#jihoon

Sometimes the smallest things take up the most space in the room of our hearts. You added colour to his life. Every routine, every habit you occupied his mind so effortlessly. Every corner of his life carried a piece of you. Even when you didn’t talk to him for a while, he found himself thinking about you.

You’re probably laughing with Chan about something stupid again. Maybe you’re sleeping at this hour instead of finishing your assignment. Or maybe you’re rewatching Winnie the Pooh just to feel something because you once told him it gave you a fuzzy feeling.

Do you know how much he misses your presence?

The rain fell heavily, reflecting the way he felt inside. He already knew how much you hated driving on rainy days.

He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. The smoke lingered between his parted lips. He rarely smoked, but tonight felt overwhelming. His eyes drifted to his phone screen, the photobooth picture of you and him set as his lockscreen. He contemplated texting you. Just to ask if you’d eaten but deep down, he just wanted to see your face. Hear your voice.

“Hey.”

Mingyu nudged him with a grin. “You’ve been out here alone. Sorry it was loud—you know how it is inside.” He paused, then smirked. “You’ve been too busy lately. What, did you get yourself a girlfriend or something?”

Wonwoo chuckled.

It was meant to be a joke.

But when he answered with a simple, “Yeah,” without even looking at him, Mingyu’s smile faltered.

Mingyu blinked. “Who—when?? Why do I not know about this?”

Wonwoo couldn’t blame him. From Mingyu’s perspective, he barely interacted with girls. In fact, Mingyu had probably already prepared himself to support him if he wasn’t into women at all.

But then Wonwoo’s eyes drifted toward a familiar figure in the distance.

Mingyu’s voice faded.

Even if his eyesight failed him, he would recognize you anywhere. From the way your hair fell to the way you walked. He left Mingyu mid-sentence, grabbing his helmet as he moved toward you.

He followed slowly behind, riding his bike at your pace as you walked along the sidewalk. Dressed in all black, face hidden under his helmet, he probably looked intimidating.

You slowed down, clearly creeped out by the unknown rider beside you.

When you stopped, he stopped too.

He didn’t say anything. Letting you figure it out.

Your eyes brighten. “Wonwoo?”

He chuckled, removing his helmet with a grin. "You don’t even recognize your own boyfriend?”

You laughed, stepping closer as you always did, naturally occupying his space. “Where did you come from?”

He smiled softly. His gloved fingers brushed your bangs aside. “Just somewhere. Mingyu dragged me to some party to loosen up.”

Oh.

You had a feeling it was probably one of Mingyu’s friends, you weren’t close with them. The road looked familiar. It was probably Yugyeom’s party. And you swore you’d never go there again. That was where you met Seungcheol.

You never imagined Wonwoo being into that kind of scene. But he was friends with Mingyu.

The possibility that he knew Seungcheol wasn’t impossible. You wondered if they were somehow connected. 

You just simply nodded.

Your nose tingled slightly. There was a faint scent of smoke mixed with his cologne.

He noticed it quickly. “Ah. Sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t usually smoke. I must reek of it. You shouldn’t stand so close.”

You shook your head immediately. “No… it’s fine. It doesn’t smell that strong.”

He didn’t like you seeing him like this. He always wanted to show you the better version of himself. Not someone smelling faintly of alcohol, cigarettes or maybe with a hint of sex there even though he was inside there for thirty minutes doing nothing.

He felt like he was tainting you. Like he was something impure standing too close to something sacred. He's an asshole, and sometimes he thinks he’s the one corrupting you.

“I figured you didn’t drive today?” he said, watching the way you stood so close to him and his bike, slipping into his personal space like you always did.

You smiled, fingers absentmindedly tracing the plastic bag from your little convenience haul. “It’s raining, and my place isn’t that far from the bus station.”

He smiled back. The small talk between you had always been like this so simple and easy.

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

“Is that okay? I thought you were at the party.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “I’m beat. I want to be with you.”

That made your heart flutter.

If you gave him a reason not to, he would argue back. Stand firm and insist. So you didn’t question it.

He followed you home.

The rain softened into a quiet drizzle as you reached your apartment building. It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful.

He parked his bike, helmet resting against his hip while you waited for him.

This was probably where you’d say goodbye.

You never realized how hard it could feel not wanting to part from someone. Ever since you started seeing Wonwoo, doing everything together had become a habit. You were getting used to his presence.

Too used to it.

It scared you a little.

Maybe you did like him.

Even back then, in class you had told yourself you were just good friends. But maybe you had always thought of him fondly. There had always been a small piece of you that cared deeply for Wonwoo.

He noticed the reluctant look on your face, stepping closer. His gloved fingers gently traced your cheek. Every tiny expression you made he found adorable. Like you were holding something back.

He wished you wouldn’t.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” he asked softly.

God. That tone. Always.

Why did he have to say it like that? Like he was babying you. It’s no wonder Chan always teased that Wonwoo doted on you too much.

Flustered, you cleared your throat and gathered your courage. “Um… do you want to stay over?”

You instantly regretted it. You had a talent for embarrassing yourself. What if he took it the wrong way?

Or maybe you just wanted him close.

That day at the beach that kiss had meant something. Everything.

He blinked.

Then let out a low chuckle. He almost said yes. You had no idea how your innocence drove him insane. You shouldn’t trust him like this. Not alone, especially suggesting to stay in the same space. He barely survived when you stayed at his place.

He wouldn’t even trust himself.

Seeing your slight frown, he softened. “I’m sorry—it’s just…” he was still grinning faintly. “Are you really okay with that?”

“Of course,” you said as if it were obvious. “You’re my boyfriend. Aren’t you allowed to?”

Something twisted inside him. You trusted him too much which you shouldn’t. He’s no different from other men, the only difference is restraint. And yet… it stroked his ego.

You were letting him.

His fingers brushed your hair back slowly, eyes lingering on the strawberry clip he gave you. The locket necklace around your neck and the soft curve of your face.

He almost sighed.

You have no idea. You’re walking straight into a lion’s den.

First, it was Seungcheol. He didn’t mind you being friends with Mingyu, he was decent. But if Mingyu ever introduced one of his reckless friends to you, he wouldn’t forgive him.

Men are shit.

And he includes himself.

You felt his gaze lingering and it made you self-conscious, but also… somehow giddy.

He never looked at you like this before. There was something heavier in his stare. Never disrespectful but different. You were curious about what other parts of him never show to you.

He called your name softly.

You hummed.

“What do you like about me?”

You blinked. “…Well… you’re smart. And kind.”

He hummed. “Is that all?”

You shook your head. “There’s more.”

“Like what?”

You thought for a moment. “You’re handsome…”

He hummed again, stepping closer.

“…You always show up when I need you. You’re reliable. I can count on you.”

He took another step.

You stepped back.

“…You have broad shoulders,” you added nervously. “I think that’s attractive.”

His lips curved then another step. Now you were almost cornered.

“…You’re a good listener. You’re attentive to me. You’re nice to me. You’re just… my type. I like your style.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Is that so?”

Your back met the wall.

He stood in front of you, taller, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Cornering you without actually touching you.

Wonwoo felt like a terrible person.

The way you avoided his gaze staring anywhere but at him as if the pavement suddenly fascinated you more than his face.

This was exactly why he never showed this side of himself.

He didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want you to see how intense his love for you truly was how it consumed him, how it kept him awake at night.

Yet you didn’t pull away, or run away. And that made it worse.

You could feel his breath against your forehead. The faint mix of cigarette and cologne lingered between you.

Of course you trusted him.

It’s Wonwoo.

He never lets you down. The dependable Wonwoo you’ve slowly fallen for.

His head dipped slightly lower.

You should’ve been nervous. Maybe you were. But something about him made you greedy.

For more.

“…Tell me you don’t like this,” he murmured softly, almost strained. “…Push me away. Please.”

You finally looked up at him.

“…What if I don’t want to?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to. Stay with me like this.”

Something inside him snapped.

He almost punched the wall beside your head just to ground himself. The way your lips trembled and looking at him like that. You make it impossible for him to say no.

Stubborn little thing.

He didn’t hesitate as he captured your mouth. It was a kiss filled with all the pent-up desire and longing he had been holding back, different from the beach. His lips moved roughly against yours, his tongue delving deep to taste you.

It was desperate.

His hand slid to the back of your head, holding you there as his lips pressed against you while the other slid down to grip your hip tightly pulling you flush against his. You melted into him, fingers gripping lightly at his jacket.

A small sound escaped you, barely there.

But he felt it.

And it nearly undid him.

Wonwoo’s hips rocked forward, pinning you harder against the wall with his straining arousal. He had wanted this, wanted you to feel it, to know exactly what you did to him. How much he wanted you. His hands roamed greedily over your body, mapping out the contours he had been longing to explore.

For so long.

And now that he finally had you like this, he didn’t want to stop.

…

You barely made it past the entrance.

The door wasn’t even fully closed when he pressed you back against the wall, his mouth tearing away from yours only to trail downward hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.

You felt overwhelmed, breath turning uneven as he pinned you there, your fingers clutching at his jacket. “…Wonwoo… please stay with me tonight.”

He stilled for a second. Then he let out a low, strained sound against your skin, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now. You had no idea what you were doing to him. You looked up at him with that needy expression, and it only made it worse.

He thinks you mean something soft like a sweet innocent sleepover. But his mind was anything but innocent.

“Baby…” his voice dropped, rougher now. “There’s nothing sweet about letting me stay here.” His thumb brushed under your chin, tilting your face up. “I hope you understand what you’re offering, darling.”

His lips grazed your skin again slower this time, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your throat. Sucking it hard, leaving a mark that would be visible for days, a badge of his claim. His mouth found your pulse point, and he bit down hard enough to make you gasp.

“...Tell me to stop, baby. Use your words and I’ll stop right here.” his voice is rough and heavy with lust. He wanted you to push him away before something inside him snapped.

He wanted to hear you say it, wanted to make sure you understood exactly what you were getting into. Because there was no going back now, no turning away from this, not when he was rocking hard between you and burning so hot now.

You shook your head, brows drawn together as you looked at him with those eyes. The ones that always undid him. “…No,” you whispered. “I want you, Wonwoo.”

Your fist tightened in his jacket, pulling him closer as if you were afraid he might disappear the second he stepped away. Like the room would turn cold without him.

You missed him more than you realized.

And you did actually love him.

Wonwoo’s heart clenched in his chest as he heard your breathless declaration, the way you clung to him with desperation that matched his own. He could see it in your eyes—the longing, the desire and the love that had been growing for so long. It made something inside him snap completely.

With a low guttural groan, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom. His mouth never left your skin, lips, teeth and tongue worshipping every inch of you as he moved. He wanted to taste you, to devour you, to make you his in every way possible.

He laid you down on the bed, his body covering yours as his hips nestling between your thighs. He could feel the heat of you, the way your body softened and yielded beneath his own. It made him ache with need that bordered on pain.

He softly called your name, his hand guided yours as he placed your palm against his hardened dick. Grunted slightly at the feeling of your palm there, giving a slow grind. “Feel that, baby? I’m so fucking rock hard for you, look at what you did.”

Hand slid under your sweater, pushing the fabric up and over your head. He wanted to see you, to drink in the sight of your naked skin so that he could map out every curve and hollow. He wanted to remember this moment, to keep it permanent in his mind forever. Wonwoo’s lips trailed down to your neck, over your collarbone between the soft swells of your breasts. He wanted to taste every part of you to make you feel pleasure so intense that you forgot your own name.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” he urged, breathing hot against your skin. “Tell me how you want me to take you, how you want to be claimed. I’ll give you anything, do anything to make you feel good.” 

You breathe out a small plea, your body grew hot at his every touch, “...please, Won. I need you.” 

You’re about to reach down, but he already caught your wrist, stopping your hand just inches from your aching core. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the way your chest heaved with ragged breath. The desire was palpable hanging heavy in the air between you two.

“No,” his voice was low and rough. “Not yet, baby. Let me take care of you first.” He wanted to be the one to touch you and bring you pleasure. His hand slid down your body, his fingers trailing teasingly over your skin. He circled your breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, moving your bra aside as your tits fit perfectly in his hands. He could feel your nipple hardening against his touch, begging for more.

You swear you almost whimper at the small act, you shouldn’t. Might as well your panties are soaking wet, maybe you had always been when you’re around him. Much to your embarrassment.

His hand slid lower, over your stomach and the sensitive skin of your hips. He could feel you trembling beneath his touch, feel the heat of the core radiating outwards. He could smell your arousal and the musky scent of your desire filling the air. When his fingers brushed against your clothed sex and groaned at the dampness he found there. It made you shift a little.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so wet already.” he said, voice rough with lust. It made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Is this all for me, ____?” Are you this desperate for my touch?”

Before you could answer him, Wonwoo was already rubbing his fingers against your clothed slit. The heat of your body grows which you ache for more. When he heard your stifle moans, he wanted to give you everything, wanted to fill you up until you were dripping. As much as he wants to pound you like crazy, he needs to make sure to follow your pace. It pains him sometimes, but that’s what he’s willing to do for you.

“Tell me what you need baby…” he urged, fingers pressing harder against your sex. “Tell me how you want me to make you feel good.”

You only managed to let out a pathetic whine, grinding against his thick fingers against your clothed sex. “...please, just touch me—however you want.”

Wonwoo’s heart raced as he heard our needy plea, feeling your hips rocking urgently against his hand. The desperation in your voice, the way you’re trembling and aching for his touch was almost making him come in his pants. “Shh, I’ve got you baby.” he soothed, almost tender. “I’m going to touch you, taste you and make you feel so fucking good.” With that he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down to your legs tossing it somewhere carelessly. He took a moment to admire the sight of you, splayed out beneath him with your bare sex glistening and ready.

Just for him.

“Look at you, so fucking beautiful.” he murmured as he leaned against your pussy. ‘So perfect and all mine.” Unable to resist any longer, he ran his tongue along your slit—groaning at the taste of your arousal. You were sweet and heady, as if your flavour exploding on his tongue like a drug he was already addicted to.

Except that he doesn’t take drugs.

Wonwoo focused his attention on your clit, suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves with hunger that bordered on feral. You moaned out again, fingers dangling in his hair. Desperate sounds spilling from your lips. It’s like you’re almost at the verge of tears as he keeps eating you out. “F-fuck! Wonwoo—I’m–” you hiccuped in the middle of it, he could feel you clenching around his tongue and hear the way your breath hitched.

It spurred him on, making him want to push you harder to make you come undone completely. “Fuck, you taste good,” he growled against your sex, breath hot and heavy against your skin. “I could eat this sweet little cunt for hours, baby.”

That made you even more turned on at the way he keeps talking dirty to you. He never spoke so filthy—vulgur, always remained respectful and gentle, but seeing this side of him made something inside you wanted to unleash him. You could feel your body tensing, thighs quivering around his head as he licked and suckled your clit.

Wonwoo could sense you were right on the edge, teetering on the brink of  intense orgasm. So, he doubled his efforts, flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit as he plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt. “Come on, baby,” he encouraged you, fingers pumping in and out of you curling to hit that sensitive spot deep inside. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come all over my fingers, want to taste your cum on my tongue.”

Your walls flutter, gripping his fingers like a vice as your climax approaches. Wonwoo sucked your clit hard as he thrust his fingers deeper, harder, fucking you with his hand “Do it, baby. Give yourself to me.” he urged, voice rough and commanding. After a while, you were crying pathetically, your back arching off as your climax finally overtook you. A high keening cry tore from your throat, the sound of your pleasure that made his heart race.

His fingers curled inside you, rubbing against the sensitive spot that made you see stars. When he felt your own release finally there, your juices gushing out coating his hand and dripping down the sheet beneath you. The taste of your climax burst onto his tongue, and he groaned in satisfaction. “Fuck yes!” he growled, feeling your cunt clamp down hard around his plunging fingers. Just when you’re about to calm down, thinking it’s already ended, you feel him working through your orgasm with single-minded focus, fingers pumping in and out of your clenching sex. You were writhing under him yet he kept his tongue laving over your spasming clit. Like he wanted to make this moment one you would never forget.

Wonwoo adores you so much like how he adores your pussy.

As your cries and trembles began to subside, Wonwoo slowed his movements as he gentled his touch. He placed soft kisses on your sensitive flesh, his fingers stroking tenderly over your mound as he eased you down from your high. “You did so good, sweetheart.” he praised you softly, looking at you with satisfied eyes. “So fucking beautiful when you come t me like that.” He pressed soft kisses along your trembling stomach, over the soft swells of your breasts. When he reached your face, his heart clenched at the sight of your tear-streaked face and the way you clung to him from the aftershocks of your intense climax. “Shh, I’ve got you baby,” he soothed you, brushing your hair back gently, tucking the strands behind your ear as he peppered kisses across your forehead, down your cheek to the corner of your mouth.

Your chest heaving against his own breath coming in soft shuddering gasps as you tried to catch your breath. It was embarrassing to have him seeing you crying like a baby when he eats your pussy, but it was so good that it almost made you see the stars. Sex can be scary to you, as much as chatterbox you are but when it comes to real intimate feelings, you chickened out so quickly. But with Wonwoo, you feel like everything is guaranteed.

Your Wonwoo.

Wonwoo stayed still, holding you close as he let you bask in the afterglow of your pleasure. As he watched you, he could feel his own arousal pressing urgently against your thigh. It was hard and insistent. He could still taste of your climax on his tongue, the sound of your cries still ringing in his ears. It had only stoked the fire burning in his veins, the need to be inside you. But he held back, not wanting to overwhelm you, to push too hard too fast. He wanted to make sure you were ready, wanted to be certain that you still wanted this as much as he did.

He was hurting. Mentally, physically and carnally.

You could feel the way he was still hesitant. His hand slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, to rest on your thigh. He squeezed the soft flesh making you whimper, fingers sinking into your skin as he leaned close, his lips brushing against your ear. “...I want you but—I can’t help it to feel like a bitch in heat when I’m with you,” he panted, voice rough with barely restrained desire. “Please, baby. Tell me you want to be mine, completely.”

Wonwoo wanted you to let him fuck you.

But as much as he wanted that, he knew he couldn’t push you. He was ready for rejection. He figured out that, he had been too much that he had shown the full intensity of his devotion a little too openly.

You noticed the way he seemed desperate for your approval. It wasn’t hard to see. The whole time he had been taking care of you, he’d been patient and kind. He had always been holding something back. Even though it wasn’t what you expected, you found yourself hoping he wouldn’t.

Maybe it was your fault for never questioning him, as if you were afraid that if you did, he might pull away. Or worse, that he might scare you away.

If anything, you were the one allowing this.

And you trusted him.

Cupping his face, you leaned in, kissing him softly. “Won…I want you.” you softly plead, eyes gazing at him sincerely. “I want you just as much as you want me. Don’t hold back.”

Wonwoo groaned deeply as he heard your plea, feeling his cock throb almost painfully as the desperation in your hoarse voice. He couldn’t hold back any longer, couldn’t deny you or himself the pleasure of being one. Almost urgently, he sat back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it carelessly to the floor. You almost drooled at the way his muscles rippled as he moved, the definition of his chest and abs full on full display. It’s not like you’d never seen his muscles, sometimes when you jokingly asked for bicep pictures, he willingly gave it when he was at the gym with Mingyu.

