#esskz fic

The studio is dark except for the soft glow of the monitors.

One live mic, one sealed booth, one genius rapping bars like his soul’s on fire.

And one very, very fucked-up producer trying not to lose his mind.

Chan’s got his hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, one hand on the pitch wheel, the other gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to splinter it. He’s pretending everything’s fine. Pretending he’s focused on Han’s take.

But he’s not.

He’s focused on you.

Underneath the desk, on your knees, mouth stretched around his cock, tongue flicking cruel and slow like it’s your favorite fucking toy.

And maybe it is—because you’ve been like this for ten minutes now. Teasing him with this push and pull, edging him to the brink.

His foot nudges your thigh once, like a warning, and you smile around him.

“And I never needed luck, got the pressure on my back—”

Han’s in the zone, voice tight with an insane flow.

Chan, though? He’s dying.

His jaw is clenched with sweat beading at his temple.

He hits the reverb key too late, misses the drop, and stutters something weak into the mic:

“Yeah, real clean. Let’s do it again.”

Your nails graze up the inside of his thigh, and he twitches.

You hum tight vibrations around the base of him, and his breath catches so hard you think he might choke.

He nearly does.

His hand slams to the desk, hovering over the mute button but not pressing it.

You glance up, cock still heavy and leaking in your mouth, and see his eyes—dark, wild, begging.

So you do what any good little menace would do.

You take him deeper.

All the way down until your nose brushes his skin, throat tightening around him.

That’s it.

Chan comes violently—hips jerking forward, back arched off the chair, teeth sinking into his lip to keep from groaning. His thighs tremble, his free hand flies to your hair, not to push you away but to hold you there as he empties into your throat in wave after shaking wave.

“Shit—fuck—” He doesn’t say it aloud, just mouths it. Silent and breathless.

You swallow, slowly. Twice.

“That was fire, right? Wanna stack the hook now or wait for Seungmin?” Han’s voice cuts through the earpiece like nothing’s wrong.

Chan clears his throat. It sounds like gravel.

“We…uh. Let’s run it one more time. Tighten the sync.”

His voice is wrecked.

Raw and hoarse with frayed edges.

You pull back finally, lips dragging off him slowly and filthy, licking your lips with a smug little grin as you wipe the corner of your mouth and pat his thigh gently.

Your whisper floats up, too low for the mic, just for him:

“Bet you don’t last five minutes when we get home.”

Chan doesn’t respond.

Just stares dead ahead, fingers trembling on the board, still trying to look professional while he’s sitting in his own post-orgasm mess.

And Han?

Han just nods from the booth, blissfully unaware: “Cool, cool. Sounded good on my end.”

You barely make it through the front door.

The second it clicks shut behind you, you’re pressed face-first to the wall, your cheek against the cool paint, one of Chan’s hands around your throat, the other yanking your hips back against his.

“Thought you were cute, huh?” His voice is low, still wrecked from the studio. You swear it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Slobberin’ on my dick under the desk like you run the place. Thinkin’ I wouldn’t fucking snap?”

You smirk, even with his hand firm at your neck.

You did want him to snap.

“You liked it,” you whisper.

His grip tightens—just a little. Enough to still your breath. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, “I liked it so much I almost came with my mic on. You could’ve ruined the whole take. You know what that means?”

You swallow.

“It means you need to be punished, baby.”

He doesn’t fuck you, not right away.

No, Chan makes you wait.

He has you kneel at the foot of his bed, naked, arms behind your back.

Not tied—just ordered.

And when you squirm? He clicks his tongue and says, “You wanna be a brat, I’ll treat you like one. Keep still.”

Then he gets to work.

Two fingers dragging slowly between your thighs, spreading you open just enough to watch you twitch.

Tongue soft, then sharp. Circling, teasing, never where you need it most.

You try to grind down and he growls.

“You think I’m gonna let you cum after what you pulled tonight?”

You whimper, causing him to smile against your skin, mouth hot and devastating.

“Nah, sweetheart. You’re gonna sit here and take it like I did.”

Fifteen minutes.

Twenty.

You’re soaked, clenching around nothing, hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard your arms shake.

And Chan’s still between your thighs—fingering you slow, licking your folds like he’s worshiping and punishing all at once.

Every time your thighs twitch, he presses a kiss to the inside like a brand.

“Tastes like heaven,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “But I’m not gonna let you have it. Not yet. Not until I say.”

You whine. “Chan—please—”

He moans, sits up slightly, drags his thumb over your clit just right, and watches your eyes roll back. “There it is,” he breathes. “There’s my filthy girl.”

You’re so close.

And that’s when he pulls away fully.

Mouth gone, hands gone, warmth gone.

You cry out. “Chan!”

He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking down at you like he’s about to do evil. “Now you know how it feels.”

You try to protest, but he grabs your chin, pulls you up onto the bed, and flips you onto your stomach.

“I didn’t forget how pretty you looked swallowing all of me while Han was rapping like nothing was happening.”

He kisses your spine, your shoulder, your ear.

“Let’s see how quiet you can be when I give you what you want.”

And then he fucks you slowly, cruelly, deliberately.

He holds your wrists and bends you open, whispering every filthy word he’s been saving all night.

And when you finally cum, it’s loud and messy.

Tears slipping from your eyes as you clutch the sheets and beg him not to stop.

And he doesn’t.

Not until you’re limp.

Not until he’s finished.

Not until you’re full, breathless, and ruined.

Then he kisses your cheek and says,

“Still wanna play games in the studio?”

You can’t even answer.

Because your smile says it all.

“Staying late, baby?” you ask sweetly a week later, dropping into the chair beside Chan.

He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you flop into the chair, your skirt lifting a bit with the sudden motion.

Then he sees it.

You’re bare underneath. 

He flicks a switch on the soundboard, eyes locked on the monitor like he didn’t notice.

But then.. He leans in close.

“Don’t move,” he whispers, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh, pushing your legs apart.

“Don’t make a sound. Or I’ll stop, and you’ll be stuck like this the rest of the night.”

Then the door opens.

Felix walks in, hoodie slung low, hair still damp from his post-dance shower.

He flops into the booth chair and throws a gummy smile across the room. “Ready to knock this verse out?”

Chan’s hand doesn’t move.

Not even a little.

You try to sit still, heart hammering in your chest.

His fingers are resting just barely over your folds now—warm, teasing, taunting, not quite pressing in. Just…waiting.

“Go ahead, Lix,” Chan says casually. “We’ll punch you in on the bridge.”

Felix nods and adjusts his mic.

The beat starts.

Heavy bass, clean snap.

And Chan’s fingers slide in.

Your thighs clench so hard you almost knock your chair over.

You cover it with a cough.

Felix doesn’t notice.

He’s rapping passionately.

But Chan?

He notices everything.

He curls his fingers just right and leans back like he’s completely innocent.

“Don’t cum,” he mouths.

Your body betrays you.

He adds pressure to your clit, and you jerk—

“You okay?” Felix’s voice cuts through.

You whip your head up, eyes wide.

“Wh-what?”

He laughs. “You spaced out.”

Chan grins.

“She’s good, just tired. Long week.”

His fingers don’t stop.

He draws it out, minute after minute.

Keeps you just on the edge—again and again—until your thighs are trembling, breath shaky, and you’re gripping the armrest like it’s a lifeline.

Then he stops.

Just pulls his hand away, wipes it on a napkin, and smiles like he didn’t just destroy you while one of his best friends sat three feet away.

Felix pulls his headphones off. “I think that take was pretty clean.”

Chan nods. “Real clean.”

You can barely speak.

Chan stands and adjusts the levels.

“Mind grabbing a coffee, Lix? I gotta fix the hi-hat blend before the export.”

Felix shrugs and heads out.

The second the door closes, Chan turns to you.

“Skirt up. Bend over the desk.”

You blink.

“Now?”

He steps close, crowding your space.

“You’ve walked around all day, in front of the guys, in front of my coworkers with your pussy out like that, and you think you’re done getting punished?”

He grins.

“I haven’t even started yet, baby.”

Felix’s coffee cup hits the ground before he says a word.

The hot liquid pools at his feet.

But his eyes are locked on you.

You’re bent over the desk, chest pressed to the soundboard, thighs trembling as Chan delivers another punishing thrust behind you.

His hand is tangled in your hair, the mic light is off, and the studio is not soundproof.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Chan growls. “You earned this.”

Felix doesn’t turn and walk away.

He steps inside.

Shuts the door.

And leans back against it like this was planned.

“She get caught being a brat again?” he says, voice low and amused.

Chan doesn’t look at him—just snaps his hips hard enough to make you cry out.

“Sucked my dick under the desk last week, while Han was in the booth.”

Felix’s eyebrows lift.

His hand drags slowly over his own chest, then down to his waistband.

“He said you sounded out of breath.”

Chan laughs a cruel, soft sound in your ear.

“I told her I’d make her pay for it.”

And then louder, for Felix’s benefit:

“Didn’t I, sweetheart?”

You try to nod—try to answer—but Chan pulls out suddenly and spanks you so hard you jolt. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes—yes, Chan—I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re not,” Felix murmurs, voice darker now, gaze glued to where you’re spread open and wrecked. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be dripping all over the desk.”

Chan pushes back in with a growl.

“That’s what I told her.”

You hear Felix shift—unzipping now, breathing heavier.

Still fully clothed, hand shoved down his sweats as he watches your body bounce with every thrust.

“God, you look so pretty like this,” he says, voice cracked, tongue sliding across his bottom lip. “You always this loud, or is it just for hyung?”

You sob into the desk.

Chan grabs your wrists, pins them behind your back.

“She’s louder when she thinks she’s gonna get away with something.”

“And now?” Felix asks, thumb gliding lazily over his cock, eyes never leaving your soaked cunt. “She know better now?”

Chan leans down, mouth at your ear. “Tell him.”

“I-I know better,” you choke out.

Felix hums. “She sound like she means it?”

“Not yet,” Chan mutters.

And then he slams into you again, dragging your orgasm out like he’s ripping it from your spine.

Felix strokes himself slow, his other hand braced on the wall behind him.

“Keep going,” he says. “She deserves every second of it.”

Felix stays out of it—technically.

Hands down his sweats, cock in his fist, watching while Chan absolutely destroys you.

But when he comes?

When he moans soft and ruined against the wall, breath fogging the glass of the booth?

It’s all over his hand, fingers slick, and trembling.

And then?

Then he walks over, crouches beside the desk where you’re still limp and leaking and shaking from Chan’s brutal rhythm.

He brushes your hair from your face with his clean hand and tilts your chin up. “You took it so well, angel.”

Then—slowly, deliberately—he lifts the other hand, watches you watch the way the mess glistens across his fingers, and asks, “Wanna taste what you did to me?”

You nod, an eager and desperate wreck.

He slides two fingers past your lips.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Suck real sweet now. You earned it.”

Chan watches you take him in like it’s nothing, like it’s your job to be ruined for them.

He pulls out slowly, and you collapse forward, but Felix catches you—still crouched, still smiling, fingers still in your mouth.

“Think she finally learned her lesson?” he asks.

Chan’s voice is rough as gravel. “I think for now.”

The next afternoon is just like any other workday. 

Felix drops into the booth chair, iced americano in hand, kicking his feet up as Chan scrubs through the timeline.

“Found the take,” Chan mutters. “Timestamp from last night.”

Han leans over the desk, sipping his banana milk.

“The one we recorded after coffee?”

Felix smirks. “Yeah, that take.”

Hyunjin’s sitting on the floor, sketchbook in his lap, half-listening.

Chan hits play.

At first? It’s fine.

The beat’s clean, bassline thumps.

Felix’s voice cuts in right on tempo.

“Pressure in my chest, can’t breathe—”

But then.

Then.

There’s a tiny crack in the mix.

A strange, muffled sound beneath the beat.

“Fuck—stay still. You don’t cum ‘til I say.”

Hyunjin’s pen stops moving.

Han blinks. “Wait, what the hell was that?”

Felix chokes on his drink.

Chan goes stone still.

Because that’s his voice, and it’s not part of the track.

He lunges for the pause key, but it’s too late.

“That’s it—good girl—take it—”

Han freezes.

Hyunjin looks horrified. “Is that—wait—”

“No fucking way,” Han mutters, jaw slack. “That’s—Chan—bro. That’s you.”

Felix is covering his face, turning red down to his chest.

Chan just drags a hand down his face and mutters, “Fucking hell. The mic wasn’t muted.”

“WHAT MIC?!” Han screeches.

Hyunjin’s in a full-body cringe, hands over his ears.

“I can’t—this is so much. I need bleach. I need therapy.”

But they don’t stop listening.

Because the playback keeps going.

You’re moaning.

Felix is groaning.

Chan is commanding.

And then—clearly—Felix’s voice, close to the mic:

“Wanna taste what you did to me?”

“Good girl. Suck real sweet now.”

There’s a thud as Han falls out of his chair.

Hyunjin actually gasps.

“I knew you were freaks,” he hisses, pointing wildly between Chan and Felix.

“But recording it?! In here?! Seriously?!”

Felix is wheezing. Chan looks ready to combust. “Delete it. Burn it. Pretend it never happened.”

But Han’s smiling now. “Oh, I’m not forgetting shit. I’m gonna tease the fuck out of you for the rest of your life.”

Felix finally speaks. “…She sounded so pretty, though.”

Three heads snap toward him.

“Dude.”

“Bro—what the fuck—”

“Are you serious right now?!”

Chan buries his face in his hands. “I’m gonna kill you both.”

“You should kill the mic first next time,” Hyunjin mutters, traumatized.

ꨄ︎

Welcome to the messier side of me- the side that:

✶reblogs everything under the sun, from stories that made me drool to aesthetics I wish I were cool enough for

✶spills a stray thought and the chaos behind my writing

✶drops little snippets and late-night musings

If you're looking for actual fics, you'll find them over on my main blogs → @quintessencewrites | @writteninessence

This is my safe space, always ink-stained and always a little chaotic.

The familiar ding ding of the Mario Kart countdown echoed through the room, the sound of shells flying and rubber tires squealing filling the silence that had once been second nature between the two of you.

Han was leaning too far to the left like always, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he tried to beat you on Rainbow Road. You laughed when he slid off the edge again.

“Bro, I swear—just use the brakes, it’s not that hard—”

But he didn’t respond.

You turned your head just in time to hear the game pause with a chime, the screen frozen mid-turn. Han sat still beside you on the couch, controller in his lap, head hung low like the game had knocked the wind out of him.

“What the hell?” Your voice softened as you nudged him with your knee. “You’re winning, dude. That’s gotta be a first.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

“I can’t keep doing this, y/n,” he said quietly.

Something in his voice pulled the air out of your lungs.

“Doing what?”

He lifted his head slowly. His eyes looked a little shinier than before, but he blinked fast, like he was trying to hide it.

“Keep pretending like I’m okay with just being your best friend. Like I didn’t sit there watching you kiss Felix like it didn’t tear me in half.” He paused, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before continuing. “I know you’ve got Lix on your mind again. Probably always will, and I get it. He’s your first. You’ve got history.” He swallowed hard. “But I gotta tell you this.”

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

“I’ve been in love with you since you beat me in the 8th-grade science fair and then gave me half your prize candy because you knew I’d pout about it.”

That familiar crooked grin tried to form on his lips, but it broke too fast.

“I’ve spent years trying to be okay with just being next to you. Your sidekick, your safety net, your stupid best friend who makes you laugh when your world falls apart.”

He looked at you fully then, raw and open. “But I don’t want to be second place anymore, y/n.”

The room was too quiet. The game menu music looped softly in the background.

Your hands trembled a little on the controller in your lap.

And suddenly, this wasn’t a game anymore.

Your throat felt tight. Han’s words were still ringing in your ears, sitting heavy in the space between you like you’d both just been cut open—and then your phone lit up.

Felix 🐥💫 calling…

His contact photo smiled up at you—one you’d never changed, taken years ago on a Polaroid. He insisted on holding his hand up to his face like a heart. His dimples were deep, his freckles dusted across pink cheeks, and the memory behind it hurt more than it should have.

You didn’t move. Neither did Han.

The ringtone kept playing. “Answer it,” Han said quietly.

You looked at him. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t bitter, just resigned, like he already knew how this would go.

“Ji…” you whispered, voice barely above the hum of the vibrating phone.

“I’m not gonna stop you,” he said, eyes locked on yours.

“But if you answer that call, you don’t get to pretend we’re still just friends.”

It wasn’t a threat, wasn’t even jealousy.

It was truth, plain and raw.

Your thumb hovered over the screen and the phone buzzed again.

Felix 🐥💫 calling…

“You have to choose sometime,” Han said. “Even if it’s not me.”

You hesitated for just a second longer… then slid your thumb across the screen.

“Felix?”

There was a pause—static and breath—then his voice came through, soft and familiar.

“Hey. Sorry, I wasn’t sure you’d pick up. I just… I’ve been thinking about—”

But before you could say a word, Han plucked the phone from your hand with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Lixie!” he beamed, overly chipper. “What’s up, man? You free right now?”

You blinked at him, stunned. “Ji—”

“Y/n and I were just running a few rounds of Mario Kart. I figured it’s been a while since you got your ass kicked—wanna come over?”

The silence on the other end was thick.

“Oh,” Felix stammered, clearly caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I mean, sure. If you’re sure…”

“Totally,” Han said, voice breezy. “Door’s open.”

And with that, he hung up, tossed your phone gently into your lap, and turned back to the screen like nothing had happened.

You stared at him, stunned.

“What the hell was that?”

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t answer right away.

The game unpaused with a single click.

Rainbow Road lit up again.

Han leaned forward, elbows on his knees, laser-focused as he took the final lap and crossed the finish line with a victorious cha-ching!

“Just giving you all your options,” he said smoothly, shooting you a wink without turning around.

And that was the thing about Han Jisung.

He’d give you his heart on a platter…

And still smile while watching you decide if you were going to eat it or hand it to someone else.

You opened the door and immediately forgot how to breathe.

Felix stood there in a hoodie too big for summer, cheeks pink like he’d jogged the whole way over, hair fluffy and pushed back by the wind. His eyes flicked over you fast—like he didn’t want to stare but couldn’t help it. “You look good,” he breathed.

