never gonna make it to third year.”

“You’re such a big baby, (Y/N),” Wonyoung teased, gently bumping your hip. “You’ve literally pulled magic out of nothing before. You just like to panic first, design later.”

Yujin laughed, reaching forward to grab a tray. “We already think you’re getting the highest grade this semester. You’re gonna be fine.”

You sighed, your voice dropping into a more fragile tone. “I hope so.”

And as if the universe had been listening and decided to spite you—because of course—it chose that exact moment to test your nerves.

Heeseung stepped into the cafeteria.

Wearing all black. Looking irritatingly flawless. Laughing at something stupid Sunoo had just said.

Your body tensed instantly, lips pressing together as you stared at your tray a second too long.

You hadn’t seen him in almost a week—okay, avoided was the better word—but it didn’t stop the flicker of heat crawling up your neck.

You quickly looked away, but not fast enough.

Because he saw you.

Heeseung’s smile dropped the moment your eyes met.

You rolled your eyes and pointedly turned your head toward the drinks fridge, pretending to be deeply fascinated by orange juice.

Heeseung slowed his pace. Just barely. His brow furrowed.

Sunoo, still mid-laugh, blinked and followed his friend’s gaze. “Wait… was that (Y/N)?”

Heeseung kept walking but the crease between his brows stayed, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah.”

Sunoo tilted his head, clearly confused. “She didn’t even say hi. Or look like she wanted to say hi. What was that about?”

Heeseung shrugged, his voice casual but tight. “No idea.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I said I don’t know, Sunoo,” Heeseung muttered, glancing over his shoulder at your turned back, the way Wonyoung had a protective hand on the small of your back while you muttered something under your breath.

“You really didn’t do anything?”

“I swear, I didn’t,” he said, almost too quickly. Then quieter, “It’s like she suddenly hates me.”

Sunoo blinked, lips pursing in thought. “Well… she did hate you at first.”

“What?” Heeseung furrowed his brows, pausing mid-step. “What do you mean?”

Sunoo gave him a sheepish little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay—don’t get mad—but I might’ve mentioned your… you know. Reputation.”

Heeseung stared at him, deadpan. “My what reputation, Sunoo?”

Sunoo held both his hands up like he was surrendering. “Just! Just that you had kind of a… colorful dating history. Nothing huge! I just hinted at it. Lightly. Casually.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t mention my ex, did you?”

Sunoo’s wince was answer enough.

“I hinted at her,” he muttered, shrinking under Heeseung’s glare. “Barely. Like, ‘He’s had some messy flings but he’s really sweet when he wants to be,’ type of thing.”

Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Sunoo…”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Sunoo whined. “I didn’t think she’d take it to heart! I thought she’d just keep teasing you like usual!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Heeseung muttered, trying to shake it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Sunoo didn’t let up. “It is a big deal. You’re not fooling around this time, are you? You’re not toying with her.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, jaw tight.

Sunoo let out a soft sigh and continued, voice gentler this time. “Usually… all your admirers do the chasing. And never you. But with (Y/N)?” He smiled faintly. “I think it’s a good thing that she’s not one of them.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, staring at the back of your head across the cafeteria as you laughed at something Wonyoung said—so far away, so different now.

“I know,” he mumbled. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The hallways of the fashion department building were quiet—eerily so, save for the faint ticking of the old wall clock and the distant hum of a sewing machine from one of the advanced design rooms.

Most students were glued inside their classrooms, immersed in last-minute cramming or sketching, which left the corridors empty and still.

You grunted softly under your breath, adjusting the obnoxiously heavy stack of fabric folders in your arms.

“Stupid Soobin,” you muttered, struggling to keep the folders balanced as you reached the corner near the stairwell.

“What kind of big brother dumps ten pounds of swatches on me and says, ‘Here, maybe you’ll get inspired’?”

You scoffed, still remembering how smug he looked when he handed it to you this morning. Just because you swung by his company for coffee didn’t mean he could load you like a pack mule.

With a soft huff, you rounded the turn toward the stairwell—only to freeze mid-step.

There, standing by the window near the first landing, was him.

Heeseung.

Clad in his usual all-black hoodie and pants, his signature basketball sneakers tapping lightly against the tile as he leaned on the railing, clearly waiting for someone.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as you instinctively stepped back into the shadow of the wall, hugging the folders close.

What the hell is he doing here? He had no business in the fashion department.

You were just about to turn around and walk the other way when—

“So,” Heeseung suddenly said, his deep voice echoing slightly in the empty stairwell. “You wanted to meet me here?”

You froze.

Your brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” a female voice replied, nervous and a little too soft. “I—I hope it’s okay. I just… I didn’t know how else to say this.”