You keep your eyes watching him discarded his jeans, shaving it down over his hips along with his boxers until he could spring free, his thick cock jutting out hard and proud. He felt a surge of male pride when he noticed the way your eyes stared a little longer on his cock the whole time. He chuckled lowly, grinning, settled back over you with his naked body covering yours. “If you keep staring at me like that, babygirl. I think I might just came right here and now.” his hips nestling between your thighs, feeling the heat of your sex, still slippery and swollen from your climax. You instinctively let out a small whine, impatient coming through as you want nothing than him to fuck you now.

“Fuck…” he grunted, voice strained with desire as he rocked his hips against yours. “Feel what you do to me, baby? How hard I am for you?” He reached down, taking his cock in hand and rubbing the swollen head through your slick folds. Groaning at the feeling of your wetness, the way your body welcomed him and drew him in.

You whined softly, nudging yourself closer on purpose with a hint of impatience. “....hurry up, Won. I can’t take it anymore.” 

Wonwoo chuckled, way too attractive in your ears or maybe you’re just horny at this moment. “Slow down, I’m all yours tonight.” he lined himself up in your entrance, the tip of his cock kissing your opening. “Last chance to back out, baby,” he said hoarsely, even his hips twitched with the urge to surge forward, buried deep inside you. “Beg me to fuck you, babygirl.”

You frowned, almost whined the way he kept teasing lightly. You just don’t care anymore, and wrap your legs around him. “Please, Wonwoo. Fuck me, I need you inside me.” You didn’t meant to come out needy, but your cunt was already aching with so much need.

Wonwoo’s heart raced at your desperate plea, without hesitation he gripped your hips and began to push forward. The thick head of his cock stretching your tight entrance. He had to grit his teeth at the incredible feeling of your slick heat enveloping him, inch by slow inch. “Relax, baby,” he murmured, “Breathe for me, ____. You can take it, you’re so fucking tight and perfect.”

You had to hold your breath, gasping at the way he’s stretching you well. Messy whimpers slipping as you meekly speak. “W-wonwoo…” His cock was too much for you, God, you almost feel like you’re about to die. He kept pushing, slowly sheathing himself inside you until he was buried to the hilt. Wonwoo paused there, giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch of his cock splitting you open. He let you try to accommodate his size, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing.” he groaned, hips rocking slowly, grinding his pelvis against yours. “So fucking good, baby.” he started to move, pulling out slowly until just the tip remained inside before slamming in, burying himself to the balls once more. You were a moaning mess, fist gripping vice on the sheet as your back arched from the sensation. He set a steady rhythm, hips surging forward and pulling back. Fucking into you with deep powerful strokes making you scream. “Take it, angel," he growled, hands sliding underneath your ass to tilt your hips up, angling you to take his thrusts even deeper. “Take my cock like the good little girl you are. Fuck! You were made for this, made to be filled up by me.”

“Yes! Fuck—keep going, I’m—ahn!” you cried out, feeling your nails digging into his back which would leave marks there as he continued pounding into you. Your pussy was so tight, gripping his cock like a silken vice with every deep, powerful thrust. You couldn’t think straight at the moment, too consumed with your need for him—all of him. It was too intoxicating and overwhelming for you.

His hips slamming forward with increasing force. You feel him hooking your leg over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to drive even deeper into your core. Wonwoo could feel your walls clenching around him, could tell you were getting close to another explosive orgasm. “That’s it, baby. Come on my cock.” he urged, his voice strained with pleasure. His hand slid in between your bodies, finding your clit swollen and throbbing. Rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles, determined to make you fall apart in his arms.

“F-fuck—Won, I’m—” you choked out finally, your release came. With a hoarse shout, Wonwoo followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing and twitching as he spilled hot and deep inside you. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, hips jerking and shuddering as spurt after spurt of his thick cum pumped into your spasming cunt. You naturally let out a satisfied whine, feeling him filling you up.

He collapsed onto the bed beside you, gathering your trembling form into his strong arms. He could feel his seed, hot and thick beginning to seep out around his still-hard cock, which was buried deep inside your fluttering walls. For a moment, the air grew peaceful and calm. It felt like the two of you were the only ones that mattered in the dark room.

He peppered your face with soft kisses, fingers brushing your hair back tenderly as he gazed down at you with pure adoration and something deeper. Satisfaction and relief. 

“You’re amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m so fucking lucky to have you.” His forehead pressed against yours, eyes closing. He wanted to savor this moment, the way all his pent-up longing had finally settled, the years of yearning quieting in his chest.

He loved you so much it hurt.

“…I love you. So much, ____,” he whispered absentmindedly against you.

Your heart pounded at those three words.

It swelled with emotion at his soft confession. Wonwoo was never vocal about how he felt, but his actions had always screamed that he cared. That he loved you.

It had always been you who said it first. Casually and naturally. The same way you said it to your friends out of habit.

You know I love you, right? Take care, love you! Oh my God, I love you for this, Wonwoo! Bye-bye, love you lots. Made with love from your charismatic girlfriend <3 Wonwoo, you love me, right?

Come to think of it, you had always thrown those words at him so easily.

You wonder now how he took them. Maybe he had always held his own back, waiting to make sure you were certain of your feelings.

God, you wanted to cry at how overwhelmed you felt.

So you said it back.

Genuinely.

“…I love you too, Won.”

And with that, you sealed it with a kiss, tender and full of everything you had never properly said before.

To Wonwoo, yearning had always sounded delicate. But living through it was anything, whatever he’s going through is much more disgusting.

When you stopped talking to him after that semester ended, the same semester where everything had started and quietly ended. He tried to accept that maybe you were only meant to exist in that specific chapter of his life.

Just a crush.

An unrequited love that would never be returned.

He told himself he would’ve been fine staying friends, even if it meant loving you quietly just to keep you close. But now that he thought about it, he had no reason to talk to you anymore.

You had only grown close because of that class.

That was the excuse.

Even when you shared it, everything between you had felt natural. After lectures ended, you would ask if he wanted to grab lunch because you skipped breakfast and he always agreed. Then it turned into shared study sessions. The same brunch spots. The same seats at the library. Everything at once felt like a routine.

Intimate.

Just never officially “hanging out.”

Except when you procrastinated, poking him at the library while he tried to work. He still remembered the paper ring. You had made it out of boredom while he was drowning in programming assignments. He had been stressed and you had a talent for appearing at the worst possible timing.

“Hey, look. I made a paper ring,” you said sheepishly, despite the fact that you had been doing absolutely nothing beside him.

He turned to you, brows already furrowed from his assignments and now from you. Not because he was annoyed. You just had that light about you, the kind that made it impossible to stay irritated.

You smiled and slipped the paper ring onto his finger.

It looked ridiculous.

He raised a brow in amusement. He should’ve told you to focus on your own deadlines, should’ve scolded you by now.

But he didn’t.

Because then you leaned your head on the table, cheek pressed against the surface as you stared up at him. “You know, I prefer shiny things,” you mumbled. “But would you marry me with paper rings?”

His fingers froze above the keyboard, eyes stayed glued to the screen. He didn’t even dare look at you.

How could you say something like that so casually?

He almost said yes.

But you had confessed before that you liked someone else.

So he stayed silent.

He wanted to know if you were joking. But knowing you, even if he said yes, you would’ve just laughed. Smiled it off, because you were always open with affection.

He wasn’t.

He didn’t say things like that lightly. He wasn’t like you. He wasn’t like Seungkwan or Chan. Not when he had real feelings for you. So he buried it deep inside his heart.

Exams passed. The semester ended.

And when he saw you again during break, he expected you to approach him first. To talk again like usual, but you didn’t. And it broke him more than he expected.

You seemed fine without him. Laughing with your friends like always. Like he had never mattered.

Wonwoo wanted to get close to you again. He just didn’t know how. The only reason you had ever been close was that shared class. And now it was gone.

Why couldn’t it be simple?

Like the way you were with your friends. He couldn’t force himself to be that easy.

Maybe you found him boring. Maybe he had only been convenient. So in the end, he gave up.

…

He wasn’t expecting to see you again.

Not like this.

He had only stopped by the convenience store to buy beer and cigarettes, a bad habit that had slowly returned after that semester. You never liked the lingering scent of smoke. You mentioned it once, wrinkling your nose, and he quit immediately. You never even knew he was a smoker. You didn’t have to.

But after you both drifted apart, the habit crept back in.

He stepped out of the store in all black, helmet still on, mentally cursing Mingyu for asking him at the last minute to grab drinks. And that’s when he noticed someone crouched by the sidewalk.

Crying.

Soft, stifled sobs in the quiet of the night.

 And of course it had to be Valentine’s Day. Not that he had anyone to spend it with. The only reason he stopped seeing anyone at all was because you kept occupying his mind long after your one-sided romance had supposedly ended.

He took a proper look, and realized it was you.

You.

Why were you crying like that? Like a child abandoned outside a daycare.

His chest tightened at the sight.

He didn’t want to approach you too suddenly, and didn't want to scare you. You had only just spoken to him again recently when you handed out yellow tulips and homemade cookies to your friends.

And to him.

You said it was Valentine’s Day. That you wanted to share something sweet with the people you cared about. Single yellow tulips. Symbolic of friendship. It had felt like a punch to the gut. Not a direct rejection. But close enough.

Still, he appreciated that you remembered him at all.

So why were you here now?

You looked happy on campus, and here you were, sobbing past midnight in front of a convenience store.

Without thinking much further, he held out his handkerchief.

You looked up, hiccuping, and took it with a small, broken “thank you.” “…Hey, mister,” you sniffed, dabbing at your tears. “Can you give me some life advice? I just need… something nice to hear.”

Oh.

Of course you didn’t recognize him.

He was dressed head to toe in black, helmet shadowing half his face. So he sat down beside you leaving a respectful gap between you. And for the first time in months, he was close to you again.

You sobbed again, burying your face into the soft fabric as you spoke between hiccups.

“…I’m sorry. I was just having a bad day and—” you inhaled shakily. “I was so excited to see my favorite person b-but… I don’t know where it went wrong. I just… I just don’t know. If they don’t like me anymore, they could’ve just said it instead of just…”

Your voice broke.

The image of Seungcheol kissing another girl replayed in your head, and your heart felt like it was being ripped apart all over again.

Wonwoo stiffened.

He had never been good at comforting people. Especially not like this.

God, he felt useless.

But something inside him clenched at the sight of you crying. Whatever happened, he assumed your “dream guy” didn’t feel the same way.

Damn bastard.

Did he even realize how lucky he was to have someone like you?

Wonwoo had never felt so envious, but right now, he focused on you.

“…I once loved someone,” he finally said quietly. “Maybe I still do.”

You sniffled, calming down just enough to listen.

“She was… the brightest person I’ve ever met. She changed the way I see the world. Without her, I wouldn’t have noticed how colorful life could be.”

You listened intently.

“She meant everything to me. She treated me with so much love, even if it wasn’t always romantic. Everything about her was… lovely. She was like sunshine. Warm. Loving. Every day I spent with her was—”

He swallowed the rest.

As if he wasn’t describing the love of his life sitting right beside him.

You just didn’t know it was him.

“Then…” you hiccupped softly. “What happened? What went wrong?”

He went quiet. You couldn’t see his expression under the helmet.

“We just kind of… drifted apart, I guess,” he said with a small shrug.

You turned to him, your crying finally subsiding.

“But mister, you said you love her. Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

He blinked, caught off guard by how quickly you shifted into curiosity.

“…No. Not really. I didn’t see the point in saying it.”

“Then that’s not technically a rejection.”

“I was trying to avoid one,” he replied. “Even if I confessed, it would’ve been awkward to stay friends.”

“Even so,” you said firmly, “at least you wouldn’t regret it.”

Easier said than done.

That’s what he wanted to say.

But he didn’t argue.

You continued, even though you were the one who had been crying moments ago. “Mister, are you familiar with Winnie the Pooh?”

He stayed silent.

“There’s this quote that says, ‘How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.’” You gestured dramatically despite your puffy eyes. “So you should feel grateful you met her. That you got to feel that kind of love. So what’s stopping you?”

He found himself liking this about you, how you still glowed even after heartbreak. Though sometimes, it worried him how fast you forced yourself to be okay.

“That’s… true,” he admitted. “But I’m not the kind of person who expresses love loudly.”

“Then did you ever do anything about it?”

Silence.

“So do it,” you encouraged. “You might regret never trying to make her notice your feelings. Even if your affirmations suck, just do something nice. Actions speak louder than words. Not blatant flirting or cheesy lines but the way you care for her. Mirror the way she cares about you.”

His lips curled slightly beneath the helmet.

“You should regret not doing anything,” you added. “At least make it something. Don’t just sit there quietly and mourn your one-sided love.”

That felt like a direct hit.

Because what the hell had he been doing all this time?

Ever since that night, your words stayed with him.

That’s why, when you suddenly kissed him one day and claimed him as your boyfriend, he said yes. Even if it wasn’t how he imagined it would begin.

Because he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t finally act.

And he was ready to love you properly this time.

They say that if you grow up in a loving family, you’ll learn how to love easily.

Growing up, you were surrounded by decent male figures in your life. Your dad, loving in his own quiet way. Not really loud with words, but his actions always spoke for him. Your older brother was annoying, but in an adoring way. You even grew familiar with his friend, one of whom you had a tiny childhood crush on.

Then there was your cousin Jihoon, rough around the edges, but secretly a softie. And his best friend Soonyoung, whom you had known for years who was very loud and funny. He still is though.

Because of them, you never struggled to understand the difference between male friendship and something more. That’s probably why you’re openly affectionate with boundaries, of course.

Ever since then, you and Wonwoo had grown… closer.

More intimate. More open.

Kisses whenever you feel like it. Mischievous stolen pecks in quiet corners. You didn’t realize how clingy you had become until recently, not that he ever complained.

“I love you” became routine. No longer foreign. And of course, when you were both in the mood, you would occasionally take things further.

You loved Wonwoo. And he loved you.

Love was like candy. Sweet at first taste, melting on your tongue. But when the sweetness faded, you found yourself craving it again. Sometimes the flavor lingered like longing. Like wanting to taste it over and over.

But what felt even sweeter was spending Halloween with your friends.

Another excuse for trick-or-treating, just like you and Chan used to do, fooling around when you were kids. Teenagers.

Maybe even now.

You opened the door to reveal three bears—Well. Three people. They stood outside with snacks in their hands before walking into your apartment like they owned the place.

“At this point, this might as well be my second home,” Vernon said, placing bags of chips on the table where you had already arranged potluck dishes and cute decorations. “I’m here more than at my own house.”

Seungkwan eyed you from head to toe, half judging, half confused. “What are you even supposed to be?”

You glanced down at your dark blue pinafore dress and touched the red ribbon clipped behind your hair. “I’m Kiki,” you said simply. “You know. From that Ghibli movie.”

“What’s that?” Chan asked.

“You idiot,” Vernon said flatly. “The girl who starts a delivery service with a broom.”

Seungkwan blinked. “I thought we agreed on Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”

You paused. “I never said that.”

“You did.”

Chan interrupted, “Excuse me, we agreed to be We Bare Bears. You insisted on being regular bears. Vernon was excited to be Ice Bear.”

He gestured vaguely at Vernon, who was calmly eating cake in the background.

“Nice costume, Dorothy,” Vernon added.

“I’m Kiki,” you corrected.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again. Aren’t we past this age?” Chan sighed as he lifted the lid off the stew you had cooked. “Shouldn’t we be at the Halloween party where all the cool people are?”

Seungkwan bristled immediately. “You mean where they all get drunk and dress like—I don’t know. People say Halloween is when you can live out your typical sex fantasy.”

You grimaced.

Sure, dressing up was fun. But skimpy outfits were never really your thing. Even if you found them cute, you didn’t want your brother freaking out, thinking you’d been influenced by some frat party nonsense.

“Somebody has to keep traditions alive,” Seungkwan continued dramatically. “Annual celebration equals preventing the bond from drifting apart. And let’s be honest, that person is me.”

Chan scoffed. The two of them slipped into their usual bickering while Vernon watched quietly, munching on his food in peace.

Honestly, you didn’t care.

It was nice spending time with your friends. When you couldn’t go back to your hometown for holidays like Thanksgiving, New Year’s, Christmas. They were always there with early plans.

Your second family. Maybe even your only one nearby.

The doorbell rang.

You immediately knew who it was and rushed over.

“Hi,” he smiled, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I brought what you asked for. Doughnuts. They had Halloween-themed ones. I hope you don’t mind.”

You chuckled and let him in before guiding him back to the living room.

All three pairs of eyes landed on him.

Seungkwan was the first to comment. “I don’t think he got the memo about the dress code.”

Chan examined him from head to toe. “Are you supposed to be one of those biker guys from BookTok or whatever they’re obsessed with?”

You punched Chan’s arm.

He winced. “What did I do?” he mouthed innocently.

“Shut up. Wonwoo is just Wonwoo. Let the guy breathe. He just came back from his part-time job,” you huffed.

You placed a pair of black cat ears on his head. He didn’t protest.

“And he’s Jiji,” you announced proudly.

Wonwoo hadn’t dressed up. He had come straight from his shift, still in his all-black gear leather jacket, jeans, helmet tucked under his arm.

“Who?” Seungkwan and Chan asked in unison.

Vernon called out from the kitchen, “The cat.”

“Ohhh.”

That was enough for them.

More importantly, a part of you finally felt healed. The failed situationship didn’t feel that serious anymore. Well, you would’ve appreciated it if Seungcheol hadn’t led you on to the point of kissing you.

Anyway.

You only told Chan about that. Not the other two. Seungkwan would’ve gone absolutely apeshit, especially considering how vocal he’d always been about not liking Mingyu, even though Mingyu wasn’t that bad compared to most guys.

Definitely not your brother. Or his friend.

And absolutely not your cousins Jihoon and Soonyoung.

God, that would’ve been embarrassing. They would’ve made a whole scene out of it and bring it up about your bad choice of men for years.

You didn’t even tell Wonwoo.

Not that it mattered now. You were too busy being happy in your healthy relationship.

Wow.

You could actually call it a relationship now.

That alone felt like progress.

And who wouldn’t be on cloud nine when Wonwoo had sent you a huge bouquet of roses yesterday? Seungkwan had gushed about it more than you did and even posted it on his Instagram story like he was the one who received them. Then this morning, you got yellow tulips. He said they suited you more because they meant “the sunshine of your smile.”

You almost hit his chest out of affection which you tended to do often enough that he nearly bruised from it.

You were all having a great time eating and talking. You even made sure to FaceTime your cousin and Soonyoung, who had dressed up as characters from Winnie the Pooh, Piglet and Tigger.

How typical.

You had told Wonwoo about your cousin before, insisting he meet him one day.

“He looks mean, but he’s a softie. Don’t worry,” you’d said.

“And his friend looks like he might bite. Maybe.” You were obviously referring to Soonyoung.

As you and your friends began cleaning up and collecting trash, the doorbell rang again.

You froze.

Who would come this late? Thank God you weren’t alone.

You opened the door to reveal a guy in a Deadpool costume.

You just stared.

Sensing the silence, he pulled off the mask.

You brightened instantly. “Chanyeol?” you laughed as he opened his arms and pulled you into a hug.