Soft and honest, like the words had snuck out of him without permission.

Your lips parted, unsure of what to say—when an arm looped casually around your shoulders from behind.

“Lixie,” Han drawled, leaning his chin on your shoulder like he belonged there, like he hadn’t just confessed everything to you half an hour ago.

“Get your pretty ass in here. I need backup beating y/n’s streak before she starts making fun of me again.”

Felix blinked, pulling his gaze from yours to glance at Han. He smiled faintly, a little nervous, and a little confused, but he stepped inside. “Still can’t handle a few losses, huh?” he teased, trying to keep things light.

“Nah,” Han said, steering you both back toward the living room. “I just hate losing to her.”

Felix let out a quiet laugh, but his eyes lingered on you longer than they should have, trailing behind like he was trying to solve a puzzle without the box.

The three of you ended up crammed on the couch—too close, too warm.

You were wedged between them, knees touching Han’s, thigh pressed against Felix’s. The controllers buzzed in your hands, the TV flashing vibrant colors as Rainbow Road spun by again, but the real game wasn’t on the screen.

“You’re trash at drifting,” Felix said, biting his lip as he nudged Han’s controller mid-turn.

“And you’re still afraid to take the shortcut,” Han shot back, voice syrupy sweet.

“It’s called playing smart.”

“It’s called playing scared.”

Their eyes didn’t leave the screen, but the way they spoke felt like you were the real competition.

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes flicking between them, heat crawling slowly up your neck.

Then—without warning—Felix’s hand settled gently on your thigh.

Warm, firm, confident in that soft, familiar way of his.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t move.

You didn’t have to—because Jisung noticed.

Of course he did.

He didn’t say anything, just glanced down for a heartbeat, eyes darkening. Then his hand slid down between you, fingers brushing yours until they laced together.

He didn’t squeeze. He just held your hand.

And that was somehow worse—so much worse—because it didn’t feel like a fight.

It felt like a claim.

The game finished and you didn’t even know who won.

“Another round?” Felix asked, his hand still unmoving, thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.

“Yeah,” Han replied, voice deceptively light. “Let’s see who she really roots for this time.”

You should’ve pulled away, should’ve said something.

But you just sat there, frozen in the heat of it all, wondering how you were supposed to keep pretending none of this was happening.

A knock at the door broke the delicate, heated silence.

You blinked, heart still hammering from the invisible tug-of-war between the boys on either side of you.

Felix sighed and stood, brushing past you with a gentle pat to your knee.

“I’ll get it.”

You didn’t think much of it, not until you heard Felix’s voice again—quieter, less sure.

“…Hyunjin?”

Your entire body went cold.

No fucking way.

You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing at the entrance just as Hyunjin strode in like he’d been invited to his own birthday party. Tight black jeans, an oversized tee, and a single chain dangling from his neck like it had no right to look that good.

He looked around, smirked, and then found your eyes. “Hey, angel.”

“What is he doing here?” you hissed under your breath, turning to Jisung, who was already rising from the couch, stretching like this was the most natural thing in the world.

He turned to you, walking backwards toward the door with a grin so smug it could kill.

“All your options, y/n.”

Your mouth dropped open. Hyunjin let out a soft whistle as he took in the scene: you sitting flushed and flustered on the couch, Felix hovering awkwardly nearby, and Han looking far too proud of himself. “Damn,” Hyunjin mused. “Looks like I showed up right on time.”

He dropped onto the armrest beside you and leaned in close. “I brought dessert.”

“There’s no dessert.”

“Sure there is.” His lips brushed your ear, and he dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “You.”

Before you could even snap back at Hyunjin’s whispered tease, the door swung open again.

“Yo,” Chan called out casually, stepping into the apartment like he hadn’t just stepped into a landmine.

He looked good. Of course he did. Black joggers, sleeveless hoodie, a six-pack of something cold in one hand and a barely-hidden flush on his cheeks the second his eyes landed on you.

“Wait—Chan?” you blinked, already rising from the couch.

“Hey,” he said, with that same shy smile that always made your stomach flip. “Jisung said you could use a plus one.”

You turned, furious, locking eyes on the boy in question.

Jisung was already headed to the kitchen, too pleased with himself, grabbing cups like he hadn’t just detonated your entire night.

You followed fast, cornering him by the fridge.

“What the hell are you doing?” you snapped. “Hyunjin? Chan? Are you trying to kill me?”

He didn’t even flinch. Just popped open the fridge, grabbed a bottle, and leaned against the counter with a smug grin.

“Me? I’m just hosting,” he said innocently. “Keeping things interesting.”

“It was already interesting, Jisung.”

He tilted his head, eyes dragging over you slowly, his tone dipping low as he handed you a drink. “Yeah, but I wanted to see what happens when you start cracking. Wanted to see who you run to first.”

Your breath caught. His words hit harder than they should’ve. You took the bottle from his hand, brushing his fingers in the process—and he leaned in, just enough to trap you between the fridge and his body.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, voice teasing but thick with something else.

You swallowed hard.

You couldn’t even answer, not when the heat between you was humming like a warning.

“Thought so,” he whispered, before brushing past you like nothing happened.

You were not going to survive this night.

By drink number three, your nerves had dulled just enough to let the buzz take hold—but not enough to quiet the stare wars happening all around you.

Felix kept glancing your way every time he took a sip, his thumb running idle circles around the rim of his glass.

Chan sat quietly, legs spread, his drink resting on his knee while his eyes followed every word you said like he was memorizing them.

Hyunjin was practically draped across the other side of the couch, his cheek resting in his palm, smile too big, too knowing.

And Han just watched it all like he was daring someone to touch what he’d already claimed.

“Alright,” Hyunjin finally said, stretching long and slow. “Game time.”

“No way,” you groaned, already seeing the danger glittering in his eyes.

“C’mon,” he purred. “It’s a classic. Truth or dare. Unless you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Then start us off.”

You threw your head back with a groan, but you knew the rules. This was Hyunjin’s playground now—and if you didn’t play, he’d make it worse.

“Fine. Dare.”

The room hummed instantly. You felt the energy shift, heavy with expectation.

Hyunjin’s smile turned into something sharp.

“Kiss me.”

The words were so casual, so smooth, you almost didn’t register them at first.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Kiss me. It’s a dare.”

The room fell quiet. The others were still—but you could feel their stares, like pressure on your skin.

Your eyes flicked to Jisung. He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow, sipping from his drink like this was exactly what he wanted.

Felix was stone-faced, but his grip on his glass had tightened.

Chan looked like he was trying not to look—but failing.

And Hyunjin? Hyunjin just leaned forward, chin tilted, gaze locked to yours like it was a challenge.

“Unless you wanna forfeit,” he added with a smirk.

You set your drink down.

“You wish.”

You crawled across the couch slowly, heart pounding in your chest, the air thick and humming. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him full on the mouth—quick, sure, just enough to say fuck you without it being a joke.

But Hyunjin wasn’t laughing.

He kissed you back.

Soft, deep, a little too much.

It lasted longer than it should have.

When you pulled away, his lips were parted and his eyes had gone dark.

You turned back to your seat, settling in like nothing happened—except your pulse was screaming, and the boys were all still staring.

“Felix,” you said, still tasting Hyunjin’s smirk on your lips, “truth or dare?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Truth.”

That surprised you.

Hyunjin arched a brow.

Jisung actually scoffed.

You sat up straighter, chewing your lip as you searched for a question—any question—that wouldn’t set off a bomb in the middle of the room. Your pulse was still racing from the kiss, and Felix was looking at you so softly, like he wasn’t mad, but like he just wanted to be close again.

So you chose safe.

“Alright,” you said. “What was your most embarrassing moment on stage?”

There was a beat of silence.

And then—

“Seriously?” Hyunjin laughed.

“That’s the question?” Jisung asked, voice laced with disbelief. “That’s what you go with after that?” He gestured toward you and Hyunjin, still sitting far too smug.

Chan didn’t say anything—but you caught the way his jaw flexed as he sipped his drink, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“What?” you asked, defensive now. “It’s a classic truth question!”

“Yeah, for a high school sleepover,” Hyunjin muttered.

“Should’ve asked him what he thought about when he kissed you in that closet,” Jisung said, way too casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a grenade between your thighs.

Felix looked down into his drink, quiet, his ears turning pink.

You didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched in his lap.

“Don’t answer that,” you said quickly, voice sharper than you meant it.

Jisung just smiled. “Why not? Afraid of the answer?”

Hyunjin laughed low, dragging a finger around the rim of his cup. “Better question,” he said. “Did he ever stop thinking about her?”

You froze.

Felix looked up then—eyes cutting through the noise, through the teasing, through everyone.

And he looked right at you. “No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”

The room went still.

Your breath caught.

Hyunjin blinked, no longer smirking.

Chan looked away.

Jisung just stared, serious now, like something in him was finally sinking.

“Chan,” you said, your voice trying to stay neutral but your body still humming from Felix’s answer. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he said, eyes locked on yours before he even thought twice.

Hyunjin’s laugh was immediate, low and sharp. “Dare?” he echoed. “You sure, hyung?”

Chan nodded once, cocky and sure—but something in his throat bobbed when Hyunjin turned to the others. “Jisung, wanna do the honors?”

Han grinned, teeth flashing as he leaned forward and clapped his hands once. “Oh, I got one.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, but didn’t stop him.

“I dare you,” Jisung said, pausing for dramatic effect, “to tell the room who you would’ve picked for seven minutes in heaven if the bottle had landed on you.”

Hyunjin howled.

Felix just blinked.

You sat up, tension rising like a tide in your chest.

Chan stayed still.

“Too easy,” Hyunjin teased. “It’s not a real dare unless he says why.”

“You’re right,” Han said, nodding slowly. “Tell us who and why.”

Chan tilted his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling for a beat too long—like he needed the courage to crack himself open.

When he looked down again, it was you he looked at.

Only you.

“You.”

It was barely louder than a breath, but it landed like a punch.

No one moved.

Not until Chan kept going, voice steadier now, words heavy and impossible to misinterpret.

“You, because I’ve been thinking about what it would’ve felt like to kiss you since the first night you laughed at one of my terrible jokes.”

Your mouth parted.

“You, because you’re the first person I look for when I walk into a room, and because I watch you get pulled in every direction and wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to pull you in mine.”

The room was silent.

Jisung blinked, a little stunned.

Hyunjin let out a low whistle and turned away, jaw tight.

Felix’s stare had gone glassy, unfocused.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Chan looked down at his drink, throat working, like he hadn’t meant to say that much—but now that it was out, he wasn’t taking any of it back.

“Your turn,” Hyunjin said, eyes glinting over the rim of his cup. “What’s it gonna be, princess?”

You tried to play it cool, reaching for your drink with a casual shrug.

“Truth.”

The collective groan that followed felt louder than it should’ve.

Even Felix, who’d just exposed his entire heart, leaned his head back and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Seriously?” Hyunjin drawled.

“You’re really trying to dodge now,” Chan murmured, still looking at you like he could read your mind.

“I’m not dodging,” you said quickly. “I just don’t feel like—”

You didn’t finish, because before you could blink, warm breath hit the back of your neck.

You froze.

Jisung had come up behind you, voice a low hum just against your skin.

“Pick dare, sweetheart.”

Your whole body shivered.

“Jisung—”

“Pick. Dare.” His voice dropped, not loud, but commanding.

The room held its breath.

You could feel every pair of eyes on you—every one of them waiting. But it was only Jisung’s voice in your ear, his hands braced on either side of your chair, caging you in.

“Fine,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Dare.”

The second the word left your lips, he was moving.

Smooth, controlled, confident.

He smiled low and dangerous, like this had always been his plan.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Hyunjin let out a quiet “shit,” but no one said anything else.

You opened your mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to say not here, maybe to just breathe—but Jisung didn’t give you the chance.

He reached for you, fingers soft under your chin as he tilted your face up.

His other hand braced the back of your head as he leaned down.

“Just shut up and let me have this,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

And then he kissed you. Upside down. Soft and slow and devastating.

It was a Spider-Man kiss in the filthiest, most tender way—like he wanted you to remember the first time he really kissed you for the rest of your goddamn life.

Your fingers clutched his shirt.

His mouth moved against yours like it knew things—like he’d been studying you, waiting for this moment.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. 

“Fuck,” Hyunjin muttered.

You didn’t dare look at him, or Felix, or Chan.

Jisung gave you one last look, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. 

“That was somehow hotter than my kiss,” Hyunjin said, blinking slowly, clearly a little dazed.

You didn’t dare look at him either.

“Mine too,” Felix muttered, quieter—his voice strained. His gaze hadn’t left you once.

You could still feel Jisung’s lips on yours. Still feel his fingers curled at the back of your neck, his touch possessive, grounding.

Then came the softest voice of all.

“I’m the only one she hasn’t kissed yet…”

Chan.

Barely above a whisper, but heavy enough to send your pulse spiking.

You turned your head.

He was sitting at the edge of the couch now, elbows on his knees, cup forgotten between his hands. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

He looked like he wanted to say more, like he needed to. But he didn’t.

He just sat there, silent in the storm, waiting.

That was when you felt it—Jisung’s hand still resting at the nape of your neck, warm and steady. He wasn’t looking at you. He was watching Chan.

And then—

“Go change that, y/n,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught.

“What?”

He turned to you, his fingers gently guiding you toward Chan. His eyes were soft now, but intense. A silent dare sat behind them.

“You want all your options, don’t you?”

Your heart thundered in your chest. You glanced toward Chan—who was staring at you now like you were made of glass he wanted to hold but was afraid to break.

“You don’t have to,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse, “if you don’t—”

But you were already standing.

The room stilled.

You walked toward him slowly, like a magnet was pulling you forward. You could feel four sets of eyes on you, but only one mattered right now.

Chan looked up at you, swallowing hard as you came closer. You moved between his knees, hands gently cupping his face. His breath hitched. His hands hovered at your waist, unsure, until you leaned down and closed the space between you.

The kiss was soft. Painfully soft.

There was no teasing, no smirking—just a desperate ache laced in patience. Like he’d been waiting forever, and didn’t want to ruin it now that it was finally happening.

He kissed you like a secret, like a confession, like he couldn’t believe he got to.

And when you pulled back, barely an inch away, his eyes stayed shut.

“Been thinking about that for months,” he whispered.

The room was silent.

Until Hyunjin spoke up again. “Okay, what the fuck is happening tonight?”

And you laughed, breathless. Drunk on adrenaline and heat and whatever this thing was between you and four boys who shouldn’t want you this much at the same time.

Your chest was rising too fast.

You needed air.

You needed another drink.

You needed a moment.

With every kiss, every look, every teasing comment—your skin felt hotter, tighter. You couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

So you slipped into the kitchen without a word, footsteps soft but rushed, and opened the fridge like it would give you more than alcohol and a second to catch your damn breath.

Cup to your lips. Deep inhale. Sip. Hold. Sip again.

The cold didn’t reach you.

You were burning from the inside out.

You leaned against the counter, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, trying to slow your pulse, trying not to picture their lips, their eyes, the way each of them looked at you like they’d been starving.

And in the other room, the boys were watching you go.

The moment you disappeared behind that corner, Jisung turned to the others, voice low but electric.

“Okay. We need to talk.”

Hyunjin raised a brow. “Talk, or… take action?”

Chan didn’t say anything. His hands were clenched, jaw tight, but his eyes hadn’t left the kitchen entrance.

Felix licked his lips, eyes wide and nervous, but he leaned in too, closer.

“We’re all thinking the same thing, right?”

“We want her,” Jisung said flatly.

Hyunjin whistled low. “It’s not like she’s making it easy to walk away.”

“She doesn’t want easy,” Chan murmured.

“She wants us.” Felix’s voice was soft. Certain.

Jisung nodded. “So what the hell are we doing pretending this is just a game?”

There was a pause, a shift in the air.

They all knew it—could feel it in their bones: this wasn’t just some drunken kiss fest. This was years of tension, feelings buried and rising like a tide. It was mutual. It was wild. And it was time.

“Tonight?” Hyunjin asked, eyes flicking between them.

“Tonight,” Jisung confirmed. “If she wants it.”

“We let her choose,” Chan added, serious and grounded. “No pressure. No pushing.”

“But if she says yes…” Felix started, voice trembling slightly, “we don’t hold back.”

A beat of silence. Four hearts pounding.

Jisung smiled then—slow, sure, electric. “She’s not getting us out of this house without knowing exactly how wanted she is.”

And just like that, the game was over.

Now? Now it was all real.

You came back into the room with your drink half-finished and your head half-spinning.

You were buzzed. More than buzzed. Flushed from your neck to your thighs, and trying to act like you didn’t feel the temperature of the room spike the second you stepped back inside.

Their eyes were on you.

Not a word was said, but they shifted—subtle, predatory, instinctual.

Hyunjin leaned forward first, tongue darting across his bottom lip, that same sinful smirk playing across his mouth.

“Your turn again, angel.”

You blinked. “Wait—wasn’t it just—”

“We decided it’s your turn again,” Chan interrupted, voice calm but heavy like thunder in the distance.

You blinked at him. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t break eye contact either.

He was sitting back on the couch now, thighs spread just enough to draw your attention—and your gaze dropped before you could stop it.

“Truth or dare?”

You hesitated. “Dare,” you whispered.

The air left the room.

Chan didn’t move at first, just raised one eyebrow, expression unreadable. “I dare you,” he said slowly, carefully, “to come sit on my lap.”

It wasn’t a joke.

It wasn’t a tease.

It was a line in the sand.

The others didn’t laugh or nudge or egg it on.

They were all waiting—watching—to see if you’d cross it.

Your mouth opened, then closed. Your heart beat like a drum in your ears.

Then, slowly, like in a dream, you took a step forward.

And another.

Chan’s eyes dropped to your hips as you approached, his hands bracing on his knees like he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

“Good girl,” Hyunjin murmured under his breath, and your thighs clenched at the words.

You reached Chan, hesitating only a second more before sinking down gently into his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, your hands landing softly on his shoulders.

He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a split second like he was savoring the moment.