Your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned just enough to peek around the corner, eyes narrowing slightly.

It was some girl—probably a junior, based on the ID badge clipped to her chest. She was twisting the hem of her sleeve, cheeks flushed pink.

“I just think you’re… really talented,” she said shyly. “And hot. And like, you’re probably way out of my league, but I couldn’t not say something, you know?”

You blinked.

Heeseung sighed, the sound laced with a tired kind of patience. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. And I appreciate the guts it took to say that, really. But…”

“But?” the girl asked softly.

“I’m already interested in someone else,” he said, voice steady.

Your heart stopped.

The girl sounded crushed. “Oh. Um, who?”

Heeseung hesitated. Then, without an ounce of embarrassment, he said—“Choi Y/n.”

Your stomach dropped.

The folders in your arms nearly slipped from your grip as you jerked in shock, barely managing to catch them before they hit the floor. The rustle was loud—loud enough to echo.

Heeseung’s head snapped up toward the sound. He squinted but saw nothing.

You pressed your back hard against the cold wall, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“She’s such a cold bitch, though,” the girl whispered sharply, and your eyes narrowed instinctively. “She never even talks to people. Why would you like someone like that?”

Heeseung didn’t even flinch.

“Look,” he said calmly. “(Y/N) doesn’t waste her time. She has standards. And yeah, maybe she’s not handing out smiles and small talk like candy, but she’s honest. And she doesn’t pretend to be someone she’s not just to be liked.”

You stood frozen, lips slightly parted, stunned speechless.

Heeseung was still speaking, but the pounding in your head made it impossible to catch the rest. You didn’t want to. Your legs were already moving.

He didn’t mean it. There was no way.

He was just trying to get out of that confession with minimal damage. That’s all.

It had to be.

Your heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor as you turned and walked away, folders pressed tight against your chest. You didn’t dare look back.

And yet, down the stairs, Heeseung’s voice trailed off when he caught the sound of footsteps fading in the hallway above.

His brows furrowed.

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the upper steps and corridor, but all he saw was the empty hallway.

A breath escaped his lips, laced with something that felt a lot like disappointment.

Down in front of him, the girl shifted awkwardly. She hadn’t moved since his confession.

“…I’m sure you’ll find someone else, yeah?” Heeseung said, his tone gentler now. “Someone who’s gonna feel the same.”

She gave a small nod, clearly dejected, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks,” before turning on her heel and walking away.

But Heeseung didn’t watch her leave.

Instead, he glanced back up again.

His jaw clenched as he slipped his hands into his hoodie pocket, the weight of your name still heavy on his tongue.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

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You had barely taken two steps into the apartment and Ryland already had you pressed up against the door. The kiss was hot, and desperate. His hands running down your sides, to squeeze your ass. You mean into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into yours. You’re both needy. His hands are slipping into the waistband of your skirt as you peel his cardigan off of him. If anyone were to see you two right now, they wouldn’t believe that just 20 minutes ago you were at your friend’s party, at each other’s throats, a full screaming match between the two of you.

And in the 10 minutes it took you to get to your apartment, (and wait five minutes for Ryland since he left a few minutes after you) you were now making out, pressing into each other like your lives depended on it.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you’re trying to keep your voice strong and steady. Ryland has found the spot right behind your ear that makes you a mess for him. He laughs against your skin, giving the spot a small little kiss before nipping at it.

His other hand, trailing down to toy with the front your skirt. “Oh yeah? Should I find out just how annoying am I?” He’s looking at you, one finger tucked underneath the waistband of your skirt, teasing you. You know this is his twisted way of asking to touch you. And the fucked up part is that it’s working.

You smirk at him. He doesn't know what he’s in for tonight. “Why don’t you tell me?” you’re trying so hard to keep your composure. But the need to feel him is consuming you, and you don’t know how much longer you can take not having his mouth on you.

Ryland’s hand slips down the front of your skirt, and he’s immediately met with your slick warm cunt. Typically, Ryland would make some sly remark about how wet he can make you by barely touching you. But the surprise of you being completely bare underneath your skirt, and you have been the whole night. His big bad ego faltering a little and the feeling of you, letting out a strangled, “fuck.”

“Naughty girl.” he moans out, two fingers spreading your wetness around. You squirm against his fingers, needing more.

“I bet you’ve been ready for me since you started arguing,” he’s barely dragging your fingers in between your folds, kissing along the neckline of your tank top.

“Shut the fuck up,” your breath is heavy, attempting to grind onto his hands in hopes that he gives you something, anything more than what he’s doing now. “That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, pretty girl. You know better than that.” He slips his fingers out of your skirt, and you whine. He brings his fingers to lips to taste you, and one of your hands slides down his front and begins to rub Ryland’s cock over his jeans. He bucks his hips at the feeling and you give him a squeeze.