“Wow. Where’s the little girl who used to miss me every time I visited?” he teased, glancing at your brother beside him.

“I’m wondering who the real brother is, to be honest,” Kyungsoo muttered, appearing next to him.

You let them in, welcoming them warmly.

But the joy lasted only a second.

Chanyeol gasped dramatically when he saw three unfamiliar men in your living room excluding Chan, whom he obviously knew.

“_____!” Chanyeol grabbed your shoulders and shook you lightly, pointing accusingly at them. “I thought you were going to marry me if I showed up in an Iron Man costume?!”

Kyungsoo blinked. “Excuse me, what?”

Chan immediately stood up to greet your brother, pulling him into a hug before dapping Chanyeol afterward.

You groaned. “Okay, first of all, I never said that. And second, I was seven, okay?”

You ended up introducing all of them. They say if you introduce your friends or your lover to your family, it means that person is decent enough to be shown genuinely good. And lastly, you casually mentioned that you have a boyfriend.

Your brother and his friend’s reactions weren’t exactly positive. At least, not from the looks of it.

“Oh.” That’s all Kyungsoo said.

Chanyeol choked a little, struggling to swallow his water. “That’s… nice?” he coughed.

“I mean, I figured Chan is decent. He’s okay, I guess.” your brother added blatantly, like he wasn’t standing right there.

“Hey! I heard that, you know,” Chan retorted from the kitchen while cleaning up.

You immediately shook your head. “Uh, no. He’s just there.” You jerked your thumb toward Wonwoo, who was tying up the trash bag.

They didn’t even hide the daggers they were sending, especially your brother. You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on. He’s decent too. He treats me nicely.”

“Okay, he’s decent, but why is he dressed all black with cat ears? He looks mean as hell.”

You almost scoffed. Like who’s talking? Showing up in a full Spiderman, with his friend in a Deadpool costume.

“He’s not. It’s just his resting face.”

The rest of the night dragged on, your brother bombarding Wonwoo with questions like he was HR conducting an aggressive interview. You eventually had to kick them out for being annoying as hell.

One by one, your friends drifted off too after helping clean up.

It was only you and him. Alone.

You turned around, finally facing your boyfriend, feeling a little bashful about it.

Boyfriend.

“Hi, girlfriend.” He smiled at you. You always thought his smile was cute, especially the way his eyes squeezed slightly, creating that tiny nose scrunch. When you once pointed it out as a compliment, he immediately launched into a whole scientific explanation about facial structures and muscles that caused it.

You smiled back shyly. “Hi, boyfriend.”

You slowly stepped backward, and he stepped forward, mirroring your movements until your back hit the kitchen counter. He caged you in with a grin resting on his face.

You only grinned up at him innocently, acting like the two of you were still in the honeymoon phase as if you hadn’t already been together for more than a month now. If you calculated everything, you’d known him since last semester. You started off as friends, and then this happened which made it, what, three months and more?

Damn. It’s been that long?

You didn’t care much about the numbers, but you were sure you were lucky as hell to have met him and felt like an idiot for not noticing it sooner.

You had planned to match your Halloween costumes (mainly you). At first, you considered going as Little Red Riding Hood with him as the wolf, but you didn’t want Chan pointing out how kinky it would look. God, you wanted to slap him sometimes for being that annoying. The plan never happened anyway since Wonwoo had his shift and there wasn’t enough time to change things.

So you decided to roleplay a little.

“My, what big ears you have, grandmother.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he removed the cat ears. “Well… all the better to hear you with, baby.” He stayed there, hands still braced on either side of you.

“But grandmother, what big eyes you have.”

He raised an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses. Now he knew what you were up to, but he was willing to indulge in your little foreplay. “It’s just my glasses. But all the better to see you clearly.”

Your hands trailed up his chest, your eyes glinting as you looked up at him. “Oh, but grandmother, what a terribly big mouth you have.”

Oh. Now he definitely knew.

He couldn’t help the wider, almost wolfish grin that spread across his face. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you closer as he leaned in.

“All the better to eat you with…” he murmured against your ear, and you shivered.

You felt the warmth of his breath linger against your skin, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe. “You’re terrible,” you whispered, though your hands tightened in his shirt instead of pushing him away.

“For indulging you?” he murmured.

“For knowing exactly what you’re doing.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low in his chest, vibrating against you. His nose brushed your cheek, again that stupid little scrunch appearing when he smiled.

Effortlessly, he lifted you onto the counter, settling you against the cool surface as he stepped between your legs. His hands rested on your thighs, fingers splaying over the soft skin there.

“Comfortable?” he asked, though his gaze was already roaming appreciatively over you.

“Very,” you confirmed, leaning forward to kiss him.

He kissed you back immediately, lips finding yours in a slow, deliberate press. It was soft at first, unhurried, but it deepened when he felt you respond. One hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, while the other slid to your waist, holding you steady.

It turned heated quickly.

His hands began to wander, moving lower, brushing over the fabric of your dress. His thumb traced slow circles along your inner thigh, the thin material of your stockings doing little to dull the warmth of his touch. The warmth of his touch lingered even through the thin barrier of fabric, and your breath hitched despite yourself.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

His eyes flickered up to yours, darker now and slower as if he was watching every reaction like he was studying something precious. “You’re sensitive,” he murmured, not teasing. Just observing.

Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt. “Shut up.”

That only made the corner of his mouth tilt.

Instead of moving further, he paused. That pause was worse. His thumb continued its lazy path along your thigh, never crossing any line, just close enough to make you hyperaware of the space between you. Of him standing there, steady and warm and entirely in control.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

The shift in tone softened something in your chest.

You nodded, swallowing. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He leaned in again, but this time the kiss wasn’t rushed or consuming. It was slower and intentional. His lips moved against yours with a quiet confidence that made your toes curl inside your shoes.

His hand at your waist tightened slightly  grounding, not claiming.

When you tried to chase the kiss, he pulled back just a fraction. Not denying you.

Just making you wait.

“You were bold a minute ago,” he murmured near your lips. “What happened to Red Riding Hood?”

Your cheeks burned, but you lifted your chin anyway. “She’s not scared of the wolf.”

A low sound left his throat at that not quite a laugh. “Good,” he said softly. And this time when he kissed you again, it was deeper, slower  like he had all the time in the world.

Where is your heart?

Sometimes you really need to think before acting. You’re a smart girl. Use that brain. But occasionally, you find yourself stumbling forward before your thoughts can even catch up. That’s how you ended up tangled with Seungcheol once. You were thrown to the wolves, and you promised yourself you’d never walk into that forest again.

Blame it all on Mingyu.

Come to think of it, the whole thing feels strange now. You had a hunch back then that maybe he was just playing with you, that maybe he wasn’t serious, or…

God.

You need to stop thinking about it.

If he did play your feelings like a fiddle, your old self wouldn’t have known how to handle it. It hurts less now that you’re with Wonwoo, but it still sucks in some quiet, annoying way.

Your thoughts slowed when you reached a familiar place.

The same place you used to come to clear your head when your studies overwhelmed you. You always considered it a one-time thing when Mingyu brought you here. That was also where you first met your situationship. 

And then your eyes landed on a familiar bike.

Wonwoo’s.

You were almost impressed that you recognized it from across the street. Curiosity pricked at you. He told you he wasn’t the party type. So why was he here? At Yugyeom’s house? Maybe Mingyu dragged him along. It wasn’t your business anyway. Your boyfriend can do whatever he wants. You don’t control his life. He’s his own person.

Still.

Sometimes you can’t help but wonder.

Was Wonwoo lying to you?

No.

You shook the thought away almost immediately. He’s always been honest. Always reassuring. Always steady. But your mind drifted back to that night when he approached you after his crash, when you both happened to meet at this very place.

Did he already know about Seungcheol back then? Did he know him personally?

The thought made your stomach twist. It would be embarrassing, considering you once admitted to Wonwoo that you liked Seungcheol before. Now that you’re dating, you sometimes wonder what he really thinks about that.

He’s never been openly jealous. But you can tell. He’s… possessive.

Not in a suffocating way. Just subtle and quiet. The way his hand lingers a second longer. The way his gaze sharpens when someone stands too close.

You never pointed it out. You just noticed. And strangely enough, it makes you feel giddy.

Right now, you couldn’t help wanting to know more.

It would be a lie to say you’d never thought Wonwoo could be secretive at times. You figured it wasn’t that he was hiding things, he just didn’t share unnecessary details. Or things he thought weren’t good for you to hear.

You weren’t a child.

But he had this tendency to shield you from ugly things. Not keeping you in the dark, just… preventing you from getting burned by things that didn’t concern you.

You always thought it was sweet.

Maybe a little overprotective.

Still sweet.

And yet, here you were.

You ended up going inside anyway, jacket thrown over your pajamas. In your defense, you had just come back from the convenience store downstairs for a quick snack.

You didn’t plan this.

The inside was rowdy as usual. Loud music boomed through the walls, bass vibrating against your ribs. The air smelled like cheap alcohol and something faintly sweet and burnt.

You remembered this atmosphere.

You sometimes felt out of place in crowds like this. Sure, it was fun when you came with your friends. But this was different. Closer to a frat house vibe though you’d never actually been to one. Seungkwan and Chan once dramatically claimed this place was “defiled,” whatever that meant.

You weaved through the crowd, people brushing past you. A few gave you odd looks probably because you were underdressed. You were aware of that. Very aware. But you didn’t know what possessed you to come in here like this. Maybe you just wanted to see what Wonwoo was doing. Maybe you were just nosy as hell.

Or maybe…

The paranoia was really kicking in now. Was it because of your past experience? You knew you shouldn’t feel like this. Wonwoo wasn’t the type to let you sleep with a heavy heart or leave you drowning in unsaid thoughts.

Just as you were about to spot his figure, someone suddenly pulled you aside, preventing you from crashing into a group holding drinks.

You blinked, staring at the person who had grabbed your arm.

Seungcheol.

It had been a while.

He looked just as surprised as you did. Realizing his grip, he released you almost immediately. “Sorry… I was just—” He paused. “I saw you here, wandering around in… pajamas?” His brows furrowed slightly. “Why are you here?”

You didn’t answer right away. It felt awkward seeing him again after he ghosted you.

“Um. Yeah. I was just looking for someone…”

A heavy pause lingered between you.

He looked… apologetic. And maybe he should be. Every time he tried approaching you before, you’d avoid him, sometimes deliberately clinging to Wonwoo so he’d back off.

Maybe that was petty.

But you couldn’t face him after what happened. And eventually, you just stopped caring, too focused on Wonwoo to bother.

“Hey… I know I was a dick for leaving you hanging like that.” He inhaled slowly. “And I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to lead you on and…” His voice trailed off.

The atmosphere shifted.

He was choosing his words carefully, and you listened despite yourself.

“I just… I don’t know how to explain it,” he continued. “I know I was a bastard for leading you. I realized I couldn’t keep doing that to you because you’re too genuine.”

You weren’t sure how to take that. The old you might’ve demanded a proper explanation. Closure. Something.

But now?

It didn’t matter.

You were happy with what you had.

Before you could respond, two guys slung their arms around Seungcheol’s shoulders. He shot them an annoyed look.

“Hey, man!” the first one slurred, clearly tipsy. His eyes landed on you. “Oh? Isn’t this the chick you were supposed to woo?” He laughed like you weren’t even standing there.

You didn’t like the way he said that.

The other one squinted at you, scrutinizing. “Wait… you’re Jeon’s girl, right?”

You didn’t answer. But you knew exactly who they meant.

“Fuck off,” Seungcheol snapped, shoving them off. “Don’t mind them,” he told you quickly.

You turned, ready to leave this garbage place.

Then one of them called out again. “Don’t be upset, man!” he laughed. “You lost the bet. Don’t tell me you’re mad you couldn’t get her into your bed.”

Your steps halted.

So it really was a bet. You’d suspected it. You’d known, deep down, it wasn’t real.

But hearing it said out loud felt different.

Colder.

And then the other guy opened his mouth again. “Man, don’t act like you didn’t tell Jeon about it,” he slurred. “Wasn’t he there that night? He knew you were messing around.”

Your breath stopped.

Seungcheol’s head snapped toward him. “Shut up.”

“What?” the guy laughed. “You said it yourself. You weren’t even serious. Just wanted to see if you could pull it off before Jeon—”

“Enough.” The sharpness in Seungcheol’s voice cut through the music.

But it was too late.

You were already storming out of the damn house.

The cold night air hits you immediately sharp, quiet, almost cruel. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t know how to process what you were feeling. You didn’t understand why it hit this hard. Sure, it stung knowing you were never taken seriously back then. That part? You could swallow it. But when they mentioned Wonwoo - your heart dropped. Because he knew. Maybe not Seungcheol directly. Maybe not every detail. But he knew those guys.

Which means... .something in your stupid, spiraling head started connecting dots that maybe weren’t even meant to be connected.

He knew these people. So how much did he know?

When you told him you used to like Seungcheol, you told him almost everything. Almost. You never mentioned the situationship. It felt unnecessary. Embarrassing. Something you didn’t want to relive.

He told you he was only close to Mingyu. So who were those guys who clearly knew him?

Had he lied?

Or was he just very good at hiding things?

The worst part was the possibility that Mingyu knew about that stupid bet too.

Was he part of it?

Your stomach twisted.

You had never felt so betrayed.

By your friend. By your boyfriend.

God, it was humiliating after everything you and Wonwoo had built.

Was this why he was secretive sometimes? Was this the “bad things” he didn’t want you to see?

You always saw him as someone unbothered. Detached from unnecessary drama. You never judged Mingyu’s lifestyle either despite everything, he was still a good person.

But now you were questioning all of it again. And it made your chest feel unbearably heavy.

So fucking heavy.

Your breathing turned shallow, uneven. The cold air didn’t help. It felt like your lungs couldn’t expand fully, like something invisible was pressing down on you.

Suffocating.

Before you even realized it, your vision blurred. Tears pooled, then spilled. You crouched down in the middle of the cold night, arms wrapping around your knees as a sob tore out of you.

Was I ever truly loved?

The thought hit harder than anything else.

Was that why it felt so easy for Wonwoo to slip into the boyfriend role? Why he never hesitate? Never questioned it?

Maybe it was natural to him. Maybe he’d been waiting. Waiting for the right moment to step in like a knight in shining armor when Jia humiliated him and you rushed to defend him.

God.

What if you weren’t saving him? What if you were walking straight into something he already knew would happen? Instead of him being played, you were the one being played. Maybe you were just convenient. The conclusion made you want to claw your own heart out.

All this time, you’d been afraid you were the dishonest one, hiding that stupid situationship because it felt irrelevant, embarrassing. And yet somewhere along the way, you learned to love him.

Sincerely, genuinely.

And now here you were again, in another humiliating position. The gullible girl. He must think you’re easy.

The thought made you feel sick.

After everything, after loving him so much it physically hurt. This is what you get?

The betrayal burned. From your friend. From him.

It hurts so fucking much.

The next day on campus, you looked awful. You cried most of the night. You didn’t answer his calls. You didn’t reply to his texts. You just let the screen light up and fade again and again.

When he showed up at your apartment with food and medicine, you accepted it quietly. You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

He looked worried. That almost made it worse.

The days after that blurred together. You avoided him on campus, sticking close to your friends. When they asked if you were okay, you brushed it off with a weak “I’m just not feeling well.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Your phone was filled with missed calls and unread messages from him.

You replied once. Just one line that is ‘I’m unwell.’ That was it.

Eventually, you told Chan. Only Chan.

He was the closest thing to family you had here. You called him that night and everything spilled out of you in broken pieces. Every doubt. Every ugly conclusion. Every fear you didn’t want to admit out loud. You sobbed so hard your chest hurt. And for once, Chan didn’t joke. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t tease and dramatize your whole stuff.

He just listened. When you begged him not to hang up, he stayed. You ended up falling asleep on call, the line still connected because you needed something—someone to keep you from feeling completely alone.

As annoying as he could be, he was always there. And that was probably the first time he didn’t make a single joke.

…

It’s been five days since everything happened.

You ended up shutting Wonwoo out. You know it’s unfair, you should’ve just asked him instead of sitting alone with your thoughts, letting them rot in the dark. But you can’t. You’re too afraid it’ll turn out exactly the way you fear.

What if he is part of it? What if he actually loves you?

That might be even worse. You don’t want this to turn into some stupid cliché story. It feels horrible.

You’re burnt out. Maybe even depressed. More than just heartbroken.

Chan would’ve definitely called you out for looking like absolute shit right now but he doesn’t. Not when you look this bad. Your head rests against his shoulder as he sits beside you on the bed, fingers intertwined with his. For once, he doesn’t complain when you seek physical affection. He just lets you stay there, quiet and small, needing warmth.

You sniffle, cheek pressed against his arm, grip tightening slightly. “…Am I that unlovable?” you ask meekly. A moment of weakness.

You’ve skipped class for two days now. You feel so unwell. So drained.

Chan sighs softly, resting his chin on top of your head. “No. No, you’re not.”

Your throat tightens. “Do you love me?” Of course you’d question everything now your worth, your existence, all of it.

He stiffens. He can tell you’re about to cry again, and he’s terrible at comforting people.

“Of course I love you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re just saying that because I’m sad.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have stuck around if I’d been farting in your face for years.”

You frown and hit his arm. “Not funny.”

He winces. “Wasn’t supposed to be?” he scoffs lightly, before pulling your head back to his shoulder and patting your hair more gently. “Come on. Don’t cry. I don’t know what to do when you cry like that.”

Silence settles between you.

Then he tries again. “You know… when I first saw you, I knew a grand adventure was about to happen.”

Your lips twitch. “You mean when we were seven and you threw a stick at me?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “From that moment on, I knew any day spent with you would be my favorite day. So today’s my favorite day too.”

You smile faintly. “That’s sweet.”

“I know,” he replies softly.

Another quiet stretch.

You still feel heavy. He notices. Of course he does.

Vernon has been sending you playlists non-stop since he found out you were sad. Unfortunately, half of them are Taylor Swift songs which only makes you feel worse. Great job, man.

You sigh. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get married,” you mumble. “I don’t even want to fall in love. Who would ever want to marry me?”

There’s a pause.

“I would,” Chan says simply.

You lift a brow, amused despite yourself.

“Remember when we roleplayed marriage when we were twelve?” he continues. “The ridiculous paper rings? Your mom’s red lipstick that you smeared all over my face? I had to use Clorox to get it off.”

You laugh, genuinely this time. “Hey. That ring was not ridiculous. It was cute.”

“And you stole my first kiss.”

“That was my first kiss too.”

You both burst into laughter. And for the first time in days, your chest doesn’t feel quite as tight.

You stay there like that. Comfortable.

The moment feels easy. Light. Just like it used to feel when you were with Wonwoo.

You hate how familiar that warmth is. Hate how your body remembers it so easily. You don’t want to think about him, but you do anyway, recalling the things you did together, the small habits, the quiet laughter.

It hurts. So much.

“I don’t know, Chan…” you start, your voice already wobbling again much to his immediate panic. “All of our friends know we’re inseparable. They know how close we are, and yet…” You gesture vaguely, frustration spilling over. “He just played my heart like—like Pooh or something.”