Then his hands found your waist.

“You alright?” he asked low, like no one else was in the room.

You nodded, breath caught in your throat.

He smiled. And that was when you felt it—underneath you.

Hard. Hot. Undeniable.

And still, no one interrupted.

Because the next line had been crossed too.

Jisung’s hands landed warm on your shoulders, and you felt yourself melt into them.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Lucky you,” he murmured. “It’s your turn again. Truth or dare?”

Your breath caught. You didn’t even hesitate this time. “Dare,” you whispered.

It came out needier than you meant. You felt it. They heard it.

And then Felix—quiet Felix, soft-spoken sunshine Felix—opened his damn mouth. “I dare you to take Chan’s shirt off.”

Silence. Complete and total silence.

Felix’s eyes were wide, a little glassy, and burning hot.

He wasn’t joking, didn’t backtrack, didn’t laugh.

He just stared at you, licking his lips, waiting.

Behind you, Jisung chuckled, low and pleased.

Hyunjin, ever the chaotic spectator, exhaled like he’d just been handed front row tickets to his favorite sin.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he breathed.

Chan’s eyes flicked from Felix to you, to the tips of your fingers where they’d curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“Up to you,” he said softly, voice already thick. “I won’t stop you.”

You didn’t want to stop.

Your hands moved on instinct, sliding over his chest—slow, testing, learning.

Your fingertips brushed the hem of his shirt, and he hissed a breath through his teeth.

You met his eyes. “Okay?”

He gave the barest nod, jaw clenched.

So you lifted it. Inch by inch, revealing golden skin, lean muscle, the soft trail of hair that disappeared into his waistband.

The shirt slid off his arms, leaving him half-naked beneath you, and your hands—traitorous things—settled naturally on his bare chest.

Jisung whistled behind you.

Felix shifted on the couch, his leg bouncing.

Hyunjin leaned back with a hand over his mouth, eyes dark.

And Chan looked up at you like he’d die happy if you never moved again.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered.

You could barely breathe.

Because the room wasn’t playing a game anymore.

They were ready to play with you.

You laughed, breathless and shaky, trying to lighten the pressure that curled around your spine like smoke.

“Is this even a game anymore,” you giggled, nervously twisting in Chan’s lap, “if I take all the turns?”

Hyunjin leaned forward, slow and serpentine, voice like silk laced in sin.

“It was never a game, Angel.”

The words hit like a slap and a caress all at once.

Your heart climbed into your throat. The air around you felt too hot, too sharp, and somehow—too delicious.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking toward the only one who hadn’t touched you yet tonight.

Felix sat tense on the couch beside Hyunjin, wide-eyed and pink-lipped, his thighs spread, hands balled into fists on either side of him like he didn’t trust them.

“Lixie?” you whispered, extending a hand toward him. “Truth or dare?”

His lashes fluttered, and his whole body seemed to inhale.

He looked at your hand—bare, waiting, open—and then up into your eyes like the world was tilting just for him.

“Dare,” he said quietly.

Hyunjin let out a low, pleased sound.

Jisung tsked behind you like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Chan’s hands curled possessively around your hips, but he didn’t stop you.

You tilted your head. “I dare you to kiss me like you did in the closet,” you said.

And Felix—sweet, simmering, beautiful Felix—smiled slow and broken like you’d just offered him salvation.

He rose to his feet, never looking away from you, and took your hand. “You sure?” he whispered.

“I dared you,” you whispered back.

And then he kissed you.

Not like before.

This time, it was open-mouthed and deep, soft at first but building with every second.

His hands tangled in your hair, his chest pressed flush to yours, and when you gasped, he swallowed the sound like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You heard someone groan.

Jisung? Hyunjin? Yourself?

Felix pulled away just barely, forehead resting against yours, breath trembling.

“Still thinking about it,” he murmured. “Every day.”

And you could feel the other boys behind you—watching, waiting, burning.

Because this wasn’t about games anymore.

This was about who was going to ruin you first.

“Fucking hell,” Jisung muttered, low and strangled, his eyes dark as sin. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, pacing behind you for just a second before stopping cold.

Then he moved.

Before you could speak, before you could even think, he was shifting you gently—hands bold but still careful—until your back was flush with Chan’s bare chest. Chan sucked in a breath behind you, his thighs spreading wider, a low grunt rumbling from his throat when you settled right where he wanted you.

Jisung didn’t even look at Chan. His eyes were locked on you.

He dropped to his knees between the two of you—between Chan’s spread legs and your wide-open soul. His hands hovered in the air like they didn’t know what to do, like touching you would break him.

And maybe it would.

“I can’t keep doing this, y/n,” he whispered, breath shuddering. “These little bits and pieces through games and dates and safe zones. Game over.”

Your pulse thundered.

“We can’t go back to being just friends after this, okay?” he warned, eyes begging, voice cracking. “I’m going to cross some lines tonight that are impossible to go back on.”

Then he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, trembling with restraint. His hands dropped to his sides, clenched tight—he wouldn’t touch you unless you told him he could.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “Please. Tell me to stop.”

And oh… you should have.

But instead—

You shifted in Chan’s lap, just enough for your ass to grind against the hard line of him, and the groan that ripped from his throat was dark and animal. His hands tightened around your waist, holding you there.

You leaned forward, catching Jisung’s face in both hands, feeling the slight tremble in his jaw. His lips parted at your touch, his breath coming faster.

And then—

“Cross them, Sungie,” you whispered.

He blinked once.

Then twice.

And then he snapped.

His mouth crashed into yours like a dam breaking—fast and hungry and needy. His hands finally—finally—found your body, one gripping your thigh, the other curling into your hair. He kissed you like he was drowning in it, like he didn’t care who was watching, like nothing else mattered except you.

Behind you, Chan’s breathing got heavier, his grip growing tighter.

You were pinned between them—held by one, devoured by the other.

And when Jisung finally pulled back, lips swollen, eyes glazed, he looked at you like he’d just sold his soul and you were the reward. “Already crossed.”

Jisung was still breathing heavy against your lips, forehead pressed to yours like he hadn’t quite come back down from wherever you’d sent him. Chan’s grip on your waist never eased, his breath hot against your neck, but he hadn’t made a move—yet. He was waiting, watching.

Until Felix’s voice cut through the thick air like a spark on dry leaves.

“We just supposed to watch?” he asked, rough and sharp around the edges, his voice tight with restraint.

You turned toward him—just in time to see him rake his teeth across his bottom lip, still biting down like it might keep him sane.

Hyunjin—lounged against the back of the couch, shirt riding up over his hip bone, one leg bent lazily—let out a soft chuckle, pushing his fingers through his long hair.

“I’m not complaining,” he said, slow and syrup-slick, rolling his lip between his teeth. “Looks like Sungie’s finally growing some balls.”

That earned him a glare from Jisung.

But even that didn’t last.

Because when you shifted again—restless and warm, still burning from Jisung’s mouth and Chan’s hands—Hyunjin’s eyes flicked down, slow and predatory, and he leaned forward. “Angel,” he purred, voice low enough to drag across your skin like silk. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy now.”

Felix let out a quiet curse and dropped onto the couch beside you, one hand gripping your knee tight enough to make your breath hitch. He leaned in, nose brushing your cheek, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You kissed all of us, baby,” he murmured. “Don’t stop now.”

Jisung was still between your legs, his hands now on your thighs, his fingers tracing lazy circles like he had all the time in the world—even though his jaw was tight, even though you could see the muscle twitching there.

Chan’s voice—low and ragged—cut through the growing noise.

“I think she liked mine best.”

That made Hyunjin laugh—a sharp exhale and a toss of his head.

“Is that right, Angel?” he asked, inching forward on the couch now. “Is that why you’re still sitting in his lap? Or are you just too scared to come over here and let me show you what I taste like when I’m not holding back?”

The room felt like it tilted—slow and dizzying and dangerous.

And you were at the center of it. Drunk on more than just alcohol now.

Their gazes on you like heat. Their hands itching. Their patience wearing thin.

And they weren’t leaving.

Not this time.

You didn’t say anything, just slowly stood up from Chan’s lap, breath unsteady, knees wobbly beneath the weight of their stares—and walked.

Hyunjin was already leaning back, legs spread wide, one arm draped casually over the couch as if he’d known this was coming.

As if he’d planned it.

He winked at Chan, who watched you move with a clenched jaw and eyes like embers, then smirked. “Glad you know how to share,” Hyunjin said, voice slick.

And then he reached for you—yanked you down hard into his lap, pulling you so close your breath caught in your throat and your thighs trembled around his.

You were sitting directly on his hard length, pressed snug through his sweats, and he didn’t even try to hide how turned on he was.

He wanted you to feel it.

He ground up into you, just once, a slow roll of his hips that had your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Give me everything you gave him,” he growled, eyes dark, “and then some, Angel.”

You gasped as he leaned in—teeth tugging on your bottom lip, his hand sliding up your back, firm and possessive—and then he whispered it, low and lethal, just for you. “This is what you do to me.”

And you felt it. God, you felt it all.

The tension, the heat, the fact that Hyunjin was no longer just teasing—he was claiming.

Behind you, you heard someone swear—probably Felix, or maybe Jisung—and Chan shift on the couch, like he wasn’t sure if he was turned on or about to drag you back to him.

But Hyunjin’s mouth was already on your neck.

His hands already spreading down your waist, pulling you into his rhythm like he didn’t care who else was watching.

“You like that, baby?” he breathed against your skin. “You like knowing you’ve got us all so fucking desperate we’d take turns just to have you?”

And you did.

You loved it.

Hyunjin’s hands were reverent, almost gentle as they slid beneath the hem of your shirt—fingertips cool against the heat of your skin, tracing soft, invisible lines along your waist, your ribs, the soft dip beneath your sternum.

His breath hitched, and you felt it—everywhere. The way his chest rose against yours, the tension trembling in his fingers as he skimmed higher, but didn’t push.

“Can I take this off you, Angel?” His voice was quiet now, hoarse, like he was barely hanging on.

“Wanna see you, all of you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, not just from the weight of his words—but from the way everyone went still.

Felix’s lips parted, pupils blown.

Chan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight.

Jisung… Jisung watched you like he already knew what you were going to say—and it would ruin him if you didn’t.

You nodded, slowly, barely more than a breath.

“Yes,” you whispered. “You can.”

Hyunjin groaned, actually groaned, as he sat up straighter and pulled the shirt over your head like he was unwrapping a gift he’d dreamed about for too long.

He let it fall beside you without a second glance—because he was too busy devouring you.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes dragging over your bare skin. “You’re unreal.”

He didn’t touch you right away.

He just looked. Traced every inch of you with his eyes, like he wanted to memorize this moment forever.

And you could feel the tension spike in the room.

The other boys were silent—but not still.

Felix was adjusting himself subtly on the couch, his knuckles white where he gripped his thighs.

Chan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he closed his eyes for just a second—like that’s what she looks like under her clothes was too much to process all at once.

And Jisung had moved closer, his hand resting at the small of your back as if he couldn’t bear not to be touching you, even while Hyunjin was the one front and center.

“You’re shaking,” Hyunjin whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You nervous, Angel?”

You looked at him through heavy lashes, a slow, dangerous smile curling on your lips.

“Not nervous,” you said. “Excited.”

And with that, Hyunjin leaned in again, just close enough that your noses touched.

“Then let us make you feel really excited.”

Felix’s breath was shaky against your cheek. You hadn’t even heard him move—one minute Hyunjin was teasing you with a sinful smirk and trembling hands, the next, there Felix was, looming behind the couch like a shadow made of longing.

So close you could feel the heat of him.

“My turn,” he murmured, voice soft but urgent, like he’d been holding it back for weeks. “I need you. Need all of you, because—fuck—I’ve missed you.”

His gaze was ravenous..

It flicked down your body like he’d been starved of the sight—like your skin had been haunting his every waking moment.

“Every part of you,” he muttered, eyes locking on your bare breasts.

Your breath hitched—torn between the heat of Hyunjin beneath you and the pressure building behind.

So you gave in.

You arched slightly, pressing your chest forward, and Hyunjin groaned as his mouth closed around one nipple—hot and wet, his tongue flicking once, twice, before he sucked you in greedily like he needed it to breathe.

That’s when Felix snapped.

His lips crashed into yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation, his hands threading through your hair as he tilted your head back and devoured you.

He kissed like a man on the edge—messy, needy, a little unhinged. His mouth moved over yours with a mix of reverence and ruin, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship you or break you down completely.

You whimpered into his kiss—back arching, hips grinding slightly where you sat straddling Hyunjin, who was still mouthing at your chest, hands now gripping your ass beneath your thighs, holding you right where he wanted you.

“Fuck, Angel,” Felix whispered against your lips, barely pulling back.

His forehead rested on yours, your breaths mingling.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth. Your skin. That kiss in the closet—I’ve been losing my mind over it.”

You turned your head, panting, lips swollen, and caught Chan’s eyes across the room, dark and devastated.

Jisung was still kneeling at your feet, rubbing soothing circles along your calf like he was keeping himself grounded while you got devoured in someone else’s arms.

You looked back up at Felix, drunk on sensation, lips trembling as you whispered:

“Then don’t stop thinking about me. Don’t stop touching me.” Felix didn’t hesitate.

He jumped clean over the back of the couch like it was nothing, landing with a soft thud beside Hyunjin.

“Move over,” he grunted, low and sharp, already tugging your body back into place.

Hyunjin just smirked and shifted enough to make space—but kept his hand locked around your breast, fingers still pinching and rolling with slow, focused precision.

Felix leaned in close, his lips brushing the very same spot Hyunjin had just touched, his breath ghosting hot over your skin before he sucked your other nipple between his teeth. A wet, messy moan slipped from you before you could help it—your back arching, arms thrown over their shoulders as your body burned.

His mouth grazed Hyunjin’s fingers. Their hands brushed.

Neither of them pulled back.

If anything—they leaned in closer.

“Shit—” Hyunjin’s voice came out like gravel, his tongue flicking over the nipple now shining from Felix’s mouth. “You’re so soft, Angel. How do you feel this good everywhere?”

Felix groaned around your breast, his hand sliding up your thigh beneath your skirt, and—

Jisung whimpered.

Still kneeling at your feet, his hands were no longer gentle. He pressed firmer now, kneading at your hips, your ass, your lower back like he couldn’t decide where to worship first. His forehead rested just beside your knee, voice choked and muffled.

“Fuck, no—no. I need to touch her. Please—someone—let me in,” he begged, the heel of his hand grinding into his own clothed cock now.

Your body was trembling—hips twitching involuntarily, thighs pressing together as Hyunjin’s hand and Felix’s mouth worked in perfect sync, dizzying in how overwhelming they were. One would roll while the other licked. One would suck while the other scraped his nails along the side of your waist.

It was filthy.

Sensual.

Completely intoxicating.

Chan watched from the opposite couch, his hand slowly sliding over the bulge in his pants as he groaned—the sound low and tortured. His eyes were glued to your body, lips parted like he was the one being kissed.

Jisung whimpered again, head now resting against your inner thigh. “Tell me where you want me. I’ll do anything. Just tell me.”

You were dizzy, lost in the mess of moans, mouths, heat—

Jisung snapped.

One second you were moaning into Felix’s kiss, your body lit up like a flame between him and Hyunjin, and the next—you were airborne.

“What the fuck—” Hyunjin started, eyes wide as Jisung’s arm snatched around your waist like a steel band.

“Hey—!” Felix’s voice cracked, grabbing for your wrist, but Jisung was already halfway to the kitchen, throwing a look over his shoulder that dared them to try him.

“You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

He tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you balanced—the other kneading into your ass with an open hunger he couldn’t fake anymore.

“Han—!” you gasped, dazed and breathless from the sudden shift. You squirmed in his hold, and he groaned low.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear, as he kicked the kitchen door open with his foot. “All those years—watching you date other people. Hearing about your crushes. Watching you love everyone but me.”

He sat you on the edge of the kitchen table, stepping between your legs like he belonged there. And he did. The second his hands settled on your thighs—you knew it.

“Jisung—” you started, but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “don’t talk unless you’re gonna say yes.”

He kissed you then, hard. There was no hesitation, no playfulness, no teasing. Just raw, starved need. His tongue tangled with yours, his hands greedy and fast as they slipped under your shirt, up your sides, claiming everything he’d been denied.

And when he pulled back, his lips were swollen, his chest heaving.

“I’m about to make a mess out of you,” he warned.

His fingers gripped the edge of your waistband, eyes locked on yours like he was waiting—just in case you said no.

You didn’t.

Your hips lifted in permission, and he dragged your skirt and underwear down in one slow, smooth motion. They dropped to your ankles with a soft thud, and Jisung’s breath hitched.

“Fuck…” he whispered, stepping back in between your legs and dragging his fingers down the inside of your thighs, trailing right over the heat of your bare core. “You’re already soaked for me, baby. You’ve been soaked for me.”

He dropped to his knees, kissed the inside of your thigh once.

Then again. “Get comfy, Angel,” he whispered against your cunt, eyes blazing. “I’m not stopping ‘til your legs give out.”

The kitchen was filled with wet, filthy sounds—Jisung’s mouth never relenting, never giving you a second to breathe. He had your thighs locked over his shoulders and his tongue deep inside you like he was trying to crawl into your soul. Every moan that left your lips echoed off the tile like a prayer he was desperate to answer.

“Holy shit.”

You cracked your eyes open in time to see all three of them—Hyunjin, Felix, and Chan—hovering in the kitchen doorway like sin incarnate.

Hyunjin was palming himself through his jeans, eyes dark and locked on the way your thighs trembled around Jisung’s head. “I knew he was a munch,” he muttered with a smug grin. “He looks like one.”

Jisung didn’t even glance up—just flipped him off with one hand, the other buried so deep between your legs you felt it in your throat.

“At least he’s a good one,” Felix added under his breath, licking his lips. His knuckles were white at his sides, like he was one wrong move from snapping. “Listen to her…”

You were crying out, the table creaking beneath you, your head thrown back and hands tangled in Jisung’s hair as he devoured you like a man possessed.