“It’s a fucking shame you don’t act as sweet as you taste,” he brings his free hand underneath your shirt, pulling at one of your nipples.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it Ryland,” you say, unbuttoning his jeans to repay the teasing he did to you. He brings you into another kiss. Ryland would never admit this to you, but he genuinely loves making out with you. He can never get enough of you.

He brings his hands to your ass and pulls your skirt up. There isn’t a part of your body that Ryland doesn’t love to touch. As long as it’s within reach he will run his hands all over you, and you love it. He gives your ass a smack before running his hands down, giving you a tap on your thighs. You know what that means.

You jump, and wrap your legs around Rylands waist. He can feel your warmth pressed against him and it’s taking him everything, not to fuck you up against this wall.

With the amount of times Ryland has been in your apartment, he could probably find your bed blindfolded. He walks you two over to your bed, and gently places you on the mattress. He breaks the kiss, getting up from his position to take his shirt off. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him. It never ceases to amaze you how fit he is. His stupid shirts are always clinging to his body in the most delicious way and it drives you crazy. Your eyes graze down his front, and you bite your lip. His whole body is blushing from the way you’re looking at him.

His eyes rake down your body. The straps of your tank top have fallen, shirt barely hiding your tits to him. And from this angle he can catch a glimpse of your beautiful, wet pussy. Your hair is messy, and there are several red marks all over your neck and chest from him. This moment feels too intimate, almost romantic, and his heart flutters a little. He can’t date you. He’s the one that made it clear you guys were only fuck buddies. No strings attached. And you must not like him back if you agreed to this arrangement… right?

You can feel something shifting between you two. The ache in your heart is growing for him. Spreading your legs to give him a better view of what he came for, attempting to push the feeling down. You watch his eyes darken as his eyes make their way to your pussy.

You watch as he drops himself onto his knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your legs dangle over his shoulders, as he begins kissing up your thighs. He pulls your skirt down, leaving you bare in front of him.

“Ryland,” you moan out, as he licks up your cunt. Your fingers reach for his hair. It’s so soft in your hands, and you love the ungodly noises you can pull from Ryland when you pull it.

His tongue glides in between your folds, teasing your hole a little, and you buck your hips up, pushing your pussy further in his face. He grabs your hips, holding you onto the bed, firmly.

“don’t be greedy,” he sneers, his tongue circling your clit. Ryland Grace eats you out like a man starved. He loves to have his face buried in between your thighs. He’ll text you late at night at least once a week, to watch you fall apart on his tongue. And on the rare occasions that he has spent the night, he’ll almost reward you by waking you up with his tongue. He loves knowing you’re falling apart over something only he can do to you. It’s almost like your his. Almost

He slides a finger into your weeping hole, and you lean forward, pulling at his hair. He begins pumping it in and out of you, slowly, watching your body react to him.

“Ryland, I swear to God-“ he cuts you off by pulling his fingers out and giving your pussy a slap. He rubs your clit as he peers at you over his fogged up glasses.

“You think I don’t know what this pussy needs? Such a perfect fucking slut, just for me,” he slaps your pussy one more time, then slips two fingers inside of you. He curls his fingers inside of you, hitting the spot he knows so well. The sound that comes out of you makes his cock twitch.

“just for you, fuck,” the reassurance that you get only this fucked out for him makes his heart squeeze in his chest. He feels you squeeze around his fingers, and he knows that means you’re on the edge.

“such a good fucking girl,” he groans, quickening the pace of his fingers, wanting you to cum for him. “Ryland don’t stop, please don’t,” you push his head again and this time he lets you. You can feel the coil in your lower stomach begin to unravel, and before you know it, you're cumming on his fingers.

“Just like that. Look at me as you fall apart, baby,” you’re thighs convulse, and you lock eyes with Ryland as he licks you clean. He rubs your thighs, as he brings the fingers that were inside of you to his mouth. He moans as you wrap your lips around his digits, your tongue swirling around them. He can’t wait to have your mouth around his cock. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva following.

“I hate how good you are at that,” you smirk at him, as he takes a step closer. You’re eye level with his cock, and your hand begins running up and down his thigh. “What’s that? All I heard was that I’m the best you’ve ever had.” He chuckles, as you smack his leg. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, then his hand finds its way cradling the back of your head.

“It’s nice when you put your mouth to good use,” you taunt, cocking your head to the side. You live riling him up. “Shut up,” he says, pulling your hair back, leaning forward, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Make me,” you smile against his lips. He gives you quick kiss, then releases the grip on your head. His hands reach down to the hem of your shirt. “Take this off,” but the words are useless because he’s already pulling it off of you before he’s finished.