Chan blinks. “Like as in… Winnie the Pooh?”

You ignore him. “I even introduced him to half of my family. What am I supposed to do now?” Your sobs return, softer but heavier, soaking into his sweater as you bury your face into his arm.

“Hey, hey.” He pats your head awkwardly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You should forgive yourself first…”

He swallows. He’s never been good with words. He’s never seen you this broken before.

When he was the one getting picked on as a kid, you were the one who stood in front of him. You were always stronger. “…Whatever happens,” he continues carefully, “I’ll be by your side, okay? It makes me feel like an asshole seeing you cry like this, knowing I’m not even the one who caused it.”

Your sobs soften at that, turning into hiccups.

He panics again and reaches for tissues, dabbing at your cheeks in clumsy little motions. 

“Y-you know…” you choke out, “he never even swore. He was always nice to me. Of course I didn’t notice… God, I feel so, so stupid.”

Chan sighs, wiping the last of your tears. “…What kind of guy has never cursed in his life?” he mutters. “Maybe only during—”

He stops himself too late.

Your face crumples again.

Because Wonwoo did swear. Especially during intimate moments. And now you’re crying harder.

Chan stiffens. “O-okay! Okay, no, no, no—don’t cry!” He fumbles, half hugging you, half trying to wipe your tears. “I’m sorry! I’m stupid! I didn’t mean it like that!”

You just sob into his sweater.

He groans in frustration. “Fine! I’ll be your boyfriend and marry you if you stop crying—dammit!”

After a while, your bedroom door slowly creaks open with a few soft knocks.

One—no, two figures step in, plushies covering their faces. One holds Pooh. The other holds Tigger. The two characters you’ve loved since childhood.

Your tears slowly subside as you sniffle.

“Glad to meet ya! Name’s Tigger! T-I-double guh-er! That spells Tigger!” the Tigger waves dramatically, using the plush’s paw to greet you, voice exaggerated and cartoonish.

Your brows lift.

Then Pooh speaks in an oddly high-pitched tone. “Hi. I am short, fat, and proud of that.”

You blink.

“Come on, Ji. We practiced this. That’s not what Pooh would say.” Soonyoung lowers the Tigger plush, glaring.

Jihoon, your cousin scoffs. “I told you I’m not doing this.”

They immediately begin bickering like children.

You slowly turn to Chan, frowning. “You told them?”

Chan raises both hands defensively. “I only told them you needed emotional support and that you were sad.”

You don’t argue. If anything, you feel a little lighter. Being here, surrounded by them, your family feels like home. They are home. Despite all this warmth, though, you still somehow ended up in such a foolish position. You only ever wanted someone to accept all of you. To understand that when you love, you love completely.

Unconditionally.

Soonyoung carefully sits on the bed beside you, brushing a slightly damp strand of hair away from your face. “…You okay, little bee?” he asks gently.

You give him a faint smile. “A little. Now that you’re both here.”

Jihoon doesn’t look convinced. Of course he isn’t. He can tell this runs deeper, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he places the Pooh plush in your lap and sits at the edge of the bed.

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung reassures. “Happiness doesn’t come with grades. Just look at Chan, he seems happy with his barely passing CGPA.”

Chan frowns. “I was passing.”

Soonyoung ignores him, swatting his hand away. “I have a friend. His name is Seokmin. He’s really, really nice. He even apologized to ants when he accidentally stepped on them.”

All of you slowly turn to look at him.

Your brows knit together.

“I don’t appreciate you introducing a guy to her like that,” Jihoon deadpans.

You honestly have no idea what’s going to happen next. At some point, you’ll have to face Wonwoo again. You need to settle whatever this relationship was.

Was it even real?

Maybe you should’ve crashed out. Screamed. Swung a bat. Or used that frozen baguette Jeonghan once left in his abandoned fridge.

“She can’t. Okay? That’s final,” Chan cuts in firmly.

You appreciate that he speaks up. You don’t think you’d ever survive loving someone like that again.

Soonyoung sighs dramatically. “It’s alright, little bee. The only thing you missed was swinging the bat and watching the man duck.”

Your lips curl slightly. “Thanks, but violence really isn’t my thing.”

“Well, it is mine,” Jihoon mutters.

You sigh. “It’s fine. Let’s not talk about men. I think I’ve had enough. I don’t ever want to get married or fall in love. Boyfriends are overrated anyway.”

Jihoon and Soonyoung exchange a glance. They know it’s about someone. They just don’t know the whole story.

“Hey,” Soonyoung says softly, nudging your shoulder. “Don’t say that. If anything, you still have us.” He pauses, then grins. “Also, I can be your boy—”

Before he can finish, Jihoon smacks the back of his head. “Ow!” Soonyoung rubs his scalp, offended. “I can do a backflip. Just saying.”

…

Just when you’re about to feel suspiciously relaxed, it hits you. Your responsibility and your relationship.

Swore you’d never end up in this position again – yeah, right. This feels worse than your old situationship ever did.

When your phone buzzes, you almost assume it’s Wonwoo. He’s been checking messages you’ve ignored constantly. It hurts every time you leave him on read while he’s practically begging to talk.

You’ve been avoiding him at all costs. Clinging to Chan instead. But the name on the screen isn’t Wonwoo this time, it was Mingyu.

You agree to meet him outside campus, near the small park. His text sounded urgent. Important. Aside from heartbreak, there’s another ache sitting in your chest. Disappointment. You thought a friend had broken your trust.

When you arrive, Mingyu jogs over. “Hey, shortcake…” he greets you with a crooked smile as he sits beside you on the bench. “…Did you wait long?”

You shake your head, offering a faint smile. “No. Not really.”

Silence settles between you. It was heavy and awkward. If anything, friendship betrayals hurt more than breakups.

Mingyu slides a paper bag toward you. You peek inside to find a slice of strawberry cake and carton of milk.

Wonwoo flashes across your mind instantly, and your chest tightens.

Mingyu groans, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Shit. How do I even start this?”

You look at him quietly.

“First, I’m apologizing. For all this mess. You didn’t deserve it.”

So he knows.

He swallows. “To be fair, I had no idea about that bet. Cross my heart. If I’d known those jackasses made some stupid deal with Seungcheol, I would’ve swung at them immediately.” He pauses. “Which I did.”

You frown, finally turning to face him fully.

“Cheol told me everything after that night. You were there — that’s why. We ended up fighting. Those two idiots deserved the beating anyway.”

Your eyes drop to his knuckles. Slightly scraped.

“…You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur. Now guilt creeps in that his friendship with Seungcheol strained because of this. Because of you.

He waves it off. “It’s fine. They were disrespecting you. I couldn’t just sit there.”

He hesitates.“…I heard you and Wonwoo were together though. I only found out recently. My own best friend didn’t even tell me.” He lets out a dry chuckle, glancing at how quiet you’ve become.

“He’s miserable, you know.”

Your head lifts instantly.

Mingyu nods toward the paper bag. “That’s from him. Not me. He figured you wouldn’t want to see him, so he asked me to pass it to you.”

Your throat tightens.

“He’s been depressed these past few days. He didn’t know about the bet. He was only there that night because I was wasted and he had to drag my ass home.”

Mingyu exhales. “He’s not what you think he is. He’s a good guy. Really.”

God.

You feel horrible.

You let your insecurity spiral. You let overthinking consume you whole. You knew you should’ve talked to him, but you were too scared to hear the worst.

You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“Wonwoo’s not that kind of guy,” Mingyu continues gently. “You know that too. Those idiots only talked to you like that because Cheol called them out. Wonwoo never agreed to any stupid arrangement. If anything, Cheol just didn’t want some random prick getting close to you.”

Oh.

So Seungcheol did that because of… that?

His methods were questionable. Shitty, even.

But still.

Mingyu sighs and leans his head lightly against yours. “…Are we still friends, shortcake?”

You stare ahead for a moment.

Then you smile softly. “…Yeah. We are.”

After a moment, Mingyu exhales like he’s debating whether to continue. “I wasn’t supposed to say this,” he admits, rubbing his face. “But Wonwoo said he’s sorry. Sorry he didn’t tell you everything. That night… he almost beat the shit out of those guys. He even punched Seungcheol.”

You go still. You didn’t expect it to escalate that badly.

Something about it makes you feel… off. Not relieved. Not exactly guilty either. Just heavy. You don’t like drama. And if your brother or Chanyeol ever found out about this?

Oh, boy.

Your cousin and his friends? Absolutely not. They’d demand names. Addresses. Blood. You almost groan at the thought.

“As I said,” Mingyu continues, shaking his head in disbelief, “if you’d seen him that night… you’d know he was holding back. If I hadn’t been there, I swear someone would’ve ended up in the hospital.”

He sounds almost impressed.

You sigh heavily. You were hurt, yes. But you never wanted something this big. And what if Seungkwan finds out too? You’ll never live through it.

Just when you’re about to calm down. Two figures approach.

Jia and her little sidekick. Fantastic timing.

“Well, if it isn’t goody two-shoes,” Jia sneers. You glare at her. “I’m surprised you’re even outside after that.” Her eyes drop to Mingyu. She scoffs.

Her friend pipes up, smirking. “Wow. First Seungcheol and Wonwoo… now Mingyu? I didn’t know you were such an attention whore.”

You feel nothing. Just tired.

“Fuck off. Both of you,” Mingyu says flatly, draping his arm casually behind your shoulders. Protective and easy. “Didn’t take my rejection well, huh? Is that why you’re still bitter?”

He grins.

Their faces flush instantly.

Ah.

So that’s what this is.

You blink slowly. You genuinely don’t have the energy for this. You wish you brought your Nerf gun again like the other day.  Jia keeps talking, probably something meant to make you feel small but your brain is elsewhere. You just want to go home. Eat. Sleep.

It’s been relentless harassment. Enough is enough.

Before you even process it, the carton of milk in your hand flies. It splashes directly onto Jia’s face.

Silence.

She gasps, stunned.

You blink. You didn’t even realize you’d done it.

Mingyu stares at you in shock, then bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

“Why, you bi—!” Before she can slap you, another splash arrives. It was banana milk this time. Seungkwan stands there, arm still extended from the throw.

“You again?” Jia shrieks in disbelief.

Oh, no.

You feel it. This is about to escalate.

Seungkwan drops his bag into Mingyu’s arms and starts rolling up his sleeves.

“You can insult whoever you want,” he says with a sarcastic scoff, “but not my bumblebee.”

And he didn’t hesitate to grab her hair while she grabbed his back. They start screaming. It’s absolute chaos. You’re pretty sure hers are extensions. Before Jia’s friend can intervene, Chan appears out of nowhere, grabbing her arm. She kicks him, making yelp. Mingyu tries to separate them but catches an accidental elbow from Seungkwan straight to the stomach and doubles over.

You turn desperately toward Vernon for help but see him standing off to the side. With his ass recording. Muttering something about how this is going to be legendary. Possibly waiting for Chan to attempt a backflip mid-fight.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Before you can even process what’s happening, two familiar faces step into the scene. The jerks from that party.

They stride in like backup, clearly here for the girls. It clicks instantly, they were acquaintances. You feel something snap. You have no reason to be kind anymore. If crashing out is the theme of the day, then so be it.

One of them steps toward you, hand lifting like he’s about to grab you. If you think wisdom is chasing Mingyu, he is faster. “Hold on, buddy,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders. “Bet you missed my knuckle sandwich. Say bye.”

His fist connects with the guy’s jaw cleanly.

You gasp, hand flying to your mouth.

The guy stumbles but doesn’t back down.

And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, Seungcheol appears at the right time. You don’t even remember spotting him, but instinctively you shout, “Cheol!” He doesn’t hesitate either. Next thing you know, his fist lands square on the second guy.

Oh my God.

Now it’s a full-blown mess.

Seungkwan is still yelling, hair-pulling ongoing. Chan is trying to restrain someone while dodging kicks. Vernon attempts to help but gets accidentally elbowed by Seungkwan mid-rant and just stands there, betrayed, still recording. Insults are flying. People are shouting. Mingyu is swinging. Seungcheol looks two seconds away from catching a body.

You make a very smart decision. You are not joining that.

Absolutely not.

While everyone is too busy reenacting a low-budget action film, you step back and pull out your phone to call for your emergency contact. You were contemplating who to call. Not your cousin. Definitely not your brother. If they show up, someone’s actually going to jail.

Your thumb hovers for half a second. Then you press call.

Wonwoo.

Listed under: my pookie bf <3 (emergency contact)

(Which, for the record, is what you labeled almost everyone in your contacts… except Chan.)

The phone rings. Around you, chaos erupts.

And you realize, distantly, that this is the first time you’ve reached out to him since you started avoiding him.

The line clicks.

“…Hello?”

There are certain people who are friends on a whole different level. Like you and Chan. You consider it soul-level. He’s been there since diapers, through bad haircuts, ugly phases, and college.

And then there’s Seungkwan and Vernon. You didn’t even mean to be friends at first. You and Chan met on the wrong foot during your first orientation when Chan farted on Seungkwan’s jacket. Guess the universe has its ways of making all of you inseparable.

You never planned this friendship. The world just knew you needed someone like them to make you feel brighter. And better. Maybe even better at loving.

You did end up seeking Wonwoo’s help.

So how did it end up with all of you including Seungcheol and Mingyu squeezed into a fast-food diner now?

Jia and her henchmen eventually ratted themselves out. Not that they’re relevant anymore.

All of you squeezed around the same table, munching on your food like you just celebrated a world victory.

You had an ice pack, about to gently press it against Cheol’s cheek when Seungkwan snatched it from you and shoved it onto his face, a little too harshly. “Oh, he’s not a baby. I’m sure you can do it yourself, hm?” he said with a restrained smile, as Cheol glared at him, clearly annoyed.

Right. There’s a lot to unpack here.

You sat between Chan and Wonwoo, practically squeezed in.

Vernon shifted between Mingyu and Cheol, looking uncomfortable. “...I think I’m about to be sandwiched here.”

Another shuffle, as Seungkwan purposely moved beside Seungcheol. “Move, fatass,” he grumbled, and they started bickering again.

Chan sighed, dipping another fry into his mouth as he ate quietly. His hair looked like a bird’s nest, similar to his ugly haircut back in middle school.

You almost smiled.

You remembered Wonwoo was just beside you. You glanced at his bruised knuckles and almost sighed at the sight as you softly held his hand, brushing over it gently.

He let you. He still didn’t look at you, afraid to meet your eyes, like he didn’t deserve to see you eye to eye.

It made your heart tug a little. You tapped his hand softly. When his gaze finally met yours, he smiled at the face he had missed so much.

“Hi, boyfriend,” you smiled at him, genuinely. You didn’t need to ask anything. Mingyu had already explained everything, and Seungcheol had apologized just minutes ago.

Wonwoo’s lips curled softly. “Hi, girlfriend.”

It felt like you two were the only ones in the world. The rest didn’t matter.

You saw his long paragraph messages. You read his heartfelt texts. You heard his voice notes, the ones where he drunkenly cried and confessed everything.

You feel bad now. But you’d make up for it with kisses and pick-up lines later, when you’re alone with him.

Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing Soonyoung and Jihoon though it really seemed like only Soonyoung made the dramatic entrance. His eyes fell on your table as he rushed over.

You had called them earlier, but they didn’t pick up. You only managed to text: “Shit is about to go down.”

They were too late anyway.

Soonyoung looked at you. “Which bastard?”

His eyes scanned everyone before landing on Mingyu, and without hesitation, he headlocked him. Mingyu whimpered, tapping his arm. “Not me! Not me!”

“Was it you?” Jihoon asked, raising an eyebrow at Vernon.

Vernon’s eyes widened immediately, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa, chill. I’m one of her homies.”

You sighed, burying your face in your palms as Chan cackled, fries still in his mouth.

God, this is embarrassing. This is exactly why you didn’t want any of your people to know what you’ve been through. Good thing your brother doesn’t know or someone would be facing court charges.

Then the waiter slid in, not caring about the scene Soonyoung just made.

Chan hummed when he saw the strawberry parfait. “Did you order this?”

You shook your head. “Then who did?”

“It was me, actually,” Wonwoo admitted as the treat was handed to him.

You weren’t really in the mood, but since he paid for it, you had to try it.

It was sweet - just like the strawberry milk he once gave you. Just like the first time you met him. He had been sweet and kind, helping you with calculus without hesitation.

You realized something. It was just that simple. You were never alone. All these people loved you. Wonwoo loved you. Maybe you were just scared. Maybe you let your thoughts consume you too easily.

“You know,” Chan suddenly said, scooping his almost-empty sundae, “this reminds me of that time ____ and I got free ice cream when we faked being a couple and got free rides at the amusement park.”

All eyes turned to him like he’d just said the most normal thing in the world.

You punched his arm.

He winced, rubbing it as he stared at all of you. “What? You guys don’t do that with your friends? You know, go to an amusement park or something?”

His eyes flicked toward Wonwoo and Seungcheol. “Wow. Not even you guys?”

They didn’t bother answering.

“I feel special somehow.”

...

The rest was history. All of you ended up going on an impromptu beach hangout to watch the sunset, typical Seungkwan suggestion.

And now, it’s only you and Wonwoo left behind.

Alone.

How silly of you to forget how far you’ve come just because you still have a long way to go. Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning.

Just like you thought, perhaps this would be your favorite day. With your friends. With Wonwoo.

“I have a question,” Wonwoo started, facing you, his hands still holding yours as you listened intently. “When you wake up in the morning, what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”

You considered it briefly. “Hm. Realistically speaking, I always wonder what’s for breakfast… and lunch later,” you said. “What about you, Won?”

Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head as he hummed softly. “I say… I wonder what exciting thing is going to happen today.”

He leaned closer, smiling gently. “Because I always look forward to another day with you.”

You melted at his words, wrapping your arms around his nape as the two of you ended up kissing in the middle of the beach.

Wonwoo was right. There were still so many adventures waiting for both of you. And you couldn’t wait to explore them—with him, and with your friends.

You’d say…

It was better than ever.

FIN.

A/N: we've come to the end, apples. sorry for the delays and tq sm for the loves given from the first part arghhh. i was doing charity work lmao. anw, i wasn't feeling good about the ending but i think it was rather sweet. the reason why i didn't add jeonghan n joshua, they would be unstoppable. also, all chan loverssss out there, don't be sad, i promised i will make another fic of him lmao. anywhomst, thank uu once again, dearest apples. pls keep on looking forward for my next work. reblogs and comments are appreciated sm.

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He liked his routine; it ensured him that his world would continue to go round as he woke up to fresh scratches on his back, and sore muscles that were worked out in the fields and in his bed with you. So, if he wasn't in the town hall right now, he could be hearing that little whine you make when he sinks into you nice and deep, your pretty nails clawing for mercy while you take all of him like he knew you could.

But instead, here he was, the dirt on his cowboy boots scuffing the old wood floor as he sat in the uncomfortable folding chair provided by the assistant to the mayor. His jeans covered the expanse of his thick thighs, his flannel stretching across his chest as he folded his arms with a furrowed brow. He watched as the mayor tried to placate the postman and the grocery store manager, the two grown men fighting over the location of the mailbox in front of 'Gyu's Grocery Store', and Woozi could feel his jaw tense.

This was a stupid meeting. It was the same meeting they always had once a month, and it had nothing to do with him or the farm.