“Fuck, Jisung—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes you can, baby,” he growled against your soaked folds, the vibrations pulling a shuddering gasp from your chest. “You’re gonna come on my face with them watching, aren’t you? Show them who you really belong to.”

That’s when Chan moved, silent, slow, predatory.

He came up behind you, gently brushing your hair away from your face and whispering, “You okay?”

You nodded wildly, already so close it was hard to see straight.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice like warm honey. “Just tell me if you want me to stop…”

His hands ghosted down your arms, calming where Jisung was feral. But it only made it worse—the soft contrast like lighting your nerves on fire.

Hyunjin leaned closer, licking his bottom lip as he stared at the way Jisung’s mouth glistened with you.

“She’s gonna break,” he said with a smirk. “You feel it, don’t you, Chan? She’s close.”

Chan’s hands tightened on your waist. “She’s shaking.”

Felix growled. “Let me hold her. She’s gonna fall.”

He was already stepping forward when it hit.

Your climax slammed into you like a train, all-consuming and loud. You screamed Jisung’s name, your body jerking, legs trembling uncontrollably as he held you through it, refusing to stop, dragging it out until your vision blurred.

“Goddamn,” Hyunjin muttered, palming himself harder.

“She’s not done,” Jisung said darkly, finally lifting his head, his mouth and chin coated in your slick. “I’m not even close.”

You were panting, boneless, barely able to sit up.

“Then let us help,” Chan whispered in your ear, voice thick with need. “We’ll take care of you.”

Felix kissed your temple. “All of us.”

to be continued...

You met Han Jisung when you were eight years old and too angry to cry.

Your mom had just moved you to a new country, a new school, and a new life that you didn’t ask for. You were sitting on the swings alone during recess, chewing on the plastic end of your hoodie string, trying to look like you didn’t want anyone to talk to you, when a boy plopped down in the grass in front of you like he didn’t care what your face said.

“You look like you wanna disappear,” he said.

“Maybe I do.”

“Well, too bad. I’m here now, and I’m annoying.”

You didn’t laugh, but a small smile tried to sneak through. And from then on, he stayed anyway.

The next day.

And the day after that.

Han became your shadow before you even realized you liked having him around. He cracked jokes at the teachers, made you playlists you didn’t ask for, threatened to fight boys who said your name too casually in the hallway.

He was always loud — except when it came to you. With you, he was softer. The kind of soft that folded itself into the corners of your life, becoming part of your memoies.

You called each other best friends by middle school.

By high school, he was already in love with you, he just never said it out loud.

Not when Felix showed up halfway through your sophomore year — blonde, sunshine-soft, with the kind of smile that made your chest flutter in a way Han’s never did.

Felix was quiet where Jisung was loud; gentle in a way that made you feel seen.

You started dating a month after meeting.

It lasted nine months. 

 It ended clean, with a long hug and a whispered, “you’ll always mean something.”

There was no betrayal, no blowout. Just two people who loved each other and knew they weren’t ready for forever.

You told everyone it was mutual.

Only Han knew Felix cried after.

Only Felix knew Han never truly let go of you.

The rest of the boys came over time: Hyunjin with his sharp jaw and sharper tongue. Chan with the careful eyes and steady hands. You were just “Han’s best friend” at first, and then — something more.

Now you’re all grown. You’ve all changed, gone your separate ways, and returned. And now, something about being back under the same roof feels like flipping through an old yearbook — except this one smells like sweat and vodka and something simmering just under the surface.

The boys aren’t just boys anymore. They’re men with grown-up hands and grown-up feelings.

And no one’s hiding it anymore.

It started with a bottle, or maybe it started before that, with the way you looked at Chan lately when you thought no one noticed.

The way Han lingered at your side a little too long.

The way Hyunjin always found a reason to touch you.

Or the way Felix smiled like he remembered something you never said out loud.

The air was thick with summer heat and unspoken things.

The boys were gathered at Chan’s place — a weekend reunion, drinks flowing, music low, laughter loud. It felt like being eighteen again; too old to be reckless, too young to let go of what it felt like.

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug when someone — probably Hyunjin — said, “Let’s play Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

You laughed, but no one else did.

Felix raised an eyebrow.

Chan just leaned back, arms folded, watching.

Han looked everywhere except at you.

And Hyunjin smirked like he’d already won.

“What, are we in high school?” you said, trying to sound bored.

“C’mon,” Jisung grinned. “Just one round, for the memories.”

Someone spun the bottle.

It spun.

And spun.

And stopped.

On you.

“Guess you’re up,” Chan said, voice low.

Your heart jumped when he looked at you — really looked at you. The crush you’d tried to push down all summer surged to the surface, warm and dizzying.

Hyunjin clapped his hands dramatically. “Now, who’s gonna join her?”

The bottle spun again, and your pulse thundered.

Plastic against wood, spinning fast at first — wild and aimless — before slowing into a hypnotic circle. The room went quiet, save for the low thrum of music in the background and the rasp of breath held just a little too tightly in everyone’s lungs.

Hyunjin tilted his head toward you, smirk already curling at the corner of his mouth.

“So?” he asked, voice dipped in challenge. “Who do you want it to land on?”

You gave him a look — that half-lidded, unimpressed stare you always saved for him when he was being too much. “None of you,” you scoffed, lips wrapping around the words like armor. “Obviously.”

He raised a brow. “Liar.”

But you didn’t get to defend yourself.

Because the bottle stopped.

Pointing directly at Felix.

There was a pause — the kind that stretches just long enough to feel like something’s changed, like something big just cracked open in the floor beneath you.

Felix blinked, wide eyes locked on yours, and something passed through them — not surprise exactly, not excitement either. Something quieter, softer, like a memory knocking on the door.

Felix stood up slowly, offered you his hand. “You don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable,” he murmured, close enough for only you to hear.

But you were already moving.

Because whatever this was, whatever your heart was doing in your chest — you needed to know if it was still there.

If you were still there.

If he was.

The closet door clicked shut behind you.

It was darker than you expected — not pitch black, but just enough to blur the sharp edges. Just enough to make your skin feel too tight, like the air was too close.

Felix stood in front of you, hands tucked nervously into the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt. For a second, neither of you spoke. You could hear the muffled laughter from the living room, the ticking of someone’s phone timer. Seven minutes, yet it suddenly felt like an eternity.

“This is weird, huh?” he said softly.

You huffed a laugh, leaning your back against the wall. “Just a little.”

“You look good,” he said quickly. “I mean—you always do, but—tonight, I don’t know.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You look… happy.”

Your breath caught a little. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he said. Then hesitated. “I am. I think I just… I didn’t expect it to hit me like this.”

“What?”

He smiled, but it was sad around the edges.

“Being this close to you again.”

Your chest ached. Not in a sharp, dramatic way — more like a bruise you didn’t know you still had.

Felix stepped closer, slow, careful. His voice dropped an octave, honey-sweet.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked. “Back then… us?”

You swallowed. “Sometimes.”

“Me too.” He looked down. “A lot, actually.”

There was a silence that pulsed with heat. You could feel the weight of everything you didn’t say back then pressing in from all sides.

“We were good, weren’t we?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “We were.”

Felix took another step. You could feel his body heat now, close enough that your knees nearly brushed.

“Do you think we ever really stopped?” he whispered.

You didn’t answer.

Because his hand had just lifted — slow, unsure — to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your cheek, light as a feather, and your breath hitched.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t wild.

It was remembering. It was soft and slow and deep — the kind of kiss that says I missed you.

You kissed him back like maybe you missed him too, all these years.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies aligned just like they used to. You could feel the way his breathing changed — the soft groan that escaped against your lips when your nails grazed the back of his neck.

“Lix…” you whispered.

“I know,” he breathed. “It’s okay. Just—let me have this. Just for now.”

You didn’t stop him.

His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that surprised you.

Felix had always kissed you sweet, back then — slow and tentative, like he was memorizing the shape of your lips.

But this was different.

This was need.

This was time lost.

His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you flush against him as he pressed you back into the closet wall. You gasped softly at the contact, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss — tongue sliding against yours, warm and desperate. His hips shifted forward, subtle but intentional, and you felt it — the sharp jolt of arousal, unmistakable and mutual.

“Fuck—” he breathed into your mouth, forehead resting against yours. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered.

And he didn’t.

Felix’s mouth trailed to your jaw, down your neck, lips brushing your skin like prayer. You tilted your head back, breath hitching as his hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, not pushing — just touching, like he needed to remind himself you were real.

“I think about you all the time,” he murmured against your throat. “What we had, what I’d do different now.”

You couldn’t respond, not with the way his fingers were gliding up your sides, not with the way his teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades, dragging a whimper from his lips.

One of his thighs pressed between yours. You instinctively shifted, grinding down — the pressure sudden, perfect, and just enough to make you gasp.

“Shit—” he hissed, jaw tight. “Tell me to stop. Please. If you don’t, I won’t.”

You shook your head. “Don’t, please. Not yet.”

He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand on your waist, the other sliding up to cup your breast through your bra — his thumb brushed over your nipple, and you moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

His hand slipped under your bra just as a sharp knock rattled the door.

“Time’s up!” Han’s voice called, too casual, too loud. “Try not to be indecent in there!”

You froze.

Felix let his forehead fall against your shoulder with a groan so broken, it might’ve undone you more than the kiss did.

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

You adjusted your shirt, heartbeat racing. His hands lingered at your hips a second longer before finally pulling away. When the door creaked open, light poured in — too bright, too exposed.

Han was standing there, smiling, but his eyes… his eyes said everything.

He knew.

And he wasn’t okay with it.

Hyunjin, sprawled across the arm of the couch like he’d been waiting for this moment, let out a slow whistle.

“Seven minutes, huh?” he smirked. “Sounded like heaven from out here.”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t, not with the way Han was already walking toward you.

He didn’t say anything at first — just looked at you, then at Felix. Something unreadable flickered across his face, too fast to name.

Then, with a crooked grin, he slung his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side like you belonged there.

“Tsk tsk, Lixie,” Han said, voice light but eyes sharp. “You forgot the rules. She’s mine first.”

Your stomach dropped.

Felix’s brows lifted, just slightly — a twitch of something beneath the surface. Then he stepped forward, standing a little straighter, and looked right at Han when he said it.

“She was mine in the way that mattered.”

The room went dead quiet.

The kind of quiet that has teeth.

Han laughed — just once, a short bark of disbelief.

“Cute,” he said, pulling you a little closer, fingers tightening on your arm. “You get one round in a closet and suddenly you’re sentimental?”

Felix didn’t flinch.

“We both know it was never just one round.”

Your breath hitched.

Hyunjin sat up now, eyebrows raised. Chan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, silent — but his eyes were trained on you.

“Damn,” Hyunjin muttered under his breath. “This just got good.”

You wanted to move, to say something, to breathe.

But Han’s arm was still around you. Felix’s stare still burning into your skin.

And whatever just started wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

The air outside was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat still burning under your skin.

You slipped out onto the balcony for some air, needing the space to think — to breathe — after everything that had just happened.

Hyunjin was already there, leaning against the railing like he owned the night, a crooked smile playing on his lips when he caught sight of you.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you out here,” he said, voice low, teasing.

You tried to keep your cool, but the way his eyes darkened when they landed on you made your breath catch.

“What do you want, Hyunjin?” you asked plainly.

He pushed off the railing and closed the distance in two steps, too close, his body almost brushing yours.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly. “Just thought you might need someone who knows how to handle you.”

His fingers trailed a slow line along your bare arm, light but deliberate, sending sparks where he touched.

“You make too much noise when you kiss, you know that?” he murmured, voice dropping an octave.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

“Or maybe he just made you noisy.”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back up to your eyes — daring you to say something, to react.

He leaned in, breath warm against your cheek.

“Wonder what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”

You didn’t pull away.

Because maybe… just maybe… you wanted to find out.

The weekend had ended, but nothing had really settled.

You went back to your normal life. You worked, you slept, you tried (and failed) not to replay every second of those seven minutes

But they didn’t stop thinking about you, either.

And they let you know.

Felix’s text came in first:

-hey… i’ve been thinking about you

-and that night

-and what it meant

-did it mean something to you too?

-i haven’t been able to stop hearing the way you said my name

-sorry if that’s too much

-i just… had to say it

You stared at the screen for a long time.

And then you didn’t answer.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because you did.

The next text was from Hyunjin:

-are you awake

-i just walked past someone wearing your perfume

-now i’m thinking about your mouth again

-not sorry.

-next time you’re in town, don’t hide from me.

-i still haven’t figured out what sound you’d make for me

You should’ve blocked him.

You should’ve ignored him.

Instead, you unlocked your phone with trembling fingers and reread the message five times.

Han texted you late that afternoon:

-remember when we used to go to that shitty corner store for slushies and sit on the curb for hours?

-i miss you. not just like… you-you.

-i miss my best friend.

-if things are weird now, i’m sorry

-i didn’t mean for them to get like this

-but i meant every second i spent looking at you like that

-even when i shouldn’t have

Your heart squeezed.

Because he was the one who knew every version of you.

And maybe you broke a little, knowing you’d broken him too.

Bang Chan’s text didn’t come in until right before you went to bed that night:

-i’m not the type to chase

-and i’m not asking you to pick

-but if you ever want to be around someone who sees the real you

-and doesn’t need you to be anything but that

-i’m here

-always will be

-come over sometime. no pressure.

-just company. and maybe the truth.

You didn’t answer him either.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because the truth was more dangerous than you were ready for.

to be continued...

You woke up alone.

Not just alone, but achingly alone—muscles sore, head pounding, and your sheets tangled and damp with memories you didn’t want to recall just yet. Sunlight filtered through your curtains, far too loud for your bleary eyes.

Your mouth was dry, your throat raw. And your heart felt the worst. Heavy, confused, and embarrassed.

You sat up slowly, ignoring the way your legs trembled, your thighs sore in a way that told you everything that happened last night was very real. The soreness between your legs, the bruises blooming at your hips, the faintest sting on your neck where kisses turned into bites.

The scent of them still clung to you, still lingered on your sheets.

“What the fuck did I do?” You whispered it into the empty room like it might give you answers, but the silence was sharp, like punishment.

Your phone buzzed.

[Chan 🐺]: Hey baby. How are you feeling? Drink some water and eat something, okay?

[Felix 🐥💫]: I left Tylenol and juice on the counter for you. Call me if you need anything, please.

[Hyunjin 🎨]: Could look at you forever. Hope you slept okay. Text me, angel.

[Sungie 🐿️]: …You okay? I mean it. Just wanna know you’re okay.

Your hands shook.

You didn’t respond to any of them.

The shame crept in like smoke—choking, clinging. What the hell were you thinking? What were they thinking? Was this a joke? A one-time mistake they were too polite to say they regretted?

You curled into yourself, deleting the notification previews without reading further. You needed a shower. You needed to forget.

You ran. Not literally—yet—but you didn’t text back, didn’t call.

Luckily, you had time. The boys were slammed with a packed week—press, rehearsals, fanmeets, performances. The kind of schedule that meant radio silence wouldn’t immediately raise alarms.

But the silence on your end was louder than any of them could’ve expected.

Days later, the dressing room buzzed with the low hum of post-show energy—styling staff moving around with water bottles, someone shouting for a change of mic batteries, the rush of a successful performance still clinging to their skin like sweat.

But none of them felt like celebrating.

Chan sat on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. His shirt clung to his back and his phone burned a hole in his hand. Again, he opened your messages. Again, he stared at the “Read 3 days ago” line and no reply.

Felix slumped next to him, pulling a towel over his damp hair. “Still nothing?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Chan shook his head.

Across the room, Hyunjin leaned against the wall, head tilted back, chest heaving from the last encore..

“Maybe we were too much,” he murmured.

“No,” Jisung said immediately, his voice sharp in a way that turned heads. He was pacing again, hoodie half-on, shoes off. “We weren’t too much. We were… honest. It was raw, and messy, yeah, but we all wanted it.”

“But did she?” Felix whispered, voice quieter than usual. “All of it, all of us?”

Chan’s jaw tensed.

“I don’t know.” And that hurt more than anything.

They all remembered your moans, your desperate little gasps, the way you took everything they gave and asked for more—but now, all they could think about was the way your eyes fluttered shut when you came, the way your hands trembled after. The way you clung to them in the silence that followed.

Hyunjin broke the quiet first.

“She needed time,” he said, uncertain.

“She needed us,” Jisung countered, running both hands through his damp hair. “We promised we wouldn’t let her hide.”

“But here we are. Letting her.”

The air stilled.

Felix leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice soft. “So what do we do? Wait?”

Chan finally looked up, eyes bloodshot but burning.

“No,” he said. “We let her breathe. But we don’t let her go.”

Your apartment was too quiet.

Not even your half-hearted attempt to drown the silence with lo-fi beats from your speaker could cover the ache gnawing at your chest. You’d wandered around aimlessly all day—washed a dish, folded half a load of laundry, stood staring at your phone until the screen dimmed.

Your thighs brushed as you walked, bare and warm in the quiet hum of your apartment. Thin, soft shorts clung to your hips and one of Jisung’s old hoodies hung off your frame—too big, smelling faintly of him even after all this time. You had stolen it years ago. He never asked for it back. You kind of hoped he never would.

Then came the knocking.

Loud and frantic. Over and over again.

Your stomach dropped.

You crept to the door, heart pounding, and peeked through the peephole. Messy brown curls, pacing, the anxiety twisting his face into something raw and panicked.

Jisung.

You hesitated for just a second, then unlocked the door with trembling fingers.

As soon as it cracked open, he pushed inside, his eyes flying over you—hair messy, lips parted, chest rising and falling like he’d run there. His gaze caught on your bare thighs, the hoodie hanging off one shoulder, and something in his expression broke.

“You weren’t answering me,” he snapped. His voice cracked with emotion. “You weren’t—texting, or calling, or anything. It’s been a week, y/n. A week. I thought—” he broke off, biting his lip. “I thought something happened. I thought you were done with me. With us.”

You took a shaky breath, arms wrapping around your torso. “I thought we weren’t best friends anymore, Jisung. We crossed the line, remember?”