You lift yourself off the bed, and sink down to your knees. You look up at him as you place a hand on each of his thighs, and lean forward to kiss right above the waist of his jeans. The look in your eyes is so innocent compared to what’s about to happen. “fuck, you look so pretty on your knees for me,” the words slip out before he can stop them and you smile tugging his jeans down. You place a kiss on his cock over his boxers. A small wet spot, from where his cock is leaking.

“gonna use my mouth Ryland,” you tease him, pulling his boxers down, his cock slapping his stomach. It’s long and thick, the tip already red and leaking.

He wraps a hand around his cock, pumping himself once before tapping it against your cheek. “Open your mouth,” he commands, and you stick your tongue out. He slaps it against your tongue, and you moan at the weight of it.

you push his hand out the way, wrapping your own around his length. “Such a beautiful cock, ryland. is this all for me?” you give the tip a kiss, and he bucks his hips.

“stop teasing me,” he hisses, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail. you take him into your mouth. your tongue swirls around his top, and Ryland moans. Your hand is still pumping the bottom half that you can’t fit into your mouth.

“That's it. you’re doing so well,” you moan around his cock from the praise. you continue bobbing your head, and ryland is seeing stars. He pushes your head further down, and he feels your gag a little. A tear falls from your eye, and he lets go of your hair to wipe away.

You take him out, giving him a few pumps. You look up at him through fluttering lashes, “gonna fuck my throat or what, grace?” and with that, your mouth is around him again. You relax your throat, and take a deep dreary before he pushes your head further down, taking all of him.

“You’re so good to me baby, fuck,” he whimpers out, and you can feel yourself growing more wet from his noises. Ryland has always been vocal, but when you suck his dick, he makes the prettiest noises you’ve ever heard.

He thrusts into your mouth, and you moan again. You love the feeling of having his dick in your mouth. You’d do it more often, if he let you. But the one thing you did appreciate about Ryland, was that he always made sure you were taken care of. Even if you were just fuck buddies.

Ryland looks down at you, your hand toying with your clit, as he uses your mouth. He could’ve came right at the sight of you. “Yeah. You like being a slut, just for me,” you whine around him, and his cock twitches. He knows he’s not gonna last much longer, and he needs to be inside of you. He pulls you off of his cock, and you just your lip out.

“I wasn’t done,” you pout, drool dripping down your face. He offers you his hand, and he helps you up, legs a little wobbly. “If I’m coming tonight, it’s gonna be inside of you,” he says, his fingers expertly finding your clit, running a few times. “Get on the bed,” he instructs and you happily oblige.

You crawl onto the bed, ass on display, as you get on all fours. You feel the mattress dip behind you and you smirk. He grabs your hips, and you can feel him rubbing the tip along your slit. You moan, loudly, grinding your ass against him.

“Ryland,” your voice is laced with need, and you arch your back. He leans forward placing a kiss on your back, “gotta say please, baby,” he rubs his tip against you again, and you whine. “Ryland, just fuck me already,” you’re trying to sound stern, but it’s hard to keep your composure. “C’mon, you can do better than that,” he barely presses the tip inside of you. You try to say something, but it comes out as a string of babbles.

“You wanna try that again, sweetheart,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk on his face. “Please Ryland. I need you to fill me up,” you’re desperate, and he knows that. And with those words, he thrusts inside you. You cry out, laying your face into the pillow, keeping your ass high in the air. He begins picking up the pace, and your cries get louder.

“pussy made just for me,” he moans, thrusting into you. He feels so good inside of you, stretching you just the right amount. “Ry, you feel so good,” it comes out breathy, and one of his hands reaches down to grab you by the hair and pull you up.

You’re now flush against his chest, and he’s thrusting up into you. He has one hand on your waist and the other snakes down to play with your clit. You throw your head back, on his shoulder, and he places a kiss on your neck.

“Such a smart girl, yet she goes stupid on my cock, don’t you,” he says against your neck. You moan out, feeling your orgasm building in you again.

“You like it when I fuck you like this? Only I can make you feel this good, huh?” you try to answer, but the feeling of him inside you while he plays with your pussy is too much. You squeeze around him, and it’s like your body is agreeing to his questions since you can’t with your words. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and you know he’s close.

He pulls out of you, and you gasp. Your orgasm was so close and now you were empty. “Ryland, what the fuck?” you sounded like you were about to cry, as you turn and face him. He gives you a kiss, laying you down on the pillows.

“I need to see you when you cum,” he says longing himself with you again, this time hovering over you. He thrusts all the way in, and you bring your leg over him, bringing him closer.

“Ryland, please cum inside of me. I need you,” you whine into his ears and it takes everything in him not to cum right there. You’re scratching his back, and he feels you tighten around him.