And it's just as he begins to grind his teeth in annoyance that he feels you nonchalantly place your thigh against his.

The town meeting required everyone in Silver Springs to attend, and because the town wasn't big at all, everyone who wasn't a child attended the small town meeting. Nothing really exciting happened in Silver Springs; everyone pretty much knew everyone else since birth, and therefore, the only new bit of drama that could unfold was at these types of events.

Hence why Jeonghan had an amused grin playing on his lips as he shared a thing of popcorn with Joshua, the owner of the only candy shop in the town center.

Jihoon was a quiet man; he wasn't a man for displays of affection in these types of situations where anyone could see him, so when you touch him - his breath stills. He knew he loved you; it was a feeling etched in his bones, the same type of knowing he got when he could look at the clouds for a minute or two and know there would be a storm later in the evening. It's ultimately how his entire body hums alive when you give him the simplest touch. Your knee knocks into his knee, and it feels like electricity shoots through his veins.

You're sitting right next to him in the same type of folding chair, wearing your pretty little summer dress, which you made from scratch, and you had paired it with some little heels to match. You're a complete contrast to him. He's got dirt and grass stains smudged onto his jeans and boots, a simple flannel for a shirt, and his old black cowboy hat resting on his lap. If anyone walked in and didn't know who Woozi was or you, they'd never guess you were his wife.

I mean, you don't even spare Jihoon a glance when your thigh presses into his, your bare skin rubbing against the rough material of his jeans while the mayor demands the postman to sit down. You simply fold your hands in your lap, head raised tall, an aura of elegance coming from you. You looked perfect, but maybe Woozi was just biased.

The town meeting goes by quickly after that; Jihoon doesn't focus on the same monologue everyone gives once a month. Instead, he chooses to focus on the way your bare thigh feels against his. That your pretty little heels are next to his dirty cowboy boots, and if he moves, your perfect put-together look would be ruined.

His mind wanders.

His fingers twitch.

And when the meeting comes to a close, he doesn't hesitate to grab your hand in his. He holds you firmly, guiding you through the thick crowd as you two make your way to his red truck. Again, the contrast screams in his head. His eyes were watching you as he helped you inside his truck after opening the door for you, noticing how you stood out compared to him, and he made it halfway home before he finally couldn't take it anymore.

The truck pulls over onto the gravel road, bouncing you a little in your seat before he turns the truck completely off. When you realize you are somewhere on Woozi's farm, you try to figure out how far the Big House is. There's so much land he owns, and it's dark out, so you're not entirely sure where on the farm you both are, but it doesn't matter when he's calling to you softly.

Jihoon coaxes you closer with an outstretched hand, his fingers curling to beckon you near as he says, "c'mere." He's not asking, and you don't hesitate. You easily slide across the bench seat of the truck until Jihoon pulls you himself, his patience running thin as he brings you onto his lap directly.

You can feel the buckle of his belt against your pelvis, his jeans rubbing against your inner thighs as his fingers dig into your waist. It's cramped, but you've never felt more comfortable than right here as he looks up at you. His hat is tilted back, his hair almost falling into his eyes, as you rest your hands on his chest.

The air is charged with tension, your breath stuck in your lungs before Woozi breaks the silence. "I fucking hate those meetings."

It's unexpected, and it jolts you into laughter, your lips pulling up in an amused grin as he deadpans you. He meant every word, and you know he did.

"I'm serious. They wasted my time, and they wasted yours." He grumbles, and your shoulders shake as he leans back in his seat, the movement making you grind against his lap, and it quietens your giggles. "Could spend my time doing better things."

You know what he's hinting at, and you know you're not in public, but your eyes still flicker from window to window of the truck before you meet his eyes again. You notice the way his eyes have darkened, his lips parting as a soft pink dusts his cheeks with color. "Is that so?" You muse, your heart rate picking up pace as warmth pools between your thighs. "And what would that be?"

Your husband doesn't answer you; he pulls you into a kiss to show you. His warm hands are holding your lower back to keep you close, and he kisses you like summer rain, slow and steady, like he's got nowhere else to be. His hands move up your back and up to your face, tilting your head back so he can begin his trail of kisses down your neck, stopping in spots where you moan sweeter than before. And you're unsure how you end up on your back, splayed out on the bench seat of the 1970s boxed truck he drove, but Jihoon is fitting his hips between your legs like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

His denim jeans rub deliciously between your plush thighs, and your dress gets flipped up high enough for him to pull your panties down. You're just thankful that the windows are cracked because otherwise, you were pretty sure the windows would be fogged up by now with the way he's got you gasping for air.

When Jihoon's calloused fingers find your pretty pussy soaking wet and needy, he's got the top of your dress already bunched at your waist, his tongue laving over one of your nipples as you moan in pleasure. "This is what I ought to be doin'," he mumbles against the curve of your breast, his teeth nipping the supple skin as he swirls his thumb around your puffy clit. You make a keen whine, jutting your hips with a jolt that makes his smile grow. "Should be pleasing my wife, taking care of her. Isn't that right, my love?"

He doesn't expect an answer from you. Not when he's filling your sweet pussy with two of his fingers, stretching your gummy walls open as he sinks his digits to the knuckle.

You take him easy, already soaking wet for him, like always, and Woozi goes back to sucking your nipple into his mouth. He thrusts his fingers into your drooling cunt like he wasn't pulled over by one of the fields he owned, curling them just right, and your head swims with desire. He takes in the hitch in your breath, the way your legs fall open wider, your knee knocking into the dashboard of his truck as you take another one of his fingers, and the heart in his chest grows warmer.

"You take me so well, Peach." Woozi praises, and he looks between you two to see how glistening wet you make his fingers. "Should just have you like this all the time, wrapped around me, and making those sweet noises just for me." The sound of your pussy becoming wetter fills the small space, and your nails dig into his biceps, your cheeks flushed as he curls his fingers again and again.

He grazes the spongy spot that makes you see white, and your entire body tenses as you moan loudly for him. "Right there, oh! Right there!" You babble, and Woozi thinks about the contrast again. How pretty and put-together you were at the town meeting, and how ruined you are now.

Your dress is bunched up around your waist. Your pretty tits are exposed to his hungry eyes, and your sweet pussy is slurping on his fingers, begging for more, while he is still fully dressed. The power imbalance is unable to be hidden in Woozi's eyes, and his cock was hard and heavy in his jeans, wishing to be buried deep inside your drooling cunt as he got you rolling your eyes to the back of your head. His cowboy boots leave dusty footprints on the inside of his driver's side door as he brings your orgasm close, but he couldn't care less because after a few more strokes to your g-spot, he gets to see you like this: disheveled, holding onto him like a lifeline, and a complete mess as you cum with a cry of his name.

You tremble underneath him, your pussy spasming around his fingers while you gush hot and sweet, bucking your hips like you can't control them yourself. And Woozi's chest warms with pride, his fingers working between your thighs to fuck you through it, prolonging your high as your eyes glaze over in ecstasy.

When your tremors subside to little twitches in your thighs, he leans back, slipping his fingers from your sopping cunt with a satisfied grin. He keeps eye contact with you as he licks his digits clean, groaning at the taste of you, and murmuring, "sweet as a peach," while you try to blink away your bleary vision. "I think this was better than any town meeting."

And you can't disagree when he's unbuckling his belt, moving to shove his jeans down so he can get his cock free.

The weather is perfect today on the farm. It's clear skies and a sweet breeze that make the rows and rows of trees sway in the wind gently; the green leaves do a little shimmy before settling back in place, and you stand in your kitchen barefoot.

Normally, you'd always be dressed down to the kitten heels at the very least. Your wardrobe is usually picked out the night before, matching the perfectly fixed hair that you take your time to do every morning, but today is different. You are off today, not needed in town after your assistant threatened to lock the doors to your shop if you tried to come in. Minghao was like that, a sharp eye that meant well, and you were the kind of boss who didn't know what an off day meant until it hit you. So, after some whining from you that your assistant easily blocked, you were hung up on and left to your own devices.

But now what?

You're still in your pajamas, which consisted of a shirt of your husband's and little ruffled shorts you hand-made yourself, and your hands rested on your hips as you tried to figure out what to do for the rest of the day.

Your husband was long gone by now, somewhere on the farm working hard; he always got up before the sun did, and you would wake up to a pot of coffee waiting for you, still hot on the kitchen counter when you eventually made it downstairs.

That's what you gravitate to first.

You see the new mug set out on your kitchen counter; today it's shaped like a cowboy boot, and you fill it up with coffee Woozi left on. This was your routine. Woozi made coffee, something he desperately needed to start his day, and he made enough for both of you as he picked out the mug he wanted you to use for the day.

The first sip warms you entirely, making your lips curve into a soft smile as the taste of coffee and creamer swirls along your tongue. You're feeling more awake as you lean your hip against the old counter, your eyes flickering to the window above your kitchen sink.

You look out the window, ready to enjoy the view, when you spot your husband a little bit in the distance. He's on top of one of the big tractors he owns, tinkering on it as one of the dogs you two own zooms around it, making your husband shake his head. You don't have to be close to know he's smiling, and you can't tear your eyes off of him.

He's in his normal uniform: denim jeans, a plaid flannel, and a black cowboy hat. He's got the sleeves of his flannel rolled up to his elbows, and you know that even with his hat, he's got to be sweating. The summer hadn't turned unbearable yet, but it was still hot to be out there for long periods of time without any shade.

And you're just thinking about making him some lemonade or a snack when he's suddenly coming through the kitchen door, making you blink in surprise. You hadn't realized you were so lost in thought, but it seems you surprise Woozi just as much as he does you. He falters in step for a second, taking you in slowly, seeing your bare legs and feet as you hug the cowboy mug to your chest. You would normally be gone by now, halfway to work, but with your day off, you aren't.

You twist your body to face your husband, leaning back into the corner of the kitchen counter as he keeps eye contact with you. His eyes flicker, and it's too fast for you to try and read the emotions, but you watch as he silently opens the door of the fridge, grabbing a cold water bottle before he copies your stance - leaning back on the kitchen table, facing you, as he crosses his feet by his ankles.

His eyes stay on yours as he takes a moment to speak up, choosing to instead open the water bottle with an easy twist before bringing it to his mouth. Your eyelashes flutter as he takes a drink, a brief memory of last night flashing through your mind, and you're feeling more than envisioning his mouth sucking on something else that makes your thighs clench together in need. You watch his throat work, drinking in the water while your eyes wander down his body.

His flannel hugs his torso, stretching over muscles built by long days of hard labor, and you can't help but appreciate it. His thighs fill his jeans, and his forearms flex as they cross at his chest - and you're all but salivating at the mouth for your husband.

"You doin' work from home today?" He asks, breaking the silence and pulling you from your wandering thoughts. You shift from one foot to the other, not knowing that you were driving him insane by being in just your pajamas and a little messy hair. He wanted to bend you over the counter, spread your thighs, and tell you how much he needed to relieve some stress. How one of the tractors started acting up, getting on his nerves, and only your pretty pussy could help him get through the rest of his day - but instead, he does his best to restrain himself. He quirks a brow in your direction and watches you lick your lips before answering.

"No, I uh, took the day off." His eyebrows raise more at that, and he taps the empty water bottle against his bicep in thought. He doesn't know if he really could be productive today when he knows his wife will be inside all day, wearing his shirt, and hardly anything else. "But it could give me time to catch up on some personal work," you add, and Woozi stays quiet.

In the Big House, your home, Woozi had made sure you had your own office. A place where you could bring work home, or create on your own when you had the time. But you were always busy with something, especially since you were the main seamstress in town, and therefore, you hardly ever had time to create your own work.

Another beat of silence stretches between you two, and eventually Woozi nods his head to himself, standing straighter as he clears his throat with a little grunt. "Well, maybe I can join you for lunch if I can fix the tractor in time."

You knew your husband well enough to know that he wasn't a man of many words; he showed his affection through actions, and you knew that he'd do his best to find time to see you, and it made your heart flutter as he pushed off from the table. He seemed to hesitate again, just briefly, before he took two big steps toward you. When he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body, his hand reached for your face, pulling you half-way until his lips barely brushed yours.

It made you gasp, your eyes widening as your cheeks flushed, and you felt more than you saw, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. He hummed softly, and your lips tingled before he finally gave you a kiss that made your head spin. But as soon as he kissed you, he was pulling back, his tongue licking over his bottom lip as he cleared his throat like he was restraining himself. "Good morning, by the way."

And then he was gone, back outside with your two dogs at his heels while you slumped into the kitchen counter.

How were you supposed to be productive today after that?

Three hours later, you give up trying to work from home entirely when you're too distracted by your husband working outside. Your office faces the East, filling the small room full of fabrics in a warm glow, and giving you the perfect view of your husband riding the tractor he fixed. He's going up and down in the field to your left, and you're going insane alone with your unfinished projects.

Even from where you stood in the Big House, you could see that more buttons had come undone on his flannel, exposing his skin to the sunlight, and leaving you in a trance that makes you shake your head literally. You only got like this, dazed, with your husband; you were usually more composed, focused, and a little cold out in public. You owned and ran your own business, all from money you had earned through hard work, and it had taken years to get where you were now.

You had finally started becoming a recognized brand that was highly respected, and it was because you could remain composed, level, and meticulous in everything you did.

That's why no one would ever believe you if you told them you were in the kitchen making homemade lemonade as an excuse to see your husband instead of working.

You were still in your pajamas, your ruffled shorts hidden under your husband's old t-shirt as you added water to the pretty pitcher you had been gifted for your wedding. All the lemons you had stored on the kitchen counter had been juiced, and your cheeks were flushed from the silliness you felt by doing this. You could just go outside and call him over. You knew he'd drop everything, but you had no reason to interrupt his work. So, you didn't stop your lame excuse and grabbed the sugar from your pantry to stir in with your water until the lemonade was as sweet as the lemonade you could get from the state fair.

Once you were satisfied, you poured a tall glass with ice full of your lemonade before you ventured out the sliding glass door in your kitchen. Your stomach flipped as you realized you had no shoes to wear that wouldn't get ruined by mud, and you decided to carefully shake out your husband's extra pair of cowboy boots before you stepped in them.

The boots were old, worn, and dusty, but it was all you had, even if they didn't go with your outfit and they felt a little big to be walking in. Nevertheless, you were determined, and with the glass of lemonade in one hand, you stepped off the porch in search of your husband.

Luckily, it was not too hard to find him; you only had to glance at the field you last saw him in before you saw the barn door open in the distance. He must be getting ready to saddle one of the horses, and the thought alone made you walk faster so you wouldn't miss him.

The red barn was one of the bigger ones on the farm. Jihoon had four in total, not including the Big House, and they had been on this land long before he was even born. They had withstood rainstorms, snow, and a flood back in the eighties, and the goal was that they would be here long after him. Some paint peeled now and then, and Woozi would have to hire contractors to come look at a leak in the roof soon, but most of the time, it was the sanctuary he gave himself in between tasks for the day.

Amongst the stalls for the horses, and the extra bales of hay in the corner, the barn also housed all the gear he needed to saddle his horse or brush them after a long day, and a little workbench he was currently leaning against to give himself a small break. He was hoping to finish early to see you back home sooner, and he had been so lost daydreaming about you from this morning that he hadn't noticed you hesitantly walking in until you were calling for him softly.

"I made lemonade."

Woozi blinks; his flannel is fully open now, and he catches the way your eyes flicker down to the lines and ridges of his abs as you come to a halt a couple of feet away from him. His lips twitch, an amused grin almost showing on his face as his dark eyes move from you standing there like his greatest temptation and the cup of lemonade in your left hand.

"You made lemonade?" He mused, and he leaned further back against the workbench, allowing his flannel to fall from his sides. He can see you shift from one foot to the other like you were unsure of yourself, out of your element, and it's then that he realizes you're wearing more of his stuff than before, and the sight of it makes his cock twitch in delight.

"Yeah, I uh," you lick your lips and trail off because your mind is wandering south just like your eyes. You briefly wonder what it'd feel like being bent over the desk he's leaning on, and your thighs squeeze together pathetically in response. "I uh, thought maybe you'd be thirsty."

Thirsty. Jihoon nods to himself, agreeing he's thirsty, but not for your lemonade.

He stands up, slow and confident, loving that you made this excuse to see him, and he walks closer with deliberate, languid steps. His pretty wife, it seems, had been thinking about him as much as he has been thinking about you all day today. And when he finally takes your cup from your hand, he's all but backed you into one of the haystacks with a knowing smirk that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"You're right," He hums and keeps eye contact with you as he sets the cup to the side on an adjacent haystack. His hands find their way to your waist, slipping under his shirt to touch your hips without anything in the way, and the feel of his calloused fingertips against your smooth skin makes your eyelashes flutter. "I am thirsty," he says it low and deep, and you're clutching onto his biceps as he lifts you to sit on the haystack with ease.

From this height, your hips are the height of his chest, and your gasp echoes as your husband pulls your ass to the edge, his eyes sparkling while heat pools in your stomach.

"You gonna let me fix that, my love? Let me have a taste after working so hard in the sun today." His words make your heart pick up the pace, stuttering in your chest, and you find yourself nodding dumbly as his fingers hook into your ruffled shorts and panties.

He drags the two pieces of clothing down until they are balled up next to the useless cup of lemonade, and then he's pushing you back gently, forcing you onto your back as he manhandles your knees to your chest, exposing your pretty pussy to the open air.

It should be embarrassing how wet you already are, and how much more of your slick seeps from your puffy folds when Jihoon moans. He hasn't even done anything but stare, watching how your sensitive clit glitters with your juices as he stands over you. "Always so good for me," he praises, and you're unable to speak when he dives right in.

His hot tongue is thick, and the wet muscle laps up your slit like you're his favorite meal. And maybe, it's because you are. His fingers dig into the fat of your thighs, keep you spread open, and his nose buries itself against your clit as he slurps obscenely, letting the noises echo in the big barn. It's dirty how he has you, with your ass hanging on the edge of the haystack as he messily makes out with your cunt, but you've also never been more turned on.

Your hands scramble to hold onto something, anything, before you bring his face closer to your pretty pussy, your hips rocking up to match the filthy thrusts of his tongue plunging into your sopping cunt.

The familiar heat in your stomach swirls tighter with each sloppy shake of Jihoon's head between your plush thighs, and your cries resonate in the tall barn louder, mixing with his lovesick groans. "This is just - hah - what I needed-" He confesses, and you feel his hand leave your thigh before two of his fingers stuff your cunt with a sticky squelch. Your eyes swirl, and your jaw drops, and Jihoon dives back in, sucking your clit into his mouth with a precise curl of his fingers that makes your ears ring.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, bringing your orgasm closer, and your whimpers turn more wrecked as he focuses on the soft spots inside you that have you thrashing underneath him.

"You don't even know how much I wanted to fuck you when I saw you this morning." His words come out between his tongue lapping on your pulsing clit, and the deep plunges of his thick fingers inside your pussy. His lips and jaw are dripping with your arousal, and he's only more determined to make a mess out of you as he keeps talking you through it. "Just - ngh - wanted to bend ya' over our kitchen table, see if your pretty pussy was still molded to m'cock from last night."