His eyes widened. His hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Fuck the line,” he growled, stepping closer, chest brushing yours. “Don’t shut me out.”

You tried to step back. He followed. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to read every page of your soul.

“I don’t know what to do with all this,” you whispered. “You—you fucked me in front of our friends. You looked me in the eye while you ruined me and then kissed me like I was yours. And then you left.”

“I left because I had to. I had a schedule. Rehearsals. Press. But baby, I never left you.” He stepped forward again, crowding into your space. “Not even for a second.”

You felt your eyes sting.

He reached up and cradled your face in both hands, thumbs swiping under your eyes before anything could fall.

“I’m not just your best friend anymore,” he said, voice raw. “I don’t know what I am exactly, but I need to be near you. I need you to talk to me. Yell at me, throw shit, cry. Anything but this.”

You breathed out slowly, gaze flicking between his lips and eyes.

“You scared me, Ji.”

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours.

“I scare myself when it comes to you,” he whispered. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop. I don’t want you to pretend it didn’t happen. I want you to let me in.”

You stayed like that—quiet, forehead to forehead, your fingers fisting in the hem of his shirt.

And when he finally kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or possessive like before. It was slow, deep.

He was begging you to believe him with every press of his lips.

You could barely breathe, not with the way his lips moved over yours—hungry, and haunted, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t memorize the shape of your mouth all over again.

Jisung pulled away just enough to search your face, his voice barely more than a rasp.

“Did I go too far?”

His fingertips pressed into your hips—hard—like he didn’t trust you were real otherwise. You could already feel the promise of bruises blooming beneath his touch.

You shook your head slowly, lips swollen, body trembling.

“Use your words, baby,” he said, his tone suddenly sharper, almost pleading. He leaned in, brushing his nose along your cheek. “Tell me I didn’t go too far.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “You didn’t go too far.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a week straight.

“Tell me…” he dragged his hands up under the hoodie, over your bare waist, his thumbs brushing under your ribs. “Tell me you want me to do it again.”

Your breath hitched, heat pooling low in your stomach. You knew what he meant. All of it.

“I want you to do it again.”

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, barely holding back a groan. “Fuck, baby. You don’t know what you just did to me.”

Then his mouth was on yours again, hotter this time. His hands were everywhere—gripping, sliding, possessing—until your back hit the nearest wall. One hand braced beside your head, the other snuck under the hem of your shorts, cupping you between your thighs.

“You’re already soaked,” he said against your lips, wonder and frustration lacing his voice. “You missed me this much, huh?”

“I never stopped,” you breathed, arching into him.

His lips curved into a smirk before he dipped down, kissing along your jaw, down your throat, sucking a mark at the place your pulse pounded hardest.

“You think I haven’t been dreaming about this every fucking night since?” he said, voice low, dangerous. “You think I didn’t fuck my own hand pretending it was you?”

“Ji—”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his pupils blown wide with want.

“Say it again.”

“I want you to do it again,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He groaned deep in his chest, pressing his forehead to yours. “Then get back on that bed, baby.”

You didn’t even realize you were moving until he was guiding you—backward, slow, gentle—fingers tangled with yours like you were something delicate, like he’d break if he let go. Your legs hit the edge of the bed, and for a second, he just stood there staring at you.

Like he couldn’t believe you were really letting him have this again.

Like it meant something different this time.

It did.

“Lay back for me,” he whispered, voice so low and tender it made your chest ache.

You did as you were told, resting against the sheets, heart pounding, body aching for him. He kneeled between your thighs and didn’t touch you at first. Just looked. Let himself see you.

And then his hands were on your hips again, but not hard this time. He smoothed them over your skin like he was tracing a memory, brushing his thumbs along the waistband of your shorts and sliding them down so slowly it made you whimper.

“You’re still so pretty like this,” he murmured, kissing along your inner thigh. “Even after everything we did. After everything I did. Still fucking perfect.”

He crawled up your body next, peppering kisses across your stomach, your ribs, your chest—tugging the hoodie up to your collarbones but not taking it off. Like he wanted you cozy, wanted you soft.

When he kissed you again, it was gentle. His fingers threaded into your hair and he kissed you like he was promising something.

“I’m not gonna fuck you dumb tonight,” he whispered against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your temple. “Not tonight, baby. Not when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you breathed.

“Like I’m yours.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

He kissed your neck again, trailing down, until he was kneeling between your thighs and letting his fingers trace your folds. He didn’t tease. He touched you the way he knew you liked—soft strokes, just enough pressure, just enough to build.

You were already gasping for him when he slid two fingers inside and crooked them just right.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel loved.”

You weren’t even sure when the tears welled up in your eyes. It wasn’t the sex. It was the way he said it. The way he looked at you like he’d waited years for this one moment to matter.

And when he finally lined himself up, when he pressed in slow—inch by inch—he didn’t break eye contact once.

You felt it in your bones. In your heart. In your soul.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he said, voice shaking. “Wanted you to want me like this.”

“I did, Sungie,” you whispered, cupping his face, kissing him soft.

And then he moved.

Slow and steady, grinding so deep inside you, your eyes rolled back. But it wasn’t about making you come fast. It was about making you feel. Every stroke, every breath, every kiss—he gave you all of it like it was his last.

“Say my name,” he pleaded against your throat.

“Jisung,” you breathed. “Sungie.”

“That’s right, baby. That’s right. You’re mine right now. No games. No dares. Just us.”

You clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, hands clawing at his back, trying to hold on.

Trying to remember this.

And when you finally came—shaking, sobbing, gasping his name—he followed right after you, burying his face in your neck, whispering how much he missed you, how good you were, how he never wanted to be apart from you again.

Even afterward, he didn’t leave your side. He stayed tangled up with you, face pressed into your chest, thumb stroking lazy circles on your ribs.

“Don’t run again,” he whispered. “If you need space, I’ll give it. But don’t run.”

You nodded slowly, letting your fingers glide through his messy hair.

“I’m not running. Not from you.”

Your fingers were still carding lazily through Jisung’s hair, tangled and messy from sleep and sex and everything in between, when his phone buzzed against the nightstand.

He groaned, burying his face deeper into your chest. “No! No phones. Only boobs.”

You laughed softly, but his hand reached out blindly, grabbing the device and unlocking it without lifting his head.

He answered with a tired swipe, his voice low and cautious. “Hey.”

You could only hear muffled noise through the speaker, but the tension in Jisung’s shoulders gave away how anxious the voice on the other end must have sounded.

“No, she’s okay. She’s—” he paused, glancing up at you with something sweet and heavy in his eyes. “She’s right here.”

You felt your breath hitch. Jisung’s fingers wrapped tighter around your waist.

“She needed space, yeah. We all pushed too hard. But I promise she’s okay now.” A long pause. A sigh. “Just come over.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just hung up the call and tossed the phone back on the nightstand like it had burned him.

You blinked, brushing a hand down the side of his face. “Who was that?”

He looked up at you through his lashes, chin propped on your chest, a little half-smile creeping onto his lips.

“We’re about to have company,” he said simply. “So I’m enjoying the last of this moment while I still can.”

You didn’t press further—because deep down, you knew exactly who he meant. And your heart didn’t race in fear this time. It just… fluttered. A soft thud against your ribs.

Maybe you weren’t as alone as you’d convinced yourself you were.

Jisung settled back into you with a sigh of contentment, pulling the covers over the both of you. But neither of you slept. You just held each other, quietly bracing for the storm of emotion that was surely coming.

The door creaked open slowly, the softest sound in the quiet apartment, and still—your heart knew it was him before he even spoke.

Heavy footsteps padded cautiously through the hall, room by room. You could hear the way he breathed, uneven and fast, like he wasn’t sure what he’d find. Like he was preparing himself for the worst.

And then he found you.

Hyunjin stopped in the doorway of your bedroom, chest heaving, lips parted as he took in the sight of you—bare under the covers, curled into Jisung, both of you flushed and sleepy-eyed. But he didn’t react to that. Didn’t sneer, didn’t scold, didn’t even blink.

He just walked forward like he was sleepwalking. Like he’d been lost in a storm and this was the first sign of dry land he’d seen in days.

And then he dropped to his knees beside the bed.

“Angel?” His voice was rough, breaking around the edges.

He reached for your hand and brought it to his face, pressing your knuckles to his cheek like he needed the physical proof. His eyes never left yours, wild with longing, rimmed in pink from sleepless nights and too many overplayed memories.

“You alright?” he asked, and the words were so quiet, so reverent, that your eyes stung.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

His eyes fluttered shut for half a second in relief. When they opened again, you swore you could see every emotion he’d been bottling since that night spilling out—guilt, ache, tenderness, and something else, too. Something deeper.

“You didn’t answer,” he said, voice even softer now. “Not a text, not a call, not even Han. I thought you were done with us.”

“She almost was,” Jisung murmured from behind you, his voice low, protective. “But I wouldn’t let her run.”

Hyunjin nodded, still clutching your hand like a lifeline. “Good. Because I—I can’t go through that. Not with you.”

You brushed your thumb across his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He leaned into the touch, lashes fluttering as a fresh breath hitched in his throat. “Don’t apologize,” he whispered. “Just… don’t disappear again. I’ll do anything. Just don’t go.”

And when he finally pressed his lips to the inside of your wrist, it wasn’t possessive, wasn’t desperate.

It was worship.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked down, then back up with a sly smirk. “Sungie, your dick is out,” he said with a teasing scoff, voice dripping with amusement.

Jisung didn’t even pause, still buried next to you, voice lazy and warm. “You didn’t have a problem with it a week ago.”

Hyunjin laughed, the sound low and wicked as he leaned closer, brushing a hand over your exposed thigh. “Damn, so he got to you first, angel?” His gaze locked with yours, glittering with mischief. “I gotta fuck his mess outta you again?”

You bit your lip, cheeks flushing as Hyunjin’s grin widened, knowing exactly how much that line hit a nerve.

Jisung growled softly, tugging you tighter against him, eyes flashing with possessive fire. “Try me.”

Hyunjin’s smirk turned downright devilish as he reached out, sliding a finger over your hip with a slow, deliberate stroke. “Oh, we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

The tension between the three of you pulsed electric, every glance and touch a silent dare.

And you were right in the middle—wild, wanted, and ready for whatever came next.

Hyunjin didn’t wait for permission—he saw it in your eyes, felt it in the way your thighs shifted and your breath caught. He shed his shirt in one smooth motion, crawling over the bed until he was kneeling between your legs. His hands skimmed up the backs of your thighs, spreading you open again, and his gaze dropped to where Jisung had been buried deep.

He licked his lips. “God, you’re fucking soaked. He really did ruin you, huh?” He leaned forward, not to kiss you, but to kiss Jisung—messy, open-mouthed and desperate. Jisung moaned into it, arms tightening around you like a vise.

“I wanna see you while I do it,” Hyunjin murmured, pulling back just enough to brush the tip of his cock against your entrance, already twitching at the warmth of you.

“Go slow,” Jisung warned him softly, breath puffing against your cheek. “She’s still sensitive.”

Hyunjin nodded once, then pushed in—inch by agonizing inch—until he was seated deep. You gasped, back arching into Jisung’s chest, and he kissed your temple, murmuring quiet nothings like, “You’re doing so good,” and “Let him feel you, baby.”

Hyunjin groaned low, his head dropping forward as your walls fluttered around him. “Fuck, she’s perfect. She’s fucking perfect.”

And then he started to move.

Not fast. Not rough. Just slow, devastating rolls of his hips, grinding so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat. Jisung held you through all of it—hands firm on your stomach, one sliding up to cradle your jaw so he could keep you looking at him while Hyunjin took you from below.

“That’s it, angel,” Hyunjin whispered. “Let us love you right.”

And you did—arms slack, breath hitching, eyes glassy from overstimulation but locked on Jisung, who kissed you gently as Hyunjin fucked you like he had all the time in the world.

Because he did.

Because they weren’t going anywhere.

You could barely keep up with the rhythm of your own breathing, let alone the slow, deep grind of Hyunjin inside you. Your body trembled—wrung out and buzzing, stretched tight between two boys who worshipped the very ground you walked on.

Jisung cradled you tighter, chest pressed to your back, his lips moving against your ear in breathy gasps. “She’s shaking, Jinnie… look at her,” he whispered, and his voice was so full of awe, it made your toes curl.

Hyunjin never broke his pace, each thrust deliberate, filthy, and controlled, like he was trying to brand the shape of him into your core. “That’s cause she’s perfect,” he groaned, hands gripping your thighs like they were his lifeline. “Fuck, angel. You feel like heaven. You were made for this—made for us.”

You whimpered—your body arching, your mind barely tethered—and Jisung caught your jaw in his hand, tilting your head until your eyes met his. “Still with us, baby?” he asked gently, even though his pupils were blown wide and his cock was twitching against your hip.

You nodded, but it was wobbly, incoherent.

“Use your words,” Jisung murmured again, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips even as his voice dropped to something rougher, more desperate. “C’mon. Tell us who you belong to.”

“Y-you,” you choked, the word slipping out in a breathless sob. “You and Jinnie.”

Hyunjin groaned like it physically pained him. “That’s right,” he growled, thrusting harder now, deeper. “Our pretty girl. You’re everything, angel. You hear me? I can’t fucking breathe without you.”

Your vision blurred. Your nails clawed at Jisung’s forearm where it lay braced beneath your breasts. “Too much,” you whispered, even as your hips chased Hyunjin’s rhythm, even as your legs shook.

“Shh, no, no, no,” Jisung soothed, his hand sliding up to cradle your head. “You can take it, baby. You’ve got one more for us. Just one more. You always do.”

Hyunjin’s pace stuttered, hips shoving deeper, and he leaned down until his forehead touched yours, lips brushing over your parted mouth. “Come for me, angel. Just like that. Let us feel you fall apart.”

And with both their voices in your ear, both their hands on your skin, their mouths pressed to your face like prayer, you did.

You shattered. Hard. Messy. Beautiful.

They held you through every wave of it, whispering praise so thick with adoration it nearly broke you again.

“Our girl.”

“So fucking proud of you.”

“She’s everything, isn’t she, Sungie?”

“Yeah,” Jisung breathed, kissing your temple. “She’s our everything.”

Hyunjin pulled out slow, his cock slipping free with a wet pop that made your body shiver even as it left you empty and raw. Without breaking eye contact, he shifted forward and spilled his warmth across the smooth expanse of your stomach, gasping low and ragged.

“Wanted to see what you looked like painted with me,” he breathed, lips brushing the curve of your ribs as he exhaled.

Jisung’s head tilted, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he reached out to trace lazy circles along your side. “She looks hot,” he murmured, voice thick with possessive pride.

Hyunjin chuckled softly, eyes flicking between you and Jisung. “Our mess,” he said, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled your head up for a kiss that tasted like sin and promise.

You melted between them, soaked and overwhelmed, every part of you branded by their touch and words.

And in that perfect, filthy moment, you knew exactly where you belonged.

Backstage the following day, the air was thick with a kind of charged silence — the kind that happens when everyone’s holding onto a secret too big to fully hide. Jisung was grinning like a kid who’d just stolen candy, his usual cool replaced by a reckless kind of happiness. Hyunjin’s cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, and every once in a while he’d shoot a knowing look toward Jisung.

Chan noticed it first. The subtle smirks, the way Jisung’s hand lingered on his own thigh a moment too long, like he was still feeling the ghost of your touch. Felix caught it next — the way Hyunjin’s fingers drummed against his arm, as if trying to contain the buzzing energy that made him almost vibrate with anticipation.

Chan’s brow furrowed. “Okay, spill,” he said, voice low but sharp. “What the hell happened last night?”

Felix crossed his arms, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Yeah, you guys are walking around like you’re on some secret mission or something.”

Jisung laughed, a little too loudly. “Mission accomplished, then.”

Hyunjin shot him a look but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. “She’s different,” he admitted. “Better. We’re better. All of us.”

Felix shook his head, lips twitching. “I’m not buying it. What did you guys do, take her to another dimension or something?”

Chan smirked, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Whatever it was, I want in.”

Jisung’s grin widened, that mischievous spark back in his eyes. “Soon, baby. Soon.”

The room seemed to hum with the unspoken promise — this was just the beginning.

To be continued…

It all started with a simple dare.

A lazy Saturday afternoon turned into an impromptu hangout when your friends dragged you all to Han’s place for what was supposed to be a chill movie night.

But Han, never one to sit still, had other plans.

“Let’s make this interesting,” he grinned, tossing a mischievous glance your way as everyone settled around the living room. “How about a game? Loser owes the winner… whatever they want. No backing out.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a smirk. “You sure you can handle that, Han? Because I’m not afraid to make you regret it.”

The room buzzed with excitement, friends egging you both on, making jokes about who’d win, who’d lose, and what kind of ridiculous dares would go down.

“Alright,” Han said, the challenge lighting his eyes, “loser has to kiss the winner. On the lips. No hesitation.”

Your heart skipped.

The stakes had just gotten real.

“You’re on,” you said, voice steady but with a pulse of anticipation.

Cards shuffled, dares thrown, laughter echoing—but with every turn, the air grew thicker. More electric.

When the game reached its final round, it was clear: someone was about to lose big.

And that someone was you.

Han’s grin turned triumphant but softer, like he was trying to keep it light despite the spark between you.

“Well…” he said, voice low, teasing, “I’m expecting that kiss now.”

You swallowed hard, feeling all eyes on you, including his—warm, hopeful, and just a little daring.

“Guess I better make it count,” you whispered.

You took a breath deep enough to steady your racing heart, your eyes locked on Han’s as you leaned in—slow, deliberate.

His lips parted just enough to welcome you, and the moment you touched, the room seemed to disappear.

His mouth was warm and soft, but not shy.

His tongue flicked out, gentle at first, testing the waters—then, with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, he deepened the kiss.

You melted into him, fingers threading into his hair as his hands slid down to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones with tender possessiveness.

The heat between you blazed, slow and fierce, every touch setting your skin alight.

Han’s breath hitched against your mouth, and for a moment, you both forgot—forgot the friends watching, the game waiting, the world beyond this kiss.

His hands moved lower, one sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other tracing the curve of your hip, sending a jolt straight through you.