“Go ahead baby, I got you,” he kisses your cheek and you cum around him. You squeeze his cock, and you feel him twitch inside of you, filling you up. You cry out his name, back lifting off the mattress. Ryland collapses on top you, both of you sweaty and out of breath. He looks up at you, and smiles. He gives you a kiss on the chest before pulling out. You watch, eyes already getting sleepy as he walks into your bathroom.

After a few seconds, reappearing with a washcloth to gently clean you up. He gets back into the bed next to you, and brings your body flush against his. “You good?” he asks, running his hands along your sides. “Perfect,” you reply, resting your head on his chest.

He can feel you drifting off to sleep. “You want me to go?” He asks, mentally preparing for you to kick him out of your apartment. “No. Stay,” your voice is barely a whisper, and you wrap an arm around him. He kisses the top of your head, and brings the covers over both of you.

He looks down at you, and his heart aches. He knows he shouldn’t want more from this relationship. Not after he’s just the idea down so many times. But the more you two do this, the more he wants to see you and be with you. He sighs, closing his eyes, trying to get some rest.

"What happened?" Harry questioned, his heart sinking as he led her to his bed, where she immediately hugged him.

"It's nothing. I just need to get away," she murmured into his chest, her breath hot and shaky. The weight of her body against his was comforting, and Harry wrapped his arms around her instinctively. They sat in silence for a few moments, her trembling gradually subsiding as she took deep breaths. The room was quiet except for the occasional sniffle from Y/N. Harry felt her warmth and the softness of her hair under his chin.

"You can talk to me, you know," he offered gently.

Y/N pulled away and looked at him, her eyes glistening. "We had sex last night," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "And he was just...an asshole afterward."

The words hit Harry like a ton of bricks, a pang of jealousy shooting through his chest. He had known for a while that she and Jake were intimate, but hearing it from her lips was something else entirely. He had had a crush on her since they were children, and the thought of her being with someone else was like a knife twisting in his heart. He had always been too shy to tell her how he truly felt, afraid of losing their friendship or making things awkward.

Y/N noticed the sudden tension in Harry's body and paused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come here so late," she said, her voice thick with apology. "It's just that he didn't care about me at all. He didn't even give me any aftercare. When I brought it up he started screaming at me...and I didn't want to be alone."

"You can always come to me," Harry replied, his voice tight. He didn't know what to say next. He had never been in a relationship, or had sex with anyone, so his knowledge on advice to give was limited.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Could I...spend the night here?" she asked tentatively. "I just want to hang out and forget about everything for a while."

"Of course," Harry responded without hesitation, his heart racing at the thought of her being so close to him all night. He knew he had a big project due at the end of the week, but he'd manage, for her. "I just have to work on a project, but I'll be really quiet. You can sleep if you want."

Y/N managed a small smile, wiping away the last of her tears. "Thanks, Harry," she whispered, sliding into one of his oversized t-shirts that she found in his drawer. It smelled faintly of him, and she liked it. She slipped under the covers, leaving a space for him.

A couple hours went by and Harry had gotten to a point where he felt too tired to continue working.

He walked to the bathroom to prepare for bed. When he returned, Y/N was curled up, fast asleep. He set the water on his nightstand and took a moment to admire her. Her hair spilled across the pillow, and her bare legs were tangled in the sheets. Her face was serene in slumber, all traces of the pain from earlier gone. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her.

He gently took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand, and slid into bed next to her. Her eyes remained closed, but she snuggled closer, as if she knew he was there.

For a while, Harry simply watched her sleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the gentle way she breathed, it was mesmerizing. He had seen her in various states of dress before, but there was something so vulnerable about her now that made his chest ache. Her beauty was not just in her looks, but in the way she made him feel. The way she looked at him with those big eyes, the way she laughed at his nerdy jokes, the way she sought comfort in his arms. He knew he loved her, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

For the next couple days, she stayed in his dorm, rambling to him as he worked on his project. He didn't mind at all, he loved hearing her voice as he worked.

Y/N pouted, sitting up on the bed. She leaned back on her elbows, the t-shirt she was wearing riding up to expose her smooth stomach. Harry's eyes followed the movement, and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

"You're no fun when you're working," she said with a teasing smile. "How about a little break?"

Harry sighed, glancing over at her. "I really need to finish this," he replied, his eyes lingering on her.

Y/N giggled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Come on, Harry," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and walking over to him. "Just a couple minutes, please? You need a little break."

When she climbed off the bed, Harry couldn't help but steal glances at her as she approached. She leaned over his chair, her chest brushing against his shoulder, her perfume filling his nostrils.

"Come on, Harry," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear, "just five minutes."