Your gasp comes out choked, and your gummy walls tighten around his three digits, squeezing him in pulses as your orgasm crashes through you suddenly. You cry out his name when you cum, and Jihoon replaces his fingers with his tongue, slurping your slick while his thumb rubs sloppy hearts into your clit, fucking you through it with a happy groan. He rides out every wave of your orgasm until your noises come out silent and you're oversensitive, weakly pushing on his head to let you go.

When Woozi finally listens, he places a sweet kiss on your trembling thighs before he stands back up from his hunched position. Your arousal coats his nose, lips, and jaw with a glittering shine that has your cheeks blushing a darker shade, and the pleased smirk he gives you when you lie there boneless has your pussy fluttering with new tremors.

You watch him lick his lips before grabbing your forgotten lemonade. He makes sure you're watching as he takes a sip, sighing in contentment before he gives you a teasing wink. "Sweet, but you're sweeter."

When the leaves change colors in the fall, the farm changes with it. It'd been an annual event for the pumpkin patch to be held on your husband's farm. It'd been the designated place for generations, so as the spooky holiday neared, your work balanced between running your business in town and creating side projects to decorate your land for the town to enjoy with their family and friends.

The usual staples would be provided, like bobbing for apples, hay rides, pumpkin picking, and a corn maze that you were determined to make spooky enough for the teenagers when they came during the evening. It was always like that: kids and families came during the day for wholesome fun, and then teenagers and young adults came in the evening for date night and scares. You were proud to be a part of this tradition, and the whole town helped, so it wasn't just on you and your husband's shoulders.

Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Dino came early to help your husband set up tables, guide food trucks to a clear field, and put up structures that you had painted the week before. Seungkwan supervised not only the kids' activities because he was everyone's favorite school teacher, but also the rest of the town on what their job was and how to do it properly. He had muttered to you that otherwise no one would do it right, and it made you hide your grin behind your hand as he sauntered off to find Vernon, who was supposed to have the raffle tickets for the prizes that would be won later.

You had felt like you had been pulled in every other direction putting this whole thing together, and it also felt like you had hardly seen your husband unless it was across the way, and he was busy with another task with one of the boys. You'd catch him lifting hay bales, muscles flexing under the autumn sun, before someone would come to talk to you about an activity, distracting you from your view of your man, and when you looked back moments later, he'd be gone. The moments seemed to build as time went on, and before you had realized it, hours had passed, and the kids and families were gone, while the evening rolled in with the next wave of people.

Eventually, you'd find yourself back inside the Big House, which was off-limits to others but your husband and you, and it was your solace as you leaned on the kitchen sink with a heavy sigh. The kitchen window gave you a view of adults mingling around, laughing and talking, and you felt satisfied with how the event turned out, even if you were tired and missing your husband more than usual. The last time you had seen him, it was just before four in the afternoon, and Seungkwan was hosting the last kids' bobbing for apples activity with you right next to him.

Your eyes had wandered from Seungkwan's dramatic flair on how to actually bob for apples to the tractor dragging the hitched trailer full of families, your husband being the person behind the wheel as he drove it around for everyone.

Jihoon had his black cowboy hat tipped back, his posture relaxed and confident, and the urge to kiss him consumed you so suddenly you felt frozen. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him, watching as he drove nearer, and as if he could feel you staring, his head turned, and his dark eyes caught yours like two magnets snapping together.

With one look, your breath caught, your cheeks flushed, and Jihoon's lips curved up in amusement. When he was close enough, he tipped his hat to you nice and slow, a teasing smile dancing on his face as he murmured, "My love," before driving by. It was just two words, but it was enough to make your tummy flip and your neediness grow as Seungkwan redirected your attention to the kids who were clamoring to bite one apple from one of the five barrels in front of them.

You had spent the rest of the day in a daze, your eyes glossed over with very little attention span, and you hadn't even realized you were no longer alone in your kitchen until your husband spoke up.

"My love," those two little words snap you from your wandering thoughts, and your head turned to look over your shoulder towards your husband, who was wearing the same teasing smile as before.

When you realize you're finally alone with him, your body moves faster than your mind, and you're not hesitating as you pull him into a kiss that makes his warm hands squeeze your hips with a groan. You take charge of the kiss easily, nipping on his bottom lip with your teeth as your hand snakes down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. You make quick work of his belt, sliding his zipper down and unbuttoning his jeans until they bunch at his knees with an eagerness that makes his head spin.

He lets out a strangled noise when you pull back from his kiss just enough to see his eyes swirl, and his cheeks darken with a blush. His hat is tilted back, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his cock is growing a tent in his boxers as your palm rubs against it, squeezing him through the thin material that separates him from you.

Precum oozes from his tip, staining the fabric enough for you to see, and your smile is all seduction as he holds onto the kitchen counter tightly. "Were you missing me, too?" You asked Jihoon with a flutter of your eyelashes. You've taken to stroking him through his boxers, circling your thumb around the tip until heat ached down to his lower stomach. His abdomen tensed, his knuckles whitened, and your husband looked too good being this wrecked over a few tugs of your hand.

"Baby-" His moan came out desperate, his hooded eyes never leaving yours as his hips twitched under your hand. "Fuck, yeah- ngh - missed you s'much." Your touch became firmer as he stuttered through his words, and your hand moved underneath the waistband of his boxers to feel him hot and pulsing under your palm.

The mere touch of your hand made a whine slip from his lips, and his head tilted backwards as you used his precum as lubricant to tug on his cock. Obscene "schlick!" noises resonated in the kitchen as the event happened just twenty feet away outside your kitchen window, and your husband's head began to fill with nothing but the way your hand felt around his cock, and the pretty smile you gave as the wet repetitive sound of your hand pumping deliberate strokes grew more frequent with each squeeze you gave to his tip.

His hips moved in tandem with your hand, thrusting his cock into your tight grip, and just when he thought you couldn't get any hotter, you're sinking onto your knees between his spread legs.

His cock is heavy, weighing down from the amount of blood that rushed south to it, and his tip is cherry red with need. The sight of him, hard, pulsing, and leaking gooey precum profusely, has your mouth watering, and you're only able to give him a cheeky wink before his vision swims, and your warm mouth swallows his tip with a satisfied moan.

"Oh fuck," his curse comes out choked off, and his muscles flex as the coil of pressure in his abdomen tightens to an overwhelming tremor. His breath leaves his lungs, and your mouth slides further down his cock until his hand comes to twist in your hair. He doesn't pull you off or guide your movements; he just uses it as a hold to keep himself grounded as your mouth slurps his cock all the way down to the base.

Your nose brushes the trimmed hair on his pelvis, and his balls tighten with each wet, slobbery bob of your head. The slippery friction of your warm mouth leaves him gasping for air as you take him all the way down your throat before going back up to swirl your tongue around his tip. The sloppy sucks of your lips wrapped around his shaft increase, your pace picking up, and his hand on the back of your head gets heavier with each filthy "gulk!" your throat makes when his cock stuffs it to the brim.

After a few more bobs from you, he can't take it anymore, and he holds your head still, his hips rolling forward on their own accord as he takes over. The pleasure became too much, and your eyes watered as he fucked your mouth, your name coming out as a thankful chant. When he looked down at you, his eyes were blown wide, glossy like your lips, and the sight of you blinking up at him as you let him use you was enough to make the pressure building inside him burst.

His hips jutted forward, his thrusts stuttering into an erratic rhythm as his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that colors exploded behind his eyelids. Your name tore through his throat, raw and undone, echoing in the room as a mix between a broken sob and a gasp. All of his muscles locked up, his hand keeping your head down on his cock, forcing your throat to swallow around his thick length as his tip twitched with the first wave of his release.

His thighs trembled, and he fought to stay upright as you sucked on his sensitive tip until you had swallowed every last drop of his cum. Your tongue massaged the pulsing veins down his length, and when the waves of pleasure began to subside, you finally let him go with a wet "pop!"

Your tongue licked your lips clean as he slumped into the kitchen counter, out of breath, and you stood up slowly, getting onto your tiptoes as you gave him another slow kiss, letting him taste himself on your tongue. "I missed you." You murmured against his lips, and his fingers curled into your dress tighter, bringing you closer.

The coldness that creeps in, foreboding the coming of winter, brings slower work for Woozi; by this point, he's moved his cattle from one area to the next, and he's prepping the old land they were on for better growth for next spring as he manages the shorter days with less sun.

He's still busy almost the entire day, but with it being the colder season, he's able to finish up earlier with fewer tasks needing his attention, which allows him to have dinner with you on a four-day regular basis, an upgrade to your normal two- to three-day dinner dates.

You two work in tandem to cook a home-cooked meal, provided by his hard work, whenever you can, and while you insist on cooking, he insists on setting the table once he's finished with work for the day. The routine is simple: you arrive at the Big House around five-thirty like usual, and immediately get to cooking, and once Jihoon comes in for the day, you're usually half-way done with dinner to allow him to wash up and set the table in the meantime. You two don't really talk as much during this time; you know your husband isn't much for talking unless necessary, so you're not prepared when he comes in a little later than usual and sets his black cowboy hat down on the kitchen counter without so much of a glance.

His walk is heavier than usual, his eyes set on you as you stir the pasta you had made in the pot, and a shiver runs up your spine when you meet his dark eyes. "I just need to make the salad, and dinner should be ready," you say, and you mistake the hunger in his eyes for food. You don't know he's had a rough day, that every little thing seemed to go wrong, and he had pent his frustration in a slow swirl that tightened up like a rattlesnake's tail that jittered in warning before striking.

The silence hangs heavily between you both, and you could feel the air shift, electrifying the tension, and you had made the fortunate move of flipping the stove top burner off before you spoke up again.

"I just need you to set the table-" you are unable to finish your sentence before your husband reaches for you. The rattlesnake struck, gripping you with strength that made you gasp as you were whirled around the kitchen until your chest met your kitchen table. The wood table was cold against the little slip dress you had worn to work. The thin material hugged your body, stretching tight when Jihoon manhandled you to bend over the table, and your arms were behind your back before you could say his name in alarm.

His one hand holds both of your wrists in a taut grasp, and another gasp leaves your glossy lips when his cowboy boot kicks your legs open wider. You can feel his hips against your ass, his buckle digging into the end of your dress, and your cheeks flush as you feel his cock is already hard under his fitted jeans. "I'm going to fuck you." His words come out confident, a sureness that makes your pussy clench in anticipation, and you're rewarded with a roll of his hips as he continues to talk. "And you're gonna cum on my cock twice before we have the dinner you've made, okay?"

You're pinned to the kitchen table, his jeans rubbing against the back of your thighs, and your panties are soaked, sticking to your folds as you nod your head quietly. You can hear him huff a little laugh, smug, and his hands tighten around your wrists as he flips your dress up, dragging your panties down just enough to give him access to your pretty cunt.

You expect him to be rough, to take you right then and there, but instead, he's much worse. He's a tease.

His thick fingers find your clit with ease, and your arousal drips down his digits as he strokes your nub with light touches. His denim jeans are tight over his wide thighs, and they are keeping you in place as he teases your cunt with slow caresses. He winds you up with knowing accuracy, rubbing sloppy hearts into your clit until your cunt is all but weeping slick down your trembling thighs.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your cunt, and your breathy moans, and Jihoon lets out a sigh like this was exactly what he needed. His eyes can't stop staring at your quivering pussy, the way your hole flutters as he plays with you, dragging his fingers through your dripping folds, teasing your entrance before going back to your pulsing clit like he knows you could cum from just this.

And you could; he's had you do it before, stroking your clit until you were throbbing around nothing, begging for his cock before you orgasmed with a cry of his name.

Tonight, he's too tense to have that happen again, and just as your hips are tilting back, pressing back onto his fingers with a wiggle that says you're about to cum - he stops. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, shoving his jeans sloppily down to his thighs, before he grabs your ass with a heavy hand. His cock aligns with your entrance perfectly, and the fat, blunt head of his cock is dark and leaking with his precum, coating your pussy and making your head spin with lust. You're just about ready to beg for him to move when he pushes his hips forward, sheathing his cock inside you in one full thrust.

Normally, your husband has you cumming on his fingers and mouth a few times before he gives you his cock, but tonight, he takes you like you're his personal cock sleeve. He holds your wrists in one hand behind your back and your hip in the other as he drags his heavy cock through your gummy walls, pushing out loud moans from your glossy lips each time he fills you to the hilt.

The table digs into your hips as his balls smack into your clit with little 'plap, plap, plaps', adding to your pleasure as he uses you hard and fast. You can only tilt your hips up to take each thrust with a whimper, your pussy slurping his cock deeper with each clap of his hips meeting your ass. The orgasm that builds in your stomach develops hotter with each stroke he gives, and you're rendered to a babbling mess as your pussy slobbers his cock with another wave of your slick. "Oh! Yes, yes, just like that!"

You barely hear your husband scoff, a smug smirk dawning on his face as he hooks your knee up onto the table. The new angle has him plugging his cock deeper into you, and your tongue lolls lewdly in response. "Just like that?" He croons condescendingly. "Yeah, you like it when I fuck my frustration out on you? Hah, look at you - you're soaking me."

Your legs tremble, and his thrusts pick up pace, bringing drool to the corner of your mouth as he reaches under you to find your puffy clit. He rubs the pretty nub with quick and mean circles, and you're unable to warn him fast enough before something snaps inside you. Your orgasm bursts like the wail you let out, and your cunt spasms into a vice grip around his cock, pulsing in tremors that make Jihoon's hips stutter.

"That's it, let it all out for me, Baby." He praises, and your pussy quivers as he keeps rubbing your clit, his thrusts growing harder as he changes his pace to fuck you deep and slow. He makes you feel every inch plunge through your gushing channel, until you're realizing just how much of a mess you've made. You can feel your cum drip down your thighs, and your cheeks flush as your second orgasm builds quicker than the first.

"Ji-Jihoon! It's too - ngh - too much! M'gonna - oh fuck, fuck," Your moan turns into a squeal as your body locks up; you've barely stopped the trembling in your thighs before you're gushing for the second time. Your stomach tightens, your pussy clamps down on his thick cock, and your vision darkens as he smacks your clit with his wet fingers.

You think you forget how to breathe, because one moment your vision blackens, and the next you're gasping for air as Jihoon curses behind you. "Fuck, you're perfect." You can hear his teeth grinding together, and your pussy is still milking his cock through your orgasm when you feel his cock swelling as he cums. Every inch of his shaft rubs your sensitive walls deliciously, and you can feel every spurt of his cock filling your cunt with his cum as he groans loudly behind you.

His hips grind into your ass, his cock painting your pussy white, and it's then that he finally lets go of your wrists. You feel your arms drop to your sides while he rubs his hands down your back, keeping you stuffed with his cock and cum as he praises you. "You did so good for me, my love; you made such a mess- even squirted for me." He sighs blissfully, and your cunt squeezes his cock instinctively at his words.

You're pretty sure your pasta was cold now, but you couldn't care less; you felt warm and satisfied as your husband rubbed your hips and back with deep circles, praising you with more compliments as you lay boneless over the kitchen table.

There are only a few days Jihoon takes off from working his farm. If he had it his way, he'd work even on his birthday, but you'd never allow that. You always claimed that the ranch could handle one day without him, and one small finger from you pointed at his chest with a determined glint in your eye had him shutting up any protest as he hung up his hat for the night, following you to bed as you slowly led the way with an enticing sway of your hips.

But old habits die hard, and Woozi wakes before the sun does. His eyes flutter open, and the first thing he notices is that your soft body is tucked into his as your leg drapes over his hip. It's quiet, the stillness before the dawn, and your little sleepy noises that you huff into his neck make his heart warm all over. It was always hard to leave you in the mornings, even when his body moved on autopilot.

Mornings were definitely not in his favor; his eyes could barely stay open as his hair jutted out every which way, and the only balm he gave himself was by making a strong cup of coffee to start his day. As the coffee dripped into the pot, he grabbed two mugs out of habit, one for himself and the other chosen specifically for you. Today, he chooses a pink one dotted with tiny red hearts all over it just for you.

When the coffee is done, the sky has barely changed color; it's still dark, but the first glimpses of it lightening up are seen just behind the mountains to the East, and he takes his cup of coffee onto the back porch.

Your porch wraps around the entirety of the Big House, but Woozi likes to stay on the back half, looking over all the land he worked hard to maintain. Two of the red barns are back here, and the chicken coop is around the corner, so as everyone sleeps, he sighs and leans his hip into the porch railing as he finally takes his first sip of coffee for the day.

He drinks his coffee mostly black; the bitterness shoots through his veins, waking him up faster, and his brows pinch as it warms his body over the cold morning air. Usually, if he were working, he'd drink his first cup of coffee just like this. He'd take the brief moment of quiet before grabbing his second cup to go as he headed out to check up on all the animals. He only allowed himself two cups of coffee; otherwise, his body would get too jittery, his brain would drift, and the urge to "fuck all" and find his wife would be too unbearable to resist. Essentially, nothing would get done but you, so he had to have some restraint as he would call your two dogs to follow him on his heels.

But none of that matters today, though; it's his birthday, his wife was naked in his bed upstairs, and when he finished his first cup of coffee, he planned to celebrate with his head between your thighs, waking you up with the warmth of his tongue to start your day off right.

The thought alone makes him smirk to himself, his cock growing in his jeans as he daydreams, and he's so lost in his own world he doesn't hear you until you're setting your pink mug of coffee right next to his on the porch railing.

"I woke up alone."

Your statement comes out quietly, calmly, and his dark eyes shift to the right, widening when he sees you standing there still as naked as he had left you. "Baby, it's cold out here-" His body fully twists in your direction now, and his eyes can't help but dip and follow the curves and lines of his pretty wife as you give him a knowing grin.

"-then warm me up, cowboy. Make up for the fact you weren't in my bed this morning." Your little nickname was always an inside joke between you two, something you called him just to rile him up, and his plans to take you on the bed fly out the window entirely. A grin tugged onto the edge of his lips, matching your own, and his hands grabbed your waist so fast that you let out an involuntary yelp as he pulled you into him.

Your cold skin hummed with renewed heat as his hands rubbed down your back, and your moan got swallowed by his lips when he kissed you like there wasn't enough time in the world. He could feel your perky nipples against his chest, the goosebumps that ran down your arms, and the smile you two shared as he licked over your bottom lip before pulling back. "What are the magical words?" He teased low and deep, the morning raspiness in his tone making your thighs squeeze together in anticipation as his hardening cock pressed against your hip.

It was unfair how easily he could make your head clouded with lust, and your nails lightly scratched down his sides to provoke a little inhale from him as you watched his pupils blow wide with hunger. You leaned up, brushing your lips over his, and smiled at the tingling you felt all the way down to your toes. "Happy birthday, my love."

Jihoon groaned, and you laughed as you two were brought down onto the floor by him. He didn't bother even making it inside with you as his body covered yours, right there on the back porch, and his hips slotted between your legs as he squeezed your ass playfully. His head dipped down, and his teeth nipped the curve of your neck, bringing another round of giggles from you as he spoke into your ear with an affectionate scoff. "I was looking for, please, Darling, not some cheesy happy birthday." He huffed, and an adoring pinch to your side made your hips buck up into his.