Your hands roamed, seeking every inch of him you could reach, exploring the strong lines of his back, the smooth skin beneath his hoodie.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as his eyes searched yours, dark, sparkling with a mix of mischief and something deeper.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

You just smiled, breathless.

As you and Han slowly pulled apart, the room burst into a mix of cheers, whistles, and playful groans.

“About damn time!” Seungmin exclaimed, grinning like he’d been waiting forever. “See? I knew y’all were hiding something,” Felix teased, elbowing Han with a sly smile. Changbin just shook his head, laughing softly, while Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but trying to act chill.

“You guys are impossible,” one of the others chuckled, still shaking their head.

Han’s grin stretched wide, a little sheepish now as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. Enough gloating. Let’s clean this mess up.”

The group got to work, the playful energy still humming as pillows got fluffed and snacks got packed away.

But when the last cushion was stuffed into place and the room cleared of clutter, Han’s hand found yours.

He tugged gently, voice low and sincere. “Hey… come with me for a sec?”

You glanced up, heart fluttering at the quiet invitation hidden in that smile.

He led you down the hallway, the buzz of the living room fading behind you.

Outside his door, he stopped and turned, eyes dark and serious for just a moment.

“I want to talk. Alone.”

You nodded, stepping inside.

The door shut behind you, muffling the sounds of the others laughing in the next room.

Han’s goofy smile was gone, replaced by something softer, more uncertain.

He took a breath, eyes searching yours like he was trying to find the words.

“I wanna try that kiss again,” he said quietly, voice low and raw, “without anyone watching.”

You nodded, heart pounding, cheeks warm.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He stepped closer, hesitating for just a second before closing the distance.

When his lips finally met yours, it was gentle but urgent, like he’d been holding back for so long that all the feelings spilled out at once.

His hands found your waist, fingers trembling as they pulled you nearer.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, breath hitching as the kiss deepened, tongues brushing shyly at first, then with more confidence and need.

It was messy, sweet, and entirely new—like the start of something you’d both been too scared to say aloud.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, neither of you spoke.

But the way your eyes held each other said everything.

Something had shifted.

And neither of you wanted to go back.

Your foreheads still pressed together, the quiet between you stretching in a way that felt full of promise.

Han’s breath was shaky but steady as he pulled back just a little, eyes flickering nervously over your face.

“I’ve... uh...” he started, scratching the back of his neck, that familiar goofy smile creeping back but softer this time. “So, maybe... would you wanna go out with me? Like, on a proper date? No games, no bets. Just... us?”

Your heart skipped, the smile spreading across your face brighter than the fairy lights in the living room.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice warm and sure. “I’d like that.”

His grin widened, relief and excitement mingling in his eyes.

“Cool,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “I’ll plan something. And I promise it’ll be fun.”

You laughed softly, the nerves melting away in the warmth of that moment.

“Looking forward to it, Han.”

And just like that, something new—something real—had begun.

Fin.

The evening air was cool but comfortable, the kind of gentle chill that made you want to hold on to someone's hand just a bit tighter. The sky was painted in that in-between twilight color; the sun barely gone, the streetlamps just starting to glow, and each step you took beside Jisung felt like it fell perfectly in time with his.

He'd picked a quiet little spot, a cafe you both had stumbled into as kids, the one with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu that hadn't changed, even after all these years. It smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and a faint trace of old paper from the bookshelf tucked in the corner. Even the bell above the door gave the same faint, familiar chime.

He held the door open like he always had, bowing slightly with a teasing grin. "After you," he murmured, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat too long. That easy smile, the one you'd seen a thousand times before, still had the power to send your heart into that messy, unpredictable flip-flop it had been doing since you were kids.

"Remember when we got kicked out for making that ridiculous mess with the chalk outside?" he asked once you'd settled into the corner booth, his knee brushing yours under the table like it was an accident... but maybe it wasn't.

You laughed softly, tracing the rim of your cup after the waitress left. "Yeah, and you blamed it all on me, even though you were the one who started it."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "I actually don't recall that part."

"Convenient."

The banter came easy, as natural as breathing, but underneath it was a hum —a quiet awareness that tonight wasn't exactly like the hundred other nights before it. His gaze held yours a little longer than usual, his thumb tapping against his coffee cup in a rhythm that did nothing to hide his nerves.

"So..." you began, trying to sound casual but feeling your pulse climb. "Why'd you want to come here tonight? Out of all the places?"

Jisung hesitated, then reached across the table. His hand found yours —warm, familiar, and still enough to make your breath hitch. "Because it's us," he said softly. "Because no matter where life throws us, I want you to know you can come home to me." His lips curve just slightly, his thumb still stroking your knuckles. "And maybe... I want you to see me as more than just your best friend."

The air between you seems to shift, heavy with the weight of words you'd been skirting around for weeks, while he'd been skirting around them for years.

"I'm scared," he admits, his voice dipping lower. "Scared you'll say this ruins everything. But I've been holding this in for too long. I want to be the one who makes you laugh when no one else can. The only one who knows the difference between your fake smile and your real one. The one you call first for everything."

You search his face — the boy who had scraped his knee beside you on playground pavement, who had stolen you snacks during lunch in middle school, who'd walked you home through summer storms without an umbrella just so you wouldn't be alone.

"I'm scared of losing what we have, Sungie," you whisper.

He smiled then, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world for you to feel for him what he felt for you. "We won't lose it. I promise. I want all of it, the friendship, the memories, and everything else we've been too chicken to say out loud."

You didn't realize you'd been leaning forward until he reached up, fingertips brushing your cheek with a featherlight touch that sent heat curling low in your chest.

"And hey," he added with a grin, turned mischievous. "If this is the start of something new, I'm ready to be the best boyfriend and worst wingman you'll ever have."

Your laugh came out bright and unguarded, the kind that left your cheeks aching.

Later, you stood close by your front door, the soft glow of the porch light casting a warm halo around you. The city’s quiet hum was a gentle backdrop, but all Jisung could focus on was the way your eyes caught the light — sparkling with mischief, just like when you were kids sneaking out past curfew.

He swallowed, his voice low and a little breathless. “So… can I get a goodnight kiss?”

You tilted your head, lips curving into a sly smile. “Is that all you want?” you teased, eyes locking with his. “Just a kiss?”

Jisung’s breath hitched, and the small grin that pulled at his lips was equal parts nervous and hopeful. “I’m open to negotiations.”

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against his chest. “Because if you want more, I might be persuaded.”

His eyes darkened, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. “Then maybe I should stay a little longer and find out.”

The air between you thickened, charged and sweet — a perfect kind of dangerous.

And just like that, the night didn’t have to end.

Before you can blink, Jisung’s hands are on either side of the door, trapping you in that perfect spot only he knows. His breath is hot on your skin, his eyes dark with that familiar fire that always makes your pulse race.

Then, his lips crash onto yours, fierce and hungry, like he’s been holding back a lifetime. It’s a kiss that burns slow and deep, the kind that steals your breath and leaves your knees weak. Your hands fly up to grip his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer as the world narrows down to just the two of you.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to glance into your eyes, voice a rough whisper that sends shivers down your spine. “Open the door, y/n… or I swear, I’m about to give the neighbors a show they won’t forget.”

He’s smirking, that devilish grin tugging at his lips as his hands linger on your waist, fingers teasing and possessive.

Your heart’s pounding, but damn, you’re more than ready.

Before you even have time to catch your breath, Jisung’s hands grip your waist, pulling you inside with a force that makes your knees wobble. The door slams shut behind you, the faint click echoing like a signal that this moment is yours — no distractions, no interruptions.

His lips find yours instantly, hungry and demanding, like he’s trying to erase every second you’ve been apart. His hands roam fiercely, one threading through your hair while the other slides low to grip your hip tight, grounding you as he deepens the kiss.

You melt into him, fingers clutching his shirt, heart racing, every nerve screaming with need. There’s no hesitation, no slow build—just pure, raw urgency.

He breaks the kiss only to murmur against your mouth, voice thick with desire, “Can’t stand being away from you, not even for a damn second.”

Then he’s back on you, lips tracing a fiery path down your jawline, to your neck, nipping softly before claiming the skin with a mark you’ll be feeling all day.

You both know this night just flipped the script, and nothing will ever be the same again.

Jisung’s lips roam over your neck, his breath warm and ragged against your skin, every soft moan you let slip stoking the fire burning between you both. His hands don’t stop their gentle explorations, fingers grazing your hips, teasing the delicate curve of your waist.

“Baby,” he murmurs low, voice thick with reverence and need, “you looked gorgeous tonight, but I want to see all of you. Can I take this skirt off? See the beauty you’ve been hiding.”

His fingers slide deliberately under the hem of your skirt, inching it higher, teasing just enough to send shivers down your spine. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion that doesn’t await your permission, he pushes the fabric up your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he kneels before you.

The world narrows to the space between you, to his steady breath, the heat of his gaze, and the sweet promise lingering in the air.

You tremble slightly, caught between the thrill of being seen and the intimacy of this moment; the kind that makes your heart race and your body ache to give in.

Jisung’s fingers glide up your thighs, gentle but possessive, tracing the delicate skin just beneath your skirt’s edge. His mouth follows his hands, soft kisses peppering the warmth of your inner thigh that make your breath hitch every time.

His lips tease closer and closer, barely brushing the barest hint of your skin before retreating with a playful hum, as if tasting you through the fabric. Then, with deliberate care, he slides the skirt fully up, exposing your legs and the soft swell of your hips.

He takes a moment, eyes dark with hunger and adoration, before finally dipping his head lower, breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. Jisung’s mouth finds the tender spot just inside your thigh, his tongue flicking slow, teasing circles that send heat flooding through you.

“Fuck, y/n,” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick and worshipful, “you taste like everything I’ve been dreaming of.”

His hands cup your hips, holding you steady as he trails kisses higher — slow, deliberate worship that makes your knees weak and your heart pound louder in your chest.

He looks up at you, eyes shining with devotion and that soft, needy grin he gets when he’s completely caught in you. “I want to take my time,” he breathes, “make sure you know just how much you’re wanted.”

You nod in response, the words you want to say caught in your throat and with a wicked smirk, his hands aren’t gentle anymore. They grip your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. His lips travel feverishly, no more slow teasing — he’s needy, hungry for every inch of your skin, every taste, every sound you make.

“Baby,” he rasps against your inner thigh, voice thick with want and something deeper, like he’s begging, pleading to be the one you need. His tongue flicks and circles over your clit, dragging long, desperate strokes down to your soaking entrance as his fingers dig in, parting your folds to worship you like you’re the only damn thing keeping him grounded.

His breath hitches when you shudder beneath him, nails digging into his hair. “Stay right there, Ji—” You moan in a low, broken whisper. “Feels so good.”

“I’m not letting go,” he promises, voice breaking on the edge of raw emotion. “I’m staying, baby. I’ll be the one who makes you feel everything, every single time.”

He sucks hard, tongue swirling, fingers moving in sync, needing to claim you; not just your body, but that heart he’s been guarding forever.

Every moan that spills from your lips is like a lifeline, and he’s clutching it tight, swallowing it whole, desperate to prove he’s the one who’ll never let you slip away again.

“Nasty little thing,” he groans against your skin, voice dark and guttural. “You’re mine to break, mine to drown in. You’re gonna scream my name, and I’m gonna own every inch of you.”

His fingers curl inside you, relentless, matching the pace of his tongue as he worships you with savage tenderness. He’s so deep, so much, everywhere.  The way your body tightens, shivers, and the building pressure in your abdomen finally causes you to shatter beneath him as he growls low—no chance of holding back now.

He stands, withdrawing his fingers from you before your orgasm has even subsided. He licks his lips at the sound of you crying out in protest, your soaked walls fluttering around nothing.

Han drags his hands down his own body, tracing his abs with your slick before he slips out of his jeans with a harsh, desperate tug, the sound echoing in the small space between you. His cock, hard and swollen, red at the tip and already leaking, brushes against your hip as he leans in, voice thick with need, “This okay, baby? I just need to feel every inch of you—fuck, I need all of you.”

He’s too impatient to wait for you to answer, too needy. Before you can even process it, he’s shoving his hips forward, grinding against your warm core, dragging his tip between your folds, up and down, and back up to circle your clit. The ache in his eyes is almost unbearable. He’s craving you like air, like the only thing keeping him tethered is the feel of you trembling beneath him.

His hands trail from your waist down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and locking your legs around his hips. His mouth finds yours in a searing kiss, desperate and claiming, swallowing your moans and matching every gasp.

Jisung’s eyes darken, almost dripping with need, as he buries his hands into the soft curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him. He impales you on his cock, slipping in with ease, your core still stretched deliciously from his minstrations before. His fingers trace fire along your spine, sending shivers that make your knees weak.

His lips follow, dragging slow, teasing kisses from your jaw down to the swell of your neck, nipping just enough to mark you as his. You gasp, arching into him, breath hitching as the heat between you ignites like wildfire.

“God, you’re mine tonight,” he growls, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, skin hot under his touch. Every word tumbling from his lips is a promise and a command, raw and unfiltered.

You clutch at his hair, tugging him closer, desperate for more. “Fuck me harder, Jisung,” you beg, voice trembling with need. You need to feel him, need to be filled with him. Tonight is a competition, who can be needier?

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your hips tighter, lifting you just enough to angle himself perfectly, sliding all the way in slow and deep, every inch a testament to the years of craving bottled up inside him. Your head falls back, the overwhelming pressure of him fitting into you just right suddenly too much. He reluctantly drags one hand from your hip to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in the hair at your nape.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he gasps, barely able to get the words out. “Look at me. Eyes up here.”

Your eyes roll back into place, locking on his. A furrow builds between your brows at how good he looks — already sweating like just entering you took everything out of him, his own eyes glossed over, and his bottom lip rolled between his teeth. “Want you to watch me,” he pants. “Watch me fuck you like you’re mine.”

You clench around him at that and it brings forth a moan from the both of you. “Fuck, baby—” he drags out, shoulders and stomach tight like he’s struggling to keep himself composed. “You like that? You like being mine?”

You flutter around him again, shifting your hips just slightly, just enough to get some friction going. He was just sitting there, stretching you out like he had all the time in the world to fuck you, and maybe he did, but God — you needed it now.

Jisung chuckles at your desperation. “Impatient baby. Alright —” he breaths, rocking into you once, then twice. “I got you.” He groans, far too loudly, as if this is his first time in you.

Your bodies move in perfect sync, hungry, urgent, devouring each other, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Jisung’s whispered curses fill your ears as he chases your high, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

He’s dragging his cock through you like he wants to memorize every curve and ridge in your cunt, like he wants you to memorize every vein pulsing through his member as he tries to hold his orgasm at bay.

“Holy shit, y/n, how are you so perfect? How do you feel this good?” He’s rambling on and on, unable to stop talking even in this moment. “I’m gonna come inside of this pretty cunt,” he pants, rutting into you like a man with no mercy. 

You couldn’t respond if you wanted to. Your curls are frizzy and sticking to your face with sweat, any coherent thought is long gone, and you’re pretty sure that’s drool pooling in the corner of your mouth. You don’t have enough care to give about how you look right now, not with how Ji’s cock is hitting that spot just right — 

And he feels it. He knows you’re close, knows you aren’t going to last much longer. Neither is he, but he is determined to make you come first. He knows just how to push you over the edge, anyways.

“Gonna paint you in my come, baby. Really make you mine, yeah? Can’t go back to Chan or Lix with a belly full of me.” Your body spasms, coiled too tight. And yet, he doesn’t shut up. “You gonna sit in hyung’s lap with my come spilling out of you?”

“Ji, shut up —” you slur, breathless. He’s pounding into you like he has a point to prove, his thrusts sloppy, but somehow still so deep.

A slick smirk spreads across his lips. When his hand splays across your lower belly and his fingers ghost your pelvis, you freeze, eyes locked on him. He’s groaning deep, brows furrowed in concentration and agony. “Maybe you’ll sit on Jinnie’s face and let him taste me out of you.” You can feel him spilling into your cunt, hot and sticky and so fucking full. 

He came before you, but he was gonna make sure you weren’t too far behind. He leans forward, still buried in your cunt, shifting his weight so the hand laying across your belly pushes down and you sit up in shock, watching your orgasm soak his cock, his abs, and his thighs.

“Good fucking girl, baby. What do you think the guys will say when I tell them I got you to squirt for me?”

You’re still shaking from the aftershocks, legs trembling around him, locking him in place, deep in you. 

When you finally collapse, slick and spent and your legs release him, Jisung’s lips press to your temple, voice a broken whisper, “Mine now, baby. All mine.” He allows his body to fall next to yours, curling an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Maybe we’ll name him Han Jr.”

You slap his arm away, not even turning to look in his direction. “I’m on birth control, you menace.”

“Dammit. Should’ve asked before hand.”

You threw a pillow at him in frustration, though the action took any remaining energy that you had. “Jisung!”

You awoke the next morning to Jisung curled beside you, his head buried in your hair and his arm and leg splayed across you like he was afraid you’d get up and walk away in the middle of the night. You can’t help but to smirk against his skin, enjoying the rare softness between you two.

His phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand. He peeks with a groan , sees Chan’s name flashing, and with a sleepy grin, answers.

“Chan, babe, can you give me five more minutes? Y/n’s got me wrapped up so tight I might not make it out the door.” His voice is thick with sleep and something like possessiveness, low and teasing.

On the other end, Chan’s tone is clipped, but there’s a teasing edge too, “Five minutes, huh? You’re lucky she’s good at distracting you — or I’m seriously considering making you run laps around the studio in your boxers.”

Jisung chuckles, kissing the top of your head, “Gonna tell her to keep me here a little longer, then. I’ll run the laps.”

You walk into the studio, late as hell, hand-in-hand with Jisung. The two of you move through the space like you belong together, casual yet intimate, the kind of closeness that makes the air hum. Everyone’s eyes flicker over, some catching Hyunjin’s sharp gaze as he suddenly snatches your arm, pulling you into an adjacent hallway, and away from the crowd.

“So that’s it?” Hyunjin asks, voice low and heavy with hurt. “One date and you’ve chosen him?”