Her hand slid onto his shoulder, gently massaging the tension out of his muscles. Harry's eyes darted to the screen, then back to her. She leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his arm as she traced her fingers along his neck. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on his work.

"You're so tense," she murmured, her voice like a siren's song. "Let me help."

Her fingers moved down his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone before sliding down to his chest, her touch light and teasing. Harry's heart thumped in his chest, his eyes darting from the screen to her face. She looked down at him, her gaze filled with mischief and something more...something that made his stomach do flips.

"You're always so worried about school," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "You need to relax, Harry."

He chuckled nervously, his cheeks flushing deeper. "I'm fine, really."

Y/N leaned closer, her eyes twinkling. "No, Harry, you're not fine. You're stressed to the max," she said, her voice a silky caress. "You know what you need?"

"What?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Y/N's smile grew more playful. "Some mind blowing sex" she whispered, her eyes dancing with mischief. "It's time you had some fun, let off some steam."

Harry's cheeks turned a deep shade of red as he stuttered, trying to form a coherent response. "I-I've got it under control," he said, his voice barely audible.

Y/N's hand didn't stop its gentle exploration of his chest, her touch sending electrifying sparks through his body. She leaned closer, her lips dangerously near his ear. "I'm sure I could find someone who'd love to take care of you," she whispered, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Panic shot through Harry like a lightning bolt. He had always feared this moment, the moment when Y/N realized his feelings and set him up with one of her friends. It would be humiliating, a clear sign that she didn't return his feelings. His heart raced as he tried to think of a way to divert her attention back to his work, anything to keep her from setting him up with someone else.

Before he could form a coherent thought, she took the matter into her own hands. She straddled his lap, her legs curling around his waist as she sat down, her eyes never leaving his. "Or, I could help you relax," she murmured, her voice softer than a whisper. "I find it hard to believe you're not roaming around campus, being a ladies man."

Her warmth engulfed him, and Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He could feel the heat from her body, the softness of her thighs pressed against his own. His body seemed to have a mind of its own.

"You know I'm not..." Harry stuttered, shelled her eyes, her hands moving to his chest.

"I know girls are throwing themselves at you...I think you just don't see it," Y/N whispered, gently bringing a hand up to his cheek.

Her touchsent a spark through his body. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged as he felt her lean in closer, her soft curves pressing against him. His heart hammered in his chest, the reality of the moment slowly setting in.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, her breath warm against his mouth. Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of protest.

"Yes…but–," Harry replied, his voice trembling with a mix of desire and fear. "I've never...you know."

"I know, Harry," Y/N said with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're perfect, Harry," she assured him, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "You're kind, you're smart, you're..." she trailed off, her voice filled with emotion.

He took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes meeting hers. He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers "Okay, 'm just nervous I won't be good enough for you." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N chuckled gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "You're already more than enough, Harry," she assured him, her voice filled with sincerity. She leaned in and kissed him, her lips soft and gentle. It was a kiss filled with warmth and comfort, the kind of kiss that told him she didn't care about his lack of experience, that she was here for him, with him.

Without another word, she stood up, taking Harry's hand in hers and leading him over to the bed. She sat him down on the edge, her eyes never leaving his as she knelt between his legs. The anticipation was palpable in the air, a delicious tension that made his heart race even faster. He watched as she reached for the hem of his t-shirt, her eyes never leaving his as she lifted it over his head. She gave him a seductive, cheeky smile.

Y/N leaned in and kissed Harry's chest, her lips warm and soft against his skin. He gasped, his hands reflexively reaching out to grasp her shoulders. She giggled against his skin before moving lower, her breath hot against his abs. Harry's stomach tightened, his body responding to her every touch. When her kisses reached the waistband of his sweatpants, she looked up at him again. "Can I?" she asked, her eyes gleaming.

He nodded, his throat dry with anticipation. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly pulled them down, revealing his erection. Harry couldn't believe this was happening, his best friend, the girl he had loved for so long, was about to give him his first blowjob.

Y/N took him in her hand, stroking him gently as she licked her lips. She leaned in, her breath hot on his skin as she kissed the tip, and then took him into her mouth. Harry's eyes rolled back in his head, his body trembling with pleasure. She was surprisingly adept, her movements smooth and confident as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around him. He had read about this, watched it in porn, but the reality was so much more intense, so much more overwhelming than he could have ever imagined.

Her eyes locked onto his, watching his reaction, her own excitement clear in the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed. He was lost in the sensation, his mind a haze of pleasure as she worked her magic on him. He didn't know how long it lasted, but it was like nothing he had ever felt before. Her hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently as she took him deeper, her throat tightening around him.

As Harry's breath grew more ragged, Y/N sensed he was close and she picked up the pace, her mouth moving faster and faster. He could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he tried to hold back, not wanting this moment to end. But it was too much, too intense. He came with a gasp, his body arching off the bed as she swallowed every drop, not breaking eye contact.