Your pussy slid up his jean-covered bulge, and both of you groaned as his own body reacted to yours instinctively. Every time your hips rolled, his hips responded, grinding into your exposed cunt, dragging the seam of his jeans over your pretty clit until your arousal seeped onto the front of his jeans with a darkening wet patch.

You were so pretty, lying underneath him, dry humping him out in the open, and he knew he was going to take you right here in the cold early morning, but before Woozi could pin you down, your knees pressed into his hips, and your body used his weight to roll you two around until you were on top.

Your weight settled back onto his lap as he found himself lying on the creaky wooden floor in surprise, and your hands rested on his chest as your hips swiveled again, grinding over his lap as he held onto your waist with a moan. "Birthday boys don't need a please; they just need to be good and take what they're given." Your husband's head fell back, exposing his neck, and your smile turned a little condescending as you looked down on him. "Now, are you going to let me ride my cowboy, or what?"

Jihoon gave a short, jerky nod in consent, his vision blurring a little as his cock pulsed in need from your words. He barely made out the two coffee mugs still steaming on the railing before you made quick work of his jeans, unbuckling his belt, and sliding his zipper down. He helped you shove his jeans down to the middle of his thighs with his boxers, and you were already soaking wet as you leaned up on your knees to reach back for his hefty cock.

There is no prep, no teasing, just your hand guiding his cock to your entrance, and then your pretty pussy engulfing his shaft inch by mouth-watering inch with such warmth that his tongue slaps the roof of his mouth as his eyes roll back in pleasure.

Your pussy creates a filthy and sticky squelch from the breach of his cock stretching you open, and you can feel every thumping inch of his cock rub deliciously along your gummy walls as his weeping tip reaches places you didn't even know existed as your ass finally meets his hips in one swift swoop. Fuck, this was Jihoon's favorite position for a reason, and it shows when your head falls back and your eyes cross lewdly from the feeling of him stuffing you full.

Each time your hips slam down, driving his cock deeper into your wet heat, dirty "plap, plap, plaps!" resonate in the open air as your skin smacks into his. Your gyrations only got nastier with each twist of your hips, and the feel of his plump cock swiveling around inside you so deliciously had his jaw gritting, his muscles straining, as you rode him like he was a prized bull.

This was heaven, and he says as much as his eyes fixate on your bouncing tits, your face showing him the fucked-out expression he loved seeing you wear when you got cock drunk. One of his hands displays his fingers over your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as his other hand snakes up your curved back, bringing you lower until his lips could wrap around one of your perky nipples.

He sucks with a hard pull, and the new angle has his cock drilling into your sweet spot like a bullseye, making your entire body jolt as he bucks his hips upwards to meet your movements. An adorable "ah!" shrills from your gaping mouth, and your legs burn as every inch of your velvety walls gets massaged by his thickening shaft.

You were being fucked, and your brain lags the information that you weren't in control anymore, even if you were on top. Woozi's hand slips between your two sweaty bodies, his fingers spreading your puffy folds open even more, and you're babbling in desperation as his teeth graze your nipple with a grin. "Wait! Wait- I'm-" Your words slur, and Jihoon can't help but place a mean smack on your clit, splashing your juices across his fingertips as his other hand held your hips in place.

"So gorgeous," Your husband praises, and your cunt drools at the feeling of his cold wedding band on his left hand rubbing against your hot, pulsing clit in beckoning swirls, smoothing the harsh sting he gave your little nub seconds before.

You're not sure if it was the way he used his wedding band against your quivering cunt or the way his cock continued to bruise your g-spot with a mean accuracy, or if it was because he was looking at you like you were the greatest gift on this earth, but your orgasm slams through you suddenly, knocking every last thought from your brain as his lips crash into yours.

You feel your cunt gush all around him, splattering your juices, and his fingers make quick, swift smacks onto your pulsing clit until you're squirting hard, crying into his mouth as his tongue licks over yours with a deep groan.

When you finally pull away, Jihoon is chasing after your lips, and your pussy is still spasming through your orgasm as your slick spreads across his lap every time you fucked yourself down on his hard cock. You can barely see Jihoon's lovesick grin on his face behind your teary eyes, and his voice sounds as wrecked as you feel when he rasps, "Such a messy wife I got, huh? Squirting all over me."

Your pussy clenches wantonly, milking his weeping cock pitifully, and Jihoon's balls tense, his pupils dilating into hearts as you look at him with glossy eyes. You don't have to speak for him to know what you're wanting, and the two of you roll around again until your husband is pushing your knees to your chest, forcing you into a nasty mating press.

Maybe taking the day off for his birthday wasn't that bad after all.

The sun provides a welcoming warmth across your face as you lean back on the peach tree in April. Your chin tilts up, and your eyes close, basking in the sun's rays of spring while the green leaves cover you with partial shade. All the peaches look ripe and juicy, and a few of them are piled to your left on the blanket you're sitting on, and you can't help but think about how the past year has flown by so quickly.

You'd gotten married, built your business up even more, and had fallen for your husband more and more each day that passed. Your lips pull up into a sweet grin as you think about it, and you open your eyes just enough to glance down at your lap.

Jihoon's wearing the same type of flannel he wears almost every day, along with his worn jeans and dusty cowboy boots. The only thing missing is the black cowboy hat that he took off so he could lay his head across your lap. He had placed it by your foot, your legs stretched out over the picnic blanket, and your fingers scratch his scalp in soothing swirls, making his lips part as he exhaled a long, happy sigh.

You two had been sitting here for over an hour now, taking in the cool breeze, the green leaves surrounding the beautiful peaches, and the warmth of the sun. You're pretty sure your husband could fall asleep like this, and the thought brings a giggle that makes him barely crack his eyes open with curiosity. "What's so funny?"

Your head shakes, and his eyebrow quirks as your fingers swirl through his dark hair, combing through the long strands that now reach his shoulders. "Nothing, m'just thinking." Your left hand rests on his chest, and your wedding ring shines as you move your right hand from his head to grab one of the peaches you two picked together earlier.

Jihoon doesn't try to pry any further; instead, he watches as you take a bite of the plump fruit, the juices coating your tongue with sweetness that makes your smile grow until he can't take it any longer and he reaches for you. You've barely swallowed your bite before your husband's leaning up and bringing you down for a slow kiss, curling his tongue over yours to taste the same sweetness you just experienced.

He cups the back of your head as his tongue licks over your mouth, kissing you with a softness he only reserved for you, and your head slowly begins to fill with cotton.

When he pulls back, his forehead leans against yours as you two catch your breath, and his nose nudges yours softly. He's smiling, pulling you into another kiss that makes you melt into him, and the both of you sink onto the blanket under the big peach tree as he mumbles across your lips, "I love you."

He repeats the three words like a mantra, kissing down your neck as his hands worship your body, taking his time to show you how much he means it.

And while your husband makes his way south, sliding your dress up your soft thighs, your smile feels permanent - your love overflowing your heart as you say it back, taking over his chants as he places the first kiss on your inner knee.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

대박 - you made it to the end!

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And yet—there he was.

Yeon Si-eun, still hunched over his desk, furiously scribbling equations like he was trying to earn early admission to university. The late afternoon sun spilled across his notebook, casting warm stripes across the paper and his too-pale skin. You blinked at the sight of it. He looked almost sepia-toned, like a photo too old for this classroom.

You’d already packed up your things. Your bag hung loosely off your shoulder as you moved to the desk behind his, dropping onto the surface with a soft thud.

“Seriously?” you muttered, half to yourself. “You do know this is the part where people go home, right?” You tried to tease, it usually works.

But he didn’t look up. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even grunt in acknowledgment. His pen scratched across the page like he was trying to outrun something…his own mind, maybe. You watched him for a moment, lips pressing into a line.

He wasn’t enjoying this school. That much was obvious. The students were loud, nosy, and way too touchy for someone like him. So far, you’d both stuck to yourselves. A team of two. Silent solidarity.

But even teammates needed breaks.

You slid off the desk and stepped around to the front of his. He still hadn’t looked up. Your eyes softened as you took in the tense slope of his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw.

Without a word, you reached out and gently placed your hand over his—his non-writing one. You felt the subtle twitch beneath your palm, but he didn’t pull away. That, at least, was something.

“Si-eun,” you said, gently, “you need a break. We can continue this at your apartment, okay? Loosen up a little. It’s day one. We don’t eve—”

“I’m not hungry.”

His voice cut through the warmth like ice. Low. Dismissive. Sharper than it needed to be.

You blinked, caught off guard.

He never used that tone with you.

Slowly, your eyes found his face, but he still wouldn’t meet yours. Just kept staring at the numbers in front of him like they offered him an escape hatch.

You didn’t let go of his hand. If anything, your fingers curled a little tighter around his.

“You haven’t eaten properly in days.”

That’s when he snapped.

“Stop watching me like I’m going to break.”

His voice wasn’t loud. But it landed like a punch.

“I’m fine,” he said, more forcefully now. “I don’t need you monitoring me every second.”

The sting hit quickly, but clean. You didn’t flinch. You just stared down at him, the lines of your expression softening—not in hurt, but in understanding. Like you were watching a wounded animal bare its teeth to hide a limp. The transition to the new school was hard, which is why you made sure you planted yourself beside Si-eun at all times.

Both of you cared deeply for each other.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. 

Your fingers slipped from his. No dramatics. No accusations.

Just a quiet release.

You turned away and began to gather your things—slowly, methodically. As if giving him time to regret the words, though you knew he probably wouldn’t. Not yet.

“I’ll give you space, then,” you murmured, offering him a tired smile he never looked up to see.

And then you left.

No slamming door. No final look over your shoulder. Just your fading footsteps and the soft creak of the classroom door sliding close behind you.

And silence.

The silence lingered, thick and unmoving, settling into Si-eun’s chest like a lead weight he hadn’t realized he was already carrying. He stared at the door long after you left, your absence ringing louder than your voice ever did. He didn’t mean to snap. Not really. The words had come out before he could stop them—sharp, defensive, unkind. And now they echoed back at him like guilt in disguise.

He’d been on edge for days. Tense in his own skin, sleep slipping through his fingers like sand. You didn’t know why, and he didn’t want you to. He thought you both left all that behind—the bruises, the blood, threats of gangs in the halls.

But this school was no fresh start. If anything, it was a reminder. Eunjang High had long been a target. And now that the two of you had transferred in, people were watching. Waiting.

And Si-eun hated that.

He hated that you were being pulled into it again. That you were tied to his side like gravity. That every time you stood beside him—offering warmth, concern, loyalty—it painted a bigger bullseye on your back. You, always looking out for him. You, reaching for his hand even when he didn’t deserve it.

The thought that you might get hurt just for being close to him made something twist in his gut. And instead of protecting you, he pushed you away.

Again.

A few days had passed since that afternoon, and Si-eun was starting to realize just how much he hated how easy you were with him.

Not careless. Not naive. Just... forgiving. Too forgiving, maybe.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t demand a reason. You didn’t even raise your voice when he snapped. You simply accepted the distance like it was something natural, like you expected it from him. And that quiet understanding twisted something deep inside his chest.

He could still see you, always near, but just far enough.

You hadn’t disappeared. You still showed up to class, still passed by him in the halls. Still offered soft nods when your eyes met his, but your smile never quite reached your eyes anymore. You didn’t sit beside him. You stared out the window during lessons like you were somewhere else entirely. Your laughter, once a steady rhythm in his day, was gone. Swallowed by the silence he created.

And yet...

You waited.

Not obviously. Not desperately. But in the way you lingered a second longer when you passed by. In the way your gaze would flick toward the empty seat beside you before looking away. How you still brought an extra snack with you, placing it quietly on the corner of your desk, untouched until the bell rang.

As if holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d take the seat next to you again.

You waited for him, even when he pushed you away.

And he didn’t know how to deal with that. Because you should’ve given up by now. Should’ve called him out, told him he was being cruel. But you didn’t

You were still you. Just... quieter now.

Si-eun hated it.

He missed your voice, your strange, unexpected questions. Missed your reckless midnight knocks on his door, the way you'd laugh as you fell onto his couch like it was yours. Most of all, he missed how alive things felt when you were close.

But more than anything, he hated that you made him feel like he was still worth waiting for. Even when he didn’t believe it himself.

He knew he wasn’t good with words. Your relationship had always lived in the quiet gestures. In the way you’d bring him snacks without asking, or how he’d automatically move to your side when you walked down a crowded hall.

Neither of you ever needed a confession to understand what you meant to each other.

Maybe that was why he never said anything when you stayed over at his apartment that night. Why he just held you in the dark, his fingers tracing soft, silent shapes across your back. Promises he couldn’t say aloud, but hoped you felt anyway.

He thought that was enough.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

So here he was.

In his small kitchen, standing stiffly like a malfunctioning robot, facing an open bento box like it was about to judge him and his instant noodles cooking skills.

His phone was propped up against a mug, playing a YouTube tutorial titled “Adorable Bento Box Ideas That’ll Melt Hearts 💕”. The woman’s voice chirped instructions with impossible cheer, and Si-eun was trying his best not to throw the rice at the wall.

This had been his plan. His brilliant plan: make your favorite food, pack it cutely, and show up with an apology in the form of edible sincerity because knowing what you liked was the easy part.

Actually making it?

Not so much.

He’d woken up ridiculously early—before sunrise. His kitchen now looked like a battlefield. Rice grains stuck to his elbow. A carrot shaped like a heart had somehow ended up on the ceiling. At one point, he was seriously considering using tweezers to adjust the angle of the tamagoyaki.

He also made sure his mom and dad were already gone because he wouldn’t live another day if they found him cutting up sausages in the form of a tiny squid.

It had taken him over two hours to cook everything and another thirty painstaking minutes to assemble it all, hunched over the bento like he was defusing a bomb.

Each part was placed with surgical precision. He was so focused that he didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until the final cherry tomato was set in place.

He stepped back and stared at it.

It was… actually kind of cute.

Embarrassingly cute.

There were little food dividers and a bunny-shaped onigiri that looked vaguely judgmental, but—it was done. He wrapped the box in a cloth the color of your favorite hoodie and held it up, inspecting it like he had just handcrafted an engagement ring.

He was embarrassed. He was nervous. His hands smelled like soy sauce and regret.

But at the very least, it was his way of saying: I’m sorry. You matter to me. Please don’t leave.

“…If you don’t like this,” he muttered to himself, glaring at the rabbit-shaped rice, “I’m never cooking again.” He doesn’t mind retaking the CSATs over and over again, and he would honestly choose that over assembling another Bento box.

The rabbit offered no encouragement.

With what little time he had left, Si-eun threw on his uniform, still mentally reciting the bento checklist as he slipped the lunchbox into his bag. His heart sat awkwardly in his chest—heavy, nervous, hopeful. You’re going to like it, he told himself. Hopefully.

What was that saying again? The way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. It was clinging to it like it was gospel.

Once he got to school, he tried to act normal. Calm. Composed.

He failed miserably.

He kept glancing at the classroom door every time it opened, eyes flicking up with that small hope—maybe that’s you. But every time, it wasn’t. And with each passing minute, his focus cracked a little more. The textbook in front of him might as well have been blank. All he could think about was you. And what he’d say when you finally walked in.

Words weren’t really his thing. He knew that. But he was trying—especially with you. He figured if he couldn’t say everything, he could at least show it.

That bento box was his apology in full color. His awkward, hand-packed declaration that he was sorry for pushing you away. That you mattered more than he could say out loud.

The first week at Eunjang had been hell for him.

But he waited.

And waited.

The teacher had already started the lesson, and your seat was still empty. He told himself you were just late. Slept in, maybe. Took a detour. That was all.

By lunch, the nerves had curdled into something heavier—concern.

The bento had gone cold. He hadn’t touched it. It just sat on the edge of his desk, untouched and painfully neat, like it was mocking him. He checked his phone again.

Five messages. Two missed calls.

Nothing back.

And that wasn’t like you. Not at all.

You always replied—sometimes even before he hit “send.” You’d once told him you liked when he messaged first, that it made your heart race a little. But now?

Radio silence.

No typing bubble. No read receipts. No trace of you.

And that was when the worry turned into dread.

Something was wrong, and Si-eun knew it.

He didn’t hesitate.

His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved it back, grabbing his bag with a sudden urgency that made heads turn. The teacher barely got out a concerned “Si-eun?” before he was already halfway out the door, not even sparing her a glance.

He didn’t care. Something was wrong.

He could feel it in his chest, tight and coiling like wire. His instincts were screaming, and he didn’t waste a second arguing with them. What if something had happened to you? What if his silence, his stubbornness, had cost him something he couldn’t fix?

He was already running before his mind could catch up with his legs. His bag bounced painfully against his shoulder, breath shallow as he tore through the school gates and down the familiar streets.

You always walked this way. This was your route. He scanned every corner, every alley, every crosswalk like he expected to see you just… standing there. Waiting.

But you weren’t.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He yanked it out with shaky fingers—only to find an email notification. Not you. Not even close.

He kept running.

A thousand thoughts slammed into him at once. Maybe you’re sick. Maybe you forgot your phone. Maybe you’re just mad at him and avoiding him. Maybe you’re fine—

But no. No, it wasn’t just silence.

It was the wrong kind of silence.

By the time he reached your building, his shirt clung to his back with sweat. His pulse thundered in his ears. He took the stairs two at a time until he finally stood in front of your door—panting, eyes wide, heart clawing up his throat.

He raised his hand to knock.

But stopped.

The door… it was ajar. Barely.

His stomach dropped.

He called out your name, voice tight with fear, already knowing you wouldn’t answer.

He pushed the door open.

The air was too still. Too quiet. And your apartment—

Wrecked.

Not ransacked—but wrong. Your things were still here, scattered across the floor like there’d been a struggle. Couch cushions tossed, your bag overturned, books torn from shelves. It looked rushed. Violent.

He called out your name again, louder now, not caring if his voice cracked. Desperation and anxiety seeped into every word, his tone trembling with a frantic edge. He needed to see you, to find you anywhere.

His footsteps pounded over debris as his eyes darted wildly through each room. Bedroom—empty, eerily silent. Bathroom—no sign of you, just cold emptiness. Closet—open and untouched, as if waiting. 

His breathing grew ragged, each inhale sharp and desperate. His throat constricted, the feeling of suffocation closing in like a vice.

Where were you?

What did they do to you?

He was sweating now, not from running, but from the sheer panic washing over him in waves. Every second felt like it was slipping through his fingers. His chest ached with the weight of a thousand what-ifs. This was his fault. If you were gone…if they took you—he—

Something in the air shifted.

A smell.

Faint… but sharp.

Smoke but not fire.

Cigarettes.

His stomach twisted as he followed it through the mess and into the dining area, where the smell was strongest.

There, on the table.

Two cigarette butts in an ashtray. One was already snuffed out. The other was still burning, smoke curling lazily into the air like a signature left behind.

Next to it was a torn scrap of paper. The edges were jagged, like it had been ripped from a notebook in a hurry. Scrawled across in messy, ink-blotted handwriting—

An address.

Si-eun’s hands trembled as he picked it up. The paper felt heavier than it should’ve. Like it was soaked in everything he feared.

They’d left it on purpose.

This wasn’t just a warning.

It was a message.

And he ran like hell.

Si-eun didn’t think—he couldn’t think.