You blink, confusion softening your features. “I haven’t chosen anyone, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin’s chest tightens, his words tumbling out faster now, desperate and raw. “But you’re walking in here with him. Holding hands, wearing his hoodie—”

You smirk at him,  the playful gleam in your eye breaking through. “Just post-sex bliss, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin’s breath catches, lips parting as he stares at you. “Post-sex bliss, huh? You always were good at making me jealous.”

You laugh softly, fingers brushing his cheek. “Relax, Jin. You’ve got your own place in this mess. Don’t worry.”

He leans closer, voice dropping to a growl. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

Footsteps approach, Jisung’s voice echoing from behind, “Hey, y/n, you coming or what?”

You glance back at Hyunjin one last time, squeezing his hand before turning toward the studio. 

He watches you go with a pang in his heart, whispering to himself, “This isn’t over, angel. Not by a long shot.”

The soft hum of the mixing board filled the room, but you barely registered the sounds bleeding out from the recording booth where Jisung was pouring everything into the mic.

Chan sat sideways in the office chair, knees spread wide, and without hesitation, pulled you into his lap. You stiffened for a moment, a nervous flutter catching deep in your chest. “Chan—” you started, eyes darting toward the glass and the hallway beyond.

He smirked, fingers sliding down to squeeze your hip. “You should come to work with us more. I like having you here, in my space.”

Your lips twitched, caught somewhere between a smile and a blush. “What if someone walks in? After I just showed up holding Jisung’s hand?”

Chan’s laugh was low and warm, brushing against your ear. “Let them. You’re mine in this room.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and melted against him, the quiet intimacy like a secret rebellion between the chaos.

Inside the booth, Jisung’s voice rang out, “Almost done here. You two gonna behave or what?”

Chan tightened his grip around your waist, whispering, “Or what.”

His other hand traced idle shapes over your thigh, feather-light and possessive, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it — or maybe he was.

You lean into his warmth, the quiet vibration of the music lulling you, but Chan’s mouth brushing just beneath your ear snapped you back to the moment.

“Y’know…” he murmured, voice low and deep enough to send shivers across your skin, “you looked pretty cute this morning, walking into the studio hand-in-hand with Jisung.”

You smiled, eyes still locked on the booth. “Jealous, Christopher?”

He hummed, his teeth grazing your earlobe with dangerous softness. “A little.” Then softer still: “Mostly impatient.”

You turned just slightly, caught the look in his eyes — heat, mischief, something deeper he wasn’t ready to name.

Chan bent his head to kiss the delicate space between your jaw and neck, lips warm and firm against your skin. “When’s it my turn, baby?” he whispered. “I want a date too. A real one. Just you and me — no distractions, no interruptions.”

Your breath hitched, pulse skipping under his mouth.

“I don’t share well,” he added with a quiet laugh, “but I’m trying. So… give me something to look forward to, yeah?”

Your lips curved, and you whispered back, “Ask nicely and maybe I’ll pencil you in.”

Chan grinned, pulling you closer. “I’ll do more than ask nicely, angel.”

And in the booth, Jisung’s verse faltered for half a second — just long enough to catch the shift in the air through the glass.

The studio door flew open with a loud clatter, nearly slamming against the wall.

“Baby?!”

Felix’s voice was bright with disbelief, awe, and just the tiniest bit of panic as his eyes locked on you, still curled up in Chan’s lap like you belonged there.

“You’re here?” he asked, stumbling forward like he couldn’t get to you fast enough. “You’re at my job? Why didn’t anyone tell me you were here sooner?!”

Chan groaned under his breath, barely hiding his dramatic eye roll as Felix reached them.

Felix didn’t seem to notice — or care. He dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your face gently in both hands, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones like you were made of porcelain.

“I wanna kiss you,” he blurted, almost breathless. “Can I kiss you? I’ll be quick. I just—fuck, I haven’t seen you in so long.”

You blinked at him. “It’s been like… two days, Lixie.”

“Too long,” he insisted, pouting dramatically. “Way too long.”

And before you could laugh or tease him more, you gave a small nod, and Felix surged forward, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was needy, a little clumsy, and so unmistakably him it made your toes curl.

He sighed against your mouth like your lips were oxygen.

Behind you, Chan scoffed — loud and obvious.

“You saw her the day before yesterday,” he muttered, tapping at the control board like it offended him.

Felix pulled back just long enough to glance up and beam. “Yeah, and? That was like forever ago in Lix Time.”

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Missed me that much?”

Felix nodded earnestly. “Missed you too much. Studio’s boring without you. I sing better when you’re here, y’know.”

Chan clicked his tongue. “God, you’re such a simp.”

“Damn right,” Felix grinned, climbing up off the floor and slipping in beside you, squeezing into what little space was left on Chan’s chair — because personal space wasn’t real in this group anymore.

From the booth, Jisung’s voice crackled through the speakers, cocky and laced with faux offense.

“Hey! Save some of her for me!”

You looked up with a startled laugh, only for both Chan and Felix to answer in unison, without missing a beat:

“No.”

Chan leaned back in the chair like a king on his throne, arms wrapped tight around your waist, jaw set as he stared through the glass at Jisung.

Felix was even worse — arms still draped around you, pouting like his claim was personal.

“You had her to yourself all night,” Chan grumbled, voice sharp with irritation.

Felix scoffed, nudging your nose with his. “Probably slept with your tongue between her legs, you fucking munch.”

“Guilty,” Jisung fired back, shameless, smirking. “Didn’t hear her complaining.”

You groaned and dropped your face into your hands as both boys in the studio groaned louder.

“Hyung, please,” Felix whined. “Can we vote him out of the polycule?”

“He’d just sneak back in through the vents,” Chan muttered, rubbing circles on your hip like it would calm him down.

Jisung only grinned from behind the mic, resting his arms over the stand. “Damn right”

You finally peeked through your fingers and deadpanned, “Is this my life now?”

“Yup,” all three men said in perfect harmony — proud, unrepentant, and so in love it was disgusting.

Jisung finished his final verse with a cocky flair, pulling off the headphones and stepping out of the booth like he just dropped a Grammy-worthy track — which, honestly, he might have. His eyes immediately locked onto the studio chair where you were still tucked neatly into Chan’s lap, Felix hovering at your side like a well-dressed, emotionally unstable golden retriever.

Chan yawned, stretched once with a groan, and cracked his neck before glancing at his watch. “Well, I’m officially off the clock.”

“Oh no,” Jisung said instantly, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Chan added, turning his attention back to you with that smug, soft smirk that always meant trouble, “there’s this little cafe around the corner with amazing lattes and even better company if you’re free for a very spontaneous coffee date.”

“Absolutely not,” Felix shot back, arms crossed like a protective boyfriend on a sitcom. “She already went on a date with Jisung. If anyone gets next dibs, it’s me.”

“Okay, first of all—dibs?” you repeated, eyebrow raised.

“Second of all,” Jisung chimed in, pointing dramatically at Chan, “I haven’t even had a sufficient amount of my post-date cuddles yet, and now you’re just swooping in like some caffeine-crazed kangaroo?”

“Jealousy looks good on you,” Chan quipped, standing and helping you to your feet like a gentleman. “But I’m still taking her for coffee.”

You blinked at the chaos, then blinked again when Felix actually pouted and looked to you like a kicked puppy. “You’re really going with him?”

Chan leaned down and whispered just behind your ear, “Say yes and I’ll get them to shut up for the rest of the night.”

“Impossible,” you murmured, amused, biting back a smile.

“Tempting though,” Jisung added from the doorway, watching with narrowed eyes as Chan slid his arm around your waist.

Chan turned back just long enough to smirk at them both. “Y’all have dance rehearsal. I’ve got a date.”

“Traitor,” Felix hissed.

Jisung made a fake gagging noise. “Don’t let him get you decaf. He’s a menace.”

Chan opened the studio door with a flourish. “Come on, angel. Let’s get you caffeinated and far away from these toddlers.”

You followed with a wink over your shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

to be continued...

The doorbell rings at exactly 6pm, not a minute earlier, and not a second late.

When you open the door, Felix is standing there with the soft kind of smile that makes your chest ache. His curls are pushed back, but still fluffy, catching the fade of setting sun behind him. The light outlines him in gold, making him almost too pretty to be real, and for a second you just stand there, staring and trying to remember how to breathe.

He smells faintly of clean soap and vanilla, always like he just stepped out of a bakery. His cologne is clinging to the air between you, and you get an even bigger whiff of it when he steps a bit closer. Felix isn’t dressed extravagantly, but he doesn’t have to be. The cream button-up tucked neatly into soft tan slacks fit like it was tailored specifically for him. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to expose the veins running along his forearm and you can’t help but trace them with your eyes. One hand cradles a small bouquet of pastel peonies that looked like they’d been hand-picked by the Goddess of Spring herself, while the other hides stiffly behind his back, as though pinning his nerves in place. The fingers wrapped around the flowers twitch against the bundle, betraying the careful image of calm he’s trying to portray,  

“Hi, angel,” he says, voice low and thick like honey. The slight tremor along the edges of his words gives away his nerves, but his eyes are steady and full of light, like he’s trying to etch the sight of you into his memory. His gaze lingers, darting from your lips to your eyes and back, drinking you in like it’s been years since he last saw you and not hours. “You ready?” he asks softly, the question heavier than it should be, because he wasn’t just asking if you were ready for a date— he was asking if you were ready for him.

You nod, a little breathless, and he beams, the relief flickering across his face before he can hide it. His shoulders loosen and his chest lifts in a shaky exhale, like he still can’t believe you said yes. He extends the flowers towards you with a tiny bow, the gesture so unexpected and formal that you can’t help but giggle. His grin deepens at the sound of your laughter and when you reach for the bouquet and your fingers graze his, a jolt of warmth zips up your arm. He lingers for a fraction too long, basking in the feel of your skin on his, and before either of you can pull away, he tucksa loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch trails down the nape of your neck, feather-light, like he’s afraid to stop. The moment stretches, pooling a heat low in your belly, and when he finally does pull away, you’re already missing the warmth of his hand.

The drive is full of soft chatter and Felix’s playlist—gentle acoustic songs, guitar and hushed vocals that feel like springtime itself. He hums along, voice deep adn warm, tapping the steering wheel in time. Every so often his eyes flick toward you, like he’s trying to catch the exact way the streetlights paint your profile.

When you start to sing under your breath, quiet but sure, his entire body shifts. His grin widens instantly, dimples flashing like you’ve just given him something priceless. “You always remember the words,” he says, stealing a glance at you that lingers longer than it should, like he’d rather stare at you than drive.

“Maybe you just play this playlist too much,” you tease back, though your voice is softer than usual, unable to hide the affection curling around the words.

His fingers tighten on the wheel, jaw flexing like he’d trying to hold back from smiling too hard. “Or maybe I picked it just for tonight.” His voice dips lower with a shyness that’s almost swallowed by the music. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t need to, because the weight in his tone says it all. 

When you arrive, is already on the move, hopping out before you can even unbuckle your seatbelt. He jogs around the car with a burst of energy, like he’s been rehearsing this moment all day, and pulls your door open with exaggerates formality, dipping his head slightly as though he’s playing knight to your royalty.

“M’lady,” he jokes softly, holding out a hand. The second you take it, the humor melts, his grip tightening and steadying, thumb brushing against your knuckles like he’s reluctant to let go. Before you can speak, his other hand covers your eyes, his laughter bubbling out light and boyish. He giggles like a schoolgirl, the sound infectious, and you let him guide you forward blindly. The world narrows to the warmth of his palm and the gentle press of his body beside yours. 

You stumble once, startled, and his arm slides firm around your waist instinctively. His hold is protective and for a moment, he doesn’t let go— even after you’ve regained your balance. The closeness of your bodies hangs heavy in the air, his breath grazing your temple, the steady beat of his heart thudding against yours like a secret he can’t hide.

When he finally pulls away and drops his hand from shielding your eyes, the sound of your gasp at the sight before you causes his heart to stutter a couple of beats. The clearing is like something out of a dream. It’s tucked in the heart of the park, surrounded by tall wildflowers swaying in the breeze, the low-hanging branches of trees creating a canopy that shields you from the world. A thick blanket is spread over the grass with pillows scattered across it, and lanterns strung from the branches above flickering with a warm fairy light. A small table sits nearby, set with real plates and cloth napkins, two glasses filled with sparkling champagne. The smell makes your mouth water, garlic roasted veggies, lemon pepper chicken, the reddest strawberries you’ve ever seen—and at the center of it all stands Felix, his cheeks pink, his smile both proud and nervous, like he’s not sure if you’ll laugh or cry.

“You did all this?” you whisper, voice barely carrying over the quiet hum of the night, the spread before you looking too dreamy to touch.

Felix rubs at the back of his neck, curls blown through by the light breeze falling into his eyes as he ducks his head. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he admits, voice shy. His gaze flickers up, locking on you with a startling sincerity. “You deserve perfect.”

Your chest squeezes, heat climbing your throat at the way he says it; like it’s not a line, like he’s been carrying the thought around for weeks, waiting for the chance to spill it.

He guides you down with both hands, carefully. His palms hover at your waist, smoothing your dress beneath you with almost comical precision, brushing away invisible dust, straightening the fabric like a man possessed. Don’t let anything touch her; don’t let anything ruin this. The thought hums in his head as he crouches before you, lips pressing together in a sheepish grin. When you reach for a fork, his hand darts out instantly, swatting yours with gentle insistence. “Nope,” he chides softly, dimples flashing again. “You’re not lifting a finger tonight.” His eyes sparkle with mischief, but theres an unshakable devotion in his words. “This is your date. I’m taking care of you.”

And he does. Felix slices your food into perfect, bite-sized pieces with his brows furrowed in concentration, like it’s the most important job in the world. He tests each one carefully, blowing lightly across the forkful before bringing it to your lips. His hand hovers just beneath your chin in case you drop a crumb, and every time you part your lips for him, something flickers hot and bright in his chest. A tiny speck dares to land at the corner of your mouth, and before you can reach for a napkin, Felix is already there, leaning in close. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip, slow and deliberate and lingering just a little too long. The touch makes your breath stutter, warmth pooling low in your stomach, and his eyes dip to your mouth like he’s fighting every instinct not to taste you himself.

“You’re glowing,” he murmurs after a moment, voice soft but certain, like he’s sharing a secret. Compliments spill from him as naturally as breathing— “So pretty,” when you laugh; “You’ve got the best smile,” when your eyes crinkle; “That dress doesn’t even come close to outshining you,” when you duck your head shyly. Your eyes roll at each one, cheeks warm, but Felix only beams brighter. He sees right through the protests, right to the way your skin hums and warms under his attention. He knows you’re glowing because of him, and he swears, if nothing else, he’ll keep you glowing all night.

The hours slip by in a haze of conversation, steady talks flowing from childhood memories to silly little stories, then spilling into whispered dreams of the future. At some point you end up curled against his chest, your head tucked beneath his jaw, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your arm like he can’t stand the thought of not touching you. The rhythm of it lulls you, until his voice cuts through, low and hesitant. 

“I’ve missed you for a long time, you know,” he admits, thumb pausing mid-circle. “Since before… everything. I just didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

Your heart stutters so hard he feels it against his chest. His lips twitch in the faintest smile, because he knows you felt it too, but he doesn’t push— he never does. Instead, he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple, his voice a whisper meant just for you. “I don’t expect you to choose tonight,” he murmurs. “If ever. I just wanted to give you a little peace, that’s all.” 

You tilt your face up to look at him, your voice soft but teasing. “You call this peace? Feeding me every bite, staring at me like you’re memorizing my face; feels more like you’re plotting to ruin me.” Felix laughs, low and warm, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath your ear. “Maybe I am,” he smirks. “But only in the sweetest ways.” His hand drifts down your arm, fingers brushing over your wrist, grazing your pulse. “Besides… you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

The air thickens, your silence answering louder than words, and he grins knowingly. “That’s what I thought.”

Felix leans back on one arm, the other still seeking you out, fingers tracing absentminded shapes against your skin like he’s tethering you to him. He nudges your shoulder gently, eyes bright with something playful. “Does this make up for all the terrible dates I took you on in high school?”

You snort immediately, covering your mouth with one hand as the memories flood back. “Terrible is generous.”

Felix gasps, clutching his pearls dramatically. “Excuse you, I tried so hard!”

“You tried to take me to see a slasher film on our first date,” you remind him, grinning wide, “and cried in the bathroom when the murderer with the chainsaw jumped out.”

Felix groans, burying his face in his hands, though laughter bubbles through anyway. “That shit was horrific, don’t lie. I had nightmares for a week. And then— ugh— the tire blew out on the way home.”

“And,” you added between giggles, “we ended up walking a mile back to your house in the pouring rain.” You lean against his shoulder, warmth blooming in your chest. “I was freezing, soaked, starving… and I still told you I had a good time.”

His laughter tapers off, fading into something softer. His head tilts toward you, curls brushing your temple, his gaze full of something fragile. “And you meant it?”

“Of course I did,” you say softly, no hesitation or doubt in your tone.

The air shifts around you, cicadas humming steady in the background, the breeze stirring the grass like nature itself is leaning closer to listen. Your hand dips naturally to rest on his wrist, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath your fingertips. His throat bobs as he swallows, nerves twisting through him before he finds the courage to ask:

“You remember what happened after that?”

Your gaze flicks up to his, curious, catching the tension in his eyes. “At your place?”

He nods, watching you carefully, like the memory has lived in him for years and he’s terrified to ruin it.

“We were both soaked through,” you murmur, smiling faintly at the image, “trying to warm up under that thin-ass blanket in your twin bed.”

Felix’s smile is soft now. “And you looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.” His frops lower at the confession. “I’d never felt anything like that before.”

Your breath hitches as you watch him relive it, the memory painting his expression with both wonder and want. 

“You kissed me,” he continues, voice fragile, almost a whisper now. “Asked if we could try something… and we did. God, it was clumsy and awkward and so damn sweet. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I wanted it to be you. I’ve never forgotten that.”

“Me neither,” you breathe, words so soft they barely stir the air.