For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of their breathing in the quiet room. Then Harry looked down at her, his face flaming red. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment. "That was...quick."

Y/N looked up at him with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's okay," she said, her voice low and throaty. "It's your first time. Plus, it tells me that I did a good job." She cheekily chuckled

Her words made him blush even deeper, but she didn't let him dwell on it. She stood up, her own shirt sliding off her shoulders with a smooth grace that left Harry's mouth watering. Her bra followed, revealing breasts that were full and perfect, with perfect nipples that were already hard with arousal. He had seen her in a bikini before, but this was different. This was intimate, this was real, and it was just for him.

"Let's not worry about that," she said, her voice a soft purr as she stepped closer to him. "Let's just enjoy each other, okay?"

Her words washed over Harry like a warm wave, and he nodded, unable to speak. Y/N leaned in and kissed him again, her tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting of him. Her breasts were soft and warm against his chest, and he couldn't help but cup them, she moaned into his mouth.

"I can...eat you out," Harry murmured, his voice filled with a need that surprised even himself. "of course, if you want...I want to make you feel good...only if you want me to."

She chuckled as he stumbled over his words and simply placed a finger on his lips to quiet him.

"Shh, Harry, it's okay," she murmured, her eyes full of affection. "I want you to eat me out," she replied, Harry's heart stopped, hoping that he could be good enough."But not tonight, I need to ride you." Her voice thick with desire.

Her words sent a fresh wave of excitement through him. Harry nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he helped her out of her panties. He took a moment to admire her, her legs spread before him, the smooth skin of her inner thighs begging for his touch. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

Y/N straddled him, her knees on the bed on either side of his hips. She took his face in her hands, looking into his eyes with a fierce determination. "You're going to love this," she whispered, her voice low and seductive.

With that, she positioned him at her entrance, the tip of him nudging against her slick folds. Harry's heart was racing, his entire body tense with anticipation. He could feel the warmth of her, and it was all he could do not to thrust upwards and take her in one go. Y/N moaned loudly at just the feeling of his tip at her hole.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, inch by agonizing inch, her eyes never leaving his. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head as he felt her tightness enveloping him, her wetness coating him as she slid down. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. She was so warm, so wet, and so tight around him. It was almost painful in its perfection.

Y/N began to move, her hips rocking back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Harry's eyes widened, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly as she took control. He could see the desire in her eyes, the way they filled with lust, it was like watching a wild animal.

Her breasts bounced with every movement, and Harry couldn't help but reach out to cup them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasped then smiled at his now boldness. Her hips buckled slightly at the contact. He watched as she threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders.

He watched her, her body moving in a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and overwhelming. He had never felt anything so intense before. The way she took him in, the way she moved, it was like nothing he had ever imagined.

Y/N leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "You like that, Harry?" she whispered, her voice dripping with seductive sweetness. "You like feeling me tight around you?"

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and Harry could only nod, unable to form coherent sentences. He had never heard anyone talk to him like that, especially not her. It was like something straight out of a porno, and he was living it.

"Tell me," she whispered, her eyes staying on his, "Tell me what you want to do to me."

Harry couldn't resist. "I want to fuck you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I want to make you scream."

Y/N stopped her movements, his words stopping in her tracks, but turned her on incredibly. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and she found herself even more turned on by his unexpected assertiveness.

"I want you to fuck me too."

He sat up, lifting her with him so that she was straddling him as he leaned back against the headboard. His hands found her hips, and he began to guide her movements, his thrusts growing more forceful. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with their gasps and moans.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her movements growing more erratic as she approached her climax. Harry watched her face, the pleasure etched into every line and curve, and knew he was giving her what she needed. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth opened in a silent scream as she came, her body spasming around him.

"God, Harry...your'e so fucking good."

Y/N's eyes snapped open, her cheeks flaming red as she looked down at him. The words had slipped out, unbidden, and she felt a thrill of excitement at his raw desire for her. She had never seen this side of Harry before, and she liked it. A lot.

With a sudden shift, she pulled away from him. Harry's cock slipped out of her, glistening with her juices, and she stared at it for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of power. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and hope.

"Did...did I do something wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with arousal and a hint of vulnerability.

"No," Y/N breathed, her voice laced with wonder. "No, Harry, you didn't." She took a moment to compose herself, then leaned in and kissed him hard, her tongue delving into his mouth, tasting him deeply. When she pulled away, her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt.

Her hand slid down to his cock, stroking it gently. "You just made me feel so good," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. "I thought maybe you'd want to get a better angle."