The city blurred around him as he sprinted through alleyways and across intersections, ignoring horns, ignoring people shouting at him when he nearly collided into them. All he saw was that address. All he heard was the pounding of his own heart, louder than his footsteps, louder than the sickening silence of your absence.

When he reached the building, his breath hitched.

A warehouse—old, decaying, half its walls covered in flaking paint and rust. The chain-link fence around it sagged in places, barely holding up. It looked like it had been forgotten by time, but clearly, someone was still using it.

He could hear them before he even touched the door.

“Oh? I think loverboy’s finally here.”

A low laugh followed, thick with mockery and smoke.

Si-eun didn’t hesitate. He pushed the metal doors open so hard they groaned against their hinges, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness of night.

Inside, the air was heavy with smoke and sweat and something worse—fear.

Two guys stood in the middle of the warehouse, cigarettes dangling from their lips like sneers. But all Si-eun saw was you.

You were on the ground.

Tied up.

Trembling like a cornered animal.

Your body was slumped, sweat dripping from your temple, your clothes stained with dirt and the grime of the concrete floor. A bruise—deep and angry—wrapped around your arm like a mark of violence, evidence of how roughly you’d been dragged here. You looked exhausted. Shaken.

But when your eyes found Si-eun, they lit up—not with hope exactly, but with something stronger.

Bravery.

Even in that state, even with your body shaking, your gaze held fire. Defiance. You had fought.

And the proof was all over them.

One of the guys had three red slashes down his forearm, still bleeding. The other kept flexing his jaw like it had been hit. Blood was caked beneath your fingernails, dried and cracking. You hadn’t made it easy for them. You refused to be just another victim.

“Damn,” the first one muttered, shaking out his wrist. “Fucker scratches like a damn wildcat.”

The other exhaled smoke through his nostrils, smirking at Si-eun.

“Yo, Yeon Si-eun!” he called, voice oily. “You ever teach your little lover some manners?”

They laughed again—low, grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

And all the while, they still smoked. The warehouse reeked of it. The stench clung to the air like poison. And every time they leaned in too close to your face, you flinched, recoiling like it physically hurt to breathe the same air as them.

Si-eun saw red.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Every cell in his body screamed to move, to destroy, to tear them apart for what they’d done to you, for every bruise, every tear, every second you spent afraid and alone.

He stepped forward, slow and controlled, but his eyes were deadly.

“You made a mistake,” he said, voice low.

The taller thug scoffed, cracking his knuckles.

“Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?” 

Si-eun didn’t answer.

“You fucking mute?” One of them spat then suddenly—

One of them grabbed you.

Si-eun tensed.

Rough fingers tangled into your hair, yanking you up from the ground.

You screamed—not loud, not panicked, but sharp with pain. Your knees scraped along the concrete floor as the man dragged you forward like a ragdoll, forcing you upright. Your eyes met Si-eun’s, wide and desperate, your lips trembling as your bound hands tried in vain to brace yourself.

“Move again, and I’ll slit their damn throat right here,” the thug growled, pressing a bruised knuckle under your chin like a threat. You flinched. Si-eun’s body was frozen, but his eyes sharpened, calculating everything. Distance. Angles. Open hands. Breathing patterns.

“Oh, that got your attention,” the guy sneered. “You’re not that smart after all. This one’s gonna die because of you. That’s what you get for playing hero.”

Si-eun stepped forward.

“Let. Go.”

His voice didn’t shake. It was quiet and measured.

And suddenly, Si-eun moved.

No words. No hesitation.

His eyes had already scanned the room—the layout, the scattered crates, the exits, and most importantly, the distance between himself and them. His breathing slowed. He stepped lightly, measured, like a wire pulled taut but not yet snapped.

The taller one came at him first, cocky and sluggish—telegraphed. He shouted and rushed in, cigarette still dangling from his mouth.

A mistake.

Si-eun ducked under the wild swing, pivoting sharply on his heel, and drove his elbow straight into the guy’s solar plexus with brutal precision. The man doubled over with a choked grunt.

Si-eun didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the back of his head and slammed it down into his rising knee.

Once. Twice.

The guy crumpled like paper.

The second guy tossed you away, letting go of your hair, and reached for a metal pipe nearby, grabbing it with a grin.

“Let’s see how smart you are with your brains scattered all over the floor!”

He charged.

Si-eun grabbed a nearby broken chair leg from the ground.

They clashed.

Steel against wood. Splinters flew. The pipe clipped Si-eun’s shoulder, but he sidestepped, used the momentum against the guy, and kicked the side of his knee.

A sickening crack echoed.

The man screamed, stumbling—but Si-eun was already moving, crouching low and swinging the chair leg up, hard, across his jaw. The pipe clattered to the ground. Blood followed.

The man dropped.

Si-eun stood over him, chest heaving, the makeshift weapon still in his hand. The entire fight had taken maybe twenty seconds.

And now, silence.

The kind that rang too loudly in the aftermath.

Si-eun’s breath came out in shallow bursts, chest rising and falling as his adrenaline began to crash. But the second his eyes landed on you, everything else vanished—blood, bruises, pain—it all dulled beneath the sight of you curled on the cold floor, wrists bound, trembling, but alive.

He dropped to his knees beside you without hesitation.

Fingers shaking, bloodied knuckles scraping against the rope, he began untying the knots with silent urgency. You flinched when he brushed against your skin, but you didn’t pull away. Neither did he. His hands trembled more than yours did.

He was bruised—busted lip, a cut above his brow, his school shirt torn at the shoulder—but none of it mattered. Not to him. Not now.

Because you were here.

Alive.

And as soon as the last rope fell from your wrist, his thumbs moved instinctively to trace the angry marks the bindings left behind—his touch light, careful, reverent. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide with guilt, with something like disbelief. Like he wasn’t sure you were real, like he’d been holding his breath for days and finally just remembered how to exhale.

He whispered your name, like a prayer, like a plea, voice raw.

You didn’t let him finish.

“I know,” you said softly, hands reaching for him—one cupping his bruised cheek, the other tangling in his hair to bring him closer.

His lips parted. “I’m sor—”

“I know, Si-eun,” you repeated, firmer this time, but still gentle. “It’s okay.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, and the world finally stilled.

There were no more voices. No footsteps. No fire alarms in his chest. Just this—your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, his hands cradling your arms, your touch cradling his heart. He closed his eyes, let his breathing slow until it matched yours. Steady. Real.

The tremble in his hands faded.

A long, quiet moment passed. Then, finally, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s go.”

You nodded.

He helped you to your feet, arm sliding carefully around your waist to steady you—but really, he just needed to keep holding you. Maybe to convince himself he hadn’t lost you. Maybe because, after everything, he finally understood he didn’t want to let you go.

And you let him.

The walk back to Si-eun’s apartment was quiet but not the heavy kind weighed down by tension, but the kind that felt like exhaling after being underwater too long. Each step together steadied your breath. Each glance exchanged without words said, a reassurance: You’re safe now. We’re safe now.

When he told you to stay with him for a while, you didn’t question it. Your place was a mess…trashed, torn apart, haunted by what had happened. It would take time to fix, and you didn’t want to be alone. So you just nodded. A small, quiet part of you even felt something like warmth stir in your chest at the thought of being near him again and this time, without silence hanging between you.

Now, here you were.

Si-eun sat in his desk chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, jaw set but not in his usual, guarded way. He was still. Almost calm. The first-aid kit lay open across the table beside you, its contents half-used, wrappers and gauze scattered like the remains of battle. You hovered in front of him, focused on his bruised and bloodied hands.

Your own injuries were minor—scrapes, bruises, things that would fade. But his… his told a story. You could see it in every split knuckle and raw cut: he hadn’t held back.

You dipped a clean towel in warm water and gently pressed it to the dried blood on his hand, dabbing carefully. He didn’t flinch—but you felt the way his fingers twitched beneath your touch.

Neither of you spoke.

The only sounds were the quiet hum of the desk lamp, the soft clink of the glass bottle of disinfectant, and your breath, steady and focused, like treating him was the only thing anchoring you to the present.

But Si-eun?

He wasn’t looking at the cuts or the gauze. He was looking at you.

The soft glow of the lamp painted you in gold. Your eyes furrowed in concentration, your lips slightly parted as you worked in silence. And somehow, the sight of you like this—so gentle, so here—made it easier to forget the sting of the alcohol on his open wounds.

You moved on to the deeper gash on his shoulder where the pipe had caught him. You reached for the antiseptic and paused, eyes flicking to his.

“This’ll sting,” you warned quietly.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“I don’t mind,” he murmured.

And he meant it.

As long as it was your hands that held him.

Comfortable silence then settled between you two and then—

“Thank you,” he murmured suddenly.

You paused, hands still over the bandage. “For what?”

“For… waiting.” His voice was low. Rough. “Even when I pushed you away. You didn’t give up on me.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

There was something in his expression that you rarely saw—guilt and gratitude, both bleeding through the soft lines of his face. His shoulders had dropped slightly, no longer held in the usual stiff tension. He wasn’t looking away anymore. He was letting you see him.

You smiled, small but sure. “I knew you’d come back.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, gaze dropping to your hands before flicking back up. “I didn’t think I deserved it.”

You moved closer without thinking, hands still resting lightly on his bandaged arm. “You don’t have to deserve me, Si-eun,” you said quietly. “You just have to let me stay.”

Something cracked behind his eyes. You didn’t need to hear the words to know he was saying yes. You already knew.

So you leaned in—soft, slow, and certain and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Not desperate. Not rushed. Just a quiet promise, folded between healing and the steady hum of light.

When you pulled back, his eyes were still closed for a moment. Then they opened, softer than you’d ever seen.

Then, as if suddenly remembering, Si-eun shifted. He leaned down, reaching beneath his desk to retrieve the bag he’d tossed aside earlier in all the panic.

From it, he pulled out the carefully wrapped bento box—its once-warm contents now cooled, a little out of place in the middle of the tender quiet between you. He stared at it for a second, lips parting slightly as if debating whether or not to give it to you.

It had gone cold. Maybe even a little stale. But it was still yours.

Or… he could just make another one. One that was warm. Perfect. Deserving.

“I was supposed to give you this earlier,” he said finally, placing it gently on his table like something fragile. Something precious.

You blinked, surprised. “Hm?”

He motioned toward the wrapped cloth. “Open it.”

You did. Carefully unwrapping it, your breath caught when the bento box came into view. Each part of the meal was neatly arranged—almost painfully meticulous. It was your favorite food. And though it had shifted slightly out of place, the effort still shone through: the little animal shapes, the colors, the thoughtfulness stitched into every grain of rice.

“…Si-eun,” you breathed, gaze flicking up to him, eyes wide with both awe and disbelief. “Did you make this?”

He scratched the back of his neck, ears burning red. “I followed a tutorial..but, yes.”

You stared at him. Then stared back at the food. Then back at him again.

Si-eun,” you repeated, this time in a tone that made him shift in his seat nervously. “I want to kiss you so hard that you’ll forget your name.”

He blinked.

Then let out a soft, breathy laugh—half disbelief, half relief. The tension cracked like glass between you, and the corners of his mouth tugged up in that rare, boyish smile you loved too much.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“Well, I can do more than kiss,” You teased while winking at him playfully. Already, you were lifting the chopsticks he included. “This is the best thing anyone’s made for me. Ever.”

“Wait—let me heat it for you—“

You quickly took a bite, not caring if the food had gone cold. It was still delicious and you showed your approval by dramatically humming.

Si-eun looked away, biting back a smile so big it made the cut on his lip sting. But he didn’t care. You were eating. You were smiling. And you were here.

Maybe that was enough.

“Oh my gosh—this is reallyyyy good,” you said between bites, savoring every piece like it was heaven-sent.

“Don’t talk while your mouth’s full,” Si-eun muttered, though his eyes betrayed him, watching you with that quiet fondness he never quite knew how to hide around you.

You looked up at him, grinning as you chewed. “Hmm… what can I do to repay my hero?”

He opened his mouth, about to insist he didn’t need anything. He never did, not from you—but then something flickered behind his eyes. A boldness rare and sudden.

“…Maybe that kiss?”

You paused for only a beat, then gently set the chopsticks aside. “Say less.”

In one swift, fluid motion, you leaned in—hands pressing lightly against his chest as you closed the distance. His hands found your waist like they were made for that space, holding you steady. Your breath mingled for just a second.

And then you kissed him.

It started slow, soft, his lips careful, almost reverent against yours. But the moment you deepened it, threading your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, he matched you—mouth parting, breath catching, body drawing nearer like gravity had taken over.

He exhaled shakily against your lips, one hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself. The kiss turned heavier, lingering. More emotion than either of you had ever said aloud. Every tilt of his head, every pull of your body against his, told you exactly what he felt—what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

When you finally pulled away, lips still brushing, your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the warm quiet.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

You smiled softly, fingers grazing his jaw. “You forgot your name yet?”

Si-eun’s lips curved, just slightly. “No.”

You leaned in again—another kiss, gentler this time. A promise wrapped in warmth.

And as the soft hum of the night settled around you, you stayed close. Not quite speaking. Just breathing, kissing, laughing into each other’s skin, the weight of the past days slipping off your shoulders like shed armor.

The rest of the world could wait.

For now, it was just you and him—and the quiet, golden glow of something finally blooming.

“Here.” Jihoon’s voice cuts through your drifting thoughts. You look up and see him standing at your bedroom door with a steaming mug of tea in his hands. His eyes melt when he sees the state you are in, and you find your heart beating fast. He steps in and sets the mug on the nightstand before sitting down beside you. “You need to drink this. It’ll help with your throat.” He nudges the mug toward you for you to take it.

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you nod and take a sip. The warmth soothes your throat, and just for some time, you forget about the cameras, the questions about what you two really are, and the arrangement that started all of this. Being here with him in this small room feels like a break from everything outside.

Jihoon watches you closely as you drink. His attention doesn’t drift from you for even a second. He adjusts the pillow behind your back and tucks the blanket around your shoulders, and checks if you’re comfortable or not. He always does these little things. You try to tell yourself it’s just part of the act, part of the deal, but you know better. Jihoon doesn’t pretend with things like this. He’s naturally careful with the people he cares about.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Your chest feels tight and you don’t question it with your sickness, and you don’t know if it’s from the tea or from something more sitting behind your ribs.

He shrugs. “You’re sick. It’s the least I can do.” But the least he can do feels like much more.

The silence between you isn’t awkward anymore. You’ve grown used to the gradual changes in his expression, his way of showing his worry without saying it. Little by little, he has let himself get close to you even if neither of you planned for that to happen.

You set the empty mug down just as Jihoon reaches out and brushes your forehead with the back of his hand. You don’t pull away. His touch feels so careful and a little shaky. You can’t remember the last time anyone touched you without wanting something in return. Jihoon stays for a moment, then leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. The gesture’s almost absentminded, yet it steals the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, and you find him watching you with an expression you can’t yet read. Before you can speak, he stands. “Get some rest. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

You watch his back as he walks toward the door. You don’t want him to leave when his presence feels like the only thing holding everything in you together and making you feel better. “Stay,” you whisper.

Jihoon stops. For a second he doesn’t move and you worry he might pretend he didn’t hear you. But he turns, and his eyes soften with that low-key tiny smile on his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Instead of you staying all day in the bedroom, you end up in the living room together with the TV playing in the background. Neither of you is really watching it. Jihoon keeps glancing at you and checks if you’re cold, if you’re breathing fine, if your fever looks worse than before, if you need some more tissues.

When the night grows late, he gets up and stretches. “Need anything else?”

You shake your head but then your stomach growls loudly. You feel your face heat up with embarrassment. “Maybe something light. I don’t think I can eat anything heavy.”

Jihoon nods and heads to the kitchen without a single complaint. He moves quickly as if he already had something in mind. When he returns with a small bowl of warm soup, you can feel your throat tightening again, but this time it’s from your overwhelming feelings for this man. He sets it in front of you and sits beside you. “Eat.”

You take a spoonful. The heat spreads through your mouth and chest, and the comfort is immediate. Jihoon’s eyes never leave you as he watches to make sure you finish it, not in a controlling way but in a more concerned way. You want to ask him why he’s being like this. Why is he doing more than what the arrangement requires. Why is he choosing to stay here when he doesn’t have to. But you keep eating instead.

When you finish, he stands to take the bowl away. Before he leaves, he leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead. This time his lips stay connected to your forehead a little longer than the last time. His thumb brushes your temple, and when he pulls back, he looks at you, “you know,” he says, “even if this wasn’t fake, I wouldn’t mind.”

It feels like you might as well suffocate right now… but in a good way. For so long, you have been convincing yourself this is just for convenience, and a performance for everyone else. But hearing him say that makes everything inside you roam around and change painfully. You don’t want this to end, and you most definitely don’t want to go back to being strangers who only speak for the sake of appearances as co-actors. Jihoon clears his throat and looks away. He seems unsure, which is rare. He doesn’t usually stumble like this. He seems like he wants to say more, but you can tell he’s holding himself back.

“Jihoon…” Your voice is trailing. “Stay. Just for a little longer.”

He hesitates at first, probably thinking about the work he has tomorrow or the fact that he has already stayed too late. But then he lets out a sigh and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

He starts toward the other couch, but something inside you pushes you to reach out. You pat the space beside you. “Here. It’s more comfortable.”

Jihoon pauses on his way to sit down on the other couch. He looks at you like he’s trying to decide if this is a mistake. He’s careful, never crosses a line unless he knows it won’t hurt either of you.

After a moment, he sits. It’s not too close, but also close enough that you can feel him around you. The TV keeps playing behind you, but neither of you really pay attention to it. Your eyelids grow heavy from the rest settling inside you, and you’re happy to tell yourself that it’s not from the fever. Jihoon must sense it because he finally speaks.

“You scared me.”

“What?”

“When you got sick,” he eyes lowering to his hands. “You weren’t answering your phone. And when I got here, you could barely stand.” He goes quiet for some time. “I knew you weren’t in danger, but… I didn’t like not being here.”

Your throat tightens again. He isn’t someone who throws words around. If he’s saying this, it’s because he means it. “Why?”

He huffs a laugh, but there’s nothing funny in it. He looks more frustrated with himself than anything else. “I don’t know. I just didn’t like the idea of you being alone.”

That hits something in you that you haven’t let yourself acknowledge. Your fingers brush his hand slowly, and you feel him tense around your hand, then relax and turn his palm up to hold yours. His thumb rubs lightly against your skin. “I didn’t want to be alone,” you admit to him. “I thought I’d be fine with all of this. I thought it wouldn’t change anything.”

“You were wrong,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He stares at your joined hands for a long time. “If we stopped pretending… would that be so bad?”

Your heart literally thunders in your chest now. The answer’s very obvious to you. It has always been obvious. “It was never fake for me.”

Jihoon exhales and pulls you in a little closer to him. His voice drops to a breathy whisper. “If we’re not faking it… does that mean I get to keep you?”

Your breath catches, and you feel everything inside you fall into place. You squeeze his hand. “Only if you want to.”

His expression changes to relief and what you can describe it as, realization. He cups your cheek and leans in to press another kiss to your forehead. This one didn’t feel like it was for comfort. “I do,” he confesses. “I always have.”

For the first time tonight, the weird tightness in your chest eases. It doesn’t feel like comfort but like a beginning. And you don’t want it to end.