His hand rises almost instinctively, brushing a curl back from your face. His palm lingers near your cheek, not quite touching, but hovering in that space that feels like it belongs to him. “It was the first time I felt like I loved someone,” he admits, the words trembling with honesty.

There’s nothing funny about it now. No jokes, no teasing— just the two of you, older, softer, but still tied together by that first fumbling, heart-racing moment.

“You’ve always been special to me,” Felix says. “Even when we drifted. Even when we weren’t talking. You never stopped being the one.”

The confession knocks the breath from you, your chest tightening as you lean in, pressing your forehead to his. “You still are.”

His lips curve into a smile so full of affection it makes your stomach flip, but his eyes burn with something steadier, warmer. The heat in his gaze makes your pulse skip.

“We’ve had sex since then—what, a handful of times?” he teases softly, chuckling under his breath.. “Quick, quiet… your apartment, on that torn old couch in the studio—” He laughs again, shaking his head at the memory. “Can’t believe we even risked that.”

You roll your eyes, biting your lip. “The risk made it fun.” His eyes linger on yours, burning a hole straight through you. “The other guys would’ve castrated me if we had been caught.” His grin sharpens, but it doesn’t last long. His expression sobers, gaze fixing on you with aching intensity. “But it’s never been just us, not like that night at least.” His thumb finally strokes across your cheekbone. “I wanna try again. Not to recreate it, but to do something new. Something real, just you and me, no rushing, no hiding.”

He takes your hand and presses it to his chest, right over the frantic thud of his heart. The beat quickens under your touch, strong and steady, betraying every feeling he’s holding back. “I want you to feel this,” he murmurs. “I want you to know what you do to me.”

He pauses, the silence stretching thick between you as his breath mingles with yours. When he finally speaks, his voice breaks, threaded with an ache that hits you square in the chest. “Have I made up for it yet?” he asks. “The way I used to hold you, touch you. Do I make you feel as special as you did back then?”

You swallowed thickly, your whole body thrumming at his sincerity. The way his hand cupped your face next, gently, said he already knew your answer—but he still wanted to hear you say it.

“You make me feel even better now,” you whispered, voice trembling with truth. “Even more special.”

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes darkening just slightly. “Good,” he said, brushing his lips over yours. “Because I plan on spending all night showing you how much better I’ve gotten.”

And in that moment, bathed in golden lights, with petals from the nearby flowers caught in the hem of your dress, you believed him.

Felix had grown into his hands, into his body, into the kind of lover who could undo you with a word, a look, a single touch. And tonight… he’d finally have you all to himself.

His lips barely left yours, each kiss bleeding into the next as breaths were shared between you, noses brushing in the sweetest friction. The scent of you, jasmine and honey and something that had haunted him for years, wrapped around him like a drug he couldn’t quit. His hand slid down your spine, slow and purposeful, then around to your thigh. He tugged you into his lap with a strength that made your stomach flip, his neck breaking from yours only to part against your jaw, your neck, leaving a heated trail.

“I still remember the way you sounded,” he whispered against your skin, voice low, trembling slightly with restraint. His lips dragged over your pulse, tongue flicking briefly as though tasting the memory. “The way you held onto me like you didn’t want to let go.”

Your fingers fisted in his shirt, anchoring yourself as your hips rolled against his lap, against the hard length already straining beneath you, the pressure drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. “Feels like nothing’s changed,” you murmured, brushing your lips along the shell of his ear, your voice dripping with temptation. “You’re still the boy who kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered.”

Felix groaned, the sound ripping from him as his control unraveled fast. His hands gripped together, dragging you closer as his breath hitched. “I’m not a boy anymore, angel,” he said, voice rough and low enough to vibrate against your skin.  “But I promise I still feel exactly the same.”

With that, he eased you back onto the blanket, the world falling away until it was just his body hovering above yours and his hands were roaming as though committing every inch of you to memory. His palms slid along your sides steadily, as if he was reminding himself to savor, not devour. Fingers found the hem of your dress, teasing it up your thighs inch by agonizing inch, his touch grazing bare skin like fire.

“Can I?” he asked, breathless but still unbearably gentle, his forehead pressing to yours like he’d wait forever if you asked him to. You nodded, hips tilting toward his hands instinctively, but he stilled. His lips brushed yours, murmuring, “No, words, angel. I need to hear you,” he begged.

“Please,” you whispered, desperate and soft, the plea breaking free before you could cage it. “I want you.”

The sound that tore from Felix was half-groan, half-prayer, his entire body shuddering with the weight of you. His mouth crashed back onto yours, hungrier now, no restraint left in the way he kissed you like he’d been starving for years.

You made quick work of his shirt, fumbling only because your hands shook with need. The second the fabric left his body, your palms were all over him, greedy. The hard planes of his chest, the taut ridges of muscle down his stomach, the warmth of his skin. Every new line sculpted into him made your breath catch, but beneath it all, he was still Felix. Still the boy who had first stolen your breath over ten years ago, still yours. He shifted off of you to pull his down his thighs, just enough to slip his angry and already dripping cock from beneath it’s restraints. He fisted it with a gasp, and it was a delicious sight, watching his head dip back in his own pleasure.

Your legs lifted and parted on instinct, your dress falling to bunch around your waist. You were already bare, cunt slick, glistening up at Felix like a tease and a promise all at once. He hissed when his eyes found you, pupils tripling in size with hunger. “No panties, angel? Fuck, you’re trying to kill me—”

He settled between your thighs, his weight pressing you deliciously into the blanket, but then he paused, just for a moment. His face hovered above yours, his forehead pressed to yours like a vow. His breath came quick and hot, but his voice was steady when he whispered, “Nothing sloppy about this. Not tonight.”

And then he pushed inside you.

Slow and careful, like he wanted you to feel every inch, every stretch of him filling you until your gasp split the night air. Your pussy was insatiable, molding to every ridge, every vein in his cock as he split you open. His jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut as he buried himself deep, deeper, like he belonged there. The sensation was almost too much, almost overwhelming, and yet your body welcomed him like it had been waiting all these years.

He bottomed out, his balls to the plumpness of your ass and when he moved, you moved together like no time had passed. Like you’d been chasing this rhythm, this perfect alignment of body and soul, for far too long. His thrusts were deep, steady, each one angled to draw a sound from your lips, to claim you completely. He was skilled, and experienced in you, hitting that spongy spot in your cunt that made you see stars. His hands slid up, capturing yours, pinning them above your head against the blanket, holding you there as his mouth stole every moan, every broken plea.

“You feel like home,” he breathed against your lips, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You always have.”

Your chest tightened, tears threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes. Because it was true—you felt it too. The way he moved inside you wasn’t just lust, it was memory, longing, years of unspoken ache crashing into this one moment. He thrust like he needed to stay, like he wanted to bury himself so deep he’d never have to leave. His forehead rested against yours, his body trembling with the sheer force of holding back all he wanted to say, all he wanted to do.

It was too much all at once; too much pleasure, too much love, too much of him. You broke first, your climax tearing through you after just a few thrusts in soft, choked gasps, nails sinking into his back hard enough to leave marks. You wanted to indent him, wanted proof later on that this night was real and not just a dream. The world shattered around you, nothing but Felix’s warmth and the way he whispered your name against your skin.

He followed you seconds later, his rhythm stuttering, hips pressing flush to yours as a broken moan escaped him. He came deep inside of you, so deep that you could feel the warmth of him rush your bones. He collapsed against you, still whispering your name like a prayer, like if he said it enough times, the universe would seal this moment forever. For a second, it was like the years had peeled back and you were both young again, breathless, drunk on the impossible rush of first love.

When the tremors eased, you stayed tangled together, limbs heavy, hearts still racing in sync. His fingers traced lazy circles along your arm, grounding himself in the feel of you and not pulling out. Your hand rested on his chest, feeling the frantic rise and fall, the hammer of his heartbeat against your palm.

“Still think about that first time?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the hush like a secret.

Felix’s grin curved slow against your temple, boyish and unguarded even in the aftermath of something so intense.

“Every damn day,” he murmured, kissing the side of your head. “But this…” his lips brushed your hairline, his voice a promise and a plea all at once, “…this is the one I’ll never forget.”

You turned, meeting his gaze, and the moonlight softened him into something untouchable, something beautiful and wholly yours. “Feels like we’re the only ones left in the world,” you whispered, your voice almost lost to the night.

“Maybe we are,” he answered, voice low, molten. His thumb brushed over your wrist where your pulse still raced, grounding you to him. “And honestly? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Your hand slid into his hair, curling against the back of his head as you pulled him closer, foreheads pressed once more. “Promise me this isn’t just some moment. Promise me we’ll keep finding this—us—every single day.”

His smile deepened, eyes glimmering with hope, with something fierce and unshakable. “I promise. This is just the beginning.”

You fell into silence, letting the stars above speak in place of words. The night stretched infinitely around you, a dark velvet canvas punctuated by points of light, and you let your body mold against his, heartbeat syncing with his, with the soft symphony of crickets and rustling leaves. His breath traced against your temple, hot and teasing, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re my forever, angel,” he whispered, voice low and thick, each word pressing like a vow into the space between you.

You tightened against him instinctively, warmth pooling low in your belly, and let the moment linger. He still hadn’t pulled out, savoring the feel of you fluttering around his length, and you were in no rush to make him move, to put space between the two of you again. You’d had enough space, well over ten years worth. The world had contracted to just the two of you, wrapped in a bubble of quiet and closeness, until words slowly found their way back.

You talked and talked, voices low and intimate, warm under the endless canopy of stars. Secrets slipped out like soft confessions, dreams weaving into memories, laughter spilling freely and echoing into the night. Each laugh felt like a spark, each glance binding you tighter together. Felix’s eyes never left yours, the intensity softened by tenderness, a mix of mischief and devotion swimming behind his gaze.

Time blurred, stretching and folding around the two of you, until Felix’s gaze flicked down to his phone. His eyes widened in quiet shock.

“Whoa. It’s almost 3 a.m.,” he murmured, voice gentle, tinged with surprise, as though the universe had betrayed him by letting the night slip so quickly past.

You blinked, suddenly aware of the hours spent tangled in each other’s company. “Guess we lost track of time,” you admitted softly, warmth and contentment pooling in your chest.

Felix’s lips curved into that irresistible grin, the one that made your pulse skip. He sat up, reluctant to pull out of you, but mesmerized by the string of slick that kept you two tethered. “Damn,” he murmured, so low you almost didn’t hear it. “Come on, pretty lady,” he murmured, bending and scooping you up in one smooth motion, bridal style, as though you weighed nothing at all. He haphazardly fixed your dress so your core was covered again, but he didn’t bother straightening his own clothes. His shirt was still unbuttoned, now wrinkled, and though his cock was safely tucked behind his boxers, his pants were still unbuttoned, his belt hanging off his waist.

You giggled, the sound light and carefree, eyes sparkling. “Bridal style? Really? That’s so extra.”

He shrugged, still carrying you effortlessly, grinning like a kid who had just stolen the moon. “Hey, it’s practice for our wedding day. Gotta be ready, right?” His voice was playful, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, a promise that was deliciously private.

You snuggled closer to him, nose brushing against his chest, heart fluttering with the intimacy of it all. Every step he took was deliberate, protective, yet gentle, like he was carrying not just your body but the trust and closeness between you. The night hummed softly around you, and for once, the world outside didn’t matter.

Felix’s thumb brushed along the pulse at your wrist as he carried you toward the car, lips grazing your temple. “Just you and me tonight,” he murmured, his tone equal parts mischief and devotion. “Forever starts now.”

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the tangled sheets where you and Felix lie asleep, still wrapped in the warm remnants of your date. Clothes were rumpled, hair mussed, skin still tingling with the memory of each touch. Your breaths came slow, and even, but heavy with the satisfaction of everything you’d shared. 

A soft murmur stirred in the otherwise silent room, voices rising just above whispers, nudging you awake. Your eyes fluttered open first, taking in the pale gold of morning, then Felix’s, blinking against the intrusion of day. Your hearts raced in tandem, partly from surprise, partly from that delicious afterglow, and partly from the strange, sudden realization that you weren’t alone anymore.

Three familiar figures loomed in the doorway, each carrying their own energy. Jisung leaned lazily against the frame, crooked grin in place, eyes sparkling with mischief. Hyunjin crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes playfully, lips tugging into that signature smirk that was equal parts teasing and dangerous. Chan stood steady behind them, expression unreadable, yet you could feel the quiet warmth in his presence.

Hyunjin’s voice cut through the tension, playful but scolding. “Lixie, seriously? Not even a gentleman enough to clean our girl up after a date?” His gaze slid pointedly to Felix, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Felix flushed crimson, but his smirk held firm. “It was a picnic in the park, not a spa day.”

You tried not to laugh, hiding it behind your hand, the tightness in your chest easing as the room settled into that familiar, chaotic warmth with morning light bouncing off bodies that were close. Hyunjin snorted, crossing the room and plopping down on the edge of the bed. “You seriously think you’re smooth? I’ve seen better moves from a squirrel trying to cross a highway. And the squirrel was Sungie.”

Jisung grinned, stepping forward with mock sympathy, ignoring Hyunjin’s jab. “Yeah, Felix. Did you at least wipe your come off of her, or were you too busy daydreaming about how cute she looked with it there?” Felix’s smile turned sinister, just as he opened his mouth to respond: “Left it there to remind you whose she was last night.”

Chan’s arms crossed, leaning casually against the dresser, lips tugged in an amused smirk, head shaking slightly. “I’m just here to see if you two have any plans for breakfast or if I’m going to have to fend for myself.”

You laughed, nudging Felix’s side. “Well, Mister Picnic Prince, you going to take care of us or leave us starving?” He winked, tossing his hair back like he had all the time in the world. “Don’t worry, I got it covered. Just let me get dressed before I cook up a disaster.”

Hyunjin muttered under his breath, “Please don’t burn down the kitchen…”

Jisung’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, this I’ve got to see.”

The laughter that followed was warm, chaotic, full of affection, the perfect kind of morning noise that reminded you just how loved you were.

Then, suddenly, the energy shifted. Hyunjin’s usual playful smirk softened as he pulled you close, arm sliding securely around your waist. “Wait, angel,” he murmured low, voice almost a whisper meant only for you. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

You looked up, surprised by the tenderness that gleamed behind his eyes; the side of him that only came out when he trusted someone completely. Without hesitation, you let him lead you toward the bathroom, fingers entwined like they belonged together, the touch grounding and electric at the same time.

Warm spray enveloped you both as steam curled around your skin. Hyunjin moved carefully, deliberate in every gesture, his hands gliding over your shoulders, easing away any lingering tension from the night before. He cupped your face gently, brushing droplets of water from your hair with reverence, as though you were the most fragile, treasured thing in the world.

You opened your mouth to speak, to protest that you could wash your own hair, but he was quick to shut you down. “Shh,” he soothed, voice thick with something raw and unspoken. “You don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

You leaned into him instinctively, chest pressed to his, feeling a safety and devotion you never expected from the boy who once only flirted like his life depended on it. It was quiet, intimate, a secret crack in the armor he’d worn for years, and you treasured it deeply.

Even as the water pattered softly around you, Hyunjin’s fingers lingered in your damp hair, carding through it with gentle care. Afterwards, wrapped in a warm towel, he held you as if letting go even for a second would shatter something precious. His thumb grazed the curve of your cheek, and for a moment, all the teasing, the chaos, the noise of the past days dissolved into something pure, unspoken, and vulnerable.His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, weighted with sincerity and longing. You felt it against your skin, every word, every brush of his fingers, a quiet promise that he was exactly where he wanted to be, and exactly where you belonged.

“Angel…” he started, his eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground. “I know I’m probably at a disadvantage ‘cause I’m going last, but…” He paused, breath hitching with the honesty of what he’s about to say. “I want to take you out. Please? Let me spoil you too. Let me show you how good I can be for you.” He leaned in, brushing his forehead against yours, his hand still warm on your waist. “I want my chance. I want to at least be in the running when you have to choose.”

It’s not smooth. It’s not cocky or confident. It’s real, because for once, Hyunjin isn’t performing. He’s just standing there, heart in his hands, asking you to hold it for a little while. He practically melts into your touch the moment your fingers graze his cheek. His eyes flutter shut for a second, lips parting like he’s barely breathing, like that small gesture just unraveled every nerve he was holding together. When you lean in and kiss his cheek, soft and sweet and deliberate, he goes entirely still, like he’s trying to memorize the moment in his bones.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” you whisper, and Hyunjin swears his heart just did a somersault in his chest.

His eyes fly open, wide and shimmering with something that looks like boyish wonder and giddy disbelief. “You have?” he says, barely more than a breath. And when you ask, “When do you wanna go, Jinnie?” The grin that spreads across his face is instantaneous and so bright it makes your chest ache a little for keeping him waiting

“Tomorrow night?” he asks, voice laced with the kind of excitement he can’t hide. “I gotta plan it. Gotta make it perfect, gotta make it yours.”

He kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose, unable to stop smiling. “You won’t regret it, angel. I’m gonna make it the best date you’ve ever had. Just you wait.”

You walk out of the steamy bathroom, hand in hand—you in an oversized shirt that smells just like Hyunjin, soft and worn and clearly stolen from his drawer, paired with a pair of tiny shorts that peek out only when you move just right. Your hair’s still damp, your cheeks flushed, and Hyunjin looks downright smug, like the King of the goddamn world.

The second you cross into the living room, Hyunjin throws your intertwined hands up like a trophy and yells loud enough for the neighbors to hear—

“I GOT A DATE, BITCHES!”

Felix, mid-taste of the pancake batter he’s whipping up, nearly chokes.

Chan doesn’t even look up from his laptop, just mutters dryly, “Congrats. Want a medal?”

Jisung squints at your hands, gasps dramatically, and flops backward onto the floor like he’s been shot. “Not the last one getting a date. I raised you better than this, Jinnie!”

You lean into his side, biting back a grin as he drops a kiss to the top of your head like you’re his prize. “She said yes,” he says, softer this time, like he still can’t believe it.

Felix groans into his hands. “I swear to God, this is turning into The Bachelor.”

to be continued...