With a naughty smile, she climbed off his lap and turned to face the end of the bed, getting on her knees in front of him. Harry's eyes widened as she leaned forward, her round ass in the air, presenting herself to him. He had never seen her like this before, so open and willing, and the sight was almost too much to handle.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting him with a sultry. "I thought you wanted to fuck me?"

Her question was all the invitation Harry needed. He moved behind her, his hands on her hips as he aligned his cock with her wet entrance. She gasped as he pushed in, filling her completely. The new position was intense, and Harry took a moment to adjust, his hands tightening on her waist as he found his rhythm.

Y/N looked over her shoulder, her eyes dark with need. "Yes, Harry, just like that," she encouraged him, her voice a breathless whisper. "Fuck me hard, baby."

Her words encouraged something primal in Harry. He gripped her hips tighter, his thrusts becoming more powerful. Her encouragement was like a drug, pushing him to give her what she wanted, what they both needed. Her moans grew louder, filling the room, and Harry knew he was giving her exactly what she craved.

"Yes," she hissed, her voice low and needy. "Just like that, Harry." He could feel her tightening around him, her muscles contracting as she approached another orgasm.

The feeling was too much for Harry, the way she responded to him, the way she begged for more. His own climax was building, a pressure that threatened to overwhelm him. He watched her in the mirror, her breasts swinging as he fucked her, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer.

As she came again, her muscles tightening around him, it was like a trigger for Harry. He thrust into her one last time, feeling the warmth of her cum around his cock. He couldn't hold back anymore. He exploded, his orgasm ripping through him like a wildfire, his vision blurring as he filled her with his seed. Y/N's cries of pleasure only served to heighten his own release, her body milking him for every drop.

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, they both collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. Y/N rolled onto her side, her body a warm, sweaty mess against his. She looked up at him with a satisfied smile, her eyes gleaming. "That was...amazing," she murmured, her voice filled with awe.

For a moment, Harry just stared at her, his heart racing. Then, it dawned on him. He had just had sex with his best friend, and she had liked it. No, she loved it. The realization washed over him like a warm, comforting blanket. He leaned down to kiss her, his hands stroking her hair gently.

"Thank you," he murmured against her lips.

Y/N giggled, the sound light and airy. "Feeling less stressed?"

"Much," Harry managed to breathe out, his chest still heaving. He couldn't believe what had just happened. It was like a dream, a fantasy come to life. He looked at her, her hair a mess around her flushed face, her body glistening with sweat, and his heart ached.

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "You okay?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

For a moment, they just laid there, their breathing heavy and ragged. Then, she leaned in and kissed him again, a soft, gentle kiss that spoke of affection and care. She pulled back, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "You know, Harry," she said, her voice teasing, "that was your first time. You're supposed to get all the aftercare."

Her words brought him back to reality, and he remembered the conversation from earlier. Jake had been cruel and had denied her what she needed after they'd had sex. Harry felt a surge of protectiveness. He sat up, his eyes searching hers. "Did Jake never...you know, take care of you after?"

Y/N's smile was sad, a little wistful. "Not really," she said, her voice a soft sigh. "But that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is about you."

"No, no, I want to care for you."

Y/N's eyes lit up at Harry's insistence, and she couldn't help but smile. Despite his inexperience, he was eager to learn, eager to ensure she felt loved and satisfied. She laid back, allowing him to hover over her, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, his soft touches leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He slid off the bed and walked over to the sink, his body still shaking with the aftermath of their passion. He grabbed a wet washcloth, his movements a little awkward, his cheeks reddening at the thought of what he was about to do. He returned to her side, his eyes meeting hers with a tentative look.

"Let me," he murmured, his voice soft and gentle. He reached out with the washcloth, touching her gently, carefully cleaning her up. His touch was featherlight, almost as if he was afraid she'd break. Y/N watched him, her heart swelling with affection. He was so sweet, so considerate, and it was clear that he was trying his best to take care of her.

As he wiped her thighs and her inner thighs, his eyes met hers again, filled with uncertainty. She reached up, taking the washcloth from his hand, her fingers lingering for a moment before she placed it on the nightstand. "You don't have to," she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. "You've already done so much."

But Harry was insistent, his eyes determined. "I want to," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to take care of you." He took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he gently parted her folds, using the cloth to clean her up. He was clumsy at first, but she didn't care. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world that mattered, made her feel cherished.

She leaned forward, grabbing his forearm and kissed him. "I love you, Harry," She pulled away and stared deep into his eyes. "Thank you." They had said it a million times before, I love you, but the way she looked at him made him feel like this time was different, like she meant it more than ever before.

Harry felt his heart swell with emotion, "I love you too, Y/N." He whispered, his voice hoarse. He kissed her again, this time more tenderly, savoring the taste of her on his lips.

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